Chapter 32 A Coronation of the Damned #2
He suddenly sits back on his heels, leaving me sprawled in the grass, panting, whining, and wrecked under his gaze.
“Tell me what you want,” he taunts.
“I want you to fuck me,” I say with no hint of shame in my voice.
His grin widens, eyes going black with hunger.
“With pleasure, sweetheart.”
He surges forward, his mouth crashing into mine in a savage kiss that steals the air from my lungs. His tongue forces me open, devouring, claiming—and before I can draw air, he’s between my thighs, the hard length of him sliding against my slick folds.
He breaks the kiss, eyes locked on mine as one hand snakes up and wraps around my throat. His fingers tighten, cutting off my air until panic flares through me. Then he eases, just enough for me to gasp greedily, shuddering under his hold.
“You’re mine, Wendy,” he growls, his thumb stroking my frantic pulse. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Peter,” I say, the sound ragged and raw.
His smile splits wide and vicious. “And I’m yours.”
And then, without warning, he drives into me with one brutal thrust to the hilt. I cry out, my back arching off the ground as his cock fills me completely. He doesn’t give me a moment to adjust; his grip on my wrists is iron, pinning me to the ground.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he snarls, voice thick with lust. “I can feel every inch of you squeezing me.”
He draws out slowly, deliberate torture, then slams back in with punishing force. I cry out again, fingers clawing at the grass beneath me, but he only laughs—a low, dark sound of satisfaction.
“That’s it, darling,” he groans, hips snapping into me. “Take my cock. Take it like you were made to.”
He sets a brutal pace, his hips slamming into mine, driving me into the earth with each thrust. His cock fills me to the hilt, stretching me, owning me, leaving no part of me untouched.
His hand remains clamped around my throat, making each breath I manage a ragged gasp.
It’s overwhelming—Peter is everywhere, in me, on me, his scent, his heat, his weight.
My wrists are bound in his grip, my neck caged, his cock pistoning into me at a merciless pace.
The connection between us burns like fire in my veins. The golden runes pulse between our bodies, hot and insistent, fusing us together as he ravages me. There is no separation anymore, no place where he ends and I begin.
He crashes his mouth onto mine in a punishing kiss, tongue invading, claiming, until I’m meeting him with equal fervor. His teeth clamp down on my lip, biting hard enough to draw blood. Until I taste iron and Peter all at once.
He pulls back, green eyes blazing, a feral smile cutting across his face. His hands release my wrists, my throat—only to seize my hips instead. He sits back on his knees, taking me with him. His fingers dig into my flesh as he lifts me, slamming me down onto him, so deep the pleasure edges on pain.
I cry out, stretched and burning, my body overwhelmed, my pussy throbbing. The pressure builds, utterly consuming, my orgasm waiting just out of reach.
“Please, Peter,” I beg, my voice broken, frantic. “I need to come.”
“Wait,” he growls, his voice a low rumble of command that makes my whole body shudder.
He lifts me off him and lays me back on the ground, grabbing my legs and hooking them over his shoulders. The shift drives him impossibly deeper, and I gasp as he hits a spot that sends white-hot waves of pleasure pulsing through me.
I moan, fists clawing at the grass beneath me. “Peter,” I pant, my body writhing under his. “I can’t… I can’t wait—”
His thumb finds my clit and presses down, hard. The pressure shatters me. I sob his name as my body convulses, my pussy clenching around his cock while he fucks me through my orgasm.
“Fuck, Wendy,” he grunts, grip bruising my hips, his thrusts erratic and hungry. “You feel so good coming on my cock.”
He pulls out, flipping me onto my hands and knees. I gasp, trembling from the aftershocks, but already aching for more. The head of his cock presses against me, and I push back, desperate to feel him inside again.
“You’re so greedy,” he snarls—then slams into me, filling me completely with a single thrust.
I moan, hands fisting in the grass as he begins to move. His hips crash into mine, the sound obscene in the stillness of the meadow. He isn’t gentle. He isn’t slow. He’s fucking me like he’s trying to punish me.
“You like this monster in me, don’t you?” Peter asks, voice jagged. “You like it when I take your cunt without mercy?”
I bite my lip as my arms give out, my cheek presses into the dirt under the force of his thrusts. Tears spill hot and fast down my face. “Yes,” I cry—because it’s the horrible truth. The truth I tried to deny, to ignore, to pretend wasn’t real.
I can feel a second orgasm building—my body taut, my breath breaking into short, frantic gasps. Peter’s cock is pounding into that spot deep inside me that makes pleasure surge through me in violent waves. My pussy clenches around him, desperate, pulling him in, chasing release.
Then he’s over me, chest burning hot against my back, breath searing along my neck. His teeth sink into the tender place where neck meets shoulder, at the same moment, his fingers pinch my clit.
I scream—pain and pleasure colliding, overwhelming, consuming. I don’t know where he ends and I begin. The trees quake around us. The earth itself shudders. Golden runes ignite across the ground, crawling up tree trunks, shimmering in the air, alive, pulsing, beating in time with our racing hearts.
My body convulses, clenching hard around his cock as my second orgasm rips through me.
He groans into my skin, his grip bruising on my hips as he slams into me one final time.
His cock pulses, flooding me, and the sensation wrenches another broken moan from my throat as aftershocks crash through me.
His weight presses me into the ground. His seed spills deep inside me, running down my inner thighs.
His teeth sink into my skin, a claiming mark at my neck.
Peter Pan. Everywhere. Inescapable.
Not that I ever want to escape.
His mouth softens against my neck, the bite loosening until it becomes a kiss. He inhales slowly, as if to reassure himself I’m still here.
Then he shifts, easing his weight off me, careful with my trembling limbs.
One hand slides beneath my body, lifting me gently as he pulls out.
I whimper at the loss, and he hushes me, dragging me into his lap, into his arms. His fingers trail down my spine, feather-light now, soothing.
He murmurs something against my temple, I don’t quite catch.
I press my face into his shoulder, still shaking, while he simply holds me, heart pounding against mine, as the runes around us dim and fade into the quiet of morning.
“I love you,” he whispers.
My heart lurches.
He says it like a vow. Like surrender. Like he means it with every broken, desperate part of him. I know he loves me, I see it in his gaze, feel it in the way he holds me. And still, I ache to hear the words from his lips.
I press my face into his neck, eyes stinging. He doesn’t let go. He just holds me while I let the words settle in my heart.