I sink further onto him, gasping as the specialized suckers along his cock pulse against my inner walls, creating sensations that radiate outward in waves. His other tentacles support my weight completely, allowing him to control the pace as he gradually sheathes himself inside me.
“You feel—” His words dissolve into a groan, the gold in his eyes flaring brighter. “Nothing like I imagined. Better.”
I roll my hips experimentally, and the noise he makes—half growl, half moan—sends a fresh rush of heat through me. “You imagined this?” I rock down harder, taking him deeper, feeling his cock twist slightly inside me, finding spots I didn’t know existed. “When?”
His tentacles tighten, one sliding between our bodies to circle my clit with teasing precision. “Since you touched me without fear.” He thrusts up, careful but unmistakably hungry.
The admission triggers something primitive in me. I lean forward, nipping at the place where his neck meets his shoulder, tasting salt and something wild. “I’m not afraid now either.”
“Good.” He surges up, his cock twisting deeper inside me until stars burst behind my eyes. “Because I need—”
He breaks off, but his body finishes the thought, tentacles coiling around my thighs, spreading me wider as he starts to move in earnest.
Each thrust hits deeper than should be possible, the spiraling ridges of his specialized tentacle creating friction against places I didn’t know could feel so good. One tentacle curls around my throat—not squeezing, just holding—while another plucks at my nipples with precise, teasing pressure.
“Harder,” I demand, past caring how desperate I sound.
His eyes narrow, pupils blown with need. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.” I claw at his shoulders, drunk on the feel of him. “Don’t hold back.”
Something shifts in his expression—restraint giving way to ancient and primal instincts. His tentacles lift me as he withdraws almost completely, then they slam me back down onto his length. The force of it punches a cry from my lungs, pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
“Like this?” he growls, repeating the motion until I’m babbling incoherently. “Taking all of me? Letting me fill you so deep you’ll feel me for days?” His tentacle beard brushes my cheek as he leans in. “I want to feel you come around me,” he says, his rhythm turning relentless, perfect. “I want to feel you squeeze every drop from me.”
The implication—that he could fill me with himself—sends a shock of heat straight to my core. It’s ridiculous, impossible, and yet the primitive part of my brain doesn’t care. I clench around him, suddenly desperate to feel him lose control.
“Do it,” I pant, my nails digging crescents into his shoulders. “Come inside me. Make me yours.”
The words trigger something in him, and his tentacles constrict around me as his pace turns frantic. “Mine,” he growls, the word more sound than language. “Mine.”
The possessiveness pushes me over the edge without warning. My orgasm crashes through me in waves, a sound escaping my throat as my inner walls pulse around his cock. He followsan instant later, his massive form tightening around me as he empties himself inside me, the sensation of being filled by his warm cum leaving me gasping.
For long moments, we stay joined, his tentacles supporting my weight as we both struggle to breathe. His hand traces my cheekbone with something that feels dangerously like tenderness, wiping away tears I didn’t realize I’d shed.
“Are you…?” he starts, concern edging into his voice.
“Perfect,” I assure him, pressing my forehead to his. “That was perfect.”
He makes a low, rumbling sound of contentment, his tentacles loosening their grip but not releasing me entirely. Instead, he shifts us both until we’re lying on the bed, his cock still nestled inside me, my body cradled in a living cocoon of limbs that feels impossibly secure.
I should feel strange—tangled with a creature from the depths, filled with his seed, marked by his suckers. Instead, I just feel… whole. Like I’ve finally found the piece of myself I didn’t know was missing.
“Well,” I say, finding my voice oddly shy despite what we just did, “that was…”
“Indeed,” he agrees, a tentacle lazily tracing patterns on my hip.
I laugh, the sound slightly breathless. “For someone who claims to have had no practice, you’ve got some moves.”
His tentacle beard twitches with amusement. “I may have had some time to… contemplate the possibilities.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now? Contemplation?” I poke his side, grinning when he mock-flinches.
For a moment, we just lie there in comfortable silence. It’s weird how not-weird this feels—being wrapped in tentacles, my body still humming from the touch of a creature I didn’t know existed not too long ago. The whirlwind of it all should probably scare me more than it does.
“What happens when you’re healed?” I ask finally, voicing the question that’s been hovering at the edges of my mind. “After the stitches come out?”
His tentacles shift, not quite tensing, but definitely not as relaxed as before. “I suppose I return to the sea.”
