Page 23 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
“It’s… blue.”
“It’snota tentacle.”
I lift my gaze to his face, trying—and probably completely failing—not to look completely rapt and ruined at the sight of him. That’s fair enough, I think I’ve already laid my cards on the table at this point.
“It’s not a human penis,” I point out.
Cal smiles. Not just any smile. A wicked one. The kind that coils heat low in my stomach, that makes me feel hunted in the best possible way. He’s the predator and I’m the prey, and I want it to be that way.
“No,” he agrees, voice like smoke and deep water. “It isn’t. Does that excite you, love?”
I suck in a breath that goes absolutely nowhere, nodding wordlessly.
He hums, mockingly sympathetic, like he’s humoring me. “Do you want to taste me?”
“Yes.” The word all but bursts out of me.
Desperate much?
I wonder distantly what’s happened to me, that I used to be saner than this, surely—then I dismiss the thought, because no, I didn’t.
Cal’s laugh is low and pleased, one tentacle curling around my wrist and gently tugging, guiding me upright. I rise shakily to my feet in front of him, every nerve lit up, body thrumming with need. He pushes his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down, and then he leans in—slow, almost tender—and kisses me.
I melt into it, soft and sweet and dizzy from everything—the kiss, the sight of him, the want clawing up from my core. His want, mirrored back at me, because he’s as needy here as I am.
Then all the softness is gone. He pulls back, and his eyes burn into mine. “Kneel.”
I drop instantly, knees hitting the floor with a solid thud. The rug beneath me does nothing to cushion it. They’ll probably bruise. I don’t care. I’d bruise for him.
A sound rumbles in his chest, almost like a purr. “Such a good little trespasser. So pretty down there for me.”
I glance up, heat blooming in my cheeks, breath caught somewhere in my throat as I watch his cock bob just inches from my face.
“Tell me your safe word.”
“Cthulhu,” I answer instantly, with a smirk that bites at the corners of my mouth.
He barks a laugh. Quick and delighted. “Your safe gesture?”
I raise my hand and tap the back of it against his thigh. “Like that.”
A tentacle slides forward, curling behind my neck and back around until it rests at the hollow between my jaw. His fingers don’t touch me, but the firm pressure of that limb makes my body tense, my breath catching as it tilts my chin up slowly. Heat burns in my belly like lava at the thought of him controlling it like this, wordless and primal.
“Open,” Cal murmurs.
I let my mouth part, tongue flattened, eyes still locked on his. He rests the head of his cock on my tongue, and the weight of himthere—solid, pulsing, hot—pulls a deep moan from me. I can’t stifle it.
He tastes like salt and warm skin and something darker. Not bitter, not sweet. All him.
I close my lips around the head and suck, slowly, almost experimentally—as if I’ve never sucked a cock before. I have, obviously, but never one like this. My cheeks hollow as I take him deeper, and my hand curls at the base of his cock. He’s far too thick and long to fit entirely, even with my best efforts, but I try anyway, swallowing around him, spit pooling fast in my mouth and trailing down my chin as I push myself. Because I want to, because I can’tnot.
I might be just as crazed for him as he seems to be for me.
Cal’s head tips back on a noisy, hitched breath. The places where his tentacles reach from his body pulse in time with my movements, like they’re equally affected.
I love it. I love watching his reactions, learning what he likes, making him unravel for me. It’s a unique and heady power, and I’m intoxicated.
He braces one hand on the back of the sofa, another threading into my hair, not yanking, but holding me firm enough to guide with insistence. The tentacle at the nape of my neck pulses.
