Page 35 of Devour the Dark

“Couldn’t help himself.”

“Precisely.”

She laughs again and raises the glass to her lips.

I quickly snatch it from her grip and drink it back.

“Roc! That’s mine.”

The wine is dry and sweet. If I had to guess, it’s a blend from Summerland. The berries grow fat and juicy on their vines.

“And now it’s mine.” I set the glass down. “You’ve had enough. Come.” I offer her my hand. She scowls at me.

“I was once a queen, you know. I don’t have to take orders from you.”

My hand hangs between us.

I wait. I can be patient.

She doesn’t have to take my orders, but she will. Just like with the Captain, I give them orders, they obey. It’s the natural order of things.

She gives in, slipping her hand into mine.

On her feet, the ocean rises carrying the ship with it, and Wendy careens into my side. I wrap my arm around her, steadying her against my hip. She’s warm and tiny in my grip, but she’s not small. She’s got all the right curves for my hands to roam, my tongue to paint.

When we were together, it was the Captain I was fucking. It’s been many, many moons since I’ve felt Wendy Darling wrapped around my cock.

“Off to bed with you.”

“With me? Or with you?” She gazes up at me, eyes glassy in the flickering lamplight.

“I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

“Then let me take advantage ofyou.”

“Naughty, naughty Darling girl.”

I lead her down the hall to her room. A kerosene lamp is lit on her bedside table, casting deep shadows in her room. The bed is turned down. This ship, the Hannah Maria, is no royal ship, but they treat it like one, and I feel right at home.

Wendy stumbles into the room and starts unbuttoning her shirt. I remain in the open doorway, caught between temptation and good taste. The witch has been quiet since Vane shared his blood, but I can still feel her prowling in the darkness, urging me to sink into indecency.

“Wendy Darling,” I warn.

“I’m not as drunk as you’d think.” She slips out of the shirt, leaving her in leather trousers and a lace camisole, the thin material a whisper over her breasts, more a suggestion of clothing than actual clothing.

She takes a step toward me, the flickering lamp light dancing over her skin, highlighting the goosebumps running down her arms.

I meant what I said earlier, that I wanted to fuck her to show her she’s mine. But every step she takes, I feel less and less like I’m the one in charge, and instead like the one being hunted.

She leans against the wall and arches her back a little so her breasts press against the camisole.

I shift directly across from her in the narrow hall leading into her bedroom. We are inches apart now, face to face.

“I have to tell you a confession,” she says, her voice low.

“Go on.”

“I am jealous.”

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