I meet his eyes.
He finally slows just a hair. “Are you all right?”
“Let’s just get to the Jolly Roger, okay?” It’s odd that I feel safe on a pirate ship, but I do.
“That’s the plan.” He goes back to rowing viciously, his eyes unabashedly fixed on me.
I touch my wing again and get a glimpse of its pearly glow. It’s beautiful. Like Widow’s but bigger. They’re actually more similar to Tinker Bell’s. Her loss is one that tangles inside me, because I didn’t know her, not the real her. Everything I thought turned out to be wrong, but she was just as tangled as I am. Together, we’re a gordian knot, incapable of solving, forever tied into each other, even if one piece has gone irretrievably dark.
“Lass, I know you’re going through a million emotions. The time will come when we talk about all of it.” He stops rowing as we make it to the ship. “But I need you to focus on just one.”
“Which one?”
He grabs hold of the rope ladder that hangs by the hull. “Lust.” Holding out his hand, he takes mine and guides me up the ladder.
“You are literally the worst.”
“That’s what they say.” His smirk is sexy, and I could swear he knows it.
Climbing the rope ladder still isn’t easy, but I make it to the top without falling over or bursting a lung. As soon as my feet touch the deck, Hook is behind me, his hands on my hips as he guides me to his cabin.
“We should talk.”
“We will.” He takes my hand and pulls me along.
Smee rolls his eyes as we pass.
“No one enters my cabin. No one even comes near the fucking door,” Hook snarls.
“Aye, Captain.” Smee nods.
“Set a course for the Crystal Caves.”
“But the Neverstorm—”
Hook whirls on him, and Smee seems to cave in. “I mean, Aye Captain!”
Hook pushes me into his cabin and slams the door behind us. He’s on me immediately, his hands roving my body and yanking at my clothes. My shirt is already ripped at the back—he must’ve done it when my wings sprouted. He makes quick work of it, tossing the rags to the floor as he grabs my waist band and tucks his fingers in, then drags my pants down to my shoes. Before he finishes taking them off, he presses his mouth to my sex.
I moan, my knees going weak as he knee-walks me to the bed. When I sit, he strips me the rest of the way, spreads my legs, then buries his face between my thighs. I yelp, his onslaught sudden and shocking. He doesn’t hold back. His tongue licks all of me, and my hips jolt. He grips them, his shoulders pushing my thighs farther apart as he devours me.
Falling back, I lie on the bed, my wings beneath me as he presses his tongue inside me, then licks to my clit.
“Look at me, lass. I want to see your eyes roll back when you come.” His voice is gravelly and raw, his gaze on me as I stare down at him.
He goes back to my clit, flicking it again and again until my thighs begin to shake. Then he uses the broad side of his tongue to lick me, speeding up until my body winds so tightly I think I might break. That’s when I release, his name on my lips as I arch from the bed. He doesn’t stop, his mouth drawing more pleasure from me again and again as the orgasm seems to roll through me like thunder. My toes curl, my fingers gripping the blanket, and my mind swimming in bliss as he gives me exactly what I need right where I need it.
“Eyes on me!” he snaps before sliding two fingers inside me.
I let out a keening sound, my entire being wrapped up in James Hook as he pleasures me. When he seems to curl his fingers at just the right spot, my orgasm falls off another cliff, sending me splashing into the waters below as I writhe and take every bit of sensation he offers. He groans against my wet flesh, his tongue still working me through every aftershock, every spasm that sends jolts of fire through my blood.
When he finally pulls back, he stands and looks down at me. He reaches behind him and grabs his shirt, pulling it over his head in that particularly masculine way. Then he unbuttons his pants. When his cock pops free, I wet my lips.
He shucks his pants all the way off and stands naked before me, his body sculpted by years of life at sea and scarred from a multitude of violent deeds. He’s a work of art. Perfection lives in every marred bit of him, a broken thing that I can’t help but love. Completely. Irrevocably.
“There’s that look again, lass.” He strokes himself slowly, a bead of come forming at his tip. “The one that makes my blood burn for you.”
I meet his gaze, that deep blue of secrets and desire. “I’m yours.”
