Peter’s face was shadowed by the light as he bent to kiss her. Wendy felt a twinge of guilt sneaking its way back into her heart, but she chose to ignore it this time, and without thinking, she threw herself into his arms and pressed her lips against his with abandon, so unlike her, so brave. Their lips were salty with the ocean air, the warmth of his mouth and tongue brushing over her own, driving her mad. Wendy gasped with desire, and Peter pressed against her again, harder this time, his arms crushing around her waist, his mouth on her own.
The fire inside of her felt like it would consume them both, and yet she wasn’t able to keep the nagging guilt down. It pressed harder and harder against her heart as she pushed herself further and further into Peter. Peter was kissing her hair, her neck, his hands roaming up and down her sides, Wendy dizzy as she lost herself in his mouth. They were circling slowly in the empty room now, the room glowing with the light of a thousand stars, his boyish face so beautiful that she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t breathe. The guilt was so present now that it was practically thumping against her chest, bursting, crying to be let out. She couldn’t breathe.
“Peter,” she cried. “Peter! I’m sorry, this is improper; we must slow down.”
“Never,” Peter mumbled, wrapping her waist in his arms and diving back in for another kiss, drinking in everything about her. He was like a current—just when she got her feet underneath her, he pulled again and she was lost, drifting, Peter encompassing every breath. Now he was pulling them downward in the lantern, toward the blankets that sat on the ground, and Wendy put a cautionary hand up against him, trying at once to control her own passion and understand why she was suddenly so nauseated and unhappy.
As Peter continued kissing her, a face appeared in her mind, hazy, particles of a face, discombobulated. Blue eyes. A strong mouth. Brown hair, straight and dripping with rain. Wendy’s teeth clamped shut and she pushed Peter back, her body mourning the loss of his heat, his embrace. She realized in that second that he was away from her that if she let herself go with him, she would never be able to reclaim her innocence. Not ever.
“Peter, please, slow down. Something is happening to me . . . my mind . . . I think there is . . .” Peter pulled her roughly down onto his lap and kissed her hard again. “Ignore it. It’s probably the weather,” he whispered frantically, tugging at her dress.
Wendy was flustered and embarrassed, unsure what to do, trying to keep her passion at bay, trying to piece together the puzzle that was tearing her apart. Her heart and mind wanted one thing, her body another. She felt ripped to shreds, as if she could howl at the moon and curl up in a ball, all at once.
“No, please, stop. Peter, I’m not ready. Peter . . .”
“Shhhh . . .” he pressed his lips against hers roughly. Her fingers trailed down his neck as she kissed him harder, harder, tumbling down into Peter Pan, feeling the light of the starfish pulsing from somewhere inside her. Her fingers found his collarbone, the place where his muscles became chest. His skin was smooth and clean under her fingertips, so warm and welcoming. Wendy leaned back from him, breathless.
“Your scar?”
Peter pulled back from her, his eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Your scar? From Hook? Where is it?” She gently ran her fingertips over his collarbone. “It was your shoulder, right?”
Peter pulled his collar back angrily. “Don’t worry about it, Wendy.” Then, with a growl, he buried himself in her neck and was kissing her harder and harder.
Something inside of Wendy broke open, gushing forward like a broken dam, the pressing on her chest becoming unbearable and painful. She didn’t know what the word meant, or who it was, but she could only hear one word, pounding against the inside of her head: Booth. Booth. The word rushed through her veins, calming the fire that was consuming her judgment. Booth. The word echoed in her mind, again and again. She was outside herself, inside the word; it was all that mattered. Booth. “Peter, no.”
Peter pulled back, flushed and annoyed. “What? What is wrong with you?”
Wendy pushed herself back from him and stood. “I’m sorry, Peter, no. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Wendy backed away from him. “I should have never let it get this far. I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to lead you astray.”
Peter’s face seemed to change from disappointment to anger. His eyes clouded over with navy, but when he blinked, they were green again. The green she had adored so much, before . . . before the word came. Booth. Wendy needed to be alone. Her stomach was churning, and her mind was breaking apart. She would be mortified if she got sick in front of him. Peter’s face began to crumple, much to Wendy’s horror.
“But, Wendy! Why?”
She picked up her shoe that had slipped off during their kiss. “Peter, please take me back. I’m not feeling very well.”
He angrily slammed his foot against the glass floor of the lantern, which gave an unhappy shudder, and his voice rose to a desperate shout. “But I love you! I love you, Wendy.”