Hooked (Never After Series)

Waking up, I stretch, my body popping from the deepest sleep I’ve had in a long time—even before I was thrown in the basement of the JR. I yawn, rubbing my eyes and gaining my bearings, and as I glance around, half of me expecting to see Hook sleeping peacefully by my side.

He isn’t, of course.

I’m all alone. I sit up in the bed, wondering what I’m supposed to do. I make my way to use the restroom, splashing water on my face, and using the toothbrush that was laid out for me yesterday before the gala.

It’s odd, waking up in luxury, and using the facilities here as if they’re mine. It confuses me; tilts my insides off axis, making it difficult for my brain to remember that I’m not actually free to do anything.

Even if my chains are now invisible, they’re still there.

My gaze snags on the choker.

Well, almost invisible.

I walk back into Hook’s room, my eyes going to the bedroom door, expecting it to be locked the way it was last night. But when I walk over, grabbing the handle and tugging, it opens right up.

The yacht is completely silent and trepidation fills me, making my nerves jump beneath my skin as I make my way down the hallway, padding into the kitchen.

When I get there, I stop short, seeing Smee standing next to the sink.

My hand goes to my chest. “Oh my gosh, hi.”

He smiles. “Hi, Miss Wendy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I should have known someone would be here.” I wave him off, looking around. “Where’s Hook?”

His brow lifts. “You mean James?”

I tilt my head. It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone else call him that, and it makes me wonder just how close him and Smee are. He told me once that he doesn’t pry into Smee’s life, but I can’t imagine he lets just anyone call him by his given name.

And if they’re close, then that means Smee is just as bad as the rest of them.

I wait for the red-hot anger to spin through me, wanting to destroy everyone and everything responsible for my current situation, but it never comes. Instead, a resolute acceptance settles in my gut. A sick feeling follows quickly after, making me realize just how fast I’ve adjusted to this new reality.

“He’s busy running errands. Told me to make you feel at home.” He smiles. “Coffee?”

I watch him closely, unsure if I should take a drink from someone I don’t know. After all, the owner of this boat drugged me, so I wouldn’t put anything past anyone. This is their world, and I’m here, just trying to wade in their waters. I don’t really know what rule book criminals go by.

Although, technically, I guess Smee isn’t a criminal. He only works for one.

Shaking my head, I force a smile. “Do you think it would be okay if I go sit outside?”

He watches me closely for a minute, his eyes shifting, almost as if he’s debating on how to answer. I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say yes. I’m desperate to get some fresh air, to remind myself that I’m not still stuck in a dark, abandoned room with only my thoughts for company.

“Please, I promise I won’t go anywhere. I just…” My fingers tangle together on the countertop. “I want to soak up some sun.”

He nods. “Go ahead, Miss Wendy.”

A smile breaks across my face and I jump from the table, racing out of the side door and onto the sundeck.

I lie on one of the loungers, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t get comfortable, a jittery energy making my legs restless. I glance around, not seeing Smee anywhere. I see the edge of the dock a few steps away, and the idea of being able to walk around, maybe put my feet in the water, makes my muscles twitch with need.

I head back to the door, about to go inside and ask Smee if it’s okay, but stop myself. What the hell am I doing? It’s not like I’m leaving.

Anyone would be able to see me from the boat if they’re standing on the sundeck and looking. I pull my hand back from the doorknob, and with my heart in my throat, I walk toward the exit, stepping off the yacht and onto solid ground.

Part of me expected that once I stepped off the boat, I’d feel the urge to run. But surprisingly, it doesn’t come. And as I make my way to the edge of the dock, the rays sinking into my skin, it hits me that maybe I’m not desperate to leave because if I do, I’m not sure what I’ll be going back to.

I can’t imagine going to the mansion and living with my dad. Not after knowing the things I do. Not after hurting the way I am.

I’m sure I’ve lost my job at The Vanilla Bean. Not showing up to shifts is a sure way to get fired, and it’s been days.

Angie is either worried sick or has written me off as a lost cause. We weren’t be-all and end-all besties, and as much as we got along, she’d only known me for a couple of months.

Jon will still be gone.

And I’ll just be alone. With no job, no prospects, and no family.

My heart clenches in my chest.

I’m not sure how long I sit here, my feet dangling above the water, but I’m snapped out of my self-reflection when footsteps sound from behind me. I turn, seeing Hook stalking down the wooden walkway, his mouth twisted and eyes narrowed.

He looks extremely unhappy.

My stomach curls in on itself.

I open my mouth to say hi, but before I get the chance, his hand is wrapping around my arm and ripping me up, his grip bruising. I stumble as I stand, grasping onto his suit to keep steady.

He doesn’t say a word, just starts dragging me back toward The Tiger Lily, his jaw muscles clenching as I scramble to keep up. “Ouch, you’re hurting me.”

His fingers tighten when I say it, my feet taking three steps to his every one. I glance around, wondering if anyone else is at the marina who would maybe show some concern, but there’s no one in sight. And if there is, I’m sure Hook has them all under his thumb, anyway. He seems like he can go anywhere; do anything and remain untouchable.

