Chapter Nine
Hooked
I
t only takes six minutes before we’re pulling into the restaurant parking lot. Which basically answers my question before I can even ask it.
Did he bring me here because he likes the food, or because it’s close enough to drag me back into his bed before I could blink?
The guy’s sex drive is ridiculous. We’ll have sex all day and night if it was up to him.
And the way his lip curls says it all.
His lips go straight for the soft spot on my neck, while his hand slides up my thigh, fingers stroking just slow. I squeeze my thighs together, the wetness between my thighs growing wetter.
I take his chin in my hand, kissing him hard, as I breathe against his lips, “I wasn’t hungry until we fucked… but now I’m starving. Which means you’re waiting til’ after dinner pretty boy.”
“I already filled you up, and you’re still hungry? My sweet Jainey’s got an appetite tonight…”
His gaze drops to where his hand is creeping higher on my thigh, and yes—I’m fighting the burning sensation, but I’m not giving in that easy. I like making him wait for it—sometimes.
It’s like watching him turn feral, the kind of wild that doesn’t want to hurt me, just ruin me until I forget what being human feels like.
“Oh, you have no idea,” I smirk, grabbing his hand before he can start something neither of us is finishing in this damn parking lot.
Dinner ’s a blur; I can’t tell you what we ordered or how it even tasted. The only flavor I remember is him—his chocolate brown eyes locked on mine across the table, his foot brushing my leg underneath the booth, and his cocky little smirk every time I squirmed in my seat.
Every look, every touch reminds me of what his hands already claimed—and what they’re eager to claim again once we’re back in his room.
The second the check’s paid, we’re gone.
? ? ?
We pull into his driveway, and the quiet settles around us—still, like even the night knows what’s about to happen.
His mom’s and brothers’ cars are still gone.
I wonder where they are, but the idea slips off me fast. Instead, I find myself silently thanking them for giving us the space to get lost in each other a little longer.
Normally his house is full, so we have sex wherever we want—even outside sometimes. Once, he surprised me and drove us to this old trailer sitting in the middle of nowhere near his property. It looked abandoned, like someone forgot where they were camping.
He didn’t even know who owned it and that just made the trill of it even better.
He told me he’d seen it one morning taking the back road to school and couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he would do to me in there.
Luckily, the door was open when we got there, the inside looking partially lived-in, like whoever stayed there barely ever showed up.
We had sex in there for hours. Sweat dripping down our faces, heat trapped between us with only two tiny windows to breathe through.
And with the way he had me screaming his name, we both knew opening one wasn’t an option—not unless we wanted someone to hear every sound he pulled out of me.
The sun was high when we got there, and by the time we left, it was already shaking hands with the horizon.
The thought of getting caught should’ve scared me, but it didn’t.
If anything, it made everything hotter—the risk, the rush, the way it felt like we were daring for someone to find us to make the thrill even more exhilarating.
The air is still as we enter, his hand gripping mine tighter, as he drags me down the hallway. By the time we reach his door, I feel the shift in the air—and the way he shuts it, tells me I won’t be walking properly when I leave here.
I love letting him take charge—desire burns hot between my legs just from the thought of what he has planned. So caught up in my own head, I didn’t realize his room doesn't even look like his room anymore.
Candles flicker along his desk, shadows dancing like they have their own secrets. The bed is covered in red rose petals, a view straight out of a movie scene I never thought I’d be starring in.
And then I hear our song.“Snot Thot” by Kodak Black plays low from his speaker. Every beat a ghost of us—our laughter, our little moments, our car rides, clinging to me like every memory made sound.
I’m not used to anyone trying this hard to make me feel like I’m worth something. Not my mom, not my so-called friends—no one.
But he looks at me like I’m worth holding onto. Like I’m more than the mistakes I make or the mess I come with.
And I almost believe it.
But my mind somehow always ruins the magic, reminding me that I’ve believed in this before—the glow, the promise that this love is finally different from the kind everyone else claimed they had for me.
I want to drown in it, to believe every second. But the echo in my chest whispers loud; fairytales don’t belong to broken girls. Even the brightest nights have shadows lurking, waiting to snuff the light out.
