Hooked: A Dark, Contemporary Romance (Never After #1)(74)

His lips meet mine, and I sink into the kiss, fully giving in, accepting that this is what I want.

All of his deep, dark, and slightly unhinged pieces. I choose every single one.

I choose him.

He pushes up my oversized shirt—another one of his that I put on—his fingers dipping between my legs and groaning when he meets naked skin. I pull his face back to mine, staring into his eyes, taking in the white lines that run through the cerulean blue. Leaning in, I kiss him.

He groans, pushing down his boxers, his fingers sweeping through my folds. “I have dinner planned, but I feel as if I deserve a treat.”

My stomach jumps, my body lighting up with heat and love and acceptance.

I’m done fighting it.

James may not be a hero, but even villains can feel. And you can’t help who you love.

He grips his length, running the tip of himself up and down my entrance, pleasure snaking its way through my middle.

“You’re such a good girl, ready and waiting to take my cock,” he rasps into my ear.

Butterflies fly through my stomach and up into my chest, my hips rising to force him inside, desperate to feel him fill me in only the way he can.

“James, please,” I beg.

He circles his tip on my sensitive nerves until my legs start to tremble, and only then does he move himself down to my opening and slide all the way inside me. He leans back, his hips flush with mine, and he rips off his undershirt, his scarred body hovering on top of me.

“You’re beautiful,” I gasp as he pulls out and thrusts back in.

He smirks. “Am I?”

“Yes.” My heart swells in my chest and my hand reaches up to trail along his jaw. “You’re dark and moody and mysterious. But beautiful.”

Leaning down, he sucks my tongue into his mouth and sets a steady pace, my walls squeezing around his length as if my body wants him closer. Needs him deeper. His lips break away, his hand wrapping around my throat the way he knows I love.

“Darling, if I’m the dark, then you’re the stars.”

And then he squeezes, cutting off my air supply, my vision going blurry moments later. My hands dig into his shoulder blades, fingernails cutting into his skin as I give in to the burn of my lungs, my middle winding tighter with each second that I rim the edge of consciousness. I explode, my vision going black, my head growing fuzzy, and my walls contracting around his cock. Euphoria sizzles beneath my skin.

He groans in my ear, continuing his rough pace as I come back to myself, my lungs expanding with every breath.

“Do you want my cum, pet?” he asks.

I moan. “Yes, please.”

“I do love it when you beg.” He pulls out, moving up my body until his knees rest on either side of my chest. “Be my good girl and suck it out.”

His length bobs in front of me, glistening from my juices, and throbbing from his need for release. I grasp it in my hands, feeling it pulse beneath my fingers, and pull it into my mouth, moaning at the taste of my cum on his skin.

I swirl my tongue around the head and relax my jaw as he pumps his hips, his length hitting the back of my throat. My eyes water, but I breathe deep through my nose, his hands fisting my hair and his head thrown back, mouth slightly parted.

Seeing him in the throes of pleasure sends a rush of power spiraling through me. I suck hard as he thrusts, gagging as he pushes past the back of my mouth and slips down my throat, spit dribbling from the corners of my lips and sliding down my face. My eyes burn, tears blurring my vision as his hips push until they’re flush against my face.

“That’s my girl,” he coos. “Taking my cock down your throat like a perfect little slut.”

The insult slices against my middle, but the way he says it makes me want to be his whore. To be filthy and depraved just for him.

Only ever just for him.

Suddenly, he pulls out of my mouth, and I gasp in a breath, my jaw aching. He grips himself and strokes, his hips thrusting into his fist. I watch, desire pooling low in my belly as his body tenses, the vein on the underside of his shaft physically pulsing as thick ropes of cum shoot from his tip. They land, hot and sticky, along my face, dribbling down my cheek and dropping onto my chest.

He lets out a long moan as he paints my skin with his pleasure, and the sight of him coming undone above me makes my insides clench with need.

His chest rises and falls as he catches his breath, his palm coming up to stroke my hair and brush across my face, rubbing his seed into my skin.

“So good to me,” he praises. “So absolutely perfect.”

My chest warms, satisfaction wrapping around me like a heated blanket on a winter’s night. I lean into his touch. “James?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I think I love you.”





42





James





She loves me. And she’s the first person, apart from my mother, who’s ever said those words.

I hadn’t realized until now just how much I needed to hear them. But instead of saying it back, I kissed her silly and gave her food and roses, like that would make up for the fact I couldn’t get the words to pass my lips. Not that I don’t feel them; I do. I just don’t know how to say them. And therein lies the problem.

But even though fear beats against my soul, worried she’ll take the words back, or still think I’m using her for some other purpose, I push it deep down, because what I’m about to partake in has nothing to do with love.