We make it back to the yacht, and he slides open the door, walking into the living room and flinging me onto the couch, my body bouncing as it hits the cushions. My hair flies into my face, and I reach up to wipe it away, irritation bubbling in my veins at his rough handling.

“Is that really necessary?” My fingers rub at where he gripped me, soothing the spot.

“Do you think this is a joke?” he asks, his voice cutting.

My brows furrow. “What? I—”

“You must,” he continues. “Because I cannot, for the life of me, understand what would make you think you could leave this boat.”

“I—”

He steps forward, his body towering over me. My heart pumps adrenaline into my veins.

His eyes lock on mine and my stomach flips.

“Do not mistake my generosity as weakness, Wendy.” His thumb presses into my bottom lip. “Or I will tie you to my bed until I break you of the will to leave.”

“Ugh!” I explode, anger scorching through my insides, exhausted from his hot and cold act. “You are so fucking insane!”

The second the words pass my lips, I know I’ve made a mistake. My hands shoot to my mouth, my eyes growing big and round.

He jerks back, his head cocking. “What did you just call me?” His question comes out as slow as thick syrup, controlled and dangerously sweet.

My palms drop from my lips, and even though I know I should take it back—apologize before it’s too late, I don’t—his Jekyll and Hyde personality bending me past the point of breaking. I push up on my elbows until my nose grazes against his. “I called you fucking crazy.”

His mouth parts, his breath leaving him on a slow exhale. It coasts across my face, and my tongue swipes along my bottom lip as if searching for his taste, my hands trembling at my sides.

He grabs my face and kisses me.

It catches me off guard, the feel of him so shocking I freeze in place. But when his tongue pries open my mouth, I lose myself to the feeling, releasing all of my emotions and pouring them into him.

I surge forward, my arms flying to his jaw, our teeth clacking as I climb his body, trying to get closer, to taste deeper. He groans, one of his hands tangling in my hair, the other wrapping around my waist and squeezing.

The kiss is anything but sweet. It’s twisted, and toxic; a poison masked in sugar, making you love the taste of death.

But for the life of me, I can’t stop.

His lips break away, trailing bites and nips along my jaw and down my neck, my head falling back on a moan as I cling to his shoulders. His fingers tighten their grasp on my waist, his hand leaving my hair as he lifts me up and spins me, the front of my body smacking into the back of the couch, my arms scrambling for purchase. His palms run down my sides, his thick erection pressing into my ass, his face resting in the crook of my shoulder. He slides his arm across my chest until his hand wraps around my throat. My nipples harden, a spike of heat thundering through me.

Goose bumps sprout when he glides his touch down the flat of my stomach, slipping underneath the boxers I’m wearing until his palm cups between my legs, his fingers sliding through my folds.

My abs tense.

“You think I’m crazy?” he rumbles into my ear. “You make me fucking crazy.” His teeth sink into the juncture of my neck right as his fingers plunge into my core, the sharp pain piercing through me and mixing with the pleasure of being filled.

My head flies back onto his chest, eyes rolling at the sensation.

“Tell me you like my hands on you, pet,” he demands. “Tell me you missed the way it feels.”

“I… missed—Oh, god.” His thumb presses firmly on my swollen clit, rubbing in sharp circles while his digits move in and out, his other hand manipulating the airways to my lungs.

My head is dizzy with lust, heat coiling tight in my womb and spreading outward, spinning me into oblivion until I’m on the verge of explosion.

“Do you apologize for breaking my rules?” He slows his movement.

My hips buck into him, desperate for the contact, so close to a release that I can’t focus on anything else. “Yes,” I breathe.

His fingers slip back in, curling inside and hitting something that makes my back arch, my mouth opening on a gasp.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Pleasure from his words burst inside of me like exploding stars, wetness dripping down his fingers and pooling in his hand.

His pressure on my windpipe increases, my breathing now constrained to tiny sips of air. Panic starts to seep into the moment, the darkest recesses of my mind screaming at me—begging me to remember that this man threatened my life less than twenty-four hours ago—that he could end it all right now if he wanted, and I’d die a pathetic, turned-on mess.

“And you’re not going to disobey me again, are you?” His teeth nip my earlobe, tingles racing down my spine.

“N-No,” I force out through the tightness of my throat. My insides squeeze, legs trembling, my hair matted to my face as pleasure makes my mind delirious with need. I whimper, my body screaming for release, teetering on the edge of bliss.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against my skin.

He pinches my clit, his fingers tightening on my neck until he cuts off my oxygen, and that combined with his praise makes my body combust, millions of bright lights dotting my vision as I come apart under his hands.

Sucking in lungfuls of air, my inner walls flutter rhythmically around him, and as I come back down to earth, my logic slowly starts to seep back in.

My body trembles against his, chest heaving from my heavy breaths.

He removes his hand, bringing it to my mouth and sliding his cum-covered fingers between my lips. The taste of myself combined with the salt of his skin sends aftershocks of pleasure trickling through me, and I lick him clean while he holds me upright.

“Don’t ever try to leave me again.”

I want to argue. Want to tell him that I wasn’t leaving. That it was his stupid “first mate” who said I could go outside. But I’m too tired to fight.

So I nod against his chest, choosing to live in my bliss for a little while longer, before the shame and grief resurfaces and swallows me whole.