Page 7 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle

The strong column of his throat works with a swallow. “That’s why it’s too dangerous. ”

My brows draw together. “What is?”

“This,” he grits. “You and me. I’m not human, Neviah. I have no right to… to this .”

Where my palm rests over his heart, I can feel its frantic rhythm, so I try to keep my voice low and soothing. “What do you mean?”

“You. I have no right to you. ” His jaw sets hard, tendons jumping. I reach up instinctively to soothe the tension. “You’re pure. Untouched by darkness.”

I lift a brow. “I’m not pure.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it’s mirthless. “Compared to me, you are.”

“Well, in human terms, I promise I’m not. You’re not stealing my virtue or ruining something.” I snort. “I’m not some kind of untouched woman, Cal.”

Something about that seems to short-circuit him. The tentacles tighten around me possessively, and I feel their tension curl across my skin, hot and alive. I swallow hard—but the liquid static rolling down my spine isn’t fear.

I shift forward, hips canting upward just enough to press against the thick, hard line already forming beneath his clothes.

“Does that bother you?” I ask, soft and needling. “Knowing there’ve been other men before you? You haven’t even gotten inside me yet, but they have.”

A growl rumbles low in his chest. It vibrates against my sternum, through my bones and right into the center of me.

I huff a breathy little laugh and lean up, nipping at the side of his throat. “You don’t like that, do you?”

“If you gave me a list of their names,” he mutters darkly, “I’d kill them.”

The heat that punches through my gut is immediate and mortifying.

Jesus Christ. Why is that hot?

I swallow hard. “There’s an easy solution.”

He stiffens slightly, then demands, “What is it?”

I press my lips to his throat again, mouthing against the soft, stubbled skin there. “I think you need to claim me. Dirty me up. Get yourself all over me so there’s nothing left of them. Only you. ”

A low rumble sounds in his chest, climbing up his throat so I feel it vibrate against my mouth. Then, without warning, he lifts me like I weigh nothing and tosses me over his shoulder.

I shriek, but it breaks into a laugh as my fists thud uselessly against his back. “What the hell are you doing? Caveman much?”

A sharp smack lands across my ass—not with his hand, but with a tentacle—and I jolt, heat flashing up my spine.

“My kind are much, much older than cavemen,” he says.

I’m still trying to process the tentacle spank, but I manage to ask breathlessly, “How much older? How old are you?”

He makes a low, disagreeable sound. “How old are you?”

I gasp in mock outrage. “It’s rude to ask a woman how old she is.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know—early forties? Which, for the record— hot . I’m twenty-eight, and I love an age gap.”

He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to my thigh while I’m still slung over his shoulder. As he climbs the steps back toward the shop, he asks roughly, “Is that right? What’s your upper limit on age gaps, little trespasser?”

I hum thoughtfully. “Anything over twenty-five years might be pushing it. But I consider myself fairly open-minded.”

He drops me onto his sofa without ceremony. I didn’t even realize we’d made it into his apartment. I bounce once, legs falling open slightly as I catch my breath.

“You consider yourself open-minded, do you?” Cal echoes, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yes.” It slips out breathless, barely audible.

His smirk is devastating. Sinful. He stands over me like some kind of sea-drenched demigod, all shadows and soft bulk and sovereign power.

My pulse skitters. “Are you about to test that?”

He chuckles. “This body is forty-three. But it’s been forty-three for… over a hundred years.”

My mouth goes dry. “How—uh, how many over a hundred?”

“A hundred and twenty-one,” he says.

I blink. “Okay, so I failed out of math. Twice. But that makes you, what—one-sixty-two?”

He tilts his head, studying me. “Does that scare you?”

“No.” My voice is quiet now. “It’s not the thing that scares me most.”

He kneels between my legs, palms warm against the tops of my thighs. “What scares you most?”

“That none of this scares me at all.”

He leans forward and presses his mouth just above my knee. I almost choke on my own breath. “Before I put my mouth on you properly, I want a safe word.”

I blink rapidly, mind scrambling. “Cthulhu.”

His laugh is surprised and bright, and it’s a beautiful sound I immediately want to hear again. “You’re serious?”

“Do I strike you as an unserious person?” I ask solemnly.

“Dearest Neviah,” he murmurs against the inside of my thigh, lips brushing bare skin, “I would never accuse you of being unserious about something like this.”

