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As I sailed here, I plotted all of the ways I’d make Captain Hook scream. But now that I’m standing in front of him, a scream doesn’t seem quite as satisfying as a moan.
“You missed me, Captain,” I say and toss a peanut shell. “I missed you too.”
We are a dichotomy, the Captain and I. He wants to forget who he is and I am afraid I might not remember who I was.
He winks at me, swats me on the ass, and steps inside. I really am going to murder him. I mean it this time. More than any of the other times before.
He rolls his eyes at me. Bloody hell he has the fucking best eye roll. So sexy and rolly.
And yet some days I am aware that I am driven mostly by fear. Fear of who I am. Fear of who I’m not. Fear of what happens when I face myself in the mirror. To be bold is to be truthful and I am built of lies.
“Blow jobs are a power dichotomy,” he says and sits up straighter, dusting the shell from his hands. “Most people think that being on your knees and getting railed in the face is a position of submission. But a man is never more vulnerable than he is when his cock is in someone’s mouth. Especially a mouth with sharp teeth.”
“Please accept my apologies.” I reach across the table and pat her hand. “I plan on fucking him tonight so I must decline.”
“Tell me, Captain, are you sober? Do you know what you’re asking for? Because once you have it, there is no turning back.” “Are you insinuating you’re a drug?” I smile showing all my sharp teeth. “I’m insinuating that once you have me, you will not be the same after.”
“You get six words. More. Harder. Stop. Slower. God. Fuck. Now stop being so difficult and let me take care of you. All right?”
