Title: Red Handed Jill-a doxy's tale
Author: Squeezynz
Chapter: One - Survival and Redemption
Rating: NC17 - for explicit sexual situations.
Pairing: Wendy/Hook. Wendy/crew. Wendy/Peter.roughly in that order.
Synopsis: sequel to Pillaging - Wendy is made the ships whore. Now she has to survive, somehow, someway. Then fate turns the wheel again.
Authors Note: This is not a violent dark-fic like Pillaging, but it does deal with explicit sex, the situation is not nice, not fluffy, although I should say that I am a romance writer at heart and I have to give my heroes and heroines a decent resolution. This is a work of fiction, so not everthing is explained, or bears much relation to how these things would work out in real life.....which is fine with me.
Wendy had a rough deal in Pillaging...in this she is still having a rough time, but not condemned to languish forever in this state.
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A young woman stood at the prow of the ship, one finely boned hand resting on the wooden rail, the other holding back the mass of honey blonde hair that whipped around her face. The sharp wind caused her clothes to mold themselves to her lush contours, the satin ribbon threaded through the bodice fluttering around her, caressing the rounded figure. Her skirt flapped against her long legs, outlining their slender length to anyone who cared to look, their owner uncaring of the display. Her face lifted, as if offering itself to the setting sun, the burnished rays painting her skin gold, glints shining in her long hair.
Red Handed Jill, formerly known to the world as Wendy Moira Angela Darling breathed deeply of the salty air, glad for this brief respite before duty called once more. As she watched the sun sink below a dark bank of clouds, she felt the glow inside her fade as well. For a brief moment she had remembered a boy whose hair had been the colour of the sunset, his lithe body vital and golden, his eyes as changeable as the sea. Then the memory had gone with the sinking of the sun, his image fading like mist from her mind, leaving her cold and empty once more.
Turning her back on the sunset, Jill walked across the deck of the forecastle and down the stairs to the main deck, her bare feet taking her towards her cabin. Several of the crew nodded to her, calling her name to which she replied with a smile of recognition and nod of acknowledgment. There were no whistles, no insults, no unpleasantness, a state so different from when she'd first been introduced to her life aboard the Jolly Roger. Then she'd been nothing more than a means to assuage their lust and depravity, a vessel for their frustrations. Now - well now life aboard ship was almost pleasant, if you disregarded the fact that she was whore to every man that sailed with her, her body available for any mans pleasure, her heart as cold and empty as the grave.
On reaching her large cabin, Jill gently shut the door behind her. There was no lock, of course, the Captain would never allow such a luxury, but she did have a measure of privacy, now that the ship's company had come to a mutual agreement as to the sharing of Red Handed Jill's most valuable resources.
Sitting on the edge of her comfortable double bed, Jill could still recall with unflinching clarity, the early days of her life aboard ship. But the odd thing was, she could not remember anything before. As she started to unlace the front of her bodice, she smiled, remembering how scared she'd been, how horrified to find herself stripped naked by the Captain, laid bare on the deck and deflowered so publicly, so ruthlessly and so thoroughly. Afterwards, carried to his cabin by Mister Smee, Jill remembered how Hook had spent the next week teaching her how to use her body, her mouth, her hands, to please him.
At first she had been in a state of shock, Hook using her body to slake his lust while she lay quiescent and pliable. But after the initial shock wore off, she found that Hook was taking remarkable care of her, of her body, making sure that she didn't suffer needlessly from his ministration, even though she was still too small and immature in form to accommodate comfortably some of his desires. By the end of that first week, Jill had leant that her body had a certain power over a man, that certain touches with hand and mouth could reduce even the formidable Captain Hook to a quivering, panting mess, ruled by his dick, giving her a measure of power that she'd never had before.
By the end of the second week, she was as adept at pleasuring a man as any whore in Port Royale, her lips and tongue able to bring Hook to shuddering completion with ease, her body adapting to its new use with alacrity.
After a month she was ready to take on the whole crew.
Smee was the first to benefit from her education. The old man coming in her mouth before she had done more than release his cock from his breeches. Hook had been uproariously amused, Smee's face turning brick red in face of his Captains derision, but Jill ignored Hook and managed to coax the first mate to another erection, this time sustaining it until he was able to bury himself in her body and reach a shuddering climax, his breath wheezing against her back where he rested, boneless and well satisfied. After Smee had left the cabin, Hook had tossed her onto his bed and ravaged her, his rampant sex quickly finding completion in her heated depths, his eyes gleaming, teeth bared in a grimace of pleasure.
"My god but you're a witch....." Hook ground out, collapsing on her chest where he lay panting and spent.
Jill lay staring up at the ceiling, her eyes seeing nothing, her hand absently stroking the dark curls pressed to her flat chest. Inside she felt nothing. It was as if her heart had ceased to exist. She knew it continued to beat, but for the rest, it might have not have ever existed at all. She didn't feel hate, or love or pity or anything.
She knew she had once felt all those things, had once had a reason to love, to hate, to feel. But now she was nothing more than a trinket, a toy to bring pleasure to others, but not to herself. Her body responded to the sex, even managing to elicit an orgasm when Hook felt generous and pleasured her before himself, but it didn't touch her emotions, didn't impinge on her feelings. They were locked away, the key buried in the other person she'd been before arriving aboard the Jolly Roger.
Now she performed, and performed well.
After Smee came the rest of the crew. Wanting to keep his sex toy healthy for his own use, certain rules were brought into play aboard the ship. There was never any doubt that every man would have his turn with her, but every man also had to agree to not damage her, knock her about and make her useless for the others. Hook's orders were explicit and without remorse. Any man who damaged the goods would forfeit his right to have a turn with said goods. Not only would he forfeit his rights, he'd be flogged as well.
Jill was given the cabin across from Hook's to perform her services in and there she welcomed one man after another. They varied in size, shape, age and ability, but all took their pleasure of her and stuck to Hook's ruling. After each member of the crew had used her, Jill asked Hook for another rule to be applied.
They were laying in Hook's large bed, Jill laying across his chest, her fingers circling one dark nipple hidden in a nest of black hairs, his chest heaving under her hand as he tried to catch his breath.
"I want the men to wash before they have me."
"What? What was that?"
"I want them to wash before they fuck me....some are alright, but most are quite disgusting."
Hook raised his head slightly to look down the length of her slender body. He always insisted she bathe before servicing him, and he kept himself clean as well, much to her relief.
"I don't see that as being a problem....you can make it part of your foreplay.....wash 'em before you fuck'em."
"Will you tell them?"
"Who have you got tomorrow?"
"Silas, Perkins and Chaz."
"I'll tell Smee to make sure you have water and cloth's. I'm sure you'll have no problem convincing the eager bastards to let you clean them up."
"You won't order them?"
"I ordered them not to damage you, isn't that enough? If you want to be fastidious, you'll have to sort that out for yourself."
Jill pressed her lips together, reminded once more how little she meant to the man she lay next to. She was a commodity, a chattel, an object with one purpose, to be used by the crew and Captain as their whore.
