11. The Dance of the Depraved #2
Power pulsed in the air as something dark and ominous slithered through her insides. She stepped back as he looked at her with unapologetic hunger. Only a towel concealed her body from his view, but he seemed to have a good enough imagination to picture what she hid underneath.
The longer he stared, the tighter her insides coiled. She lifted her gaze and straightened her spine, refusing to show that he intimidated her.
A low chuckle spilled past his lips. “So brave, yet so timid.”
He crossed the room, which had warmed from the fire. It also helped that she was no longer chilled to the bone.
Hooking a finger under the material, he tugged, and the towel fell away. “That’s better,” he said, amused. “Courage is a tempting look on you.”
Hopelessness choked her. This was it. There was no way out. His dark stare stripped away all lingering pretense, and she lifted her chin, proving she wouldn’t cower.
It was a strange paradox. He was a lethal man, but also a beautiful one. It wasn’t fair that evil could be so pretty. She needed to remember who and what he was, a vile criminal set on ruining her. How strange that she would inevitably thank him for it.
She shivered and pressed her lips in a flat line. When her arm moved to cover her breasts, he gently tucked it back at her side.
“No, no. I want to see my prize.”
Never before had she stood nude before someone, let alone a man. Every breath was visible, and her chest burned with humiliated outrage. If she made an enemy of him, she’d never survive. She needed to calm her emotions and lead with logic.
“What are you thinking, darling?”
She was thinking that, despite him being her adversary, some twisted part of her could do this. She needed to please him, not torment him. He ultimately had control, and if she made this difficult for him, he would make it far worse for her.
Like a Chinese handcuff, the more she tried to force her exoneration, the more trapped she’d become. True freedom rested in captivity. And she had years of experience when it came to confinement.
If she cooperated and did as she was told, he’d start to trust her. Trust was the key to escape. The sooner she earned his trust, the faster she’d break free.
Forcing herself to abide his command, she relaxed her arms at her back and straightened her spine. “I’m just waiting for you… James.”
He closed the distance in two long strides. That quickly, the look in his eyes shifted from amused to dangerous. She cowered, but he caught her by the arm in an unbreakable grip.
“I’m not a game you get to play, little girl.”
Her bravado vanished, and she sucked in a breath as his hand tightened. “You’re hurting me.”
“Something I warned you about, but it seems you have a problem with listening.” His grip tightened another degree. “Let me make this crystal clear. I’m in control, not you.”
“J-James, please?—”
He shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth. “What did I say about using my first name?”
“I’m willingly surrendering to you. I’ll give you whatever you want. But you’re hurting me.”
He flung her away and turned. “You will address me with respect.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, sir.”
His eyes narrowed. “Put something on.”
He wanted her dressed? “I have nothing. My nightgown is?—”
He abruptly opened a drawer and pulled out a black button-down shirt, flinging it at her. “Cover yourself.”
Confused, she pulled the long dress shirt over her body. The material draped to her knees, and the sleeves billowed over her hands. He was a big man. The fabric smelled of rich spices and bergamot, a fragrance she now associated with him.
Every time he paced, he added to the nervous energy churning between them.
“If I did something wrong?—”
“Quiet,” he snapped. “I need to think.”
Was he having second thoughts?
He moved like sin incarnate, his muscular, leather-clad legs eating up the distance from one wall to another. The flickering candlelight cast his sharp features in shadows, enhancing the beauty of his sun-kissed skin.
He moved to the ornate desk in the corner and removed a sheet of paper. Hunching over the surface, he jotted something down.
“Come here.”
She hesitantly crossed the carpet. When she was within arm’s reach, he tugged her in front of him and made her face the desk.
“Sign.”
She stared down at the paper and read the jagged script.
I, Wendy Moira Angela Darling, willingly surrender my body to Captain James Hook.
X________________________________________
She stared at the simple contract. Why bother? She’d given her verbal consent when he threatened her with the rats down below.
“I don’t think?—”
“I said sign.” He grabbed her hand, wrapping it around the pen and forcing the tip to the slashed line he’d drawn.
Did he not realize that a contract was meaningless under duress? With a trembling hand, she scribbled her name.
“Good. It’s done.”
He tucked the paper back into the desk just as there was a rap at the door. Her spine stiffened, and she backed into the wall.
He unlocked the door, and several crewmen shuffled in, bearing gilded trays of food.
They set the platters on the table, and the scent of roasted meats filled the chamber.
The absurdity of it all—the porcelain plates, the silver forks, and the linen napkins—Wendy didn’t understand the need for such formality when she was here against her will.
He was getting his way whether he impressed her or not.
The men left, and her throat tightened. It was a ritual she’d never experienced, an adult dance of seduction she would undoubtedly fumble through with the awkwardness of an ignorant child.
He pulled out a chair. “Sit.”
Reluctantly, she left the safety of the wall, but her feet barely moved. Each baby step only carried her an inch closer to him.
“By all means, take your time. I love to wait when I give an order.”
Her halting steps forced her closer until she slowly lowered into the chair. He tucked her in, then reached over her shoulder, deliberately encroaching on her personal space to set her knife beside her plate.
“Your knife, darling.”
