Page 18 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle

I hum as I slide my finger free to slick my hand with more lube.

Cal makes the most adorable, disgruntled sound, and I almost giggle as I return to ease in with a second in beside the first, slow and careful.

He hisses through his teeth, hips twitching beneath me, muscles in his thighs going taut under my palm where it rests there.

I let my thumb stroke soothing circles over his skin, keeping him grounded.

“Is this okay?”

He nods frantically, humming his assent. Ordinarily, I’d insist on words, but I’m not sure he’s capable of forming them right now. I watch his face closely, but all I see there is rapt, tortured pleasure.

The tentacle curled around my wrist pulses slightly as I rock my fingers in and out of him deeper now—like it’s watching. Like it’s thinking . Then it glides over the back of my hand, just barely brushing my knuckles, almost as if it’s trying to learn from what I’m doing. Curious. Insistent .

“Oh?” I glance up at him. “You teaching it, or is it trying to join in?”

He groans, the sound low and primal.

“They’re part of me,” he grinds out. “But sometimes I think they want you all on their own.”

I laugh, breath puffing warm over his length, and his cock jumps against my palm as I wrap my hand around it again. I brush my lips against the base, just because I can. “Going to pull out now, alright?”

Cal nods, jaw clenched, curls damp against his temples where sweat’s begun to gather. “Yeah. Yes.”

I ease out slow, watching his face the whole time. He lets out a soft, fractured sound—part relief, part disappointment—and I press a kiss to the inside of his thigh as I go. His whole body is trembling under my hands, hips shifting like he doesn’t know whether to chase or retreat.

The tentacle still looped around my wrist pulses again, more urgent this time, as I grab a cloth from the nightstand to wipe my hand.

I guide the curious limb downward, and it yields easily to the motion, moving under the gentle pressure of my fingers like it wants to be steered. I stroke slowly, coaxing it further between his thighs, careful not to press yet.

Cal watches me with wide, depthless eyes, lips parted, breathing shallow.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, stroking the inside of his thigh with my free hand. “Beautiful man. I love you.”

Something fractures in his expression, and the strong, stubbled column of his throat works with a swallow. “I love you,” he echoes thickly .

I smooth my palm over his thigh, then glance up at him. “Do you trust me?”

He gives a high, breathy laugh, raking a hand back through his curls. His hair-tie seems to have been lost somewhere, so it’s now loose and wild, framing his face. “Yes, love. I don’t think we’d have got to this point if I didn’t.”

I narrow my eyes. “Still have to check. Consent isn’t a one-time thing.”

He cracks a smile, but it’s suspicious. “You’re scheming, little trespasser.”

“I have an idea.” My tone is far too innocent for the wicked gleam I know is in my eye.

He groans, head dropping back against the sheets. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

“You’ll like this one,” I promise, sliding a hand up to tug on his wrist. “You said you liked thinking about it being me, really me, fucking you—so… I have an idea .”

I pull him up and rearrange us on the bed, shifting myself back against the pillows at the headboard, guiding him gently to move with me. I strip off my clothes—his borrowed shirt, and my sleep shorts and panties—and lift my gaze back to him.

“Come here,” I whisper, urging him forward with soft nudge to his hip with my foot. “On your knees, baby. Facing me.”

He does, still breathing unevenly, his thighs spread slightly as he sits back on his heels.

His gaze is fixed unfalteringly on me, presumably waiting to see what the fuck I have planned for him.

Tentacles splay around him like the unfeathered veins of wings, hovering over his shoulders and waiting for direction from me, just as he is.

I let my eyes roam over him for a moment, drinking him in.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over how beautiful he is.

I reach for one of the tentacles, letting my fingers trail along the length of it before bringing it to my lips. I kiss it gently, and it shivers in response.

Sometimes I swear I can feel them the way I feel Cal.

Not in words or thoughts, not in any way I could articulate, but…

something. Like there’s a thread between us and the tentacles are ti ed to it too.

They’re not just extensions of him—they’re extensions of us , of this bond we’ve built, sticky and strange and sacred.

This one follows my lead as I guide it slowly over my thigh, curling it around my waist, then easing it down beneath my other thigh.

I press it close to my body and let it rise again between my legs as I grab the lube and slick it until it’s hot and firm and almost humming, like it knows exactly what I want it to be.

I look down at it, then back up at him.

Cal visibly malfunctions.

“It’s a tentacock,” I say solemnly, but then a laugh bursts out of me. “Get it?”

He makes a strangled sound, halfway between amusement and desperation, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away. I swear he stops breathing entirely when I reach down, wrap my fingers around the shaft-like swell of the tentacle, and give it a slow, suggestive stroke.

“So…” I murmur, meeting his gaze again. “Do you want to ride me, baby?”

His breath catches audibly. One of the other tentacles twitches, betraying his restraint. He stares like he’s not sure if he’s alive or dreaming.

“Oh, fuck,” he says hoarsely. “Yes.”

I stroke my hands up his thighs—thick and tense under my palms—soothing him as I guide him closer.

“You’re sure?” I ask. “You can stop whenever you want. You know that?”

Cal nods, too fast, then drags in a ragged breath, steadying his hands against my knees. “Yes, love. I know. I want—God, I want everything you’ll give me.”

My heart gives a traitorous little flutter, and I lean in, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Then come take me, baby.”

His pupils blow wide, the soft violet ring of his irises swallowed almost completely. I guide him by the hips, the way he’s guided me so many times, patient and honoring his trust. One hand strokes the tentacle between my thighs, keeping it firm and slick, angled just right .

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?”