The next day, she received a bucket of warm water, soap and a towel from Smee. The first man she received thought it a huge joke when she offered to clean him. He lay on her bed and watched her remove his mal odorous clothes and then assiduously cleaned his sex. She did it so well, that when she had completed he was more than ready for her, Jill straddling him and riding him to completion where he shouted her name before spending his seed inside her. He left well satisfied. The next man, an hour later eagerly climbed on her bed after shucking his trousers, having been told by Silas about Jill's novel form of foreplay. And so the pattern was set. Her days spent on her back, or her knees, her nights spent in the Captain's cabin.
After awhile she sensed a change in the men's attitude towards her. Some of the men started to want something else other than just sex from her. Sometimes they just lay with their head on her breast, stroking her. Some wept after performing, Jill holding them until they got themselves under control. At first they had threatened her if she breathed a word, but she never did and they started to trust her, pouring out things they would never speak about to their crew mates. Things about their former lives, their formers lovers or sweethearts, mothers and sisters. Jill became a repository for the ships emotions, the mens dreams, hopes and fears.
She spoke little as the men talked to her, listening to their words but not feeling anything beyond pity or a wry amusement that they used her thus. She didn't hate them, she didn't love them. They were sometimes no more substantial than shadows to her. Shadows that found release in her arms, her body but never touched her inner self.
And so the days past, weeks into months into years. Her body matured, rounded, softened and grew. The crew had settled into a familiar pattern and knew whose turn it was without any arguments or jealousy. Hook still commanded her nights, partaking of her lush body with as much vigor as a man half his age. He never asked or expected her to respond to him on an emotional level, which was just as well as Jill couldn't if she'd wanted to. Her feelings were still locked away, as untouchable and unreachable as ever. She couldn't remember when she'd last dreamt, her sleep a blank nothing after Hook finished with her and she returned to her own bed until dawn.
Outside of her proscribed life as whore to the crew, she saw little of the world. She knew that they had left the shore's of Neverland some time ago, the ship sailing to other islands but she took little interest in their voyage. Her world was her cabin, her bed, her body and the sexual needs of the men of the Jolly Roger.
She wondered sometimes if she should take more interest in what was going out outside her cabin, that she should consider a way to escape her life aboard the ship. But those thoughts were usually fleeting and quickly squashed. Even if she did escape, where would she go, how would she feed herself, clothe herself, who would take care of her. Here she had security, meals every day, a warm comfortable bed, a safe life, what more could she want. She knew of no other.
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"I want you to come ashore when we reach port."
"Why?"
"Because I said so, m'dear."
Wendy lay unmoving, absorbing Hook's order with no-little surprise. They had visited several ports, both big and small and never once had she been allowed to even set foot outside her cabin. That she hadn't wanted to set foot outside had coincided nicely with Hook's edict, and the crew were quite happy to keep her in seclusion, jealousy guarding what they considered their own private treasure.
For that was what she was to the crew, their treasure. From the original prospect of being used, abused and broken by the pirates, Red Handed Jill had become their most precious treasure, her cabin the men's escape from their hard lives, her body theirs to revel in and enjoy with a free conscience and free heart.
Now he wanted to take her ashore.
"Have you grown tired of me already?"
Hook opened his eyes and stared at her for a moment, their ice blue glare sweeping over her like a chill wind.
"Does this feel like I've grown bored with you?" He place her fingers on his hard cock, the flesh jumping as she closed her hand around him.
"Then why? I'm happy to stay in my cabin."
"Because I say so.....now leave it.....spread your legs."
Later she was back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. For along time she had schooled herself to feel nothing. Not for the men she pleasured or the life she led. Now she felt a frission of fear. Why did Hook want to take her ashore, why now, why this port.
He had ordered her to dress modestly but to leave her long hair down. None of the crew were to visit her cabin while the ship was in port, another oddity, a change to the usual routine. Slightly unnerved she did as he bid, putting on a dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, complete with a set of underclothes that felt distinctly strange, having not worn such garments in nearly three years. She brushed her long hair till it hung down her back like a golden curtain. Many of the men took their pleasure, sometimes, simply from rubbing her hair over their bodies and sex, bathing in the silky strands, never once touching her flesh. Now it reached to the back of her thighs like liquid gold. Against the dark sapphire blue of her dress it rippled and swirled, rising like a cloud around her head when she stepped onto the main deck, the breeze caressing her face with the tang of salt and seaweed. The crew were about their business, the Jolly Roger anchoring in the harbor, the jolly boat being lowered over the side to take Hook, Jill and Smee to the dock.
She was used to the sound of the men and the ship, but completely unused to the sounds and smells of a busy, bustling dock. She felt something swell inside her, as if her heart had just started to beat again, after many years of inactivity. Drawing a deep breath she leant over the ships railing and stared at the port and all the activity taking place around it.
She didn't know which port it was, or what the name of the town was, all she did know was it existed outside her usual world and that there were more men of every colour and shape than she'd ever seen before. They voices swelled and broke over her like waves, languages she'd never heard battering her senses until it all merged into a distant roar as she shut herself down, only allowing the cry of the seagull to disturb her self-imposed isolation.
"Jill!" Hook's strident call jerked her back to reality and she turned to follow him to the side of the ship where a rope ladder led down to the small boat moored to the hull. Hook went first, then Jill, the ladder swaying only slightly under her light weight. Once on board the boat she sat in the stern, Hook at the prow and Smee at the oars. The crew hung over the gunwales to watch their progress, their silent stares boring a hole between her shoulder blades.
They reached some stone steps and Smee steadied the boat as Hook climbed out, extending his hand to Jill to help her alight. They walked in stately procession, Jill's hand tucked into Hook's elbow, along the length of the dock, her head down bent, eyes intent on the ground in front of her, not making any effort to acknowledge the men watching their progress through the throng. She felt a prickle of sweat start to snake down her back as snatches of comments reached her ears as they passed.
"That there's 'ook."
"Who's the pigeon?"
"Didn't know he had a daughter."
"Bet ya a Guinea she ain't his daughter....more like his slut!"
"Too fuckin' like a lady to be a slut....wonder where he stole her from?"
Muffled laughter and knowing smirks followed them as they left the dock, Hook ignoring them all, Jill keeping her head down, her hair shielding part of her face.
"Head up Jill......we're approaching the main street. No need to cower before this rabble. Chin up!" His hook appeared in front of her face, the point pressing into the underside of her chin, tilting her face upwards. His pale eyes raked over her from top to bottom, checking that she presented the image he wanted. Satisfied, he clucked his tongue and proceeded into the main street of the small township. Jill stared straight ahead, neither smiling nor scowling, her face as impassive as a doll. Many eyes followed them, mouths speculating as to her identity, Hook's already well known by the populace. Soon they had passed through the throng and stood outside a house that opened directly onto the street. The pirate Captain lifted his hook and rapped on the wooden door.
The door opened and they were ushered obsequiously into the darker interior, then into a side room, tastefully decorated and furnished. Hook waved Jill to a chair where she sat, her hands folded in her lap, head once more down bent. Hook paced to the window then back to the unlit fireplace, his eyes accessing everything down to the last doubloon.
"James...what a pleasure to see you after such a long time!" A booming voice washed over Jill from the doorway and she saw, through her lashes, Hook approach a portly man, embracing him like a brother, with much back slapping and grinning.
"Mortimer..you ol' sea dog...looking as well-to-do as ever!"
