Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Tink

My world has gone topsy-turvy in the last twelve hours. Marriage. One of the hottest scenes I’ve ever participated in, and I’m not talking about the five-some. Being the center of Hook’s attention—and when we’re together, I truly am the center of his attention—is exhilarating and terrifying. He makes me want to push against the line he draws in the sand just to see what he’ll do.

He makes me want to obey without question.

I’m still spinning when the car pulls up in front of his building. He opens the door and helps me out, every inch the courteous rogue, as if an hour ago he wasn’t finger fucking me while he threatened a gang bang. I still haven’t decided if it was meant as reward or punishment. I get the feeling that Hook enjoyed scening with the other Doms as much as I did. That he likes to watch as much as I like to be in the spotlight.

Between one blink and the next, we’re inside the elevator. Another blink and we’re in his room. I’m weaving on my feet, the events of the last few days catching up with me.

I make a beeline for the bed, but he hooks me around the waist and turns us toward the bathroom. “You’ll sleep better this way.”

“Your shower is amazing, but I don’t want to sleep in it.”

“Smartass.” But he says it fondly. “You have two minutes, and then we’re getting ready for bed.” He nudges me into the bathroom and shuts the door.

I take care of business and peek out the door to find him standing there … naked.

I stare. I can’t help it. I know I should be aloof and unaffected, but holy shit, he’s so gorgeous I can barely stand it. His lean body is carved with muscle from his shoulders to his calves. I nibble my bottom lip as I eye his thighs, lightly dusted with dark hair. I’m not a biter, but I have the sudden impulse to become one.

And then there’s his cock.

He’s perfectly sized. Long and thick, and I just know he’ll fill me in exactly the way I crave.

I take a step forward before I catch myself and look up to find him watching me with a single raised eyebrow. I manage to dredge up a glare. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re saying it with your cock. Knock it off.”

Hook snorts. “For someone who says she doesn’t want my cock, you’re staring at it awfully hard.”

“It’s pretty.” Whoops. Didn’t mean to say that aloud. But now that it’s out there, I can’t help wanting to make one thing clear. “You said my pussy was yours.”

He goes still. “I did.”

“That’s some archaic misogynistic bullshit, but it works for me, so don’t stop.”

He barely seems to breathe. “And?”

The words stop up in my chest, but I’ve gone too far to back out now. This is part of the negotiations I didn’t think to include when we were rushing to the altar and then to Hades’s club tonight. I lift my chin. “If my pussy is yours, then your cock is mine.”

“Agreed.” He says it far quicker than I anticipate. “Are you saying you don’t want to share it?”

Am I saying that?

I shake my head before the thought reaches completion. We covered this before. I know we did. But it was barely theoretical at that point, and now it’s all too real. “I liked Gaeton sucking your cock. I would have really liked watching you fuck his ass. The group sex stuff is fun.” I give myself another shake. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

He smiles slowly. “My cock is yours, beautiful girl. I won’t touch anyone else unless we’re in a scene and the boundaries are clearly defined.” His smile widens. “Naturally, you don’t get to ride my cock until the terms are met. But you have my consent to touch to your little heart’s delight.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re just looking for a hand job.”

“Maybe I’m just looking for you.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I back into the bathroom before my mouth can betray me yet again. Then I stand there, feeling out of sorts, while Hook works his truly impressive shower. It’s got six shower heads—two on each side and two overhead. He leaves the overhead ones off but turns the others on. Standing in there will be a bit like standing in a really sexy car wash. I can get on board with that.

I reach for my sweatshirt, but he gets there first. “Let me.”

“I’m twenty-five. I’ve been dressing and undressing myself for a very long time.”

“And yet I’ve only been dressing and undressing you for a few hours.” For all that, it doesn’t take him long to get me naked. When I agreed to this, I expected down and dirty fucking. I didn’t expect the gentleness and … care. I don’t know what to do with the latter. It’s not within my frame of reference. Aftercare is one thing. I know how to handle that. This is something else.

He nudges me into the shower, and I let him, still muddling over why this feels so damn different. It’s not until he’s pouring my shampoo into his hand that it registers. I jump back, nearly slipping on the wet tile. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He sounds so mild, it makes me feel like I’m overreacting.

I know I’m not overreacting. “You’re trying to tame me.”

His eyebrows damn near disappear into his hairline. “You’re not a horse.”

“No shit, I’m not a horse. You can’t just fuck me and take care of me and expect me to fall all over myself to please you.”

Just like that, his expression crinkles, and he loses it. His laugh booms through the space, bouncing off the tiled walls. “You have some funny ideas about the ownership of a horse.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Yes, beautiful girl. I know what you mean.” He steps to me, and I freeze, but the only place he touches me is my hair, gathering it carefully in his big hands and massaging the shampoo into it. “I’m not taming you. I’m taking care of you.”

“I know aftercare. This isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it?” He tilts my head back to rinse my hair, his expression contemplative. “Call it what you want. I like to do it, so I will. That’s reason enough for me.”

I might strangle this man. I truly might. “You don’t get to just decide that you want to do something and then do it. That’s not how the world works.”

“That’s exactly how the world works for the powerful. You know it as well as I do.” He studies the bottles I stashed in the shower earlier. “Conditioner?”

“I can—” I sigh when he ignores me and repeats the same process he did with the shampoo. “I don’t want this.”

“Then use your safe word.” He takes longer with the conditioner, working it through my wet hair until all the tangles are smoothed out.

