Venom: A Dark Retelling

by Dee Garcia

  In the fucking dining room.

  Where anyone could waltz right in.

  And I might just still, because when I finally catch a glimpse of her cunt, her bare, pretty little cunt, I find myself gripping the armrests to remain seated.

  Bare isn’t common around here. Out there in the human realm, yes, but here, it’s few and far between.

  End of the day, pussy is pussy, with or without hair, but I much prefer it like this. Where I can see every inch of it as it blooms and floods for me, completely unobstructed.

  Add that to the list of all the things that makes Tinksley damn near perfection.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, spreading her open, swiping my middle finger through her heat from top to bottom.

  Tinksley mewls instantly, drawing my stare up to her angelic face as I continue the motion; up and down, up and down, over and over again. It’s not long before she’s quivering, panting, her essence seeping outward, slickening the process. I’m coated from tip to knuckle.

  A bit more and she’ll be deliciously creamy.

  I can’t wait, though. Fuck that. I’m ready for a taste now.

  Lifting the digit to my mouth, I lock my lips around it and relish her unique flavor. It’s better than I ever could have imagined; sweet, slightly tangy, pure.

  Mine for the fucking taking.

  Pan might’ve had her first, but he never owned her.

  Not like I will once I’ve finished with her.

  “Appetizer is perfect.” I groan, grinning devilishly at the flush in her cheeks. “Onto the main course. Pass me your glass and lie down.”

  Tinksley seems puzzled by my request, but obliges as before, reaching the short distance and handing off the glass. She doesn’t lay back, though, something I’m quick to remind her of. “Lay. Back.”

  Her gaze cuts nervously to the entryway. “But the doors…”

  “What about them? You’ve been spread open on the table for the last five minutes. What difference does it make now?”

  She knows I’m right, eyeing the doors one last time before biting down on that damned lip and leaning back onto her arms for support.

  Not exactly what I asked for, but I’ll take it. She might want to see this anyway.

  If she can handle it, that is.

  With her attention fully rapt on me, I tilt the glass just above her pussy and allow its remaining contents to spill over…

  “What are you—”

  ...onto her clit. The crimson droplets land right on it, then slowly drip down to her entrance and that unblighted little puckered hole. I’m as mesmerized as she is, salivating, all but vibrating in anticipation as they begin puddling onto the polished wood. I don’t know how much more I can take, how much longer I can sit here with her cunt in my face, drenched in the very source I’ve lusted after for centuries day in and day out.

  “Are you going to—”

  “Eat it?” My tongue lashes out to wet my lips. “You’re damn right I am.”

  The harsh clink of the glass hitting the table follows. Hands gripping her thighs, I spread her wider, nipping the delicate skin there, first one side, then the other. She whimpers as I inch toward her center, biting back a series of moans.

  Until finally, in a single, fluid sweep, I lick her from ass to clit, soaking up the luscious trickle of blood tinged with her essence.

  “Oh my God,” she breathes sharply, head falling back.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle, sucking the swollen bud. “‘Oh my God’ is right. You’re not playing house with a kid anymore, Tinksley. All man right here.”

  ♫ I Wanna Be With You - Mandy Moore ♫

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  In what world have I ever propped myself on a table—or any surface for that matter—and spread my legs for a man?

  The answer is none.

  Peter never did anything like this with me. Even when I tried to be sexy and play on my desires, everything with him was always a straightforward affair.

  Routine.

  Kissing, light petting, the main event. Done. Well, the main event for him. Half the time, I didn’t get to come, and when I did, it wasn’t the breathtaking, all-consuming explosion I’d been told about.

  Hook, on the other hand, has had his tongue on me for a single minute and that’s enough to assure me these tellings of explosions and fireworks are very much real.

  He’s all man, alright.

  Knows exactly what he’s doing, some of which are things I didn’t even know I liked. And I’m not talking about the blood, though that had to have been the most tantalizingly erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Hotter than the puppets.