"As do you James.....what took you so long to visit your old haunt?"
"Oh I had my share of ships to sink and islands to ransack."
"Just like old time eh?"
The two men made themselves comfortable on the sofa, across from where Jill sat. She felt Mortimer's appraising look sweep over her but resisted the urge to cringe away.
"And what have you brought me today James...who is this beauteous flower of womanhood?"
"This is Red Handed Jill, a member of me crew...a pretty piece,and a good fuck besides."
"Your doxy?"
"The ships doxy Mortimer...and very good at her job she is."
"The ships? You always were a generous man James....she has the look of a lady....been privateering again?"
"No...this plum sort of fell into my lap, you might say. A prisoner of war."
"How long?"
"Going on three years...more or less."
"You have changed then....you never had time for such..lengthy associations in the past, luv'em-and-leave'em you were want to be."
"But this one was different. She was the true love of my rankest enemy, so her possession was all the sweeter. Now she is whore to the crew and their dearest treasure...ain't that right m'dear."
Jill lifted her head and stared vacantly at Hook, a smile curving her full lips. "If you say so Captain."
Mortimer frowned, watching as the girl lowered her head once more.
"Is she a half-wit? Her manner speaks of someone not quite all there."
Hook laughed. "No half-wit, a witch more like with that mouth and that body. She is as I want her....no bother with clinging, cloying missive ways, just a talented slut who knows her place and is happy to be there."
Mortimer arched an eyebrow. "Happy?"
"Who cares what she feels........it's what she does that's the rub."
With a flick of his beringed finger, Hook signaled Jill who obediently rose to her feet and approached the two men. Careful of her full skirt, she sank to her knees and reached for the fastening of Hook's breeches. Mortimer looked on in shocked surprise as Jill took Hook into her mouth and sucked on his hard flesh. Her hair formed a curtain that flowed over Hook's lap as her head bobbed over his sex. Within a minute or two Hook was shuddering as he spent himself in her mouth. After cleaning him thoroughly, she tucked his manhood back into his breeches, rose to her feet and sat once more, as statue like as before.
Mortimer had watched the whole proceedings with his mouth dropped open. Hook's shuddering breath snapping out of his stupor.
"Good gad......you lucky dog!"
Hook grinned salaciously, leaning back on the couch, a flush still painting his cheeks.
"Aren't I?"
Mortimer licked his suddenly dry lips, his own breeches uncomfortably tight. Shifting he darted a glance at his friend, noting the satisfied smirk on Hook's lips.
"Er...would you let me....er..." He gestured to Jill.
Hook waved expansively. "For an old friend....enjoy."
Not waiting another second, Mortimer stood up and freed himself from his trousers, his cock standing out, ready and swollen. He grasped Jill by the arm and lifted her to her feet, pulling her over to a cleared area of carpet.
"Get on your back girl, and lift your skirts."
Jill looked at Hook briefly before complying, hitching her skirts up over her hips, displaying her pantalettes which were split at the crotch for easy access. Mortimer sank to his knees and roughly pulled her towards him before leaning over and sinking himself balls deep in her body, not caring if she was prepared for him or not. Jill lifted her stocking clad legs and hooked them around his hips while her mouth opened to emit a chorus of carefully rehearsed seductive moans that whipped Mortimer into a frenzy, his fleshy buttocks heaving as he drove into her. Within a minute he was shaking and jerking, releasing himself inside her until he flopped spent over her. Jill waited for him to recover and pull out, rolling over to free her, before lowering her skirts and getting to her feet to return to the chair and her former position.
"She's......" Mortimer gasped, "She's.....certainly a treasure." Getting ponderously to his feet, he tucked himself away and collapsed on the sofa again, his chest heaving. "How much do you want for her?"
"Not for sale, I'm afraid.....belongs to the ship."
"Damn....."
"Mortimer...I'm here for the Captains meeting, but I need to leave the wench somewhere safe. Have any suggestions?"
Mortimer's eyes gleamed wetly for a second before reason took over.
"Not here....Alice would skin me alive. I can get Peter to take her to the Bale and Barley. I have rooms there, she'll be safe and sound while you conduct your business."
"Peter?"
"Young man I employed some time ago...very useful if you need something done on the quiet or kept safe from harm."
"Ah, sounds like what we need. Oh, and do you have a cloak, no need to advertise more than we need too."
"I'll see what I can find."
Hook's friend left the room and returned shortly with a dark cloak over his arm. Hook indicated for Jill to stand and swept the voluminous material around her shoulders, pulling the hood up to hide her hair.
"Go with this Peter, Jill. I don't know how long I'll be at this...meeting...so wait at the inn for my return."
"Yes James."
"Stay here m'dear, I'll send Peter in to collect you." Mortimer told her, ushering Hook out of the room and leaving her to stand by the empty fireplace.
The two men could be heard talking as they left the house, the front door banging shut behind them. Jill sat down, as still as before and stared unseeingly at the carpet.
Something was niggling at her, some memory was trying to draw her attention, but she ignored it and batted it mentally away. She wanted to wash, to remove the evidence of his use from her body. To be used like nothing more than a sex toy shouldn't worry her, not after her life on board ship, but somehow the cold blooded use of her body by someone who had no right to it, sparked something inside her. The door opened and someone else entered the room. She supposed it was the person sent to take her away to the inn, but she really couldn't raise the interest to look at him.
"Are you Jill?" The voice was of a young man, the words soft and lilting. She didn't look up.
"I've been asked to take you to the Bale and Barley Miss."
The voice came closer and Jill started to feel the palms of her hands sweat. She knew that voice, it teased at the edge of her conscience, taunted her forgotten memories.
Footsteps announced his arrival around the end of the couch, his boots coming into her view. Suddenly the boots stopped in front of her and their owner bent his legs to crouch down and look into her face. She found herself being scrutinized by a pair of thickly lashed sea green eyes, staring at her out of a face that seemed hauntingly familiar. Moistening her lips she tried to speak, but her throat wouldn't work.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
She managed to nod an affirmative and the face left her, his boots taking him to the side table where a decanter sat with glasses in attendance. He came back and crouched down again, lifting one of her hands to fold her fingers around the glass and tilt it towards her mouth.
"Drink." The voice coaxed her.
She did, her mouth filling with the sweet fire of a fine sherry, the liquor burning down her throat to her belly.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He took the glass and set it to one side. "Ready to go now?"
She nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet. He placed a warm hand at her elbow and supported her to the door. She felt weak, her legs trembling as they paced the short distance to the doorway. She didn't know what was the matter with her, only that something was screaming to get her attention in her head, some memory was battering for her to notice, an ache starting to swell inside her skull, dulling her hearing and dimming her sight. She stopped at the door and turned slightly to face him, her elbow still held in his hand. Looking up into his face she stared at him, blue eyes wide and shocked.
"Peter?"
"That's my name....what's the matter, you look like you've seen a ghost?"
"I....I....." before she could finish her world narrowed to a pin-prick and she fell, strong arms catching her before she came near to hitting the floor, sweeping her up and out of the door to the carriage waiting outside.
