by Dee Garcia
She may not be immortal but…
“If I recall correctly, there’s royal blood coursing through your veins, as well, so this grand world is just as much yours as it is mine.”
“Yeah? But this forest was yours just five minutes ago? Please, Captain, you’re not fooling anyone with your silly little mind games. At least not me anyway. And for the record, there’s nothing magical about Faes,” she mutters, narrowing her stare in offense.
I am loving this.
The sass on her is enticing. Evidently, my cock agrees, kicking beneath my slacks at the thought of egging her on.
Riling her up.
Cornering her.
Feeling that tight little body against mine as I sink my teeth into her neck while giving her this dick.
Goddamn it.
“On the contrary,” I take a step toward her, “they’re quite magical indeed. Vicious and deadly.”
Tinksley steps back. “You forgot conniving, deceitful, and despicable.”
“Kind of like Pan?” I counter, advancing again.
Every inch closer urges her backward until her back meets a thick trunk. I knew my words would strike a nerve, but the scandalized expression that settles on her face as I snuff out the distance between us far exceeds what I expected.
“Peter isn’t any of those things!” Her small hands ball into fists.
Those golden Fae markings adorning her pale skin seem to shine brighter in her ire. They’re beautiful—branches with a filigree swirl, spanning the balls of her shoulders down to her elbows. What makes them all the more enchanting is that they show only when her wings are concealed, an attribute only halflings possess.
Caging her in, one hand pressed against the centuries-old trunk on either side of her, I note how, once again, she doesn’t recoil, even through my observation. My head tilts with amusement. “Are you sure about that? Your mother sure seems to think so.”
“My mother? How did you…” Confusion colors her tone. I see it swirling in her eyes. She ponders it for several moments before shaking her head as if to collect her thoughts. “My mother doesn’t know anything about him, just like you and everyone else. You’re all quick to judge him, but I can swear on my life that Peter is good and pure, kind. Honest.”
I can’t even quell the laugh that shoots free from throat. It’s impossible. She thinks that abomination is honest, pure.
Right.
“What’s so funny?” she grits.
“Nothing—nothing at all.”
“Obviously you find something humorous if—”
“Observant. Learn to be more observant, Tinksley. You’d be surprised how differently the world turns when you leave naivety behind,” I murmur, face looming so closely to her own, I can practically taste the sweetness of her lips. “Now, run along. Go see your precious Peter Pan. Wouldn’t want to keep you away from him any longer than necessary.”
Tinksley holds my stare one second, two seconds, three seconds longer, and then she’s shoving me away once more, breaths somewhat shallow. Elegant wings expel in a flash, sparkling beneath the sun’s golden rays. I’m left in awe as her markings dissolve right before my very eyes.
“Have a good day, Captain,” she breathes, and then she’s off.
Taking flight.
Leaving me rooted to the ground.
Mewls, moans, slurping, sucking—all distinct, sensual sounds that can be found in the parlor at least twice per day, if not more. Sometimes it’s a private affair, others it’s not.
Like now…
Kazimir and Malik indulge on the other side of the room, switching between two of the most willing blonde puppets. They’re always eager for feedings, practically racing out of their rooms when summoned. No doubt a result of their inner-harlot, hence why Kaz and Malik are so fond of them.
Kaz’s dirty blond locks drip with sweat as he pounds into his dinner from behind, a hand wrapped around her throat, fangs lodged deep in her neck. Malik isn’t far behind, either. His little blonde lays flat on the desk, bared in entirety, legs spread as wide as they’ll go with his dark head bobbing between them. He alternates between eating her cunt and ravishing her thighs, back and forth, over and over again.
They’ll switch again soon, too, release or not. Those two are known for sharing quite regularly.
Me, though? I don’t share well. Never have, never will. Main reason why I acquired Tigerlily upon her offering in the first place—to be my personal blood bag. Given her neck is still quite the mess—thanks to her undying snark and smart-assed remarks—and she refuses my blood to heal, I’ve had to resort to these rotatable mortal puppets until she’s made a recovery.
This one isn’t as eager as the other two, but she’s easy to persuade most of the time. Very easy, especially when there’s copious amounts of alcohol and a show.
Naked back pressed to my fully-clothed front, Aleisha takes in the erotic performance before us as I run a feather-light caress along her smooth skin. Her pulse gallops, but not fearfully.
She’s aroused. The way her ass rolls against my cock confirms it.
My lips quirk.
Wrapping her dark tresses around my fist, I yank her backward until her head meets my shoulder. I don’t so much as have to demand her neck; she offers it up to me, eyes trained on Kaz and Malik.
“That’s right, sweetheart.” My palm ghosts down her bare stomach. “Just relax.”
The closer I get to the apex of her thighs, the more she falls lax. Legs spreading, breaths quickening. Her hips buck slightly as the pad of my middle finger grazes her clit, and a few methodical circles later, I’m spreading her lips with gusto, dipping the same digit inside.
Warm.
Wet.
“Such a tight little cunt,” I whisper, tip of my nose skating along the slope. “Just begging to be fucked, isn’t it?
“Yes…” she pants it.