  To watch the very lifesource I’d consumed moments before spilled on me like that, with the intention of lapping it up with his tongue…

  Jesus.

  Who have I become?

  “Mine,” he groans, doing that maddening sucking thing again. “You’re mine now. That’s who.”

  Did I just ask that aloud?

  Did he really just say—

  Callan sucks at my clit again, shooting a breathy “fuck” off my lips as goosebumps litter my skin. My hand flies instinctively to his dark mane, tugging him closer, hips undulating of their own will. “Don’t stop.”

  He laughs darkly. “What about the doors?”

  “Fuck the doors,” I hiss.

  An appreciative, amused hum—that’s his response as he dives back in, tongue swirling, caressing, eating me out of my mind. I’m literally on pure fire for him right now, that vaguely familiar tingle building at the base of my spine.

  “Someone’s getting mighty creamy.” Another chuckle. “I think that means I’m ready for dessert.”

  Right here.

  This is where he kills me.

  The second I see his hand snake into the cupcake box, I know what he’s going to do. By the time he runs the cupcake along my pussy, smearing the icing as he goes, I’m quivering, anxious to feel his tongue clean up this sugary mess.

  Who am I kidding? His tongue is magic, but I’m anxious for something else. To feel him inside me, to feel trapped and suffocated beneath his weight as he fucks me right into—

  One. Single. Sweep; from the bottom of my entrance all the way up to my clit, that wicked tongue of his wipes up every trace of the vanilla icing, urging me flat on the table with the motion.

  “So good,” he moans, pushing two fingers inside me. “You taste so damn good, just like I knew you would.”

  “Just like I knew you would.”

  I can’t help but moan at his confession, at how the tips of his fingers jut against my sweet spot with such skilled pumps.

  How many times did he think about this—about taking me, licking me, fucking me?

  “Callan,” I pant in warning. I can’t hold off much longer, not after that. My orgasm’s building, quickly, inner walls throbbing around his fingers in time with my pulsing bud. “I need you inside me.”

  I don’t care if it’s here in this room, on the chair, thrown up against the wall; I just need him to fuck me.

  Need, not want.

  He doesn’t stop, though, slurping and sucking in a near ravenous state, finger-fucking me into some kind of half-conscious oblivion. Legs trembling, the coil deep in my belly begins to unravel, spreading up the length of my spine, arching my back off the hard surface beneath me.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God.” It’s right there, I can feel it. Moments away from flinging me over the edge into the most powerful detonation of my entire existence.

  Until, suddenly, it’s not.

  The heat of his mouth disappears, dropping me on my metaphorical ass. I hit with such force, I actually cry out in protest, jolting upward to find a wolfish grin awaiting me between my legs.

  “Now you’re ready for me,” he coos.

  My response is me flashing into his lap, the chair almost toppling backward from the speed of my attack. Grabbing his face, I smash our lips together, subtle hints of a bloodied icin
g fusion melded with my essence bursting into my mouth as his tongue sweeps its way inside. Its unique taste spurs me on, hips rolling against him, desperate fingers raking into his hair.

  That’s it, that’s all it takes to get him moving.

  One minute we’re alone in the dining room, and the next we’re barreling down the hall—his lips still on me, me clinging to him like a vine. I’m positive we pass several inquisitive stares along the way, but I don’t so much as acknowledge them, nor do I care they’ve caught a full view of my bare ass in his hands.

  A set of stairs, a few turns, and we’re busting into his room, all wild mouths and erratic breaths. The door slams behind us, rattling the walls like a roll of thunder.

  Hook comes up for air then, flashing me that sexy as sin grin, and flings me onto his bed without warning. I land with a squeal just as he begins undoing the buttons of his shirt, enrapturing every bit of my attention.

  I don’t move a millimeter while he strips, watching intently from my place on top of the sheets, chest rising and falling in anticipation of what’s about to happen.

