Chapter 4
WINNIE
I can feel the heat of Peter Pan’s stare.
He loves watching me get railed in the face.
But he especially loves watching me get fucked by Vane.
They are best friends, platonic in every sense of the word, but I think Peter Pan loves Vane most of all.
I suppose when you show someone every one of your fractures, the parts of you broken and imperfect, and yet they choose to stay by your side through all of the carnage, the chaos, and the despair, it only makes sense that you would also give them your heart.
I think Pan likes watching me with Vane because he knows I am safe with him, even when Vane is being sharp and cruel.
There is no room for me to breathe.
Vane has total control over me, his hand buried in my hair, his cock in my mouth, his body penning me in.
He’s fucking me with urgency, chasing the hollow of my throat as if he can’t quite stand it being empty of him.
A flair of satisfaction pools like honey in my chest.
Here, on my knees, abandoned to pleasure and only pleasure, I can forget all of my doubts, the things I cannot control.
I choke when Vane goes too far, but he doesn’t relent and the first bite of tears well in my eyes.
He groans above me, the head of his dick swelling on the pad of my tongue. “Oh, Win,” he says, his voice husky and a little drunk with lust. “You know how to take a cock so fucking well.”
I hum my agreement, and he hisses out a breath.
“You spilling down her throat?” Pan asks from the half shadows. “Or giving her a choice?”
“Never give Darling a choice,” Vane says between thrusts.
“Good,” Pan says.
I’m dripping wet already, buzzing with my own rising heat. I want them to touch me. They better touch me. They better fuck me. Or I will scream.
The shadow that is split between me and Vane swirls in satisfaction. It likes it when we are one, but it likes it even better when we are giving each other pleasure, almost like the shadow turns it into a currency it can spend and spend.
The first tears flow freely down my cheeks and Vane expels a satisfied breath.
When he comes, the groan starts deep in his chest and rumbles up his throat, all of the muscles in his shoulders, his biceps, his stomach, tensing.
The first hot spurt of cum fills my mouth and Vane drives forward, the cut lines of muscle in his sides contracting, then expanding as he chases the final heat of me.
Through the tears welling in my eyes, I look up at him, at his one violet eye, and one black eye, the three white scars running through it.
On a good day, he’s intimidating. On a bad day, he’s downright terrifying. And there is a little part of me that gets off on having him like this, when he’s at his most unguarded. Just raw, unfiltered pleasure, pure driven desire. All for me.
I would get on my knees for him, to experience him like this, all day, every day.
When he pulls out of my mouth, I flick my tongue, licking the underside of him and he hisses out, a smile burning in his eyes.
He holds out his hand for me, and I take it, letting him lift me to my feet.
Peter Pan is there beside us in a flash of light. The air smells of the night and of burning star dust.
Pan wraps his arm around my waist, spins me and walks me back until I bump into the end of his bed. I make a surprised yelp, stumbling back onto the mattress. Pan is on top of me, covering my body with his long, lanky one. I can feel his hardness pressing against my core.
I wiggle beneath him. He hisses through his teeth.
“I barely slept today,” he says, his fingers sliding up my thigh, pulling back the hem of my dress. “I kept waking up, so fucking hard it hurt, thinking about you and how badly I wanted to be inside of you.”
“Oh yeah?” I say up to him, wanting him to go on, wanting him to confess how needy he is for me.
Both Pan and Vane are far more restrained than the twins. Their confessions are fewer, their admissions of vulnerability almost nonexistent. So when I get one, I feel like I’ve uncovered a treasure previously thought of as a myth.
I slip my hand between us and grip him through his loose pants. He’s bare beneath them so I can feel every ridge of him, the impossibly hard length.
“Fuck, Darling,” he says on a breath, his eyes slipping closed.
I stroke him from base to tip, and he bows his head, his breath huffing out against the curve of my neck.
And because I’ve learned from the best of them, I withdraw my hand immediately. Pan growls, his hips pushing forward, looking for more of my attention.
But I won’t give in. Not until he’s shown me attention.
“Naughty Darling whore,” he says, lifting himself up so he can look down on me. “Playing games, are we?”
His hand slips in beneath my dress, his fingers playing over my wet center.
I arch my back and Pan bites at my nipple through the soft material of my dress.
