Hooked (WET, #1)

by K. C. Falls

  Maybe he'd be the one to push me over the edge. Finally. Ever since I had my cherry popped I've been wondering what a man-induced orgasm would feel like. Nathan had assumed my failure to come with him was a direct result of some congenital deficiency and Jake blamed my horrible experience with Nathan for my lack of responsiveness. Neither of them really gave a shit and I faked it often enough to fool them. Nathan was too selfish and Jake was simply too passive to care much about my satisfaction. My once-in-a-while performances kept my failure to get off from being an issue. Did they know I was faking it? I don’t think it really mattered.

  Of course, I knew my equipment worked just fine. Somehow a well placed shower jet or a sturdy vibrator accomplished what neither of my “lovers” had ever managed. I could even bring myself off with just my hand, although that was a little more work.

  Another cooing sound drifted above my head. I had to peek. I knew I'd regret it but I couldn't resist torturing myself. I slid onto my knees and raised my head to the window. The people on deck probably couldn't have seen me spying on them. The windows were all so darkly tinted that the glare of the sun turned them into virtual mirrors. But I didn't want to get caught playing the peeping Tom so I parted the curtains just enough to barely see out.

  You can't un-read a bad book or un-watch a bad movie. But oh how I wished I could un-see the back of Morgan's head as he buried his face between one set of shapely thighs and burrowed his hand between another set. The two women were kissing each other playfully, breaking free long enough to giggle encouragement to their playmate below them in the water.

  His wet sculpted back was just above the surface. The water distorted the tight outline of his ass below. I couldn't tear my eyes away. Each beautifully defined muscle undulated as he lapped at the girl on the right. She arched and spread her legs even further twining her fingers through the dark curls dripping on the base of his neck. My hand tightened into a fist involuntarily. I could almost feel the slick strands between my fingers.

  The one on the left must have been getting very close to coming because I saw her thighs snap shut as she began to buck against whatever number of Morgan's fingers were crammed up inside her. She threw her face toward the sky with a dramatic gasp and porn star cries. He must have brought the money moves to the other chick at about the same time. She held his head in a vise grip against her and joined her girlfriend in an orgasmic duet. The two women fell against one another and I watched their amazing chests heave up and down as they caught their breath.

  My own breath had taken on a ragged rhythm. I was utterly aroused and completely mortified at the same time. He was just so fucking sexy. I wanted to be one of those girls. I wanted to be the kind of air-headed eye candy that men just couldn't get enough of and that I despised down to my hard-working toes. My experiences with men had left me with precious little faith in my choices. But at that moment I would have gladly sacrificed my fragile self-respect to have Morgan Wolf go down on me in the middle of the bright blue ocean.

  Morgan disengaged. He slipped under the water and out of my line of sight giving me a clear view of the girls who were back to making out with each other. The unbroken mellow tan of their smooth bodies was a sharp contrast to my pasty chef's skin. The only reason I didn't have tan lines was because I had absolutely no tan. I couldn't remember the last time I actually sunbathed.

  "Morgan . . . it's your turn sweetie!"

  "That's right darlin', double your pleasure now."

  The two women splashed at him with long golden legs. He swam over to them, crossing the water in just a couple of strokes. When he hoisted himself up onto to edge of the pool, his arm muscles bulged with the effort. I wondered what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around my body. I was sure he could lift me off my feet effortlessly with his strength.

  He twisted around and sat between the two women. I hadn't seen it in the dark the night before, but I noticed he had a small tattoo on the left side of his chest, above his heart. It was a subtle mark, just a fishhook over a perfectly sculpted pec. There wasn't a lot of ink involved; it reminded me more of a brand than anything. It was kind of romantic to think that he was branded by the sea.

  The girls went right to work. Their hands were all over him and each one started lavishing attention on either side of his neck, nibbling at his ears, nipping at his jaw. I could see his response rise between his legs until his erection pointed skyward against his flat belly. His cock was still slick with the pool water and the swollen head was bruise-colored with pumping blood.

