Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to give in without damaging my already bruised pride.
I dig through the fridge and am mildly surprised to find it fully stocked with fresh produce and a variety of other things. I didn’t know he could cook. It’s not numbered among my skillset, so I dig around until I find an apple and some peanut butter. There are also protein bars in the cabinet, protein shakes, and some tubs of powder with vaguely fitness looking labels. Of course there are.
I ignore all those and slice up the apple and dab a metric shit ton of peanut butter on the plate. It works for a snack but less so for a meal. Maybe I can order out? I stare at my plate. Focusing on food and work seem all well and good, but what they’re really doing is failing to distract me.
Approaching this situation haphazardly and without committing isn’t doing me any favors. The risks are too high to ignore; it’s why I’m here in the first place. More, my feelings for Hook aren’t as straightforward and negative as I had convinced myself they were. I care about him. I want him. Denying us both that pleasure when the threat of Peter’s shadow stretches over our every move …
I sigh. All those things are true, yes, but they aren’t why I’m contemplating how I’ll play tonight. No. The truth is I want Hook. That’s it. Which means there’s only one course of action to take.
I need to crawl on my knees and beg for his cock.
My stomach gives a weightless little flip that isn’t entirely pleasant. Humiliation isn’t my kink, but I have a feeling meeting Hook’s terms will be anything but humiliating. And the reward for the little sting to my pride? Worth it. More than worth it.
It’s official.
Tonight I’m fucking Hook.
Chapter 15
Hook
Another day wasted with no sign of Peter. I see evidence of him in the reports of my people finding chilly responses from small business owners in the southern portion of the territory. I collect two percent of all profits. Not a huge amount in the grand scheme of things, not with the services I provide. And I sure as shit do provide services beyond keeping all the other problematic players out of this area. My people have a problem, they come to me or Nigel, and we ensure it’s handled. Whether it’s an unexpected fire or some issue with inheritance or even that they need some shit moved around and don’t have the employees to handle it.
We’re multipurpose like that.
What we don’t do, the thing that’s fucking us right now, is put the fear of god into these people.
I don’t lead by love. That shit is for the birds. Love can sour and go cold and any number of bad outcomes. Fear works. And they do fear me, just not as much as they fear Peter. Because I have lines that Peter will happily cross whenever he feels like it. He’s got to this portion of the territory. I don’t know how, because we’ve had people watching that area specifically, but the proof is undeniable.
I’m so fucking furious, I want to charge through the streets, bellowing his name until he meets me for the final battle we both know is bearing down on us. If I thought for a second it’d work, I might actually do it.
But no, I have to stay the course. Peter has to come to me, and I have to deal with him once and for all.
First, I have to deal with my wife.
I find her working over a desk that definitely wasn’t in my suite when I left earlier. She’s got several colors of fabric draped over the open wardrobe doors and a dress form thing with thin white fabric pinned in place around it. I can almost see the shape of the dress she’s working on, but the blue marks on it might as well be Latin for all I understand them.
Sap that I am, I stand there and watch her work. Her brows are furrowed in concentration as she circles the dress form with pins carefully held between her full lips. A tuck here. A fold there. Each deftly held in place in the span of a heartbeat, though I would have stuck my fingers several times by now.
Tink is always beautiful. Always fierce. Always a woman I’m drawn to, often despite myself.
Seeing her so lost in creating a piece of clothing? It’s like seeing through a tiny window into her soul. She’s more than the submissive with a snarky attitude and a quick mouth. More than the strong person who survived shit no one should have to survive. She’s a shining goddamn star barreling through the heavens and fuck if I don’t feel privileged to watch her trajectory.