The endearment lands like a thunderclap. Dearest Neviah . He says my name like it rhymes with every precious thing. I feel its impact in my chest and my throat and coiling hot behind my hips.

“Something like what?” I ask carefully.

Cal grins up at me, wicked and unrepentant. “Letting a monster fuck you.”

I don’t really expect him to dive in straight away—he’s too much of a tease for that—but it’s still what I brace for.

Instead, his mouth moves over the insides of my thighs with intent, drawing heat to the surface of my skin in painfully slow, deliberate passes.

The first touch of his lips is featherlight, more air than pressure.

A brush, a breath. Another, and another, then his tongue, hot and indulgent, ghosting lines that make my exhale stick in my throat.

When he sucks—gently, experimentally—just above the tendon at the crease of my thigh, I make a startled, gasping sound, and I feel the curve of his smile against my skin.

He’s exploring. He’s playing . Alternating suction and pressure, using his lips, his tongue, occasionally his teeth—even just the heat of his breath.

He’s mapping my responses like he’s collecting data to catalog.

Every flicker of tension in my muscles, each stuttering breath I can’t regulate, any sound that spills out of me.

“I want to learn every sound you make,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, the vibration of it ghosting through me as he noses higher, so close now it’s unbearable.

Even if I wasn’t drenched from head to foot from my impromptu swim, my panties would be soaked by now. “I want to become an expert in you.”

The words hit me like a hot pulse behind my ribs. I reach for levity because I have to—because I don’t know how else I’m meant to survive this.

“You’re making a great start,” I say shakily, and my voice cracks right through the words. Then the thought ambushes me—brutal, insistent, and serrated with jealousy. “Have you ever been with a human before?”

He pauses, blinking up at me. A crooked smile tugs at one corner of his mouth. His lips are wet and just a little swollen from the attention he’s lavishing on me.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, clearly entertained.

I lift my chin, trying not to blush. “Maybe. Just a little.” I suppose there’s no point in lying.

He huffs a delighted little laugh. “No. I haven’t. Not with a human, or otherwise.”

I tilt my head. “Or otherwise?”

There’s a long moment of hesitation. He presses another kiss to the inside of my thigh, softer this time. His gaze stays dipped. “No. I’ve never been with anyone.”

I stare at him. “Wait. You’re a virgin? You’re a hundred sixty-two, but you’ve never...”

He shrugs with a kind of self-assurance that borders on smug. “I’ve got two hands. And eight tentacles. I know what to do with them.”

“Jesus.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Yes. You clearly do.”

He shifts slightly, pressing another kiss just below my hip, and the heat of his breath fans over the hem of my panties.

“I can tell what you like, and what you don’t like,” he murmurs. “Your scent changes.”

A full-body shiver rolls through me. My skin tingles. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this wet in my life—seawater notwithstanding.

I reach for his hair, fingers sinking into thick, salt-damp strands that are beginning to curl as they dry.

I tug gently to guide him, and he makes a sound in response—low, half-growl, half-purr—and the vibration of it pulses straight through my hips.

My thighs clench. I swear I could come from that sound alone.

I let my palm drift down to cup his cheek, and he leans into it for a breath, tentacles twitching slightly where they’re sort of puddled around me on the sofa. My chest pulls tight.

“What do I smell like to you?” I ask.

His eyes flick up to meet mine. “It’s difficult to describe,” he admits. “But… maybe like the sea. Or like home. Every one of my favorite things. The smell of the stone steps after it rains. The taste of salt on my tongue. The feel of slippery rocks in the tidepools under my feet.”

I’m fighting for my life. There’s precious little air in my lungs and they don’t seem to want to bring any more in, either.

Cal brushes a kiss over the inside of my knee. “I bet you taste even better than you smell. Can I taste you, Neviah?”

I huff a breathless laugh. “I’ll be deeply unimpressed if you don’t, after all that talk.”

He pauses, but there’s a flicker of mirth in his dark eyes, which have desaturated to a deep gray blue. “You don’t like it when I talk?”

“I love it when you talk. Please don’t stop.”I shift my hips forward. I’m vaguely aware that I’m making a wet patch on his sofa with my soaked clothes, but I don’t think he cares or even notices.

He hums, and his mouth finds me through the barrier of my panties, warm breath ghosting over soaked fabric. When his tongue finally drags over my swollen pussy through cotton, my back arches and my head tips back on a choked sound.

He groans, and the vibrations rack through me.