Devourer of Men: A Captain Hook, Crocodile, and Wendy Darling Reimagining

I barge into the Crocodile’s room unannounced and when he comes out of the washroom soaking wet, a towel wrapped around his waist, I silently chastise myself for not, at the very least, knocking.

All of the things I wanted to tell him, the things I overheard, are suddenly gone from my mind.

He is the distraction I don’t need and now all of the alarm bells that were ringing in my head are silent, when they should be ringing louder.

There is only the sizzling warmth, like bottled lightning, running from my throat, down my stomach, down to my cock.

Water droplets collect on his skin skimming over the dark ink that decorates his chest. There are a riot of flowers and vines, with a name in script in the center. Lainey, it says. His sister.

I never would have taken the Crocodile for a sentimental man, but the ink has me questioning that assumption. And didn’t he return to Neverland for his brother?

He likes to pretend he loves nothing, but I think he’s lying.

I think he loves people from a distance so that if they manage to break his heart, they’re too far away to notice.

More water drips down the flat plane of his stomach, following the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the low hanging towel.

I get a flash of my cock in his mouth and in an instant, I’m straining against my pants.

When I finally drag my eyes away from his body and back to his face, I find him starting at me, amusement in his green eyes.

“Captain,” he says and then makes his way past me to the bar to pour himself a few fingers of brandy. “Did you only come here to gape at me or did you want something?”

“Apologies.” Heat flames in my face. “Your door was unlocked.”

“So it was.” He turns to me, slings back the drink, his eyes on me the entire time.

Tension practically vibrates between us.

I fight the urge to readjust my cock.

He’s going to notice eventually.

I need to get the hell out of here.

But didn’t I come here for a reason?

Right.

“I thought you might want to know what I overheard between the prince and his betrothed.”

“I’m listening,” he says as he pours himself another drink.

I tell him all. And when I’m finished, his gaze is unfocused as if lost in deep thought.

“So?” I coax.

“So?” His dark brow rises. “It’s interesting.”

“Interesting? It’s suspicious at the very least.”

“Yes.” He refills his glass for a third time, but now there are two. He hands me the second glass, his lower half still wrapped in a towel.

“Shouldn’t you get dressed?”

“Should I?”

“Yes,” I tell him. “It’s poor form.”

“Is it?”

I huff out and sip from my brandy trying to do anything other than look at him.

“Very well,” he says and then removes the towel and there is no force in the world that could have kept my eyes from looking down.

Bloody hell.

Like every part of him, he’s perfect.

I can imagine him using that cock on me and the thought sends blood rushing to my balls.

“Captain,” he says again and I have to drag my eyes away from his crotch.

I clear my throat. “Why are you toying with me?” The question was meant to sound accusatory, but instead it comes out sounding like a plea.

“If there was any part of you that didn’t want to be toyed with, it wouldn’t be so fucking easy. Now would it?”

He sounds angry now so I scowl at him, matching his ire. “We’re here for Wendy.”

“Yes.”

“We are not here for one another.”

“Aren’t we?”

“No.”

“Tell that to the bulge between your legs.”

I suck in a breath through my nose, nostrils flaring. The anger is tenfold now, because he’s dissected me so easily, because there is nowhere to hide when standing in front of an immortal beast.

I should leave. I know I should. There is a body part literally missing because of him. Every part of my rational brain is yelling at me to go, but the primal side, the disastrous side, the empty, hungry, desolate side, can never seem to walk away from him.

Can’t my revenge be in taking pleasure from him instead? Let the feel of his touch replace the memory of his pain?

He empties his glass and his cock twitches as I watch him.

Perhaps the greater revenge is in seeing the Crocodile come undone because of me.

I suddenly want nothing more than to hear him come, to hear his grunts, feel his hips grinding against me. I want that arrogant prick to find himself desperate for me.

He must read the look on my face because he gestures behind me with a flick of his finger and says, “Close the door, Captain.”

This is the moment I can escape if I really want to. Prove to him and to me that I won’t fall for his games.

But I can’t escape. I can’t run. I know I can’t because I don’t want to.

I want to keep playing this game with him and see if I may emerge the victor.

I want to hold something over him.

I take three steps to the door and shove it closed.