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He watched her sleep, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, dwelling on the long swathe of corn-silk hair to the finely boned face. Thick sooty lashes rested quietly on her cheeks, her full, rosy lips parted slightly, long neck leading to a fine bosom, still concealed under its layer of sapphire blue cloth. His gaze traveled further, over slim waist to flared hips and long legs ending in small boned feet.
She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. He'd taken her to the Bale and Barley as instructed and installed her in one of Mortimer's rented rooms, her slight form barely denting the covers on the large bed. He'd divested her of her cloak and leather slippers, his hands lingering on her feet as he placed them back on the bed. Once he had her comfortably settled, he pulled up a chair and propped his boots on the edge of the bed, prepared to wait until she regained her senses.
He didn't know what had precipitated her collapse, only that she had stared at him as if she'd been a ghost, shock and grief deepening the colour of her eyes until he felt he was drowning in them. Mortimer hadn't told him much, just that he was to make sure she was kept safe and well until her owner returned to claim her, one Captain James Hook.
Peter knew the name, if not the man. With his prosthetic hook, used to good effect against anyone who crossed him, the Pirate Captain was a man to be feared and avoided, a legend who's ruthlessness was a byword in pirate circles. Now his ship was moored in the bay and he'd brought his woman ashore, for what purpose Peter didn't know. He only knew that he felt something for this fragile creature, a welling of emotion that he'd never felt before, a desire to protect, to cherish and save from whatever fate had dealt her to give her into Hook's hands.
His own life was hardly unblemished, having hired himself at a very young age as a mercenary and expert thief. He had no recollection of how or why he ended up in this den of iniquity, but he'd quickly found employment, despite his youth, with Mortimer Harkness, a deceptively ordinary man that ran most of the brothels in the town, his reputation for ruthless business dealing well known. He'd hired Peter to be his eyes and ears about town, the young man able to slip into and out of any situation, using either his charm or his fists, backed up with his skills with his knife. Now, several years on, Peter was accepted as Mortimer's deputy and accorded the respect that position demanded.
He didn't know his true age, but Mortimer had reckoned he'd be at least in his eighteenth year, more or less, and Peter was content with that. He had often tried to remember his life before ending up in Mortimer's employ, but the images he coaxed from his brain only confused him further. Now he didn't bother, taking each day as it came and letting the future take care of itself.
The girl on the bed stirred, moaning softly as her head turned against the pillows. Her eyelids fluttered and Peter rose from his chair to lean over her.
"Peter?"
"I'm here."
"I don't..... I don't understand....you can't be here..." Her head twisted against the pillows again, a line forming between her eyebrows as she fought to bring a distant memory into focus.
Peter watched her struggle, intrigued by her words.
"Why can't I be here?.....I brought you here."
"No....no......" Her eye suddenly flew open and she looked up at him, her eyes wide and fearful, deep pools of shame and agony. "No.....you can't be here.......you're.....dead."
Shocked, he pulled back from her as she twisted onto her side, pulling her legs up towards her chest, her forehead almost touching her knees.
"Hey.....who do you think....who do you think I am?"
She only shook her head, her hair covering her shoulders and back like a cloak. He sat carefully on the side of the bed, his hand reaching out to touch her, only to pull back when she flinched and jerked away.
"I don't know you....how can you say you know me. I've never seen you before today."
He waited for her to answer, his gaze sweeping down the long curve of her back, noting the tense muscles and slight tremor in her limbs. Receiving no reply, he got up from the bed, the girl still unmoving except for shudders that swept her frame every few minutes. Leaving the room, careful to lock the door, he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen for some food and drink. Arriving back a short time later, he balanced the tray on one hand while he unlocked the door and entered the room. He didn't look up before he shut the door and locked it, when he did he stood still in shock. The bed was empty, only the slight wrinkles on the cover evidence that the girl had ever been there. He placed the tray on a side table by the fireplace, before turning to search the room. It didn't take long to find her. She was huddled on the floor between the bed and the wall, her spine pressed into the corner of the room, her knees drawn up so that she appeared as small as possible.
"Jill? I've brought you something to eat and drink."
Her head shook from side to side, her face hidden by her hair. Peter crouched down in front of her, barely able to squeeze into the narrow space.
"You have to eat something.....it's gone midday and I'm sure you've had nothing since breakfast." He tried to coax her into lifting her head, his voice soft as if speaking to a child. It seemed to work because she slowly lifted her face, tilting it up so that her hair fell away revealing her haunted eyes and trembling mouth.
Something inside him twisted painfully and he grimaced inwardly. A world of grief looked out at him from her eyes, her face pale and wan. Keeping her focused on him, he reached for one of her hands, drawing the slender fingers against his warm palm. She initially resisted, but then relaxed her hand, allowing him to pull her out of the corner by slow degrees. Rising to his feet she followed, her other hand bracing herself against the wall as she straightened. Through the whole manoeuver her eyes never left his, as if she was afraid that if she blinked he'd disappear. He eased them out of the gap beside the bed, her steps small and hesitant, but he persisted until she was beside the table set out with the tray. He flicked his eyes down to the table then back up, her's doing the same only to slowly return to his as he pressed her into the spindly legged chair set beside the fire. He smiled encouragingly at her, hoping to win an answering smile, but she only managed a slight pressing of her lips together, hardly warranting the description of a smile.
"That's better.....I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a bit of everything from Cook. She suggested some juice might be more welcome than wine."
"Thank you."
As he seated himself on the other side of the table, her eyes finally left his and surveyed the dishes arrayed on the tray. A shaking hand reached for the glass of juice and she lifted it slowly to her lips, her eyes closing briefly as the cool liquid bathed her raw throat. It seemed to relax her and she managed to nibble at several of the dishes, small helpings of which he placed on her plate, not adding more until she finished the first. In this manner they ate their meal, Peter keeping up an endless supply of small talk, telling her what he knew about the small town and it's many entertainment, keeping his tales clean and amusing as he plied her with food and more juice. She just watched him and listened, her eyes watching his every move as if she'd never seen anyone like him before.
He found it unnerving, but endearing as well. Whoever he reminded her of, she must have loved him very much to be this upset by someone who looked like him. The meal was finally over and he cleared the tray, leaving it by the door for later. Jill had wandered over to the window, her figure rimmed by the sunlight pouring through the small panes of glass. Peter sat on the edge of the bed, his arms folded over his chest, his ankles crossed as he watched her.
"How long have you been with the good Captain?"
He saw her shoulders tense before she turned to face him, her hair swept back over her shoulders.
"Good Captain? I think not. How long? Long enough to lose my soul."
She stared at him for a heartbeat before reaching for her cuffs and starting to unbutton them. At first he didn't realise what she was doing, but when she reached up to undo the buttons at the back of her dress he caught on fast. Jumping to his feet he held out his hands to stop her.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting undressed of course. You will want payment for the meal and you want this body, I can tell. It will be a change to give myself to someone so young. And I guarantee you will enjoy what I have to offer."
Peter recoiled in shock at her plain speaking. He was no virgin, having been around the docks and the brothels too long to remain inviolate. But her cold blooded offering of her flesh for his use was repellant. Yes he wanted her, but not in payment for something she didn't owe, and not in such a calculated and clinical way. As he attempted to marshall his reactions to her words, Jill continued to free the buttons holding her dress to her body. As the last one came free she lowered he arms, the dress falling to the floor to surround her feet like water. She stood there for a second in an array of undergarments before stepping out of the dress and towards him. Her face was a careful mask, blank of all expression, her eyes deep pools that drew him in, albeit unwillingly. As he stood there, she reached out a hand and stroked his face, her finger tips rasping over his faint stubble, caressing his jawline before reaching up to tangle in his bleached curls.
