Elizabeta Brooke: Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

Unsteadily at first, then with growing confidence, he found his rhythm. His arms trembled as he held himself above her, staring down at her not in concentration, but with undisguised wonder in his eyes. She wanted to kiss him but felt instinctively that it would distract him. Instead, she clenched her internal muscles around him and contented herself with rolling up to meet his downward lunge, her hands still on his shoulders.

A moment later he was arching his back, his breath caught in a groan of surprise, his eyes closing as though to lock the sensations into his memory.

Then it was over and she cradled him against her breasts, kissing his hair and smoothing it, listening to his hoarse breathing.

"I love you, Wendee," he said, and like ice melting, Dee felt a tear form in the corner of her eye.

If she'd believed in a God she would have thought he'd sent Christophe as an angel to protect her. Making love with him had been exactly what she'd needed, exactly when she'd needed it, to save her from destruction.

"I'm sorry you didn't…" His head moved against her breast. "I was so caught up in what was happening to me."

"It's supposed to be that way the first time," she said, her fingers pushing back his fringe as he lifted himself to look down at her.

"But you didn't — "

"I didn't want to." She leant up and kissed him. "Watching you was better."

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," she said. "But it was."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

"With Long Shadow." Christophe nodded as though confirming a suspicion.

"I don't want to talk about — "

"Good. Because we don't have time," he said.

"We've got hours."

He shook his head. "I have to go… I wasn't supposed to…" He looked down at her body with a surprisingly roguish smile. "I'll get in trouble if he finds out, but — "

"Pietre knows what we're doing."

"Shhh." Christophe laid a finger over her lips, said, "I'm going to escape. Off the island. But I need you to do something for me. It's important."

He lifted the finger.

"Of course I will," she said, stifling her surprise. This was the last thing she'd expected.

"Going against DeMartande… It's hard for me, Wendee," he said.

Dee cupped his face in her hands. "I'll do anything I can to help you, Christophe. Ask it."

"I can't take you with me where I'm going, but I won't leave you here, with him either. That would be a slow death."

Dee understood that now. "I don't want to go that way,” she told him. A fleeting vision of herself in the bridal shroud came back to her and she shivered. She couldn't do that again. Christophe had saved her and she wasn't going back.

"You'll do what I ask you to?"

"I promise," she said solemnly.

"It's for the best," he said, but she could see he was reluctant. "Keep your eyes closed now."

She obeyed, a sense of fatalism settling over her.

"I love you, Wendee," he said, and she felt him move away. Then he lifted her head and pressed something to her lips. "Drink this." Again she obeyed, swallowing the bitter liquid in a single mouthful. "I knew you'd trust me," he said.

"I always have," she replied, feeling the beginnings of a deep lethargy steal over her body. She wasn't frightened by it. Conversely, she felt relieved. Grateful. She couldn't have done it alone. And it had to be done.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Closed again. She sighed. It had been mostly sweet… Especially with Christophe. She was glad it would end this way.

"Make love to… me…" she said through numbing lips. "One… last…"

Then her consciousness was gone and she was unaware of Christophe's moment of hesitation, or the decision that saw him lay between her legs again and kiss her flaccid lips as he drove into her — no gentleness this time, the fierceness of his body giving hers motion as he stabbed his way into a frighteningly intense orgasm.

Dee was happy to discover she hadn't been sent to hell for her sins after all. This was obviously heaven.

Strong masculine arms held her and she swayed gently against a smooth chest whose nocturnal scent was as familiar to her as her own.

Did this mean he was also dead? Or had he merely been conjured here for her pleasure — the Long Shadow she'd wanted him to be. A fitting eternal reward.

Numbness from the poison Christophe had given her appeared to be receding, but that didn't concern her. She hadn't imagined going through the afterlife with no feeling.

She still expected to make love — as she had in her corporal existence — but now it would be as a sacrament, a devotional duty.

Orgasm had been her own personal prayer, her way of touching God. She imagined she would now have that pleasure for all time, together with a peace in her soul she'd only come close to for a brief time with the man who now held her.

As though listening into her thoughts, he said, "I'm here, Wendee. It's all right."

Dee felt… surprise. Telepathy was quite acceptable in her own personal heaven, but Long Shadow's voice had been hoarse, as though strained with the exertion of carrying her.

It had sounded realistic… life-like. Still, she would not let it touch the tranquil acceptance within her. She was dead. Christophe had given her the poison. She had faith in that.

"Almost there," he grunted and she felt the body that housed her spirit being hoisted a little against his chest.

Almost where? she wondered with detached interest. The pearly gates?

Perhaps she should open her eyes. She might never see this again.

"Time for me to split," another voice said, and Dee felt her tranquillity waver.

That had sounded like Christophe? Was he dead too?

A moment of confusion rippled her sea of calm. This wasn't what she'd imagined.

Indoctrinated by an early Christian upbringing, she'd naively expected a monogamous afterlife. Not…

Was she to share her eternity with all the people she'd not been able to admit she loved while she was alive? Would she have sex with any of them? All of them? Who else would be here with Long Shadow and Christophe? Skye? Xavion? Pietre?

Billy?

Long Shadow felt the woman in his arms tense. He looked down at her expectantly, but her eyes were closed. Still unconscious.

"It's now or never," Christophe said.

Long Shadow looked up, saw the way Christophe was gazing at Wendee, and felt shamed.

Out of innocent idealism, Christophe was letting her go, giving her to someone he believed would love her more — would give her a better life.

It was bravery beyond what Long Shadow felt himself capable of. He could no more give Wendee to another man than he could honour her spirit by finding love with another woman. Christophe, he knew, would do both. To make Wendee happy.

Was she going with the right man?

"Look after her." Christophe touched her cheek, frowned up at Long Shadow.

"I promise," he said, meaning it. "And thanks, Chris. I appreciate what you've done."

"I did it for her."

"I know."

“And you’ll keep you end of the bargain?”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Long Shadow said, "Okay, my back is turned." He set off along the beach again, hefting his precious burden a little higher in his arms.

Behind himself he heard a scrambling noise, then nothing. There was only the sound of his own footfalls in the sliding sand — sand much darker than that of the island they'd left.

There was a coastal settlement up ahead somewhere, Christophe had told him. Only another kilometre or two.

Long Shadow trudged on, arms aching, growing numb from the strain, legs weakening.

Eventually he faltered, his foot sticking in the clinging sand, pitching him forward, but he righted himself at the last moment. Before he dropped Wendee.