  What’s sexiest about Hook is his confidence. He knows he’s a walking masterpiece and he owns it—in every way, shape, and form. I can’t do anything but stare in awe, memorizing all the dips and swells of his body. He’s lean, yet so perfectly sculpted, sinewy muscles defined and chiseled in all the right places.

  “The dress can go now.” He unclasps the buckle of his belt. “It was in the way before and it’s certainly in the way right now.”

  He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I’m shimmying out of it right there, kicking it onto the floor at the same moment his pants fall to the ground with a clank. In a single sweep, greedy eyes take me in, from the wild tresses of my hair to the tips of my toes. I follow the movement myself, hypnotized like a mindless idiot when his thumbs hook beneath the fabric of his undergarments and push them down. His cock springs free—my eyes bulge from their sockets, and my mouth pops open right along with it,

  A smirk stretches his lips.

  Holy. Shit. He’s…He’s long, and thick; hard as hell.

  I’m trying not to think of him, I swear it, but the thought comes before I can banish it. Peter wasn’t small, but in comparison to Hook?

  Hell, there is no comparison. Peter is a boy and Callan is…

  On me.

  He’s on me, spreading my legs, lips stamping wet kisses up their length as he crawls over me. His tongue lashes out against my center once more, dragging upward in a single stroke; my clit, past my mound, in a steady line up my abdomen, between my breasts. I’m expecting him to continue his ascent, eager to feel our mouths unite anew, but it never comes.

  Instead, his hands lock around my tits, one expertly tweaking my nipple while his tongue lavs at the other.

  What is this fresh, euphoric hell?

  My body has never been played like this and I don’t want it to stop. “Is this really happening right now?” I pant, eyes shutting in bliss.

  “Mmm,” he agrees, “definitely is.”

  “Am I everything you’d hoped I’d be?”

  “No”—suck—“You’re so much more.”

  Oh, God. He’s trying to kill me, mentally, physically, the head of his cock probing me, aligning itself seamlessly much in the same way two magnets can’t avoid each other.

  “You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” Rhetorical because I already know the answer.

  “One-hundred percent. For every single man that comes after me.”

  “There is no after you.” I can’t deny it at this point. He’s been a permanent fixture in my life for the last week and a half and I can’t envision it any other way. “I’m not going anywhere. I told you—you’re stuck with me.”

  His reply doesn’t come in any certain words. No, Callan grips my hips and pushes inside me on a single thrust. Sucking the air right out of me. Filling me to the damned hilt. I feel so full, stretched in a way I’ve never felt before, and I already can’t get enough of it.

  Of him.

  Of us.

  “God damn,” he groans, easing back, rolling right back in. “Waited so long for this, so long for you. You feel incredible.”

  “Tell me how long?” I have to know. He keeps saying things like that and I always feel so clueless.

  “A long time, trust me. I was always there, you just never saw me.”

  Because of Peter.

  I could’ve had this sooner, but I was too blinded by Peter. The boy who has every day proved himself to be the greatest mistake of my life.

  “I see you now,” I promise him, urging him closer with my arms around his neck. “I see you now, so clearly, and I’m not going anywhere. Just don’t stop.”

  “Couldn’t even if I tried.”

  The way he kisses me thereafter, plunging in and out of me as his mouth stakes its claim, it cements everything for me. Everything. All that’s happened was for a reason, even the parts I’ll regret for eternity.

  Callan’s hand swoops up, wrapping itself around my throat as his lips drag along my jaw. “Can I keep you, Tinksley? As my finest treasure?”

  All I can offer him is a moan, the most subtle of nods. That coil deep within me has begun tightening anew, reawakening the fire that had throttled through me on the dining table in tenfold. Like a wild blaze, it works its way, not only up my spine, but dispersing through the rest of me in scorching waves.

  I’ll be whatever he wants me to be at this point, whatever he needs, I just don’t want this to stop.

