Page 34 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
And it does. When our mouths meet, everything does. Even the wind outside seems to soften. The rain dulls. The storm hushes. Cal’s chest heaves as the air whooshes out of him.
I pull back just enough to whisper against his lips. “Don’t hate yourself. I don’t. I love you. So don’t you dare say that. Not ever. Not about the man I love.”
He makes a sound—half-sob, half-laugh—and buries his face in the curve of my neck again.
His arms come around me. Tentacles, too, wrapping me up so tight I can barely move, but I don’t want to. I just hold him and let him break the way he needs to for however long he needs to. I think we all need that sometimes.
He mouths against my throat like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of my pulse, and slowly, his trembling ebbs, but I feel the tension that remains under his skin—tight and wary. Braced for something awful, even now. Even here, with me kissing his jaw, stroking my fingers gently over the back of his neck.
“I’m right here,” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His voice is muffled in my hair. “I don’t know how to stop being scared.”
“So don’t. You can be scared.” I press my lips to the hinge of his jaw. “Be scared and still choose to touch me.”
His gaze lifts, and a hand ghosts over my waist, still clearly unsure. “Love—”
“I’m not going to break, Cal,” I say softly. “And it’d be a real shame if you didn’t fuck me after all that drama.”
He groans, one hand sliding up to cup my face without lifting his head from my chest. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he murmurs. There’s conviction in his voice, but also softness. Like he’s so exhausted by the whole ordeal but still needs to reprimand me a little.
I shift my weight, rolling us with a thigh over his hips, tucking us together until I’m on top, straddling him. He shudders and exhales hard. I nuzzle under his ear and nip lightly at the lobe.
“I need you,” I murmur. “I want you to hold me. I want you tofuck me. I want to feel your tentacock inside me, baby.”
His laugh bursts out, high and bright and so full of light it’s like it’s overflowing. He chokes on it, a watery sound catching at the edges.
“God,” he whispers. “Neviah, love.”
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, pressing my palm to his chest. His heart stutters under my hand, its beat still erratic.
Tentacles slide across the blankets, still slightly hesitant. He’s afraid I’m going to flinch again, but I don’t. I won’t. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and tilt his face up to mine, kissing him again, hoping I can hush the storm in his head.
His hand cups my face. His thumb runs along my cheekbone, a whisper of pressure, then down to trace my bottom lip when our kiss breaks apart. One tentacle curls loosely around my wrist, linking us.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell him. I want him to hear it over and over. “I adore you. All of you. Nothing can change that.”
He lets out a soft, aching sound, resting his forehead to mine. The tip of his nose brushes mine. “You say things like that, dearest Neviah, with no concern over how I’ll survive them.”
“You aren’t supposed tosurviveme,” I murmur. “You’re just meant to love me. And right now, I’dloveif you’d fuck me. I want to feel close to you. Please, Cal.”
His hand skims down over the curve of my waist. Another tentacle glides along my thigh, stroking upward. He presses a kiss to the center of my chest, right over my heart.
He shifts us so he’s above me, fitting his body to mine. The blankets pool around us, holding the heat in. His tentacles curl in closer, forming a warm cocoon, protective and possessive and claiming.
Cal’s hands move slowly, learning me all over again. The way I shiver when his fingertips ghost over my ribs. The way I arch when his thumb strokes the dip of my hip. His touch is worshipful and demanding, intent on reminding me that I am here, with him, and I’m safe.
That I’m his.
I know that I am.
When his mouth finds mine again, it’s unhurried and soft, the kind of kiss that says everything his voice can’t carry right now. It’s clear to me that he struggles with putting things into words, but he’s never failed to show me how he feels.
“Cal.” My hips roll up. I need him closer, not just to feel good, not just to come, but to connect. To belong to something again. I need to belong tohim.
He groans, low and rough, pressing his forehead to mine. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s fighting with himself.
“You nearly drowned.” The words shudder out of him, aching to speak aloud.
