“It’s about to be.” I stroke his cock. “I want to suck your cock. Now.” It’s framed as a request, but from the way he narrows his eyes, he knows it’s anything but.
Still, he doesn’t move. “I’ll allow it, Tink. This one time.”
He’s not talking about the blowjob. He’s talking about my topping from the bottom. Instead of answering, I lean down and drag my tongue up the underside of his cock. He lengthens beneath my touch, and I allow myself one last look before I take him into my mouth. There are times when a hard and fast blow job is the name of the game. Not now. I explore him with my mouth the same way he explored me with his last night. Learning him. Memorizing his taste and feel against my tongue.
He laces his fingers through my hair and pulls it back from my face. I open my eyes and look up his body to find him watching me. His smile is nowhere in evidence. No, he looks at me like he’s the big bad wolf and I just wandered into his forest.
I suck him harder, and his grip tightens in my hair. I hold his gaze as I work his cock, and I’m not even sure what I’m trying to convey. Pure lust, maybe.
Hook gives a deliciously deep growl. “You’ve made a mistake, beautiful girl. Waking me up to that hot, wet mouth. You’ll be lucky if I don’t command you to be my alarm every single fucking day.”
I’d do it. I don’t even know why, but I’d do it. Seeing him like this is almost like seeing him without his mask. He’s not the charming, boisterous man who moves through this city, hiding everything behind that fucking smile.
The truth of him is that he’s just as much a survivor as I am. That he’ll fight until he can’t fight any more in order to never go back to feeling helpless again. That he’s mine. At least in this moment.
“Suck me harder, Tink.” His voice is low and almost angry. “You want this? Fucking finish it.”
Though part of me wants to keep teasing him, I obey. I give myself over to sucking his cock. Taking him as deep as I’m able to, using my fist to make up the difference. My jaw aches, but I welcome the pain. It means I’m still alive, still here.
His fingers tighten in my hair, and he curses as he orgasms. I drink him down, watching every expression play over his face. He looks fucking wrecked, staring at me like he’s never seen me before, like I’m some kind of phantom who wandered into his room to give him one hell of a morning blow job.
I give him one last long suck and sit up. “Thank you for last night.”
“Don’t thank me. It was driven entirely by selfish desires.” He moves faster than I anticipate, grabbing my arms and hauling me onto him. I squirm, but he bands his arms around me, keeping me in place. Hook’s dark gaze flicks over my face before finally settling on my mouth. “Good morning.”
I feel like I’ve been stripped bare, which doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. He’s the one who just showed me far too much. I should be feeling secure in my power, at least for the moment.
Instead, I’m fighting not to shake.
This time, when I thrash, he releases me. I bolt from the bed, practically running to the bathroom and closing myself in. I lean against the door, breathing hard. What the hell is wrong with me? I press a shaking hand to my chest. My heart feels like it’s trying to break through my rib cage. I can’t catch my breath. Is this what dying feels like?
A knock on the other side of the door. “Tink.”
“Leave me alone.” I sound just as desperate as I feel. Worse, there’s a thickness to my voice that mirrors the feeling clogging my throat. Oh no.
“Open the door.”
“No!”
I actually hear his sigh over the blood pounding in my head. “We need to talk about this.”
“The fuck we do.”
Another pause, longer this time. Finally, he says, “I’ll give you thirty minutes. When I come back upstairs, you either open the door or I break it down.”
I hear him walk to the elevator, hear the doors whisk shut. Only then do I slump to the floor. What the hell is wrong with me? Hook systematically broke me down last night and then swaddled me in tenderness while I recovered. There isn’t a single damn thing he could do this morning that would top that scene. I’m the one who initiated things.
My body isn’t listening to logic, though. My fight or flight responses are all tangled, pushing for me to act and act now, screaming that I’m in danger. I can’t combat it because I am in danger.