Page 10 of The Never Queen

From the other side of the room, I can feel Vane watching us, a cigarette burning between his knuckles. His kink is not voyeurism like Pan’s, but I think he knows mine is the opposite, of being watched.

His attention is both a weight that nearly consumes me and a caress that feels like a summer breeze.

I shift my hips, putting the head of Pan’s cock at my opening and Pan groans above me.

“I want you inside of me,” I say, the words come out with deep reverence, like a prayer. Pan is a god, after all, and I am his devotee.

He doesn’t torture me any longer.

When he’s inside me, we both come undone.

Our movements are frenzied, but in sync, so desperate to feel that rising tide of each other, drowning us both.

My pleasure builds. Pan thickens with every thrust.

“I’m going to come,” I say up to him. “I can’t wait…oh fuck.”

It hits me like a crosswind, stealing the air from my lungs. Liquid honey blooms out from my belly, rushing through my veins.

Air trickles down my throat and I let out a strangled little cry as Pan lifts my hips, his hand beneath my ass, sinking in so deep it almost hurts.

“Fuck, Darling,” he says and spills his load, groaning deep in his chest.

He rocks in, pulls out, sinks in again.

His eyes close, his shoulders twitching.

And for one brilliant second, the myth has become man.

When he opens his eyes next, his irises are nearly glowing. I used to think it was a trick of the light, but it’s just him and his star god power always pulsing beneath the surface.

He kisses me, breathing out, still buried in my warmth.

“I love hearing you come,” he says to me, his hand still on my ass, keeping me close.

Behind us, Vane disappears into the adjoining bathroom and the faucet turns on, running for a good minute as the water warms.

Pan lays on the bed beside me and makes a crook with his arm and his body, tucking me into him. He is warm and solid and comforting. “Darling,” he says and his voice is above me and beneath me, vibrating through the sinew of his chest.

“Hmm?”

“What are you running from?”

My eyes pop open and the fuzzy afterglow of sex fades.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The faucet cuts out and there is the sound of a washcloth being wrung out, the water plinking against the stone basin.

Pan sighs and his breath ruffles my hair.

Vane reappears and nudges me open, wiping away their stickiness.

All three of us are silent.

Clearly Vane also thinks I am running from something. I know they overheard my conversation with the twins, and while the twins might not have immediately caught on to my retreat-and-deflect tactic, Pan and Vane are never that oblivious. Or maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe what I really mean is that Pan and Vane are never that merciful.

Before they poke me more, I sit up and pop off the bed, half flying, half jumping. I have come to love the wild acrobatics that can be accomplished with the Neverland Shadow. Even more so when it helps me escape discomfort.