When I turn around, the Crocodile is there, having crossed the room on silent, bare feet. “That’s a good boy,” he tells me, and then his mouth is crashing into mine.

I backpedal, surprised, and slam into the door. His hand comes around my throat, fingers pressing against the sharp line of my jaw, directing our kiss with the kind of demand only an immortal beast can possess.

He could devour me whole if he wanted to, and I think I’d let him.

The line of his body against mine is hard and domineering and I feel the press of his hardening cock against my thigh.

Heat races up my spine. He is a razor blade dragged across my skin, and I am testing his sharpness.

Will he cut me? Do I even care anymore? I will bleed black if he does. Every second I am with him, I am courting darkness. His, mine, there is no longer a difference.

My father would hate everything about the man I’ve become.

Poor form indeed.

I reach between us as the Crocodile tastes the brandy on my tongue and grab hold of his shaft.

He groans into my mouth and the sound is like a symphony to my ears.

There is no greater sound.

Nothing on this fucking earth.

I squeeze him at the base, then stroke downward, bringing my thumb over his wet slit.

He breaks the kiss, grabs my hand and shoves my thumb into my mouth so I can taste him.

He’s salty and sharp.

His green eyes flash yellow and goosebumps roll up my arms.

Then he’s yanking my clothes off, frenzied, ravenous and I’m on that heaving wave again, the rest of the world a dark smudge around me.

He yanks me to the bed, tosses me back and I have just enough time to pull myself up against the pillows before he’s on me, his mouth on my neck, nipping at my skin, our cocks hard and hot against one another.

I arch my back trying to get closer to him, put he pushes forward with his hips, pinning me down.

A useless gasp escapes me.

I will drown here with him.

I am drowning.

He reaches between us, teasing my ass with the brush of his fingers and it takes everything in me not to blow right then and there.

I widen my eyes, focus on the slight shift of the canopy above us as a breeze steals in through the drafty castle windows.

If I come right now, it will be over too soon and I will be left wishing for more.

“Wait,” I tell him.

He sits back on his knees.

“I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind,” I confess.

“I have that affect on people.”

“Shut up,” I tell him and he presses his lips together but smiles at me in a way that suggests he knows just how to brag with his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t bite.”

“I promise,” he says easily as if our entire history hasn’t been established on the fact that we like to hurt one another.

“Go slow,” I warn him.

“I know how to fuck a tight ass, Captain.”

He leans over me, reaching into the small drawer of the bedside table. As he does, his cock presses into me and a burning, raging desire has me gasping out a breath.

I lift my hips and fist us both and the Crocodile hisses in response.

He freezes halfway over top of me, his hands still in the bedside table.

“Keep going,” he tells me, his voice a deep rasp.

I jerk us both and his dick swells in my grip as he huffs out a desperate breath.

He grabs whatever item he needed and repositions over top of me, his elbows on either side of my head. He rocks his hips forward, seeking my touch.

“You keep doing that, Captain,” he says, “and I will be blowing in your hand before I have a chance at your ass.”

My own touch pales in comparison to his, but there is something carnal about grinding against him, steely flesh against steely flesh.

“Is that what you want?” I ask him. “To have all of me?”

I don’t want to sound so needy, but there is nothing I want more than to hear him admit to his desire.

“Yes,” he says.

“Then do it.”

He leans back on his knees. There is a glass bottle in his hands and he uncorks it, filling the other palm with a clear, slippery liquid.

“Do you bring lube with you everywhere you go?”

Recorking it, he tosses the bottle. It thuds to the floor.

Then he clamps his clean hand over my mouth. My startled breath huffs out.

His green eyes meet mine and flare yellow. “It’s your turn to shut the fuck up.” He’s serious now, his voice deep and raspy. “You get six words. More. Harder. Stop. Slower. God. Fuck. Now stop being so difficult and let me take care of you. All right?”

In my head, I am watching an ocean wave rise up, blotting out the sun.

He waits for my answer.

I finally give him a nod of acknowledgment.

“Good,” he says and then strokes himself with the lube, leaving his cock wet and glistening.

Then he flips me over onto my stomach and I clutch at the twisted blanket losing myself in the sway of the wave as the Crocodile, my mortal enemy, presses his cock into my ass.