This time, when he gives me air, breathes me back to life, he does so with the diligence, the mastery, the unrushed and breathtaking attentiveness of a man. Not a boy. I feel it from my head to the tips of my toes, as his mouth slowly presses against mine and I open up to him. His tongue caresses mine in a way that makes me intoxicated, higher than I’ve ever felt before. His mouth deliberately memorizes every curve of my own, every taste of my lips, in an agonizingly beautiful way he never has before.

It’s not the rushed touch of a boy who is eager to try new things. His touch isn’t laced with excitement, wanting to go where no one has gone before. It’s slow. Gentle. Rough, only when he wants it to be. Every touch of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed up against mine is calculated, purposeful, hypnotic. I curl into him and feel, for the first time in seventeen years, like I’m finally really breathing. Like I’m finally alive.

When he was a boy, Peter was cocky, witty, innocently charming and undoubtably caring. When he took my innocence, he was darker, daring, unhinged and hungry to push limits. So was I.

The mystery of the man who now diligently holds me in his arms, the one who is exploring my body in ways he never took the time to before, is one that will never be solved.

As a man, he’s darker in life than he was as a boy. Daring, unhinged in the way he handles the lost boys and his crew. Always restless and pushing limits.

But his caring touch, as his hands gently roam lower down my curves, is what leaves me enchanted. The quiet and intense way he takes his time, knows just where to touch, doesn’t rush, is what leaves me hypnotized.

“Wendy,” he breathes, as his face falls to my neck and he whispers in my ear. I arch up into him and feel him simultaneously thrust up my center. My hands claw at his back, wanting more of him than he’s giving, but also wanting to take it just as agonizingly slow as he’s allowing. For the first time, we’re not rushing. Not running. Not flying away from a past or present we can’t change. We’re only embracing each other. Darkness and all.

“Darling, you were breathtaking before,” his lips kiss a trail down my neck, his hips slowly thrust up my center causing a moan to escape my lips as I arch up, meet his hips eagerly with my own.

“Now,” he releases a growl, his hands roughly grip my hips, and he pulls himself slowly away, looking down into my eyes. “Let me show you, tell you, all the ways you’ve changed, and everything about you that takes my breath away.”