"Don't do this....you don't have to do this....Jill...I don't..."
Her fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him.
"You want me don't you?.....Everyone wants me.....so take what's on offer....it won't come your way again. Once Hook is finished his business, he'll sail away and you'll never see me again. Use me for your pleasure......before I am gone forever."
His heart was pounding, his body on fire as she trailed her fingers down his cheek, her body lifting on tiptoe so that her lips could press against his. As they touched a flare of heat engulfed him, his body jerking as skitters of lightning traced their fire down his limbs. Her lips remained pressed to his, her body molding itself to his shape like a living flame. When her tongue brushed over his bottom lip he was lost. With a harsh groan he gathered her against him, his mouth taking hers in a kiss that turned the smouldering embers to a raging brush fire.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Red Handed Jill was burning, everywhere that he touched her, her skin flared into life as if ignited with lightning. She moaned into his mouth as he laid her down on the wide bed, his mouth never leaving hers, his tongue tangling and dancing with hers until she felt she was drowning in him. They parted briefly, both breathing heavily, as he quickly shed his clothes, his boots thunking into the corner before he stripped off his trousers, revealing his long strong legs to her heated gaze. When he joined her on the bed gain, she reached for him, drawing his golden head down to hers for another toe curling kiss. His hands were everywhere, drawing patterns on her skin, igniting life where before she felt nothing. With nimble fingers he unlaced her remaining clothes, tossing them off the bed until she lay beneath him, as naked as he.
"You are so beautiful....like an angel descended from heaven."
She stared up at him face, her hands stroking his broad shoulders, so alike but so unlike the boy she had known a lifetime ago. He smiled down at her and her heart broke anew, tears springing to eyes that had long forgotten how to cry. Murmuring nonsense to sooth her, he kissed the tears away, holding her in his arms until she calmed again.
"Peter?"
"Yes Jill?"
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, searching his eyes for something before continuing.
"Call me by my real name.....Wendy."
"As you wish......Wendy." Her name rolled off his tongue like an endearment, his lips claiming her again as they melded together, her softness absorbing his hardness, his strength bolstering her weakness until she wasn't sure where one of them ended and the other began. His caresses were sending sparks down her nerves, firing the heat in her belly until she begged him to quench her fire and enter her.
He was trembling as he entered her, his hardness sliding into her liquid heat, both of them groaning at the intimate contact. Peter rocked against her, her legs coming up to wrap around his hips, her heels urging him to plunder her depths, his back arching as they raced towards nirvana.
Wendy felt something free itself in her chest, her spirit winging free of her body, carrying her ever upwards as her body strained to reach its peak. Peter's mouth latched onto her breast and she cried out his name and shattered beneath him. Seconds later he joined her, groaning her name as his shuddered his release, his arms holding her fiercely as he jerked his essence into her body.
They lay entwined and inseparable for long, heavenly moments. Their hearts pounding out a rhythm as their lungs strained to draw breath. Sweat pooled on their skin and muscles twitched in their release of tension, wringing a moan from Peter as he buried his face in her neck.
Wendy lay, her eyes closed, her heart drumming unsteadily in her chest. Her hands stroked the long planes of his smooth back with lazy circles, her feet running up the back of his thighs and calves with tender strokes. For the first time since her brutal induction to the art of sex, Wendy felt something other than disgust and shame and betrayal. For the first time she felt an emotion she had not experienced since her rape.
She felt loved, in every sense of the word. Loved and cherished.
A kiss pressed to her cheek brought her eyes open to find herself looking up at the man that had re-awoken her long dormant heart. She knew that he couldn't be HER Peter. He was long dead. Lost in the mists of her memory, a childish dream ripped from her, forever unreachable, forever broken. But he was what she would have dreamed that Peter would look like grown up, and that was enough. He was beautiful and strong and had a gentle touch. In her fractured world, he was a bright light, bright enough to burn away the corrosive shame that ate at her night and day. They're brief encounter would fuel her long, dark nights and make her life a fraction more bearable to know that he was somewhere out there in the world.
Peter was looking at her quizzically."Why do you look at me that way?"
"Because you are a beautiful dream that I will remember long after I have sailed away from this place." She replied, her mouth stretching into a sad smile, her fingers tracing the shape of his lips as if committing them to memory.
He smiled back at her, his own bright as sunlight, full of confidence and the arrogance of youth.
"Do you honestly think, fairest Wendy, that I could let you go now?"
Wendy blinked.
"You don't understand.......I can't stay here, I can't stay with you...I belong to Hook, to his men and the ship. I'm not free...I will never be free......I am a whore that services men."
She saw his eyes darken with anger.
"You are not a whore......."
"I am....I have been trained to service a ships company....and I am good at what I do....." She stroked his neck, her fingers trailing over his shoulders and down his arms. "I am broken beyond fixing Peter.....enjoy this moment but don't try and hold me...I am not worth keeping."
"You're wrong......so wrong." He rested his forehead against hers, his throat working as he fought for the words to refute her. "You don't belong to anyone....and you are worth...everything!"
"I do belong to someone...I belong to you for this afternoon. Love me Peter....make me believe I am worth something...to you."
With a groan he claimed her lips again, his kiss devouring her, melding her to him, his body moving within her to rekindle the fires again.
As he buried himself in her, he rolled them over so that she straddled his hips, her hands resting on his chest as she ground her sex against him, controlling the pace, her eyes gazing lovingly into his as she brought him to the brink and beyond.
Leaning down, she whispered in his ear. "Thank you...." before thrusting downwards, impaling herself on him, sending him spiraling to the heavens, his manhood pulsing inside her as he cried out her name in his release.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
She stood at the window staring out at the sunset painting the building in lurid colours. Her body was once more encased in its form fitting dress, her hair hanging down her back in an orderly cascade. She was alone in the room, Peter having left to take the tray back to the kitchen after they finished up the remains from the lunch. She still felt prickly tingles running up and down her body in remembrance of their heated lovemaking. It warmed her and made her heart feel light, something she'd not expected ever to feel again.
The door opened behind her and she felt a smile start to tilt her lips.
"So....ready to return to the ship m'dear?"
The cold voice froze the smile on her face, her limbs turning to ice. Composing herself, her emotions once more locked tightly away, she turned to face her future.
"As ready as I'll ever be, James."
His eyes raked over her, looking for some fault, some blemish, but he found nothing. Her face and form was as they were when he left her, mere hours before.
"Then lets be having you....."
She glided over the floor, her body a block of ice, sweeping past Hook and through the door to the head of the stairs. There she paused. At its foot stood Peter, his body tense, eyes tormented as he watched her descend. Hook stood in the shadows, watching as she reached the bottom, her body half turned towards the youth beside her. Hook stiffened when her hand reached up to stroke the handsome youths' face, the boys eyes closing as her thumb caressed his lips. Then she was gone, her shadow wafting out of the door and into the dying sunset. Hook then moved, his heels rapping on the wooden stairs, drawing the young mans eyes to his.