I realize I closed my eyes without intending to and open them. “That’s for scening.”

“Wrong. That’s for us.” He’s silent as he rinses my hair. “I like my lines blurred, Tink. All except for that one.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “So, what, you want me to submit all the time? We already talked about this, and you damn well know that’s not what I signed up for.”

“I want you to communicate.” He contemplates me for a moment and then steps back to begin his own washing process. I try to tell myself that the sinking feeling in my chest isn’t disappointment. I watch his muscles bunch and move as he soaps his hair and beard. He ducks under the spray and drags his hand over his face when he’s rinsed. “Since you’re incapable of talking without biting and snarling, your safe word is the only no I’ll listen to.”

“Get ready to hear it a lot.”

He grins, and I hate that my stomach gives a happy little jump at the mirth on his face. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

We finish showering in silence. By the time we dry off and brush our teeth, I’m so tired, I don’t have the energy to fight him when he pulls me into his massive bed and tucks his big body against my side.

I stare up at the stars visible through the thick panes of glass overhead and listen to Hook’s breathing even out. His arm is heavy across my waist, but for once, I don’t mind.

There’s one lie I never let myself believe; the lie where I tell myself that I’m finally safe. I’m not. I’ve never been safe. Not in foster care, no matter how seemingly kind the household. Certainly not with Peter, when every breath felt like it was on borrowed oxygen, an increasing price that I’d never be able to pay. Even in Hades’s household, there was always the deadline hanging over my head. I’d let myself believe the expiration date might not matter so much, and look where that left me.

I can’t afford to believe the lie here.

Hook fully intends to use me as bait. The whole point of bait is that it gets plucked right before the trap springs shut. He cannot guarantee my safety, even if he is inclined to try. Letting the fucking and weird aftercare go to my head will only backfire.

I’m so goddamn tired. The kind of exhaustion that spans years, rather than days and months. Decades, even. Sometimes, I feel like I’ve been exhausted from the moment I drew my first breath and the woman who birthed me promptly gave me away.

As if sensing my mood, even in his sleep, Hook draws me closer and nuzzles my temple. The heat of him steals through my body, relaxing me muscle by muscle despite myself. I only intend to close my eyes for a moment, but the next time I open them, dawn steals across the sky overhead.

It’s beautiful, like a painting made just for me. I didn’t expect this kind of romantic thing from Hook, though he didn’t create this room with me in mind. He must have done it for the sheer joy of sleeping under the night sky. It’s frivolous, but I appreciate it all the more for it.

I roll over to find him on his back, his face and body still relaxed in sleep. He’s beautiful in the way a lightning storm is beautiful. Gorgeous and deadly and overwhelming. He’ll level me if I give him half a chance.

The smart thing to do after last night is put as much distance between us as possible. Hook isn’t offering me anything beyond revenge. Getting my emotions mixed up just because he happens to be a good Dom and seems invested in my pleasure and emotional well-being—at least where fucking is concerned—is a mistake. Once the threat Peter represents is eliminated, Hook will have no more use for me.

I don’t know how annulling a marriage works. We haven’t had sex by the most Catholic of definitions, which I’m pretty sure is a requirement. But even if an annulment isn’t an option, divorce always is. I’ve survived this much. A divorce is barely a speed bump.

It still leaves me feeling unsettled. Maybe it’s because divorce seems like a flavor of failure, and that’s not something I’ve ever had much peace with. Yes, that must be it. I can’t change my nature, even when it’s concerning a sham of a marriage.

Hook shifts, and the sheet slips lower on his waist. Dark hair dusts his bellybutton and trails south. I saw him in all his glory last night before, during, and after the shower, but that doesn’t stop me from tugging the sheet down, inch by inch.

Now that I have more time to study him, I notice faint scars. Small circular ones on his chest that I recognize as cigarette burns. A jagged scar on his thigh that must have been horrifically painful when it happened. My attention turns back to the burns. Those are from his father. I’d bet my last dollar on it. Hugh Hook had an unfortunate name and an even more unfortunate temper. He’d worked for Peter’s father and then for Peter when he took over the territory. I remember bloodshot eyes and a temper that warned me to keep my distance, though even the most foolhardy person in Peter’s territory wouldn’t touch me for fear of reprisal.

No, that privilege was Peter’s and Peter’s alone.

I shudder. Like Hook, I have my own scars from the time I spent helpless in this territory. Unlike him, mine are all internal. Scars on my very soul, wounds that still bleed at the most unexpected times.

I desperately don’t want to think about that. Not now. Not ever. In the dark of the night, sometimes I lie awake and fear creeps in. Fear that I’ll never be free of Peter. Fear that the abuse he dealt during those four years will continue to poison anything good for the rest of my life.

He took those years from me. I desperately don’t want him to take my future, too.

I close my eyes and take long, slow breaths. One after another, until the frantic circling of my thoughts eases, just a little. The fear isn’t gone. It’s never really gone. I’ve just learned to live with it.

I don’t examine my motivations too closely as I climb to my knees and shift to kneel between Hook’s legs. I want to do this, so I’m going to do this. As simple as that. I run my hands over his thighs. His breathing stays deep and even, but his cock twitches. I almost laugh. The man is nothing if not consistent.

“Hook.” He doesn’t move, so I brace my hands on his thighs and give him a squeeze. “Jameson.”

He opens those dark eyes still fogged with sleep. “Morning.”

“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.

For the first time, it’s not what Peter might do to my body that I’m afraid of.

It’s what Hook could do to my heart.