“Well, if you take care of me, I’ll take really good care of you. How does that sound?”
“Like a deal.”
Humming, I skim my lips along the same slope, scenting her, nearly tasting her. My mouth waters in anticipation. “A deal it is then. This is the part where you stay real still for me and keep those eyes on the boys. I promise you won’t feel a thing, love.”
Aleisha sucks in a deep breath, bracing herself for the worst. Armand usually has his way with her, and he isn’t the most gentle. Granted, I’m not always gentle, either, but Armand nearly starves himself before succumbing. He claims it to be a fast of sorts, one which aids him in practicing restraint.
I call bullshit on that.
Deprivation only makes us feral.
The man is simply still coping with what he had to become in order to live another day. Or at least he thinks he’s coping. I’ve tried to help him, but Armand is a stubborn creature of habit. He’ll come around eventually. For now, I just let him do his thing.
Can’t help those who don’t want to be helped.
Baring my fangs, I sink them into Aleisha’s neck, softly, ever so slowly. My hands work her body in tandem, too—one manipulating a rigid nipple, the other caressing her slick, needy pussy. There isn’t a single scream to follow, either, only ripples of pleasure that fall from her lips.
Melding with the equally erotic sounds across the room.
This is why they’re puppets; they get off on the pain. Trade their lifeline and their freedom for hedonism and riches. For some, it’s even a new beginning, a chance at a new life where nobody knows who they are or what sins they’ve committed.
The warm, metallic bite of Aleisha’s blood on my tongue is like salve on a wound.
Soothing.
Fulfilling.
Groaning, I latch on harder, dig in deeper as the trickle gains speed. There’s a brief whimper that catches in her throat, but it’s just that—brief. The second I slip two fingers inside her, she falls lax once more and assists me in bringing her over the edge.
It’s euphoric.
Ahem.
<
br /> A voice clears beside us suddenly. Through my peripherals, I find Cassius to my right, propped up against the threshold with crystal tumbler in hand. That dark stare of his remains steady as he takes a generous sip, a silver wisp falling over one eye. “Is the spectacle really necessary?” he queries.
Doesn’t surprise me.
Cassius is a very private man.
He doesn’t indulge in the same ways we do.
Easing off my dinner, I grab the ruby throw blanket draped beside me and hand it to Aleisha as I turn my attention on him. “A spectacle would require an audience. I’m not sure what exactly you’re seeing, but I surely don’t see one.”
“You know what I mean.” There isn’t a lick of amusement in his tone.
But there is in mine.
I hum and recline in my spot with Aleisha still in my lap. “Yes, well, given their own spectacle, I highly doubt they’re paying much attention to what’s happening over here.”
Cassius’ lips settle in a firm line. He doesn’t appreciate my mirrored and very much sarcastic retort, clearly.
Not that he does at any other point in time.
As an elder of sorts, someone much older and wiser than me—yes, I can see how he’d expect more respect on my part.
But respect is earned, as is trust...and he lost both many moons ago.
“Is that all you wanted to say or is there something I can do for you?” I question as he drains what remains in his glass.
“The girl is hungry,” he replies dryly.
The girl, as in Tigerlily.
“And you’re telling me this because…” I motion for him to continue which only narrows his eyes all the more.
“Because she’s yours.”
Chuckling darkly, I brush Aleisha’s dark tresses out of the way, eager to finish what we started. Tigerlily might be irrelevant at the moment, but she can’t heal if I don’t attend to her needs. “I suppose you’re right to some extent. Let Dragan know, then. He’s usually the one who fixes up their meals.”
“He isn’t here, hence why I’m addressing it with you,” Cassius growls.
My eyes cut back to his formidable form. “Then find someone, anyone, Daddy Dearest—and issue it as Captain’s orders.”
♫ Superficial Love - Ruth B. ♫
Peter’s rambling a mile per minute.
Through the haziness clouding my mind and the way my vision has tunneled on the distant view of the forest, though, I can’t hear a single word he’s saying.
All I can focus on is Hook.
Our run-in was hours ago, but my mind won’t leave it be. What in God’s name was that? How he cornered me, the things he said to me, how he looked at me. How he smelled.
Another shiver works its way down my spine. I can’t recall a time I’ve felt so exhilarated yet so vulnerable and anxious all in the same hand. My stomach whirls just thinking about it.
I want to feel that again...
“Tinks, are you even listening to me?” Peter sounds annoyed now. A tad petulant, too, if I’m being honest.
“I zoned out.” I turn back toward him with a shake of my head.
His lips purse a beat. “I can see that. What’s going on?”
The infamous Captain Hook nearly pinned me to a tree whilst looking at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
I don’t tell him this, obviously. He’d surely plot some way to raise the Captain’s hackles and they don’t get on enough as it is for all that. So I shrug instead, in attempt to appear nonchalant as I answer evenly. “Just imagining my mother’s mounting frustration. I can feel it from here.”
Not a complete lie.
“Because of me?” he hedges.
“No. She informed me we’re due for dinner with my father tonight, but I stormed out and slammed the door on her mid-sentence. I’m not having dinner with him.”