He paused when he reached the bottom, drawing on a glove before turning to face him.
"Thank you for your care of...Jill. She is a talented gal, but not worth wasting your life over."
"That would depend on whose life....and how much she was worth."
Hook gazed consideringly at the young man so tall and strong beside him.
"Mortimer was full of praise for your loyalty and courage, your skills and daring do. I could always use a man of your calibre on my ship. Interested?"
For a moment flames leap in Peter's eyes, but just as quickly died. He shook his head.
"Thank you Captain, but my place is here........I have no love for the sea, and she none for me."
"Pity." Hook drawled, stepping away from the youth and continuing out into the front yard where Red Handed Jill waited for him.
As they turned to leave, Wendy turned her head one last time and caught Peter staring after her. That glance seared him to his soul and he felt as if someone had punched him hard in the gut. Then she was gone, her slim blue figure lost in the sea of humanity washing along the main road.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
A young woman stood at the stern of the ship, her hair whipping around her face, her dress plastered to her slender body. The sea port has long passed into the mists of distance, her eyes still seeing his figure at the end of the wharf, his arm raised in farewell. She blinked at the moisture pooling in her eyes, her lashes sticky with tears. As surreptitiously as possible, she wiped them away.
"Tears m'dear? I would have hardly thought him worth such emotion."
"'Tis just the wind and my hair blinding me."
"Of course. The men have sorely missed you Jill.....I think I'll forego the pleasure of your company tonight and allow the men to show you just how much they've missed you."
"As you command, so I obey."
Hook raised his eyebrows at the veiled sarcasm in her quietly spoken words.
"Careful m'dear.....anyone would think that you had finally discovered your long buried emotions during our little sojourn ashore." He smiled at the jerk of her shoulders in response to his sally.
"You are mistaken James........you have always been mistaken."
"As you say........after you," He gestured for her to precede him. "The crew awaits."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
When the last man left her, she scrubbed herself from head to toe, tears streaming down her face as she wiped the rough cloth over her body to erase the evidence of her servitude. The men had been as they always were, not rough, not unkind, just demanding their satisfaction with little regard for her feelings or existence.
Tonight she would end it. Braiding her long hair she secured it with a ribbon before donning the blue dress once more. Blowing out the single candle that lit her cabin, she eased open the door and slid through, shutting it behind her. Once up on deck she kept to the shadows until she reached the stern, the black and white flag flapping noisily from the flagpole just above her head. She looked up at the stars blazing in the clear sky, the foaming water below glinting with reflected starlight. Easing her leg over the railing she stood for a moment, her bare feet perched on the narrow ledge.
Then she let go.
The night watchman never heard the splash, the snapping flag masking the noise as the ship sailed onward minus one member of the crew.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Sunlight stabbed at her eyes as she coughed weakly in the bottom of the boat. Her side ached and her mouth felt swollen, her lips cracked and bleeding. She wanted to pull her eyelids open, but they were encrusted with salt and too sore and swollen. Sound was the only guide she had and it told her that she lay in the bilge of a small boat, the sail snapping crisply above her head, the slap of water loud beside her head.
She tried to remember how she came to be in a boat, regardless of its size. She was sure she'd jumped from the deck of the Jolly Roger into the arms of the sea, there to end her life. But it seemed that life was not done with her yet.
Too tired to try and figure out why she wasn't at the bottom of the sea, Wendy let the blackness take her, wafting her away on a cloud of nothing.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Peter wrung out another cloth and wiped the sweat from her face again. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd pulled her from the ocean. He gazed down at her pale face and marveled that she'd survived at all.
After watching the Jolly Roger sail out of the harbour, he'd run to his small sloop, hoisted the mainsail and jib and set off in pursuit. He hadn't really thought through what he was doing, all he knew was he couldn't get her out of his mind, her sky blue eyes, so full of pain and confusion, begging him mutely to save her, despite all she'd said. He kept his boat well equipped at all times, ever ready to set off on whatever assignment Mortimer set for him. But this time, Mortimer was the last person on his mind, Peter leaving no note to explain his absence.
He'd kept the Jolly Roger just in his sights, forever disappearing over the horizon, but never entirely out of the reach of his telescope. He couldn't hope to match the ships speed under full sail, but Hook didn't appear to be in any hurry and Peter had no problem keeping up with the three masted brig under quarter sail. His own was fully rigged with every yardage of sail brought to bear, the ropes straining as the sharp breeze whipped the canvas and sent the boat skipping over the waves at a fast pace. At night fall he was able to take his bearings on the ships running lights, his own boat left unlit, the stars his only illumination.
Dawn found him still at the tiller but the wind had dropped and he'd had to reef half his sails to catch what breeze there was. He saw a flock of seagulls hovering over a patch of water up ahead. As he watched he also saw the heads of several dolphins break the water, their bodies slicing through the waves but always keeping to the same spot. His course would take his very close to that patch of water and he decided to take and chance and try and net whatever fish the birds and dolphin were interested in. As his boat approached he saw something floating in the water, the dolphins keeping the object in the center of their swirling circle. As he drew alongside he saw it was a body in the water. A body with long golden brown hair that currently swirled around her head like gilded seaweed. His heart in his mouth, Peter dropped his main sail to halt his boats progress before tying a rope around his waist and slipping over the side, swimming strongly the short distance to the still form floating in the water.
The dolphins stopped their circling and the seagulls cried out loudly as he reached Wendy, her white face just barely above the waves. He hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her backwards towards the boat, careful to keep her face out of the water. Once back at the sloop he hoisted her onto his shoulder as he clambered awkwardly over the side, depositing them both into the bottom of the boat. Catching his breath he quickly rolled the soaked girl onto her back and checked her for any signs of life. Holding his ear close to her mouth, he discerned a faint breath against his skin. Pressing his ear lower down, he could faintly make out a heartbeat through her salt ruined dress. She lived, but barely, her eyelashes dark smudges on her white cheeks, her lips a delicate shade of blue.
Not wanting to risk having the Jolly Roger come looking for her, he unfurled all the sail he had, the canvas filling quickly and pulling the boat forward. Heaving the tiller over to the side, he turned the boat due east, his sloop cutting through the waves as fast as she could.
Three hours later he arrived at a small island, its craggy cliffs shielding its safe harbour, seabirds screaming above his head as he sailed past their nesting ledges. Navigating the narrow channel his small sloop ground smoothly onto the yellow sand edging the lagoon. Wendy lay supine under a square of canvas to protect her from the burning sun. Ripping it away, Peter scooped her into his arms and carried her up the beach to a palm leaf hut nestled in a grove of coconut trees. He'd found the deserted hut on one of his trips on a mission for Mortimer. He'd also found the previous owner, the skeleton draped over a fallen trunk, the leg trapped underneath. Whoever he'd been, the former resident had been a clever carpenter, outfitting the cabin with furniture and building a sturdy enough building that there was little Peter had to do to fix it up.
