Free Web NovelChapter 17: Siren Stronghold [ 13 ] [R-18]
"Stop calling it that."
The tentacle split its focus. The tip traced along her folds while the body of it pressed against her inner thigh, keeping her legs spread. She was wet. Had been for a while, if the ease of the tentacle’s movement was any indication. It glided along her slit, not entering, just mapping it out.
Her hips chased it. Every time it pulled back, she arched up. Every time it pressed forward, she ground down. The table was creaking in a steady rhythm now. He made a mental note to reinforce it. Second table this week.
"More," she said.
"More what?"
Her hand slammed against the table. "Do I have to spell everything out?"
"In this establishment, enthusiastic communication is encouraged. It’s in the pamphlet."
"There’s a pamphlet?"
"Err... There’ll be one next week. Kinda forgot about it." freewebnøvel.com
She twisted her head to look at him. Her face was flushed dark, her pale green eyes glassy with need. A strand of silver-streaked hair stuck to her cheek. She looked nothing like a captain right now. She looked like a woman who’d been carrying the world for too long and someone had finally offered to hold it for a minute.
"Inside," she said. "Put it inside."
"The warming tool?"
"Whatever it is. I don’t care what it is. Just do it."
The tentacle pressed against her entrance. Slow. The tip was narrow enough to slip in without resistance, but the body widened, and as it pushed deeper, she felt every fraction of it. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
It slid in to the width of a finger. Then two fingers. Then something wider than any finger had a right to be. She stretched around it, her body accommodating, her back bowing in a sharp curve that lifted her chest off the table.
"Breathe," Nacho said.
She sucked in air like she’d forgotten how.
The tentacle began to move, Rolling inside her in waves, pressing against her walls in a pattern that was part massage technique and part something much older than massage. It found the spot on her front wall that made her legs shake and pressed.
"Fuck." She gripped the edges of the table so hard her knuckles went white. "Fuck, what is that?"
"Dunno. Targeted pressure therapy."
"Liar."
"Yeah."
The tentacle’s ridged surface dragged against that spot with each wave. Her body responded with a full-body tremor that started in her core and radiated outward, making her toes curl and her shoulders bunch. His hands kept working her back, thumbs digging into the muscles beside her spine, grounding her.
She started to rock against the tentacle. Matching its rhythm. Finding the angle that made the pressure hit exactly right. The sounds she was making had evolved from controlled grunts to something less guarded. Wet, desperate, half-formed syllables that she kept biting off.
"Let it out," he said.
"I can’t."
"Nobody’s listening. Lizbeth is most likely buying some new chairs, and you’re the only customer left. Also, the walls are thick."
They weren’t. The walls were thin as paper. But she didn’t need to know that.
She stopped biting back the sounds.
"Mmm~ Aaaah~ Aaah~ Ahh~!"
What came out was low and guttural and broken. A moan that had been living somewhere in her chest for months, maybe years, finally given permission to exist. It filled the small room and bounced off the stone walls.
The tentacle thickened inside her. Just slightly. Just enough that each undulation made her feel fuller, stretched in a way that bordered on too much without crossing the line. She pushed her face into her arms and made a sound like she was dying.
"Captain?"
"Don’t call me that right now."
Nacho hummed. "Rhea."
She shuddered at the sound of her name. "What?"
"Turn over."
She hesitated. Turning over meant facing him. Meant looking at him while this was happening. Lying face-down, she could pretend. Could file this away as something that happened to her body while her mind was elsewhere. Turning over made it a choice she was making with her eyes open.
The tentacle pulsed inside her. One long, warm wave that made her thighs clench.
She turned over.
Her undershirt had ridden up to just below her breasts. Her stomach was flat and hard, crosshatched with two thin scars that ran diagonal. Her legs were spread around the tentacle still inside her, and she stared at the ceiling with the expression of someone who’d just defected from their own army.
Then she looked at him.
"Take off the mask."
"I can’t do that."
"Why?"
"Hmm. It’s kind of a trade secret, you could say?" Nacho said.
"I’m lying here with your tool inside me and you won’t show me your face?"
"When you put it that way, it sounds unreasonable."
"It is unreasonable."
He considered it for a moment. By now, her eyes and thoughts were to jumbled, she wouldn’t be able to tell who he was, making his wanted identity void. Therefore, he reached up and pulled the mask down to his chin.
Her eyes widened. She took in the silver hair, the crimson eyes, the jaw, the mouth. Her lips parted.
"You’re... gods, you’re beautiful."
"I get that a lot too."
"Arrogant bastard."
Nacho shrugged. "No need to be jealous. You’re beautiful too."
The tentacle twisted inside her, and her comeback dissolved into a strangled moan. Her hand flew to his forearm and grabbed it. Not pushing away. Anchoring. Her nails dug in, five small crescents of pain.
He leaned over the table. Close enough that his breath ghosted across her collarbone. She smelled like iron and soap and something floral that she’d probably kill someone for knowing about.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
Her jaw clenched. The captain fighting the woman. Discipline versus need. A war she’d been losing since the moment the tentacle touched her skin.
"Harder."
The tentacle obliged. It moved faster, the undulations turning into something more aggressive. Not thrusting, still that rolling, grinding pressure, but amplified. The wet sounds filled the room. Her heels dug into the table, lifting her hips, driving herself onto it.
"Like that," she gasped. "Like that, don’t stop."
He didn’t stop. His free hand slid under her undershirt, up her stomach, over the scars she’d earned in places he’d never been. Her skin was hot under his palm. He found her breast and cupped it. She arched into his hand, pressing herself against him, and the sound she made was so raw it almost didn’t sound human.
"More. Mmm~" Her voice had gone hoarse. "Give me more."