  I turned away. Couldn't. Watch. Him.

  The kitchen wasn't much of a refuge. I could almost feel the heat radiating through my little room, seeping under the door and grabbing me like a pair of sculpted male hands on my tits. Knowing he was getting ready to fuck the shit out of two gorgeous and enthusiastic playmates punched me in the gut and took my breath away.

  I wandered through the salon and took an aimless ride on the elevator to the upper level.

  Richard was alone in the command center when I peered through the glass door and knocked lightly. He gave me a big grin and motioned for me to join him. I was determined to let him distract me. Imagining what was occupying Morgan at that moment had the potential to nauseate me.

  The bridge was nothing like I had pictured. It looked almost like some sort of recording studio or security center. There were six or seven screens lined up in front of the wheel and half again as many gauges and other instruments. Richard was seated in the huge leather captain's chair looking utterly relaxed. I flopped into one of the chairs beside him and sank into its comfort.

  "Hope you don't mind some company."

  "Of course not. Driving this barge across the channel is a little boring. Not much of a challenge 'til we get closer to the islands."

  "It looks pretty challenging to my eyes." I rolled my eyes over the spaceship-worthy instrument panel.

  "Just a bunch of toys, really. A real sailor should still be able to get from point A to point B without all this shit."

  "Are you a 'real' sailor, Richard?" I wanted to give him a chance to brag on himself and puff up a little for me. I was in the mood to flirt and God knows a man's ego is always a sure-fire way to start.

  "I used to be, but this stuff has made me soft. I used to find a fish by instinct and nature. Now I've got a state-of-the-art fish finder to do that for me." The reply was disappointing. I was hoping for some chest beating. "But, all this auto pilot stuff means you and I can cruise along and get to know one another." He crossed his sinewy arms across his chest and gave me a look that would have been a leer on a less innocent face.

  I smiled at him. He was easy to like. "Okay. I'll start. How did you happen to become the Captain of El Lobo?"

  He chuckled. "I guess you could say it was destiny. My Dad's a charter captain and I literally grew up on these docks."

  "You mentioned that you and Morgan had been 'wharf rats' together."

  "First name basis, already?"

  "Not to his face," I blushed. "I just have a hard time thinking of a guy that young as a 'Mr.'"

  "Just wait until he asks you to call him by his first name. He can be a prick about things at times." He adjusted the wheel just slightly before he continued. "Yeah, Morgan showed up on the pier when he was around twelve or thirteen. He was a little bit of a nuisance at first. Followed me around like I was a big hero 'cause I'm two years older than he is."

  "How old is that?"

  "Just turned twenty-eight. I'm a summer baby. That's why I have such a sunny disposition."

  I had to agree with him. Everything about Richard was light and easy. He had a way of smiling at me that made me feel very comfortable.

  "Morgan was twenty-six last Valentine's Day," he went on.

  I tried to remember my sun signs. February 14 was . . . Aquarius. Not that I believed in astrology much, but it figured he'd have a water sign.

  Richard continued. "I went to junior college but academics aren't my thing. Not t
hat I have a room temperature I.Q."

  "Of course not. Remember, the only thing I've ever studied is culinary arts. I'm with you on the college thing. It just seemed to me such a waste of life. I wanted to get on with it. Do something. Plus, my parents stuffed my head with enough knowledge my first eighteen years.” I sighed a small sigh. “There are times when I regret it, though."

  "Why's that?"

  "A couple of reasons. Sometimes I think I missed the party, you know? Culinary school is fun, but not in the same way. Everyone there knows what they want to be when they grow up. They're focused. Even drunk they're usually still talking shop."

  "I see your point. My two years at PBJC were one long blur of beer and babes. I can’t deny I enjoyed the party."

  "I also think that I underestimated how much of a disappointment it was to my parents that I didn't pursue a 'higher education'. I hate that. They deserved better from their only child."