  Hook eases back then, palm still trapping my throat, his hips never ceasing their steady, torturous rhythm. It can’t get any better, he can’t get any better, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.

  Or so I thought.

  Our eyes lock for heart-stopping beat, and then...then I watch him drag his gaze to the point where our bodies meet. Next thing I know, a dribble of spit falls from his lips and hits my clit, his thumb promptly rubbing it in with meticulously slow circles.

  “Oh my God.” Panting, breathless from his mind-numbing onslaught, my back arches off the bed as the build-up intensifies.

  It’s sensation overload and he knows it. “How does it feel to let a real man fuck you?” he grits, thrusting harder, faster.

  “So good, so fucking good.”

  “Did you ever think it could be this way?”

  “No.” The complete and honest truth. Never in my wildest dreams.

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  I nod, death-gripping the sheets as he plows into me, hitting that one spot over and over again.

  “Neither did I, and I have to be honest. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last, baby girl. That little cunt’s way too tight, too warm, greedily sucking me in. I’m going to need you to come for me, and soon.”

  “Jesus Christ, I can’t with you.”

  “You’ll get used to it. For now, just come for me. Come all over this dick, Tinksley. Show me what I’ve done to you.”

  His thumb circles my clit maybe three more times and I’m going off, doing exactly what he asked of me without a single ounce of force.

  My climax just consumes me, swallowing me deep into its euphoric depths, siphoning moan after moan out of me. Seized by pleasure, completely immobilized beneath him, I really feel like I’m going to explode.

  The sight of me unraveling like this must be everything he wants to see because he’s hissing moments later, throwing his head back, emptying himself deep inside me.

  A fact that hits me harder than a freight train, prolonging the explosive wave of my orgasm.

  Hook may not have been my first, but he’s the only man who’s ever marked me like this.

  The one and only.

  And a part of me, a very big part of me, wants him to be the last.

  The next morning, I wake in Hook’s bed, trapped snugly in his hold. Just the simple feel of his skin on mine breaks a smile free, flashes of what went down on these sheets—and the dining table—fl
itting through my mind.

  Such passion and urgency, a keen, undeniable connection.

  One I might not have gotten to explore had Peter not left.

  I start to wonder how different my life could’ve been had Hook made a move sooner, had I not been so immersed in all things Peter Pan, but quickly force it from my mind.

  Wondering about the past is pointless. There’s no changing it, no reason to look back. What’s done is done, and I’m finally coming to terms with it all. Truly accepting it for what it is and what it means.

  I may still roam this land within my body, but Tinksley Bell did, in fact, die—and the infamous Captain Hook brought her back to life again.

  I sigh contentedly, still feeling remnants of that post-coital glow as I roll over to catch a glimpse of his strikingly handsome face. He takes my breath away every time, especially like this—dark lashes sweeping his defined cheeks, full lips parted through each even breath. He looks so young in his sleep, so gentle.

  In all actuality, he is young, can be quite gentle, too, but there’s just something so fascinating, almost disarming, about the boyish charm a man possesses when caught under the depths of a deep slumber.

  Can’t seem to help myself from reaching out and running my thumb along his bottom lip, raking the dark, wayward strands of his mane out of his face.

  He’s just so perfect.

  And he’s yours.

  Deeming it time to get into a shower, I set a featherlight kiss to his cheek and slip out of his bed, dressing as quietly as possible. Sans panties, I should mention.

  I left those tucked in his pocket.

  It’s either very early or everyone has busied themselves on this beautiful morning, because I don’t run into a single soul on the trek back to my room. My room...

  I wonder how much longer Callan’s going to allow me to sleep in here now that we’ve crossed the line. I can’t foresee it even being an option. Knowing him, he’ll have Violet move my belongings as soon as he opens his eyes.

  Not that I’d object.

  Last night was both the best and longest I’ve slept in ages. I’m sure the series of orgasms Hook unleashed on my body had something to do with it, but feeling his warmth beside me did, too.