Page 38 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
“Baby.” I match his tortured tone, only a little mockingly, as I press my mouth to his throat again, then scrape my teeth along it. “I want to know everything. Did you picture me bending you over? Or riding you while your own tentacle fills you up?” I nip at his collarbone. “Did you imagine what it’d feel like? If I made you mine like that?”
His hips jerk beneath me, and he lets out a frustrated little grunt, like he was trying to stifle his reaction but failed spectacularly.
“I—” He swallows, voice fraying at the edges. “You like it when I talk. I thought… I might like you to talk me through it.”
Oh, fuck me.
I try to hide the tremble in my voice as I say, “That’s a good answer.”
His chest rises faster now. Tension builds in his arms, his tentacles coiling a little tighter, closer. They wrap over my skin, curling under the edges of clothing, dipping beneath the hem of my shorts and my shirt.
“Have you experimented?” I press a kiss to his chest and try to be cool about this, but in reality, I am not cool at all. He must scent how wet I am, except I don’t think he’s paying much attention to anything but trying to keep a grip on himself.
“No,” he rasps, but the word catches. “Not—not really.”
“Notreally?” I lift my head, resting my chin on his chest to gaze up at him. “Sounds like yes with extra steps, baby.”
His cheeks flush dark. It’s fucking adorable. I don’t think I’ve loved this man more than I love him right now—and he has literally saved me from drowning.
“I tried,” he admits. “Once. It didn’t… go very far.”
“Why not?” My fingers dip to the waistband of his pants, slipping under the curve of his stomach and sliding down to tease him through the fabric of his boxers. “Wasn’t it good?”
He shudders. His hands flex on my thighs. “Love.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“You’re not easy to kill, or I probably would have done it already.” He huffs a short laugh as my hand slides under the elastic hem of his boxers. He jolts when I touch him, then lifts his hips into it. “And this isn’t dying. I’ve felt it, remember? Dying?”
His grip tightens where his hands are braced on my hips, and he looses a short, animal growl. “Notfunny.” His pupils are blown wide, eyes pinned to mine like I’ve got him under a spell.
I lean in to kiss him, soothing the tension that just built fast in his shoulders at the reminder of that day. “Tiny bit funny,” I breatheagainst his lips.
Another growl rumbles out of him. “No. Not even a little.”
I snort a soft laugh. Itisa tiny bit funny, but I know it plays on him sometimes, the reality of what could have happened, so I don’t push it.
I retract my hand, and his back arches as he tries to follow my touch. I push his sweats down, along with his boxers, and his cock springs free, already flushed dark and heavy, twitching where it’s pressed between his belly and mine.
My fingers brush over his thighs, light as seafoam. His breath catches, and one of his tentacles curls around my wrist—loose, tentative, like it might be trying to guide, but it isn’tquitesure.
I spread his thighs apart so I can slide between his legs, settling to my knees on the floor and dragging his sweatpants down with me. I tug them from his ankles along with his boxers, then my hands roam up over his hips, over the soft give of his waist and the warm, dense muscle beneath. He’s gorgeous.
Cal moans when I press a kiss to the inside of his knee, and I stifle the tremulous little laugh that wants to bubble out of me at the fact that he’s already so utterly undone.
A tentacle strokes over my back, up my spine, trembling.
“Before I go any further, I need your words.” I lift my gaze to his, where his eyes are that deep-sea shattered kind of violet color usually reserved for right before he comes. Or maybe he is about to come. He looks to be hanging on by a thread. “Tell me your safe word, Cal.”
He chuffs a laugh, rolling his eyes as he looks down at me. “Cthulhu,” he says with a displeased but affectionate tone. Seems he still hasn’t recovered from my on-the-spot choice of safe word. “And this is my gesture.” He taps the back of his hand to my shoulder.
“Good.” I catch his hand, turning his palm to my face so I can press a kiss to the center. “Tell me what you want, baby. I need to hear you tell me what you want.”
“I want—” His breath breaks open on the word like a wave against the shoreline, as if he’s afraid of the desire itself. “I want you to fuck me, love. Please.”
He gasps as I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, thumbing lightly over the underside of the head. His body jolts like I’ve filled him with kerosene and lit him up from the inside.