When she hesitated to touch anything, he chuckled.
He sat in the chair across from her and served the food.
She watched from under her lashes as he cut each portion with measured preciseness.
He savored the first bite, chewing slowly and gracefully, appreciating every flavor as if he wished to show the utmost respect to the chef who was not present.
“It’s a rude sign of privilege not to eat when a meal is offered, darling.”
The food looked and smelled delicious, but she had no appetite.
When she still didn’t touch her plate, he said, “Are you afraid the food is poisoned? If I wanted you dead, you’d know.” He pulled her plate away, sliced her meat, and pushed it back. “Eat.”
Her hand shook as she stabbed into a cut of meat and brought it to her mouth, but she tasted nothing beyond her fear.
“What do you say?”
She looked up at him, confused. Then it clicked. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.” His manners contradicted his cruelty, and she didn’t understand where this need for decorum stemmed from.
They ate silently as he studied her, his dark emerald gaze hooded and calculating.
She looked down at her plate. “For someone so strict about manners, you seem to forget it’s impolite to stare.”
“I don’t give a shit about manners. But I demand the respect of every single person on my ship, including you.”
“Aren’t manners and respect the same thing?”
“No. Manners are merely polite words. They hide a person’s true motives. Respect is an ingrained form of honor.”
“Well, some might say it’s disrespectful to stare.”
“I plan to do many disrespectful things to you tonight.”
Her fork stilled.
“Don’t look so terrified. Degradation can be quite liberating.”
She wasn’t exactly clear on what he meant by degradation, but it sounded horrible. She set down her fork to hide how her hand trembled. After wiping the corners of her mouth with the cloth napkin, she folded her hands in her lap, her gaze downcast.
He lifted his wine and leaned back, openly studying her no matter how uncomfortable his attention made her. “You’ll regret not turning away my generosity. It does have limits, and you’ll need your strength. I’m a hard man to satisfy, and I expect my satisfaction to be your highest priority.”
Her heart raced. She knew nothing about satisfying a man, let alone an evil man. “Perhaps if you told me what you like?—”
“It’s simple. I like the thought of you on your knees, begging to do whatever is my pleasure.
My darker desires will feel quite dehumanizing to someone of your stature—at first. But you’ll learn your place quickly.
” He sipped his wine and continued to study her with that calculating stare.
“Right now, you’re thinking of all the ways you might escape your fate because this can’t possibly be happening to you.
” He leaned forward and smirked. “But Daddy’s money can’t save you here.
My ship is fast, and by the time anyone dares to approach, I’ll have had you every way a man can.
” He chuckled when her eyes widened. “Don’t look so frightened, little mouse.
Depravity has its rewards. By dawn, you’ll be preening every time I remind you that you’re now my filthy little whore. ”
The shock of even hearing such cutting words left her staggered. No part of her could ever enjoy being called such terrible things. “I think I respond better to praise.”
“I’ll only praise you when you embrace that which will inevitably break you.
Think of it as an experiment in willpower.
Whose will is stronger, mine or yours?” He stretched out his legs and tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“Or should the question be, which is safer—getting your way or giving into mine?”
Appalled, she said, “I don’t have a filthy side.”
“Of course you do. It’s the disgusting part of yourself you hide.”
“I don’t?—”
“Don’t bore me with lies, darling. Challenge me, and I’ll force you to your knees here and now to prove my point.”
Her breath hitched, and her thighs clenched as a strange tingle of sensation throbbed low in her belly.
“Ah.” He grinned. “I’ve struck a nerve. I bet your privileged life’s filled your pretty head with notions of love and self-worth. But this isn’t love, darling. And your worth is up to you. I’m afraid depravity is the only out you have.”
Her gaze dropped to her plate, her appetite gone. “You’re a monster.”
“Am I? Or perhaps your perspective is confused. Too many people are motivated by praise, but that’s not the world we live in. Praise is rarely genuine. And when it’s not honest, it’s a lie. The liars are the monsters, darling. Trust me on that.”
“Genuine or not, praise feels good.”
“Praise is a vehicle of manipulation. Does it feel good to have a man lie about his feelings only to forget you the next morning?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I’ll save you the pain. Praise is just a lie men tell when they want to fuck.”
She scowled at such a hideous outlook. “Not all men are liars. Some love their partners.”
He laughed. “I’m sure some do. I’m not one of them.
I plan to fuck you. Hard. Greedily. Selfishly.
For my amusement and nothing more. Your body will wear the proof of my depravity in ways you can’t imagine.
Praise means nothing to me. It’s an empty, false sense of security.
We can skip the bullshit, and I’ll spoil the twist. I plan on having you every which way until I’m satisfied, ripping away any layer of artifice I find.
So much so, you might be more afraid of yourself than me in the end.
” He took a sip of wine. “Then…we’ll see if I still have use for you. ”
“I’ve already accepted what’s going to happen to me, so you can stop trying to scare me.” If his goal was to dehumanize her, she planned to hide her emotions as much as possible.
“ Am I scaring you?”
She met his stare. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m only scared because I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Are you saying you’d rather get on with it?”
If her fate was inevitable, she saw no reason to prolong things. “Yes.”