Chapter 32 A Coronation of the Damned
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Coronation of the Damned
Isail high over Neverland, the wind tearing through my hair, a laugh bursting from my chest as the sun climbs in the sky, painting the island below in molten gold.
A bittersweet memory stirs, because this freedom once belonged to a girl who did not yet understand its cost.
Below, forests glimmer with dew like scattered diamonds; rivers wind like ribbons of silver; beaches arc in pale crescents, sparkling.
Cliffs flash emerald where moss clings to stone, and waterfalls spill into hidden pools that glint like crystal.
Even the air smells fresher—wildflowers and something sweet, like fruit ripening in the sun.
The shadows that once coiled at the edges of my vision are receding. The island is shedding its darkness, and light is taking root again. Neverland no longer belongs to Peter Pan alone. It’s mine, too.
I bank into the wind, grinning, the sky wide open around me. My body feels weightless, alive, the wind a living thing that cradles me and lifts me higher. The golden sun warms my skin, and every breath tastes like promise.
I dive low, skimming the canopy. The thrill of speed makes the foliage blur, the light warping and flickering around me. Wind lashes my face, tasting of salt and earth.
I glance over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of him. Peter is closing in, his grin feral, eyes gleaming with predatory intent.
My heart rate picks up. That instinctual thrill of becoming prey awakens in me, humming beneath my skin. The chase has begun, and I want to be caught.
“You’d better fly faster, Wendy-bird,” he calls, voice like silk wrapping around my throat.
He comes in close, fingers brushing my ankle. I squeal and twist, wrenching free of his grasp, the sound torn between laughter and breathless need.
Arousal coils hot and tight inside me, twining with adrenaline and fear.
Because I know what happens when he catches me.
He’ll devour me whole. And I want it—all of it.
The ache and the burn. The pleasure and the pain.
The claiming. I no longer want to pretend otherwise.
I don’t want to resist. I want him with every broken, desperate part of me.
I sense him above me before I feel him, his shadow spilling over mine, his breath hot at my ear.
“Not fast enough.”
I gasp, twisting midair to escape, wind snapping at my face.
Peter’s deep, delighted laugh follows, vibrating through me like a call I can’t resist. Butterflies scatter wildly in my stomach.
I push harder. Faster. The trees below blur into streaks of green and gold, the meadow where he first took me rising up ahead.
My heart hammers, threatening to burst from my chest.
I risk a glance over my shoulder, but he’s gone. Apprehension skims down my spine. When I turn back, I collide straight into a solid chest. Arms lock around me, a cage of muscle and heat.
“Got you,” Peter murmurs, voice thick with triumph.
Then we’re plummeting. The sky tears past us, weightless one moment, crushing the next, until we slam into the meadow. Grass and wildflowers burst around us, the air punched from my lungs as Peter takes the impact, his arms a shield around me.
We roll through the flowers in a tangle of limbs, unstoppable, until he pins me to the ground.
He straddles me, body heavy over mine. One large hand captures both my wrists, yanking them above my head and pressing them into the earth.
His grip is unyielding. His strength absolute.
His hair falls wild into his eyes, his grin wicked and unrestrained, looming over me.
I struggle against his grip because I know he likes it. This is my Peter Pan. My monster. Finally whole.
His chest heaves, runes flickering faintly across his skin like dying embers.
He’s almost too devastating to look at. I shudder beneath that unrelenting green gaze, anticipation rising, as heat curls low in my belly.
He’s going to break me. And I’m going to beg him to.
I’m done being ashamed of this part of me.
Even if it belongs only to him, I claim it as mine.
Peter leans into me, his nose skimming along my jaw, inhaling me in like a predator tasting the air.
“You smell like you’re mine, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough velvet.
A whimper escapes me as his mouth finds my ear, his teeth sinking into my lobe just hard enough to sting.
“You taste like you’re mine,” he groans.
His fingers tighten around my wrists, a silent reminder of who’s in control. His tongue skims the tip of my ear. He pulls back suddenly, his eyes dancing with delight.
“Your ears are pointed, little darling. Just like mine.”
“Just like yours,” I whisper back, equally enchanted.
His hand drifts lower, teasing, gliding, before cupping my breast. He pinches my nipple through the thin fabric, and I gasp, hips twitching beneath him.