But fuck that.
Tonight, I’m not letting old ghosts of people who left—take this from me. With him, I feel wanted. Seen. Loved. And I’m holding on like the world might disappear if I let go.
Taking me out of my thoughts, he scoops me up, lying me on the bed before removing the heels.
“Turn over,” he demands, standing over me.
I give him a look, brows arched and mouth curved in a taunt.
Grinning, he runs his hand down my back. “You’ll see… just trust me, Jaine.”
Reluctantly, I listen. As I turn over, a smile slips out. “Hmm,” I murmur, glancing back at him, “now I’m excited.”
“Oh, you will be.” He says teasingly, his voice low.
Immediately I feel his rough hands tug at the zipper just below where a bra would’ve been—if I bothered wearing one.
He unzips my dress, my nipples hardening as goosebumps coat my entire body from my backside being exposed. He eases the thin straps from my shoulders, dragging them down my hips before it drops to the floor.
His palm glides over my ass cheek before slapping it hard, pulling a scream from my throat. Tugging at my thong, he nearly rips the thin material, the sound of my scream igniting the fire already burning in him.
He pulls his polo over his head in one swift move, the sound of his pants hitting the floor right after. Face-down, I feel him cage me in, his arms planted firmly, my thighs framed between his. His cock glides between my ass cheeks, slow and teasing.
My back arches even as I try to keep still. His lips brush my spine, the goosebumps bloom again—hotter, deeper—fed by everything throbbing between my thighs.
I turn my head barely an inch, pulling in a shaky breath, my hands locked around the pillow. He grabs his cock, impatient and shoves himself inside me so fast my breath catches.
He pulls out and drives back in with long hard strokes, my pussy dripping around him. His hands clamp around my hips, lifting me as he sits on his knees, making me clamp down on him even tighter.
A deep groan escapes his lips. “Damn, I love this pussy.”
He knows I love it from behind. There’s something about that position that drives me crazy.
The sound of his groan sends a shiver through me, my pussy clenching even more around his cock on instinct.
“Fuck, yes,”I moan. Breath slipping out of me with how hard he’s thrusting.
The bed shakes with every thrust, the music sounding non existent compared to the sound of my pussy getting wrecked.
I grip his hand tightly, lifting my hips to feel more of him.
I need to feel all of him.
I need every inch of him buried inside me so deep I feel it in my chest. I was been soaked since before I arrived at his place, and even more so after that quicky before dinner.
All I really crave right now is his cock inside me, and to hear the sound I’m hearing now—our bodies slamming together while he fucks me into oblivion.
We move in sync, bodies slapping, as he jerks inside me, my orgasm rushing through me. Heat explodes through me, pouring out in a rush I can’t stop. He drives into me harder—driving me into the mattress, wringing every drop out of me.
“Right there—yes!” I yell, just as he slams into me one last time, filling me up.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, slamming into me one last time—or so I think. Instead of pulling out, he stays buried, fucking me with all of him, like he hasn’t lost a single once of hardness.
I’ve had a handful of sex prior to Jacob, and they all needed at least need a 30-minute break just to get hard again.
But not him. It’s like every time he’s near me, he’s hard— and I love it every fucking time.
We rock back and forth like we both still need a release.
His breaths turn heavier, faster, and he slams into me so hard my vision blurs, stars blooming behind my eyelids.
Hot tears slide down my face, tangled with pleasure pulsing through me, every breath catching as he pushes me closer to the edge.
There is no doubt in my mind my lips are swollen. The pain dissolves into pleasure, and I’ll take it again and again if it means he won’t stop.
Sweat coats our faces, chests rising in sync, as we cum together again—my screams echoing as he fills me once more.
His name leaves my lips between broken breaths, the world spinning around us as every nerve in my body trembles beneath his touch. His hips keep moving, slower now but deeper, dragging out every wave of pleasure until my legs shake, my fingers clawing at his arms.
Heat rolls through me in heavy pulses, each one pulling me closer until all I can do is hold on.
Whatever love is, I know this has to be part of it… right? How else can someone make me feel this good? Call it what you want, but it sure as hell can’t be anything else.