Page 27 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
His groan is ragged and visceral, spilling from somewhere deep in his chest as his hips slam into mine. The stretch intensifies—burning and blinding and absolutelyright.
I’ve never felt a rightness like this, and my body barely knows what to do with it, other than try to keep it at all costs.
Then he’s buried to the hilt, gasping my name into my shoulder as his rhythm breaks apart. I feel it—the hot spill of him inside me, the throb and flex of his cock, the way his entire body locks tight against mine. The hot, sharp edge of my own orgasm tears through me like forest fire, and I arch up against him, moaning with the shape of him in my mouth as he razes me to the ground.
He shudders as he comes, pressing his face into the curve of my neck, muttering curses against my skin. I can feel his frantic pulse where his chest is pressed to mine.
I stroke the back of his head, fingertips soft through the damp curls. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps breathing against my skin, hot and ragged. I shift slightly beneath him, and something in his body jerks taut. I panic.
“Oh god.” My stomach swoops low. “Did you—Cal, did you need to safe word? I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
He lets out a high, surprised laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. “No. No, it’s not that, it’s just—I didn’t…” His voice trails off, and he presses the softest, most worshipful little kiss to my collarbone. “I didn’t mean to do what I just did.”
The words land in my belly like acid. I huff a short, joyless laugh. “Bit late for that.”
His head lifts. Our eyes meet. Whatever he sees in my face makes something shift in his.
“I didn’t mean that,” he whispers. “I didn’t meanthis. I meant—”
He moves his hips as if for emphasis, just a little, like he’s going to pull back. Pain slices through me, sharp and stinging. Both physical and emotional.
“No—” I cry out. My heels dig into his back again, arms wrapping around him fast to hold him to me. “Pleasedon’t. Don’t pull out. Please stay inside me.”
He stills. His brow furrows. Then he settles his weight again, hips flush to mine, cradling me against his body. “That’s what I didn’t mean to do,” he murmurs dejectedly. “I should’ve asked. I should’ve told you first.”
I giggle, a little too nervously. “Told me what? Remember, this is all new to me. I need you to break it down like I’m five. Not, you know… one hundred sixty-two.”
He snorts softly, the sound warm against my skin. “It’s a knot,” he says, almost sheepishly. “In my penis. It’s a… biological thing.”
I blink, then exhale a long breath. “It hurt when you tried to pull out,” I whisper. “Not just… physically. It felt like—like you were leaving.” For some reason, I feel like I might cry. I stroke his hair again, anchoring us both. “Please don’t go. I don’t mind. I wanted it. I still want it. I want you.”
His eyes search mine like he’s afraid to believe me, like he’s trying to find the catch. Then slowly—cautiously—a small, crooked smile curves his mouth. He looks almost shy. “I have to say again,” he murmurs, “you’re taking this very well, love.”
A sleepy hum fills my throat. I can already feel the tug of rest at my edges, all my limbs heavy and satisfied with him folded over me, his tentacles moving in long, gentle strokes, his cock still lockeddeep inside me. I nose at his jaw, voice barely a whisper. “Well… howshouldI take it? I’m yours now. Aren’t I?”
It’s a ridiculous thing to say to this man I just met—not even beginning to unpack the whole tentacle thing—but still, when I say it, everything inside of me wants him to agree.
He groans low, like the words torture him, then presses a kiss to my throat. His voice, when it comes, is dark and utterly devoted, a promise pressed against my skin. “Yes, love. Mine.”
Chapter 5
Misreading the Signs
Ihaven’t slept this well in years—or quite possibly ever. Who knew all it takes to get the best night’s sleep of your life is a good dicking? Or… tentacocking, I guess.
Cal is sleep-warm beside me with his arm draped heavy and possessive over my waist. I’ve got a tentacle pulled tight to my chest, curled against my collarbones like I’m cuddling a pet.
He stirs, the deep rumble of a sigh against my neck, and then he rolls closer, lips brushing my shoulder. “Good morning, love,” he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep. He buries his face against my chest, one arm winding tighter around my waist.
Something squeezes behind my ribs. Not unpleasant, but sharp—like I’ve tripped a wire I didn’t know was there, which I suppose is the thing about tripwires. I run my fingers gently through his hair, stroking down the back of his head. “Is this how this is going to be now?”
He stills against me, tentacles pausing their slow, sleepy twitching. “What do you mean?”
I hum. “It’s just… this is quite fast, isn’t it? I guess I want to make sure we’re on the same page. Because—” I cut off with a hard swallow, because I know what I’m about to admit is absurd. “Well, I’m getting a little… attached.”
He lifts his head, gaze sharp and warm all at once, and then he rolls me beneath him. The shift is smooth and easy, his strength unbothered by my weight, and I gasp a little as my back hits the mattress.
