For some reason, the entire sentiment offends me. I know it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it irks me deep inside my soul. I don’t want to be the innocent, little Tinksley Bell forever.
Especially to him, even if he didn’t say so.
Chin raised, I slither gracefully onto my feet, and hook my thumbs beneath the thin straps of my sky blue dress. “Does this file under innocent or cute?”
Said dress pools at my feet.
Chocolate eyes bulge as his throat bobs through a swallow. He shakes his head slowly, wordlessly, taking in every inch of me. “No, it doesn’t,” he rasps.
Satisfied with his reply, I proffer him my hand without explanation. He doesn’t question me, which only doubles my sense of satisfaction and makes my heart sing.
The moment he’s standing before me, I jump him.
Wrap myself around his tall, lean frame.
He holds me steady with ease, warm palms kneading my backside as our mouths collide. He groans a little, too, opening wider when my tongue licks along the seam. “You taste so good, T.”
“So take me inside...”
“But don’t you have to go ho—”
“Just take me inside!” I shriek against his lips, frustrated at his ever-present reticence.
Why can’t he ever just take the lead?
Peter stills for the briefest moment, eyes fluttering open to gauge my expression, one that’s pleading with him...and then we’re moving.
With hurried strides, he covers the length of the dock and carries me up the spiral steps, at least twenty-feet off the ground. Made of the same oak that covers most of the forest, they wrap around the thick trunk and open up to a small landing where a narrow bridge leads to his home.
Setting me onto my feet, he takes hold of my hand once more and together we cross to the other side.
I smile as the mossy-green front door greets me. His home really is beautiful; whimsical and beguiling, shielded perfectly by the tree tops.
I remember the first time I came up here like it were just yesterday—my eighteenth birthday. Prior to that, we’d only spent our time together out on the dock or somewhere within the forest. Sometimes, we’d head out to the beach, too, and explore the caverns around Siren’s Cove, or sit on pure white sand while the tide washed ashore.
That day was special, though. I wanted so badly to finally have him, to give myself to him in a way I’d reserved especially for him. Long story short, he made it happen. Stripped me of my innocence with nothing but tenderness. Told me he loved me.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but I do wish he didn’t still treat me as if I were so fragile. It’s been years since then, almost three long years, and with each day that passes, the craving only becomes stronger. I long for passion, long to be coveted so fiercely that he’ll lose all control and possess me completely.
Perhaps one day, I keep telling myself, but a small part of me reminds me—rather incessantly— not to hold my breath.
That he’ll never truly be everything I want and need, even if I wish for it on every star in the clearest night sky.
“Breathe, Tinksley,” he whispers, gently brushing back my mane, his lips ghosting along my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I-I know,” I stammer.
“Do you now?” An appeased grin plays on his face. “So sure of yourself, of me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you trust me.”
I shudder slightly, a movement I know he catches onto. “I do.”
Those two little words seem to affect him. Callan shakes his head and chuckles softly. “Why?” he asks. “No one else does. I’m what nightmares are made of, remember?”
So true.
I need to get away from him...
A small shove, but it jerks him back nonetheless. He doesn’t react much less comment, just watches me watching him. When it’s clear he’s not going to rush me again, I gather myself rather quickly and cross my arms.
“Not everyone has the same idea of nightmares,” I counter, drawing out clear dubiety on his expression.
“Oh, come on—you know what they say about me. I’m the big, bad man. The villain of Rosewood tales.”
“Are you, really though?” I’m equally dubious, oddly chastising, too. “Or is that how you want people to see you?”
“The question is, how do you see me, Tinksley Bell?”
That very question—no, the entire scenario has been replaying in my mind ever since Peter fell asleep. Most nights it doesn’t bother me. Gives me the opportunity to just admire him. But tonight, after what he said earlier regarding my so-called innocent exterior, the silence is bothering me more than it probably should.
Only reason I haven’t taken my leave yet is because I don’t want to deal with my mother. Not tonight anyway. I’ll handle her and her fury in the morning.
So while Peter rests, I let my mind drift off. It started innocently enough, filled with fantasies and daydreams of what our future could be, but in a mere blink, I was back in the forest with Hook.
Caught in his web like a helpless fly.
Was I really helpless, though?
Sure, he was intimidating, but the thrill? God, the thrill of being in such close proximity, to be regarded so keenly by those arctic eyes. It all rushed through my veins, thundered my heart. And when his lips brushed my cheek...
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump, thump, thump.
Gasping, a palm flies to my chest. The other sweeps up to my face. My skin burns as if his lips had just been there, heart mimicking the speedy tempo.
“You okay, T?” Peter rasps suddenly.
My eyes widen. “Fine,” I squeak, what feels like guilt rippling through me. I was thinking about Hook. “I just realized how late it is. I should go.”
I’m swiveling my legs over the edge of his bed when he says, “I was going to suggest the same.”
His words immobilize me. Honestly, they sting. I don’t know why, considering statements of this nature aren’t out of the ordinary for him anymore, but I cringe a little. I do every time he shuts down.
It wasn’t always like this.
Was rare enough that I didn’t think anything of it. But lately he either turns over, giving me his back, or he falls asleep on me.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s something I did or said, like suggesting us running off together again. He’s never been receptive of that offering.
What if it’s just me?
Peter rolls over then, the bed dipping with his movement. His hand wraps around my arm, darting my eyes to his touch. It’s warm and trickles through me, but nothing like...
I nearly gasp again.
Can’t believe I’m even thinking such things, comparing him to—
“Tinks.” His voice crashes through my thoughts.
Our stares meet, held steady on both ends for several moments. When I don’t speak, he gives a simple tug that drapes me over his chest.
“What’s wrong?” he quizzes.
You, I think to myself. “Nothing, just wondering what I’m going to say to my mother.”
“I hate to say it, T, but this is why I’m so insistent on coming to you, rather than you coming here. She asks too many questions and you have to lie to avoid another argument about me.”
I sigh. “I know. I just wish we didn’t have to sneak around.”