Hooked (Never After, #1)(63)

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.