Page 42 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
The other hand finds his face. I palm his jaw, stroking over his cheek with my thumb. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe.”
His throat bobs with a swallow, and he nods once. “I know.” His voice is thin but steady. “Don’t stop touching me.”
“Never.” I kiss the corner of his mouth.
He braces himself over me, thighs trembling, then slowly begins to sink down. I guide the tentacle in with one hand, and he guides it himself too. I don’t know exactly how he controls them, but I imagine it’s the same way I control my own arms and legs, except I know he can control the thickness and tensity of them too. It makes them perfect for this.
The pressure stays gentle, but insistent, adjusting perfectly to him. He exhales slowly, and his thighs tighten, the muscles trembling as he settles. The head of his cock brushing my stomach and he groans, eyes fluttering closed.
I let my arms encircle his waist, pulling him closer to me. His forehead drops to my shoulder, and he huffs a shuddering breath against my collarbone.
“That’s me, baby,” I murmur. “You feel me? You’re taking me so well.”
Cal lets out a low, broken sound. I lift a hand to drag over the back of his neck, fingers tangling through his hair and gripping lightly, just the way he likes.
“Beautiful, just like this,” I say softly. “Always beautiful. Always mine.”
He moans a curse word, deep and helpless, and his hips shift in a tentative grind—testing the pressure, finding the stretch. His tentacles flutter around us, curling around my back and his, holding us together, wrapping us up in each other.
“Love, I waited so long for you,” he whispers. “So long without you— Now you’re here, and I just—”
My chest aches as he breaks off. I stroke my hand over the back of his head again, sweat-damp curls springing up under my fingers. “I know. I’ve got you.”
Cal groans again, softer this time, and when he lifts his head to look at me, the flush on his cheeks is luminous in the dim light. His lips part, but instead of words, he moans again, sharp and high,when his hips rock down and he seats himself fully.
“Fuck,Neviah—” His voice cracks, hips stuttering as he tries to find a rhythm. I love when he says my name. It’s rarer than ‘love’ or ‘little trespasser’ or simply ‘mine,’ and I treasure it every time. “You feel—God, love, you feel unreal.”
I cup his jaw, thumbing over his bottom lip. “You like bouncing on my tentacock, baby?”
He gives a strangled laugh, then gasps as I lift my hips, making the tentacle inside him flex.
“Wicked, wicked woman,” he groans, leaning forward to press a sloppy kiss to my mouth. “So fucking wicked. I love you. Mine.”
“Yours.” I press the word to his lips, a promise, and he swallows it like a man starved. His body moves now, hips lifting, then rocking back down in a languid, indulgent grind.
Each push sinks him down a little further. Every single one makes his body sing for me.
“Look at you,” I murmur, fingers splayed on his hips, guiding, holding, worshipping. “So good like this, baby. So needy for it.”
He gasps a startled breath, pressing forward so his dick grinds against my stomach.
I laugh breathlessly, dragging an open-mouthed kiss over the curve of his throat. My hand slides up his chest, dragging through the hair there, idly tweaking a nipple just to see him arch for me.
“I can see what I do to you,” I whisper against his skin. “I can feel it. The way you ride me, so desperate, so greedy. Have you needed this, Cal? How long have you been aching for it?”
His breath hitches, eyes going wide, and then I feel it—one of his tentacles sliding between my thighs, curling up to stroke through my slick folds.
“Let me make you feel good too,” he says hoarsely, eyes blown wild and bright with need. “Let me touch you while you fill me up. Please, love—needit. Want to feel you come.”
My lips curve. “You want to make me come while you fuck yourself on your own tentacle?”
His groan is filthy, shameless, and I squeeze his hips, fingers digging into the slope of his waist as I lean in and nip his earlobe, grinding my hips up to meet his next thrust. The tentacle betweenmy legs pulses, teasing at my entrance.
“Please. Don’t stop,” I breathe against his racing pulse point. “Show me how much you like this. Show me how needy you are.”
He starts to ride harder, bracing his hands over my ribs like he’s claiming leverage, eyes narrow and burning with intent. The tentacle between my legs is slick and eager, teasing at my clit with purpose now.
“I’m not the only one needy here,” he pants with an unrepentant smirk. “You’re soaked, love. I can practically taste that greedy pussy in the air. You want to come, don’t you?”
