Page 11 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle

Cal growls. The sound is animal, guttural, and before I can say another word, a slick tentacle glides up to my mouth, which pops open on instinct. He slides it past my lips, and I moan as it fills me.

One tentacle fucking my pussy. One teasing the cleft of my ass, circling, pressing, not quite pushing. And now one fucking my mouth—thick and flexing and pulsing with each shallow stroke, those perfect ridges fluttering just right.

Pinned beneath him, I can’t move, but I don’t want to. He’s everywhere. Inside me. Around me. Holding me open and full and claimed .

He palms my breasts again, heavy and reverent, thumbs rolling over my nipples in slow, lazy strokes.

I arch up against his touch, then lift my own hands—covering his for a beat before sliding lower, down the soft swell of his stomach to grip his hips.

I guide him upward, a slow drag, urging his body higher over mine.

He gets the message when I push my tits together between my hands, offering them up like a gift.

Cal groans like he’s been punched in the chest. “Fuck,you’re perfect,” he rasps. “The wait was worth it. I’d wait all over again—one hundred sixty-two years, one hundred sixty-twotimesover , if it meant finding you.”

My breath hitches. Something in me splinters and stitches back together in the space between two heartbeats.

But then his cock presses between my breasts, slick from spit and arousal and whatever the fuck is making it a little sparkly, and the ridges glide against my skin.

The swollen head nudges under my chin with every thrust.

I moan around the tentacle in my mouth, drool slipping from the corner of my lips. One of his tentacles is still buried in my pussy, another teasing at my ass, and now this.

I’ve officially lost control of the situation.

He pants ragged above me, hips rocking in slow, deliberate rolls.

“Look at you,” he growls. “Letting me use your perfect body like this. So fucking beautiful. So mine .”

His eyes catch the light as he looks down—blacker than ink, and shining violet, like glass lit from within. Like deep-sea lava flows. Ancient and hungry and utterly undone.

I am doing that to him. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so powerful in my life.

I reach up, fingers wrapping around the tentacle still gliding in and out of my mouth. He stills immediately, pulling back with care, and slips it from between my lips. “Yes, love?” he asks, voice ragged with concern. “Are you okay?”

I nod, breathless, licking my lips. “Yes. But I want you to fuck me with your tentacle cock.”

He lets out a sound—half groan, half fond exasperation. “It’snota tentacle cock. ”

I grin up at him. “Tentacock.”

Cal barks a laugh. It’s sudden and bright, his whole chest shaking.

Then, in a single, smooth motion, he shifts himself down over my body, his tentacle sliding from my pussy with a wet sound that leaves me twitching in its absence.

His cock—his not-a-tentacle-cock—drags over my clit, teasing and hot and heavy.

“You’re a ridiculous little trespasser,” he murmurs, voice low and molten. “But very pretty. Very mine .So I’ll allow it.”

“Yours,” I whisper.

Every part of him goes still, like I’m Medusa, and I’ve just turned him to stone.

He growls, deep and quiet, like a predator claiming what belongs to him. Then he drives into me in a single, smooth thrust, bottoming out so hard and deep I cry out, arching into him, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on his waist as he holds himself inside me.

“Say it again,” he demands, hips grinding in perfect, infuriating little pulses.

“Yours,” I moan. “ Yours , Cal.”

He presses a hand flat over my belly, and his expression turns ravenous. “Feel this, love,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss my temple. “I can feel me inside you. So pretty like this—so full of my cock.”

Shivering, I slide a hand down my stomach. He captures it gently, guides it lower, and holds my palm beneath his. Together, we press down, andholy shit . I feel the thick ridge of his cock, the blunt weight of him punching up through the softness of my belly.

“Oh,” I gasp. “Oh, fuck me.”

He grins, humming a pleased sound as he continues to rock into me. “Yes. That is the plan.”

The drag of him is slow and devastating, every ridge catching in ways that send sparks scattering behind my eyes.

I reach for his face, cupping his jaw with trembling fingers.

He leans into my touch, stealing a kiss that’s quick but searing—lips parting just long enough to drink me in—before bracing himself above me again, arms tense and caging.

Tentacles slip across my skin—curling around my thighs, skimming over my ribs, circling my breasts with delicate precision. They move with intelligence, curiosity, like they’re committing every inch of me to their collective memory.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, voice barely there. “Do you know that, Cal? Do you know how beautiful you are?”

His hips stutter. That impossible glow in his eyes flares, violet and wild. I barely register the burn—deep and hot and tight where our bodies are joined—before his whole expression shifts. Alarm flashes across his face, stark and immediate.

“Oh, fuck, love—no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He starts to pull back.

“ No .” My ankles lock around his hips, heels pressing into the curve of his spine. I reach up to drag my fingers through his hair, thick and salt-rough, still curled wild from the water. I tug gently, and his breath catches. “Don’t. I’m close. Please , Cal—don’t stop. Come with me.”

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 absolutely right .

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 mean this . 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. “ Please don’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 locked deep inside me.

I nose at his jaw, voice barely a whisper.

“Well… how should I 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.”