  "I kind of surprised my parents when I passed the Captain's exam on the first try. It's a beast. Most people have to take it twice or even three times. But I grew up breathing all that shit. It's just natural."

  "Isn't this an awfully large boat for someone like you? I mean, I would have thought you'd have to work your way into something like this."

  "Trust me, I started small. It was just a stroke of luck that Morgan's father decided to add this toy to his collection. He got a deal and that's something he can't resist. Once he had it, the thrill wore off. As usual, Morgan got his hand-me-downs."

  "This is some hand-me-down."

  "Morgan sought me out. We had stayed close even after he went off to school. When El Lobo entered the picture he found me and hired me. He doesn't get close to people and he wanted someone around that he knew he could trust."

  "Why doesn't he . . . get close to people?"

  Richard arched his pale eyebrows. "It's complicated. And you don't need to know. I don't even know Morgan's whole story. But I know he's got demons."

  "I see.” Why did the ‘demons’ just make him sexier? Fuck me. “Well right now he's getting quite close to a couple of ladies in the pool."

  "That's typical. And meaningless. Morgan gets used by women and he uses right back."

  "Not a very attractive trait in a man." The image of the using taking place on the lower deck sprang back into my head. It was impossible not to think about those bodies all tangled up and sweating in the sun. Especially Morgan's body—naked.

  Would one of the girls watch as he screwed the other one? What was the protocol for two girls and a guy? Did all three have to be 'active' at the same time? I had run through several combinations of cock, mouth, pussy and hands before Richard brought me back to the here and now.

  "So, what's your story? I mean other than the professor parents and being a chef. Is your choice of career some kind of rebellion?"

  "I wouldn't put it that way. I just wanted something different than what was expected of me."

  "And that was?"

  "I was a total geek in high school. It's genetic. I was raised to be a walking encyclopedia and by the time I graduated I was very much over it all."

  "Geek was never my problem. I was a solid 'C' from first grade on."

  "In a way I envy you. Nothing says 'untouchable' quite like straight 'A's'."

  "C'mon. Are you trying to tell me that a little hottie like you spent Friday nights on the internet?"

  I had to smile at that. I never considered myself a ‘hottie’ and I was flattered. "That and watching 'films' with my parents, yes. You wouldn't believe the movies I've seen. Directors you've never heard of and never want to."

  "Yikes."

  "For sure, yikes. I went to culinary school because I bought into the glamour of it all. A lot of my friends worked in restaurants during high school while I was earning my spending money tutoring people like you." I grinned at him and he shrugged. "They had all kinds of wild stories. God, there’s nothing raunchier than restaurant peeps. And, I loved the idea of doing something creative that was so temporary."

  "Now you're over my head."

  "Think about it. Most art can be captured—you can look at a painting over and over or listen to music as many times as you want. A book can be re-read. But a meal can never be eaten in exactly the same way. Even if the cook and the ingredients and the prep are all identical, it's a new experience every time."

  "That's a pretty heavy outlook on cooking."

  "I tend to over think everything. Sorry."

  "No, no. It's cool. I just never thought about it that way." He made a small adjustment on one of the panels. “So, you told me your ex-boss was a tyrant, right?”

  “The worst part was that I let him lick the red off the candy of being a chef. I should have enjoyed Topanga more. But I'm so glad that I found out early that my tolerance for abuse and a restaurant career are incompatible. It could have been an ugly life.”

  “But the restaurant itself is like . . .”

  I finished his sentence with a quote I’d read. “‘Jewel amongst jewels in the glittering South Florida restaurant scene’ is what the Sun-Sentinel called it. I was dazzled by my good fortune when I landed that job.”

  What I didn’t add was that I was dazzled even more by the incredibly hot executive chef who hired my humble and inexperienced self to man one of his precious line stations. I had visions of doing him over potato sacks in the pantry within days of being hired. Bent over, checked pants around my knees begging for him to bang me before the dinner shift started.

  It had taken all of two months to realize what a total douche I was working for and another eight to do something about it. I submitted my resume and newly acquired maritime certification to the offices of "Crew Unlimited".