His voice drops lower, threaded with barely-contained desire. “Tell me, Wendy Darling…” Each word is a hot breath, devastating against my skin. “Are. You. Mine?”
My lips part. I’m trembling, burning from the inside out. “Yes, Peter,” I moan. “I’m yours.”
His eyes flash, dark and wild with possession.
He releases my wrists, only to seize the hem of my top and rip it up over my head, dragging my bra with it.
My trousers follow, torn from my body in one vicious motion.
I’m left in nothing but my panties, bared to the morning sky and the hunger in his gaze.
His eyes roam over me slowly, devouring every inch of skin, every curve, every shiver.
“Wendy,” he rasps, voice thick with lust. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He crashes his mouth against mine in a brutal kiss, his tongue forcing its way inside, claiming and consuming. A moan tears from me, my hands tangling in his hair, before he catches my wrists again and slams them back into the ground. He rips his mouth from mine, eyes wild and fever-bright.
“No touching,” he growls. “Not until I say so.”
He rocks back onto his heels, his gaze never leaving mine.
His hands go to what remains of his shirt, and he tears it away, baring a chest mapped with lean muscle.
The runes etched across his skin fade in the sunlight, half-hidden beneath teeth marks, deep scratches, and streaks of dried blood.
He shoves his pants down and kicks them aside.
His cock is thick and long, hard against his stomach. The sight of him is almost as intoxicating as the way he looks at me with that wicked smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Like what you see, darling?” he taunts.
“Yes,” I say, barely more than a whisper.
“Good. Because it’s the only cock you’ll ever see. The only one you’ll ever feel stretching that sweet little cunt of yours.”
He wraps a fist around his length and strokes himself slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.
I squirm beneath him, my body aching, straining for him. His smirk widens, cruel delight flashing in his eyes.
“So impatient.” He lowers himself, his mouth hovering just over mine. “Don’t worry, Wendy,” he murmurs. “I’ll fuck you so thoroughly you’ll beg me to stop.”
Then his mouth crashes onto mine, devouring.
His tongue forces past my lips, demanding entry, claiming me as completely his.
I moan into the kiss, arching against him.
He gives me no mercy. His grip tightens around my wrists, pinning them harder into the earth until my shoulders ache, holding me there as if daring me to fight him.
He breaks the kiss only to drag his teeth down the side of my throat, biting hard enough to sting. I gasp, my fists twisting in the grass above my head, helpless beneath the press of his body. He lingers at my pulse, sucking bruises into my skin before continuing his slow descent.
His mouth closes around my breast, his tongue flicking over the peak before his teeth clamp down. I cry out, the sharp pain sparking instantly into pleasure as my back bows off the ground.
Peter groans against me and shifts to the other breast, lashing it with tongue and teeth until I’m gasping, trembling beneath him. His free hand slides down my stomach, fingers slipping beneath the thin band of my panties.
“Peter,” I moan, my hips jerking when his fingers find my clit.
He chuckles darkly against my skin, the vibration sending shivers through me. “So responsive,” he murmurs, circling, rubbing, tormenting. “Every part of you begs for me.”
Heat pools between my thighs, my core throbbing with desperate need. He slips one finger inside me, then another, stretching me open with a steady, punishing rhythm.
A needy moan rips from my throat, my hips grinding against his hand in a frantic rhythm.
He leans down, lips grazing my ear, his breath hot. “You’re dripping for me,” he growls. “You want me, don’t you? You want me so deep you forget your own name?”
“Yes,” I pant, fire licking through every nerve. “Please, Peter. I need you.”
“Need,” he echoes, dragging the word out like he’s savoring it. “I like the sound of that.”
He pulls his fingers from me, leaving me empty and aching, utterly wrecked.
I whimper at the loss, thighs trembling, but he only smirks—relishing in my desperation.
With one quick tug, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tears them from me.
Then his mouth is on me. Hot. Merciless.
His lips close around my clit, sucking hard enough to make me scream.
His tongue lashes relentlessly, and I strain against his grip, desperate to drag him closer, needing more, needing everything.
“You’re so perfect like this,” he murmurs. “Spread open. Trembling. Begging for me.”
His mouth returns to my clit, tongue flicking sharp and fast—a torment of pleasure that has my hips bucking against his face. He groans, devouring me deeper, the sound vibrating through my core and making me shudder helplessly beneath him.