Peter kicked the door open and carried Wendy into the central room, placing her on the only bed. Leaving her there, he quickly got the fire going and set a kettle of water to boil. Next he returned to the bed and stripped Wendy of her damp dress, rolling her to undo the buttons at the back before bundling it down her legs and tossing it into the corner. He then wrapped her in a blanket, covering her with another before changing his own damp clothes. She seemed to be sleeping, or unconscious, but breathing steadily, her pulse still strong. Leaving her, he went back to the boat and emptied it of its cargo, carrying it back to the cabin, checking on her each time he entered the hut. Finally everything was unloaded, the sails furled and tied, and the boat anchored securely. The kettle was steaming when he carried the last trunk into the hut. Wendy hadn't moved, her lips more pink, her face warm. Resting his fingers on her forehead, Peter frowned. She felt very, very warm. Finding a large wooden bowl, he filled it with the warmed water and carried it to the bed, along with a soft cloth and a towel. He washed her, sponging the salt from her eyes and face, working his way down first one arm, then the other. Peeling back the blanket a piece at a time, he washed all of her, drying as he went and wrapping her securely again afterwards. Her hair was stiff with salt, its colour dull like straw. He smoothed it off her face, pulling out from behind her neck to spread out over the pillow. Getting a fresh bowl of water he rinsed it, toweling it dry, the strands drying quickly in the warm air. Night had fallen while he worked, his stomach growling to remind him how long since he last ate. Rising from the edge of the bed he stretched to relieve cramped muscles before hunting through his belongings for the cloth wrapped meal he should have had at midday. Munching on a hunk of bread he returned to the bed to watch over his patient.
He again touched her forehead with the back of his hand and this time it was hot to the touch. Her face was flushed in the candle light and her lips had parted, still cracked and dry, but a more healthy pink than before. Fetching a small bowl of cold water, he wrung out a cloth and sponged her face, noting the small crease forming between her brows, her head turning towards the cloth and its cool relief.
He kept cooling her off with water and soft cloths until he found his head sinking to his chest, the long night and day finally taking it toll of his strength. Wendy appeared to be sleeping peacefully despite her fever, her arm flung out of the smothering blanket to lay palm up on the pillow with a heart aching vulnerability. Leaving the candle to burn through the night, Peter stripped off his shirt and trousers and crawled onto the bed beside the sleeping girl, pulling another blanket over his body and drawing Wendy into his arms, spooning up behind her.
"You're safe now Wendy....safe from harm....safe in my arms.....safe."
He whispered his words over and over into her ear, begging her to open her eyes, his own eyes drooping shut as sleep claimed him, Wendy never stirring.
The pattern continued for the next two weeks, Wendy burning with fever, her body wasting away before his eyes, despite his best efforts to force water and food down her throat. She opened her eyes on the second day but didn't know him, her eyes unfocused and glazed. During her few moments of lucidity, he forced water through her lips and morsels of food well soaked in broth. When she lay insensate once more, he sponged her down and washed her, taking care of her bodies needs, changing the bed linen when needed and always talking to her, praying that she'd recover, begging her to open her eyes and know him, always telling her she was free at last. At night he held her in his arms and told her of his life, of the life he wanted to have, of the life he dreamed of having with her.
Finally his care was rewarded when she opened her eyes, blinking in the soft candlelight, and she knew him. She tried to speak but only managed a croak before he held a beaker to her lips and a few drops of cool water loosened the gravel lodged in her throat.
"P-p-et-er?"
"Yes Wendy.....you're safe, I rescued you...." He saw her eyes widen at his words, fear spiking briefly. He gathered her in his arms, his hand cradling her head to his shoulder. "Shhhh....you're safe....we're safe here. No-one can find you here."
"W-w-wher-e?"
"On an island.....no-one comes here...no-one lives here anymore."
He lowered her head back to the pillow, her eyes darting around the darkened room then back to gaze up at his face, half in shadow, above her. Slowly her hand rose, her fingers shakily outlining his lips. His own hand covered hers, pressing her open palm to his mouth for his lips to kiss tenderly. Tears instantly welled in her eyes, the moisture pooling then spilling over to run from the corners of her eyes.
"Don't cry Wendy.....please don't cry...." He smoothed the tears with his thumb, the flow not stopping. Her mouth was trembling but she managed to voice what was, to her, the most important question.
"Wh-y-y?"
"Why did I rescue you?"
Wendy nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his, the tears still spilling and soaking into the hair at her temples.
"Because you are worth more to me than a kings ransom, worth more than the moon and stars.....worth more to me than my life."
A sob broke from her lips, her eyes shutting as she gave into her weakness. Peter gathered her into his arms and pulled her up to rest against his chest, her arms winding around his back, holding him as tightly as her weakened state would allow.
Gently he lay down, taking her with him until she rested on his chest, the blanket slipping down to leave her arms and shoulders bare. She fell quickly asleep, his heartbeat under her ear a steady rhythm that carried her into a healing oblivion.
The next few days saw a rapid improvement in her health, her appetite returning, her strength slowly regained until she felt able to dress and get up for a short while.
He helped her out of the hut to sit on a small bench by the door. She wore one of his shirts and the skirt of her blue dress. The bodice had been ruined so she'd cut if off, leaving the skirt easier to take on and off, secured round her slender waist with a length of hemp. The bench was in semi-shade, shielding her from the fierce sun as she watched Peter fish in the lagoon, his body bare to the waist, his skin golden from exposure to the sun. As she sat she watched him throw out the net again and again, snagging small fish in its folds before he waded back to shore to clean and gut the catch, running up the beach to show it off to her.
With his hair burnished by the sun, he looked like a Greek god, strong and golden, his well muscled arms and chest glistening with sweat as he held up the half-a-dozen fish threaded on a string through the gills for her inspection.
"Supper!" He grinned, flopping down on the warm sand at her feet after hanging the catch on a peg to keep it from getting dirty.
Wendy smiled and leant her head back against the rough timber of the hut. She sensed his presence leaning over her just before his warm lips pressed against hers, a familiar tingle sparking between them from even so chaste a kiss as that.
She opened her eyes slowly and drowned in his gaze, his lips pulled back into a grin as he leaned down again, his arms braced on the wall behind him, his skin smelling of brine and sunshine as he pressed his lips to hers once more. This time he teased her lips with his tongue, begging entry, which she allowed, her's meeting his, tasting him, touching him, her fingers reaching out to caress his sun-warmed skin, feeling him shudder, the kiss deepening as she ran her nails over his chest, around his flat nipples, making the tiny nubbins harden, wrenching a moan from his throat.
Peter pulled back, breaking the kiss, his eyes dark with want and need. Wendy panted slightly, her own gaze heated.
"I want you so badly....." He rasped, licking his lips, his chest heaving.
"Then have what you want........I am stronger than you think...."
He shook his head. "You've been sick......if wouldn't be right...."
Wendy smiled, her hand trailing down his chest to cup him through his worn trousers, his body hot and hard under her palm.
"I'm better.......much, much better...and if you don't take me, I think I'll die from wanting you to make love to me."
For a long moment he searched her face, then with a growl he covered her lips with his own, grinding his mouth over hers with a ferocity that stunned them both. In a sudden move, he lifted her into his arms, his mouth still devouring hers, carrying her into the cool, shaded interior of the hut, laying her down softly on the bed.
Drawing in a deep breath, Peter calmed himself enough to talk rationally. Meeting her puzzled gaze, Peter grinned self consciously.