Peter fidgets just slightly at the growl billowing within my statement and arches a brow. “Why not? He’s your dad, T.”
“Yeah, and? He’s also Lord of the Faes. Someone who, not only tolerates their atrocities, but encourages them, as well. They’re a vile species, Peter, and I want nothing to do with them.”
“How can you say that? You are—”
“Don’t.” I lift a hand in disgust, my lip curling in a sneer. “Just don’t. These markings are a curse, one I wish I could rid myself of. Unfortunately for me, I can’t change who I am. I can, however, always strive to be better.”
“You are better.” He scoots closer to me on the dock. His arm falls around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “A million times better.”
“You’re supposed to say I’m the best.”
Peter chuckles with a little shake to his head. “You’re sassy is what you are.”
I giggle. “You say it like you just figured that out.”
“Oh no, I’ve known...since you were a kid.” He chuckles again. “Just never ceases to amaze me, that’s all.”
“And why is that?”
“I don’t know. It’s cute and, looking at you, unexpected.”
Unexpected?
My head jerks back, brows furrowed curiously. “Why unexpected?”
“‘Cause you ooze innocence, Tinks. Anyone who doesn’t know you would think you’re an angel.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
I mean, c’mon. Me? An angel?
“Trust me. I’m not the only one who’d agree with that.”
For some reason, the entire sentiment offends me. I know it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it irks me deep inside my soul. I don’t want to be the innocent, little Tinksley Bell forever.
Especially to him, even if he didn’t say so.
Chin raised, I slither gracefully onto my feet, and hook my thumbs beneath the thin straps of my sky blue dress. “Does this file under innocent or cute?”
Said dress pools at my feet.
Chocolate eyes bulge as his throat bobs through a swallow. He shakes his head slowly, wordlessly, taking in every inch of me. “No, it doesn’t,” he rasps.
Satisfied with his reply, I proffer him my hand without explanation. He doesn’t question me, which only doubles my sense of satisfaction and makes my heart sing.
The moment he’s standing before me, I jump him.
Wrap myself around his tall, lean frame.
He holds me steady with ease, warm palms kneading my backside as our mouths collide. He groans a little, too, opening wider when my tongue licks along the seam. “You taste so good, T.”
“So take me inside...”
“But don’t you have to go ho—”
“Just take me inside!” I shriek against his lips, frustrated at his ever-present reticence.
Why can’t he ever just take the lead?
Peter stills for the briefest moment, eyes fluttering open to gauge my expression, one that’s pleading with him...and then we’re moving.
With hurried strides, he covers the length of the dock and carries me up the spiral steps, at least twenty-feet off the ground. Made of the same oak that covers most of the forest, they wrap around the thick trunk and open up to a small landing where a narrow bridge leads to his home.
Setting me onto my feet, he takes hold of my hand once more and together we cross to the other side.
I smile as the mossy-green front door greets me. His home really is beautiful; whimsical and beguiling, shielded perfectly by the tree tops.
I remember the first time I came up here like it were just yesterday—my eighteenth birthday. Prior to that, we’d only spent our time together out on the dock or somewhere within the forest. Sometimes, we’d head out to the beach, too, and explore the caverns around Siren’s Cove, or sit on pure white sand while the tide washed ashore.
That day was special, though. I wanted so badly to finally have him, to give myself to him in a way I’d reserved especially for him. Long story short, he made it happen. Stripped me of my innocence with nothing but tenderness. Told me he loved me.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I do wish he didn’t still treat me as if I were so fragile. It’s been years since then, almost three long years, and with each day that passes, the craving only becomes stronger. I long for passion, long to be coveted so fiercely that he’ll lose all control and possess me completely.
Perhaps one day, I keep telling myself, but a small part of me reminds me—rather incessantly— not to hold my breath.
That he’ll never truly be everything I want and need, even if I wish for it on every star in the clearest night sky.
“Breathe, Tinksley,” he whispers, gently brushing back my mane, his lips ghosting along my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I-I know,” I stammer.
“Do you now?” An appeased grin plays on his face. “So sure of yourself, of me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you trust me.”
I shudder slightly, a movement I know he catches onto. “I do.”
Those two little words seem to affect him. Callan shakes his head and chuckles softly. “Why?” he asks. “No one else does. I’m what nightmares are made of, remember?”
So true.
I need to get away from him...
A small shove, but it jerks him back nonetheless. He doesn’t react much less comment, just watches me watching him. When it’s clear he’s not going to rush me again, I gather myself rather quickly and cross my arms.
“Not everyone has the same idea of nightmares,” I counter, drawing out clear dubiety on his expression.
“Oh, come on—you know what they say about me. I’m the big, bad man. The villain of Rosewood tales.”
“Are you, really though?” I’m equally dubious, oddly chastising, too. “Or is that how you want people to see you?”
“The question is, how do you see me, Tinksley Bell?”
That very question—no, the entire scenario has been replaying in my mind ever since Peter fell asleep. Most nights it doesn’t bother me. Gives me the opportunity to just admire him. But tonight, after what he said earlier regarding my so-called innocent exterior, the silence is bothering me more than it probably should.
