“I came for what you stole, Darling,” his voice feathers against my lips as he loosens his grip on my throat. “I’ve been waiting a long time, and I’m not a patient man. Give it back, and maybe, I won’t take what you hold most dear.”

His eyes flash to the picture frame behind me on the dresser. It’s the one of my daughters. My twins. Jane and Margaret. The last one I took before they went off to college a week ago. Graduating early, they shocked everyone when they were accepted to an ivy league college at seventeen.

Seventeen.

The same age Peter and I were the first time he came to steal me away to Neverland.

“It would be a shame,” he taunts when I still don’t find the words to speak. With eyes still fixated on the frame, he releases a heavy sigh. “Such pretty little things. They look just like their mother used to at their age.”

At that, I fight back harder than before. My hands come up and dig into his throat as I force his head back as far as I can. He releases his grip on me and pries my hands off him, forcing them behind my back and keeping them there in his strong grip.

He presses into me, the bulge in his slacks straining, harder and thicker than before, as he forces it harshly against my clit. I swallow hard, attempting to deny the sensation that instantly brings me such pleasure, and he grins. His eyes dance with a menacing mischief as he leans back slowly, then deliberately forces his length up my slit again.

On instinct my eyes close as I desperately try to stifle a moan. His low laugh rings through my ears a second later, making my eyes flash open to meet his in anger.

“Never had someone fuck you like I can, isn’t that right Darling?”

“Fuck you, Peter,” my unsteady voice rasps out.

His left hand reaches up, tightening around my throat again. Warning me. Testing me. He doesn’t cut off my air supply, just stares me fiercely in the eyes. I force my hips forward, attempting to put some space between us but all that does is force his cock where it doesn’t belong. Where I won’t ever let him put it again. I bite down on my bottom lip and he leans in smiling, testing me, taunting me to say that name again.

I was the only one who ever got away with calling him Peter instead of Pan. By the look in his eyes though, that freedom is no longer mine. I see the years we’ve been separated have been unkind and slowly back as far away as possible while he cages me, crushes me between him and the dresser.

I can see he’s fallen. Given in to his darkness. More than he ever has before.