He runs his fingers down, down, then slips in around my panties.
Skin on skin, I am immediately ignited. If I was playing games before, all of my moves have evaporated. I just want him to touch me more.
“Pan,” I say and he swallows my pleas with a deep kiss, his tongue finding mine.
An illicit thrill runs through me.
I arch my back more, calling for his devotion.
He bends and captures my nipple between his teeth. I moan out in pain, writhing beneath him.
Within seconds, he’s grabbed the hem of my dress and yanked it up, baring me. I’m not wearing a bra, so his tongue finds me pebbled and waiting. He flicks against my nipple, sending a shock of pleasure through my breast, down my belly.
“Touch me more,” I moan.
His hand grazes my center, then disappears.
“Pan.” I am a bundle of nerves, ready to burn. “Please.”
He finds my clit, swollen and sensitive.
I gasp out at the ceiling.
He circles me again, coaxing the pleasure to the surface.
I close my eyes and sink into the feel of him. The myth, the star god, Peter Pan, all of him mine.
Pan lines up his hips and his cock slides up my slit, throbbing against my clit.
From the other side of the room, I can feel Vane watching us, a cigarette burning between his knuckles. His kink is not voyeurism like Pan’s, but I think he knows mine is the opposite, of being watched.
His attention is both a weight that nearly consumes me and a caress that feels like a summer breeze.
I shift my hips, putting the head of Pan’s cock at my opening and Pan groans above me.
“I want you inside of me,” I say, the words come out with deep reverence, like a prayer. Pan is a god, after all, and I am his devotee.
He doesn’t torture me any longer.
When he’s inside me, we both come undone.
Our movements are frenzied, but in sync, so desperate to feel that rising tide of each other, drowning us both.
My pleasure builds. Pan thickens with every thrust.
“I’m going to come,” I say up to him. “I can’t wait…oh fuck.”
It hits me like a crosswind, stealing the air from my lungs. Liquid honey blooms out from my belly, rushing through my veins.
Air trickles down my throat and I let out a strangled little cry as Pan lifts my hips, his hand beneath my ass, sinking in so deep it almost hurts.
“Fuck, Darling,” he says and spills his load, groaning deep in his chest.
He rocks in, pulls out, sinks in again.
His eyes close, his shoulders twitching.
And for one brilliant second, the myth has become man.
When he opens his eyes next, his irises are nearly glowing. I used to think it was a trick of the light, but it’s just him and his star god power always pulsing beneath the surface.
He kisses me, breathing out, still buried in my warmth.
“I love hearing you come,” he says to me, his hand still on my ass, keeping me close.
Behind us, Vane disappears into the adjoining bathroom and the faucet turns on, running for a good minute as the water warms.
Pan lays on the bed beside me and makes a crook with his arm and his body, tucking me into him. He is warm and solid and comforting. “Darling,” he says and his voice is above me and beneath me, vibrating through the sinew of his chest.
“Hmm?”
“What are you running from?”
My eyes pop open and the fuzzy afterglow of sex fades.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The faucet cuts out and there is the sound of a washcloth being wrung out, the water plinking against the stone basin.
Pan sighs and his breath ruffles my hair.
Vane reappears and nudges me open, wiping away their stickiness.
All three of us are silent.
Clearly Vane also thinks I am running from something.
I know they overheard my conversation with the twins, and while the twins might not have immediately caught on to my retreat-and-deflect tactic, Pan and Vane are never that oblivious.
Or maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe what I really mean is that Pan and Vane are never that merciful.
Before they poke me more, I sit up and pop off the bed, half flying, half jumping. I have come to love the wild acrobatics that can be accomplished with the Neverland Shadow. Even more so when it helps me escape discomfort.
“I need some coffee,” I say, straightening my dress as I head for the door.
“Darling.”
It used to be, that when Pan said my name, it sounded like an oath.
Now it sounds like a plea.
I come to a stop in the doorway.
“We’ll address the fae pushback. You don’t have to be concerned.”
Of course the men think this is about power. Of course they would never suspect it was about worth.
“I know,” I say easily, barely looking at him over my shoulder. “I’m not worried at all.”
Then I push off the stone floor and fly up into the last blue dregs of daylight.