Page 19 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle

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— need it. 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 between my 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?”

I arch against him with a whimper, hips twitching when the tentacle rolls a tight little circle over my clit. “Of course I do. But I want you to come first, and you still haven’t earned it.”

He barks a breathless laugh, starts to rock harder on the tentacle inside him. “Who’s tentacle do you think I’m riding, little trespasser?”

I pinch his nipple, just to see him flinch. “Who’s the one getting fucked?”

His grin falters. I let my fingers trail up his abdomen slowly, up his throat as it bobs, then curl them around his jaw, turning his flushed face toward me roughly. “Go on. Say it.”

He tries for bravado, lips parted like he’s about to toss something argumentative back—but I tilt my hips, and the tentacle he’s riding suddenly flexes deep inside him.

He almost rockets off my lap, his cock jerking hard against my stomach, trapped and slick between us. The head shimmers dark blue and angry, leaking at the tip.

“Fuck—” His hands scramble at my hips, breath ragged. “Did you— Was that you ?”

I raise a brow, letting my voice drop. “What do you think?”

The tentacle pulses again, deeper and harder this time. He gasps, eyes wide and obsidian dark, mouth falling open around a moan.

“Looks like someone’s picked a side,” I murmur smugly, glancing down to where he’s grinding again, more frenzied now, caught between the rhythm of his body and the traitorous enthusiasm of my new best friend—AKA, the tentacock.

“Neviah.” His voice trembles as he clutches my waist. “Love, I—I don’t think I can—”

“You have your safe word.” I slide my palm up to rest between his pecs, feeling his hammering heart. “You’re so pretty, baby. So perfect riding me.”

Another flex. Another broken gasp. His cock drags against my belly, and he ruts up on instinct, grinding, the muscles in his thighs taut and vibrating with effort.

“You claim to like control,” I whisper, teeth grazing his throat. “But I think you want surrender even more.”

The moan he gives me is full-bodied, raw, and as unyielding as the tide. Destructive as the ocean. His hips punch forward, and I arch my back, letting him fuck himself on the tentacle and fuck himself against my belly.

The probing limb between my legs moves, thick and slow, pushing into me, and I breathe through the stretch, my back bowing as I drag my nails lightly down his spine.

I feel every twitch and shudder, his muscles jumping under sweat-slick skin. “Fuck, yes—Cal. More . Please. Make me come with you. Make me come—and let go with me.”

He moans again, this one high and wrecked, like I’m unstitching him molecule by molecule. His forehead drops to my shoulder, breath hot and erratic as he rocks harder, helpless now. The tentacock gives another commanding flex, and Cal’s body jerks like he’s being puppeted from the inside.

“I—oh, fuck , love, please—” His voice breaks apart, syllables scattered like driftwood in a storm.

“So good,” I whisper into his ear. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

His cock pulses wildly between us, dragging slick heat across my skin. The tentacle at my clit is relentless, circling tighter, faster—like it knows I’m close, like it’s desperate to get me there with him. The one inside me slides deeper until I can almost feel it in my belly.

Cal sobs out a sound I’ve never heard from him before—shattering, hoarse, and perfect—and then his body snaps taut, every muscle locked down, tentacles seizing and writhing like they’re caught in the same electric ecstasy he is.

His cum spills hot and thick between us, coating my belly and my tits, and still he rocks, greedy for every aftershock, every wave of pleasure he can drag out under my control.

I’m all but ripped open by the force of his pleasure, my own orgasm breaking hard over the swell of his release. I cry out, one hand fisted in his hair, the other gripping his waist, holding him down while my pussy clenches around that thick, ridged limb.

We ride it out together, gasping and tangled. Somewhere I think I start crying, though I’m not sure when or why.

When the last tremors pass, when he’s limp and shaking in my arms, I press a kiss to his temple and murmur, “Mine.”

He nods against me, a soft, delirious laugh bubbling up from his chest.

“Yours,” he breathes. “Completely. Everything I have, everything I am. There’s no me without you, my love.”