Author's Note: I want to put out a warning with this chapter. It made my stomach churn a bit while I was writing it and again as I read over it to post. I know that I've said it a hundred times, but I was to say it again: Peter is a dark character in my stories. He is twisted and manipulative and abusive. That is all. Happy Reading! ~Miss Faery
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Darkness and silence plagued the tent. No firelight filtered through the tent flap and I could no longer hear the Lost Boys outside. It was as though, in this tent, Peter and I were completely separated from the outside world.
All I could hear was my rapid heartbeat thundering away in my ears and my shaky breathing. Peter's hand had left mine the moment the tent flap had fallen behind us, and his steps were so light that I couldn't hear him. And since my eyes weren't adjusting to the darkness quickly enough, I couldn't see him either.
"What do you think, Sweetheart," Peter's voice in my ear made me jump, and I heard him chuckle. "Should I light a few candles? Make this all a bit more romantic?"
Words failed me. They rose in my throat, demanding to be said, demanding that I plea and beg for him not to touch me, but they died on my tongue. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but my hands were too heavy to lift. I was quivering like a leaf in a storm, but I felt as heavy as an anchor, unable to move at all.
"I'd like an answer, Sweetheart," Peter prodded, his hand coming up to pet my hair. He was behind me, I could feel it now. His body heat pulsed at my back, and I wondered if he could somehow see in the dark, see how terrified I was.
But still, no answer came. Tears began to fall onto my cheeks one by one and I had to bite my tongue to quit from making any noise. The tangy taste of copper filled my mouth, and it did nothing to help my curling stomach.
Silence stretched for what felt like hours, Peter's fingers combing through my hair as I waited for him to get on with whatever he was planning. Although, I was pretty sure I knew exactly what he was planning.
When Peter's hands found my shoulders and turned me towards him, I let out something that was a mix between a sob and a whimper.
"Shh," he hushed me, but it didn't stop the tears from falling. Then, he said, "I think I'd like to see your pretty face when you crawl into my bed for the first time."
I sucked in a breath, my cheeks blazing hot as Peter's hands left my shoulders. I felt him move past me, taking the air in the tent with him as he made his way towards the back of the tent. Then, one by one, he lit a candle, bathing the tent in a golden glow with long, dark shadows.
I couldn't breathe. My lungs burned, desperate for me to get some air, but I couldn't. Panic was choking me, and I wished it would have hurried up and killed me.
Run! my mind screamed at me, but my feet didn't listen. Besides, how far would I get before he caught me?
"You look beautiful, Sweetheart."
His words were soft and that somehow gave me the courage to meet Peter's gaze, but when my eyes took in the sight of him, I was quickly reminded that his soft words meant nothing when it came to who he really was.
Peter loomed before me, half his face bathed in candlelight while the other half was blanketed in shadow. His hair glowed copper and hunger flared in his eyes as he peered down at me. His shoulders were back, his spine straight with power as the candles glinted off two daggers that hung in his belt. I swallowed hard, hoping he didn't plan on using them.
"I've been so patient," he said, his voice still low and soft, rolling over me in waves and sending chills down my spine. "You should have been here weeks ago." As he took a step towards me, his hands rose up to his belt. He undid the buckle slowly, letting the belt, as well as the two daggers, fall away. Part of me was relieved, but a bigger part of me was frightened. Peter knew he didn't need to use his weapons to get to me. He could do that all on his own.
I stiffened when his hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks as he wiped away my tears.
"We have so much lost time to make up for," he said before he crashed his lips to mine.
The kisses were bruising, all teeth and swollen lips. I gasped when one of Peter's hands fisted in my hair, and Peter wasted no time delving his tongue in my mouth, exploring every inch as I fought feebly to pull away. But Peter's grip on my hair was strong, and I couldn't move. I tried pushing him away, but it only seemed to spur him on.
When his tongue slipped from my mouth I took in as much air as I could, gasping at Peter's mouth latched onto my neck. My fingers dug into his shoulders as I tried to just hold on and make it through this. I could feel his teeth scrape my skin as he sucked hard, and I knew, without a doubt, that there would be a bruise there that would last for days.
"Every Lost Boy in camp is going to know exactly who you belong to," he said against my neck and I whimpered.
My heart threw itself against my ribcage as Peter continued his assault, but it was nothing compared to how I felt when he pulled away to admire his work.
His cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen and the gleam in his eye had far surpassed hunger. His pupils were blown with lust, the green in his eyes almost non-existent as his tongue flicked out over his bottom lip.
He gave me a face-splitting grin. "Get undressed for me, Sweetheart," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. I felt my breath catch at his words, and for the first time since Peter took me away, my racing heart seemed to stop. "Get undressed for me and wait under the covers. I'll be back soon." I watched, my body frozen with shock, as he made his way to the tent's entrance. The more distance Peter put between us, the louder my resuming heartbeat sounded, and with each thu-thump pulsating in the area where he had latched onto my neck, the more nauseated I felt.
Just as he was about to let the tent flap fall behind him, Peter stopped and turned back to me. One side of his mouth turned up in a half-smile as he raked his eyes over my body. "I suggest you do as I say," he said, his voice low. "I'm not below holding you down and ripping those clothes from your body. And when I get all riled up like that, I'm no where near as… gentle."
It wasn't a threat, I realized as he finally slipped away. It was a promise.