  “I take it the dazzle wore off?” Richard asked.

  “Ever watched 'Hell's Kitchen'?" He nodded. "Well, the executive chef liked to believe he was Gordon Ramsey."

  “I see. Sounds rough.”

  “I figured that there are other ways to be a chef than toiling for a petty tyrant. I decided to go for a job on a cruise ship. You know: join the navy, see the world.”

  “I have to agree that being on the water has a certain appeal,” Richard agreed. “You’re lucky you didn’t land a cruise ship job, though. They can be hellish places.”

  “I know, Angelo’s been setting me straight on that score. So far I feel real lucky to have landed this gig.”

  The day I had gotten ‘the call’ from the recruiter we’d been slammed. Friday lunch could get ugly and the Red Hat club was out in force. I’ve got nothing against little old ladies, but they are fussy as hell. Sauce on the side for one and all. All I could do when I felt the phone vibrate in my pocket is take a quick glance and see the “CU” I’d programmed into my phone. It took all my resolve not to drop everything and return the call.

  The Executive Fuckhead had watched me, laughing. He was taunting me and doling out insults that every other cook in the kitchen seemed to find hilarious. I knew I was in the weeds; I didn't need to be reminded.

  I’d wanted to take my hot spatula and smack the shit out of him. Sizzling steel would've wiped that smirk off of his pretty face. I wondered if it was hot enough to singe that perfectly maintained scruff on his chiseled jaw. Since I had managed to shake off the initial crush, his looks had morphed from staggering to cliché. Even the impressive crotch rocket that had seemed so cool when he rode up on it faded into another predictable detail. He was trying so hard to be awesome in every way that he had become a caricature. I doubted he ever had an original thought.

  I told Richard that I hadn’t even considered that there could be a job like the one he offered me. “I think maybe James Purvell mentioned that Crew Unlimited staffed private yachts, but it wasn’t really on my radar.”

  “I’m glad we found each other. I think you’ll be a good match for El Lobo.”

  “Thanks. I’m surprised you hired me so quickly. Plus, I’d come right from lunch. God I must’ve stunk like fish on the gri
ll.”

  “I didn’t notice. I needed someone fast and I wanted someone good. I’d eaten at Topanga many times over the last year. It’s excellent.”

  “If you ate anything from the grill, I cooked it.”

  “I figured. So, you just went back to the restaurant after our interview and quit, huh?”

  “I briefly considered not even going back. But, good as that would have felt, I decided not to lower myself. I finished out the dinner shift.”

  The sorry little tale of my last night didn’t take long to tell. Quitting had turned out to be a bit of a letdown. It was hard for me to accept being so expendable. Chef Asshole had warmly congratulated me. Once I was no longer his employee, the entire façade slipped away.

  He hadn’t seemed particularly hurt or even annoyed. Matter-of-fact as hell, he got one of the cooks on the phone right away to suss out his buddies. Then he surprised me by pouring a round of shots for the crew and toasting my new career with some top shelf Patron.

  “Then,” I concluded, “water, bridge and I was so outta there.”

  “And here you are.”

  I felt like I was boring him. Enough about me and my bizarre and brief career as a line cook. I wanted to hear more about Morgan anyway. "So, you've been the Captain on El Lobo for how long?"

  "About four years. We've had a great time. But I think the Boss is getting restless. That's why he's itching to join daddy dear's business."

  "You don't like Morgan's father?"

  "Let's just say I don't have a lot of respect for him."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he's a spineless asshole. A douche of the highest order. Let's just leave it at that."

  There was obviously quite a bit of history that Richard seemed determined to keep to himself. As curious as I was, it seemed pushy to pry. "Four years is a long time. Do you just cruise around all the time?"

  "We've been all over the world. Fished in a lot of tournaments."

  "On this boat?" I didn't know a lot about the sport, but I sure as hell knew I wasn't aboard a fishing boat.