"You have no idea how hard this is to say.....but....we don't have to do this....if you're not ready. You have a choice....I won't force this one you. I'm more than willing to be patient and wait for you to really want this, not just because I do....."
Wendy felt the prick of tears as her throat closed up, overwhelmed at his unexpected consideration. No one had ever asked her before if she wanted to have sex, it was never an option, just an expectation that she could not refuse. Now she was being given that choice, that right and it made her heart swell until she thought it would burst for love of this man that was giving her such worth in his eyes.
Swallowing hard, she gazed up at him with misty eyes.
"I want you Peter.....I want you to make love to me more than anything in the world.....love me Peter, make me your own.....please."
Holding out her arms to him, she wept silently as he covered her body with his own, his mouth worshiping her as he kissed and suckled every inch of her skin, clothes discarded until they lay skin to skin, pulses leaping with each touch, hearts beating wildly with each caress. Like a flower too long parched of rain, she drank him in, unfolding and flowering for him, his mouth and lips adoring all her secrets, his hands stroking her to fever pitch until she cried out for him to end it. When he entered her they both groaned out in bliss, his back rippling under her fingers as he strained against her, her legs trapping him between her thighs as he strove to bring them both to completion. Their voices filled the small room with the sounds of love and sex, the air scented with their bodies until, with a last thrust, Peter pushed them both over the pinnacle, his body shuddering as he spent his seed inside her, her head thrown back as he carried her to the heavens and back.
Chest heaving, still firmly seated inside her, Peter rolled onto his side, drawing her with him so that she nestled in the crook of his neck, the sweat drying on their skin as they listened to their thundering hearts in the aftermath.
"I love you Peter......I love you....." She kissed his neck, the sweet salty taste like nectar on her tongue.
"As I you...always and forever." Peter whispered back, nuzzling her hair.
They slept the afternoon away, waking to make sweet love then dozing again. The sun was sinking below the horizon, sunset painting the sky pink and orange, while the small hut blazed with the warm glow of candles. Peter was checking on the fish threaded through a metal skewer over the fire, their juices spitting and hissing in the flames. Wendy watched where she lay on her side, her head propped up on her hand. They were both naked, the evening to hot for clothes. Her eyes wandered over his broad shoulders, down his spine to his hips, remembering the feel of that satin skin under her fingers, the muscles moving like steel under the flesh as he writhed over and under her. She smiled as he jerked back from the fire, waving one hand in the air before putting a finger in his mouth to such the burn from the spitting fish. As if seeing her smirk, he turned his head and sent her a blinding grin.
"It hurt......I'm wounded!"
"Bring it here......I'll kiss it better." Wendy lowered her lashes, her lips parting as Peter leapt to his feet, the fish forgotten. Leaning on the bed he placed his burnt fingers against her lips. She kissed it, but before he could remove it she sucked it into her mouth, her tongue laving the digit, bathing it in warmth. Peter knelt, transfixed as her mouth suckled his finger, his eyes glazing over, his body leaping to attention, all thoughts of food forgotten.
After a second he gently pulled his hand away from her face, the finger leaving her lips with a slight popping sound. Swallowing hard, he shut his eyes for a moment, fighting his bodies straining response to her teasing.
Just then her stomach rumbled and the moment was gone, dissolving into giggles and snorts as Peter slumped to the floor, his back to the side of the bed.
"I think the fish must be ready by now."
"Then stop distracting me so I can get it....." Peter retorted, crouching down by the fire with a plate ready to receive the crispy fish. He brought it back to the bed where Wendy was now sitting up. Together they shared the tender morsels, Peter popping choice pieces into her mouth, Wendy reciprocating, holding a flake of fish between her lips for Peter to take between his own, the teasing ending with a kiss before they continued their meal. With every piece of the sweet flesh consumed, they lay cuddled together, all but one of the candles extinguished.
"Peter?"
"Hmmmmm?"
"You know he'll look for me......this dream can't last."
"Why would he be looking for you? For all he knows, your food for the sharks. All he knows is that one moment you were there, the next gone overboard. There's no reason he'll suspect you survived. You're free of him, of them......"
Wendy remained silent, digesting his words.
After a few minutes she stirred against his side.
"Are we going to live here forever?"
"I don't know.....we have plenty of supplies, there are endless fish in the sea...we're sheltered here.....we could stay here for a very long time."
"What about......your boss.....Mo-ortimer?" Wendy shuddered, remembering the large man and what he did to her on his own parlor rug.
Peter shrugged. "He'll see my boat is gone....he'll think I went fishing and got caught in a storm...people are lost at sea all the time."
The silence stretched again, the sounds of the night lulling Peter into a doze.
"Peter?"
He waited for her to continue.
"I know who you are."
Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I know you are the Peter I knew before......I don't know how, or why...but I know you are, the boy who died....who I thought died.....the boy I loved...."
"Wendy....how could I be......I know I don't remember much of that time, but......it's just not possible."
She reached up and ran her finger over a scar the curved like a scimitar over his right eyebrow.
"Hook did this to you.....you told me it was during one of your fights long ago...he caught you a blow with his fist, his ring caught you here and it bled so much it nearly blinded you....you had to fight him with one eye closed."
Her fingers trailed down his left arm to a jagged scar just above his elbow on the bulge of his muscle.
"He gashed you here with his sword....you were fighting in the Black Castle....so fiercely..but he cut you...."
"Wendy.......I-I don't know where I got these scars...they could be anything...."
"No....I bandaged this one," She stroked his arm again, her brow furrowed. "I remember."
"I-I...Wendy?"
"It's alright....it doesn't really matter....what does is that we're here now......together......"
She sat up suddenly, turning around to face him, her hands capturing his face, keeping him on his back, her eyes boring into his.
"I doesn't matter what we did then.....what matters is what we do now, who we are now.......I love you Peter.....whether we stay on this island or elsewhere....my home, my life is with you....."
Peter made to speak but she halted his words with her fingers across his lips.
She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them, tears welling until she blinked them away.
"I want you......I need you to forgive me for what I've been, for what I've become over the last three years......I've lived with the shame and degradation of what I'd become for too long...I need you to forgive me so that I can love you without shame, without guilt.....without fear."
Peter swallowed hard, fighting the anger that choked his chest at the thought of the suffering his beautiful Wendy had endured for so long. If he was the boy she remembered, then he was the one who should be begging her forgiveness for not being there to rescue her sooner, for not keeping her from harm all those years ago. He reached up and cupped her cheek.
"I will forgive you....if you will forgive me for taking so long to find you...for not being there when you needed me....for not rescuing you sooner."
This time the tears were allowed to fall, Wendy's fragile control cracking as Peter gathered her against his chest, where she wept out all the pain and wasted years, the abuse and the hurt.
Later he made sweet love to her, kissing away her fears, stroking away her pain, loving her so that she forgot all that had gone before and remembered only his touch, his hands, his adoration.
When the sun rose its warm rays crept into the rough hut, painting broad stripes over the bodies entangled on the bed, highlighting the limbs so meshed that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Both slept the sleep of the innocent, free and forgiven, refreshed and renewed by loves gentle caress.
What the fates held in store for them was unclear. For the present their lives had been reborn, their future as uncomplicated as the next kiss.
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The End.