My mind was reeling as I stared at the spot where Peter had been standing. I had a choice in how tonight played out, and while it all ended up the same way, I had a choice in the amount of trouble and pain he was going to cause.
As I tried to remain calm, I turned my eyes to the bed that Peter expected me to be waiting in.
It wasn't much of a bed, really. It was more like a thick pile of furs with feather pillows. If I knew it wasn't Peter's, and if I didn't know what was sure to happen to me in the confines of those blankets, it would have been inviting.
My eyes burned with the threat of tears and my chest constricted. I swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in my throat as I ran my hand over the furs.
I didn't want it to happen this way, especially not with Peter. But if I didn't give Peter what he wanted, he was going to take it anyway.
My mind flashed back to the night on the Jolly Roger when Hook and I had retreated to the privacy of his quarters after dancing the night away. He had hovered over me, smelling of sweat, sea salt, and rum, and he had tasted the same way. The scruff of his beard had scratched deliciously against my cheek and my neck, and the coolness of the silver of his hook had given me goosebumps as he slid the strap of my dress off my shoulder.
I had told him to wait, and he had insisted that he wasn't going to go any farther.
"Can't have you taking advantage of me now, can we?" he had asked, and we had both laughed. My heart hadn't felt heavy as it did now, and I had laughed without worry. Peter Pan and his Lost Boys were the farthest thing from my mind.
And now, it was something I couldn't ignore because I was right in the middle of it all.
You always were, you foolish girl, I scolded myself and choked on a sob.
And I was sure that Peter wasn't going to be as understanding as Hook should I ask him to wait. In fact, it would probably only make him angry.
I blinked rapidly as I kicked off my leather boots and inched the soft cotton of my shirt up my body. A shaky breath passed my lips as the cold licked at my skin and caused goosebumps to rise on my arms and shoulders. When my hands found the band to my trousers, my thumbs brushed my hip bones, and I almost screamed at the thought of Peter's hands on my bare skin. And even though I was cold, my body was flushed red as I slipped my undergarments down my legs and let them pool at my feet. Before I stepped out of them, I unclasped the hook of my brassiere and let the straps slide down my arms.
My legs threatened to buckle as I stepped out the pile of clothes at my feet and made my way towards the pile of furs, and even though I was very much alone in the tent, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that someone was watching me.
The thought of Peter watching from just beyond the tent flap sent a bitter chill down my spine.
The dam of my resolve finally broke when I climbed under the furs. I clutched the blankets to my chest in a feeble attempt to keep myself covered even though Peter wasn't back yet. Sobs ripped through me as I fought to catch my breath. The bed cradled me gently, and I wondered how something so comfortable could belong to such a terrible person. I let my shoulders sink into the soft fur, my head resting on the feather pillows.
"Now that's a sight I could definitely get used to."
I shot up in bed, the blankets clutched tight to my chest as I stared down Peter.
He was grinning ear to ear as he stalked closer to the bed, a small bundle curled under one arm. But I wasn't paying attention to the bundle; my eyes never left Peter. I was trapped and he knew it, and there was no hiding the power he felt as he took in the sight of my bare arms and shoulders.
"Oh yes, Sweetheart," he whispered as he sank down onto the bed and ran a finer up my arm and across my collarbone. "I wish you could see how you looked right now. So gorgeous. So—" he tried to pull the blanket away and I choked on a sob. He pulled back, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest, "—terrified. I love it."
"Peter," I croaked, somehow finding my voice. "Please…"
"Please what, my little Lost Girl?" he asked as he scooted closer. His hand ran over my shoulder and down my bare back. I shivered as Peter's callouses scratched my skin, and he made a sound that reminded me of a growl and a moan. "I don't want to waste anymore time talking, Sweetheart, so make it quick."
His hand was in the small of my back, tracing patterns that made every nerve in my body tingle as he leaned in and started leaving open-mouthed kisses across my collarbone. Once again, his other hand came up and tugged on the blanket that stood between him and seeing my bare skin. He tugged harder this time, and I felt the fur slipping between my fingers.
The tent was beginning to spin dangerously as I tried to find my voice, tried to find a way to make Peter stop. To make all this stop.
Another sharp tug on the blanket and a harsh bite to my collarbone tore a scream from my throat before I finally found my courage again.
"No!" I screamed as I pushed against Peter with everything I had while still holding onto the fur blanket. Peter, although completely unaffected by my pushing, sat back and looked at me with deadly eyes.
"No?" he asked, and I felt myself flinch.
"No," I repeated, although it sounded weak coming from my trembling lips. "I don't want this, Peter," I declared, my voice cracking. "Please!"
Peter stared at me for what felt like hours, his dark eyes dancing dangerously with the flickering candles. I was sure at any moment he was going to push me onto my back and have his way.
And then he started laughing.
Confusion and weariness settled over me as Peter leaned back and wiped a tear from his eye. Then, he cupped my face in his hands and leaned in close, his eyes still intense but with a hint of impish glee dancing in them.
"Oh, Sweetheart, I wish you thought higher of me sometimes." My brows drew together as the confusion lingered, but then Peter put the bundle he had brought in my lap. "Get dressed," he said with a peck to my cheek. Then, he stood and made his way back to the tent's entrance.
I unfolded the bundle to find a shirt that was certainly long enough to be used as a nightgown. Stunned, I looked up at Peter, who was lingering at the entrance.
"Get some rest, my little Lost Girl," he stated with a smile. "There won't be much time to sleep from here on out."
Without another word, he was gone.