12. Wendy

At first, I think he's kidding.

His gun? I mean, I can't even fathom what he means to do with it, but then…

Then he shoves the gun into me.

Into my pussy.

The barrel of the frigging gun—slowly, inexorably, making me gasp and squirm. It's like a dildo, but so cold and hard. Unforgiving.

"What… what are you doing?" I pant. "Wes?"

"I think it's obvious."

"Wait, Wes—"

"I'm fucking you with my favorite gun." His grin is crooked and his golden eyes are heavy-lidded. "My gun is an extension of my dick."

"… are you serious?" I manage, squirming as he gives the gun one last little push.

"As a heart attack." He draws back and gets off the bed, leaving his gun lodged inside me, the handle sticking out between my legs.

Where is he going?

"Wes!" I shout. "No! Come back."

Colt distracts me, though, bending over me and trailing his gun down my jaw. "So pretty…"

"Colt!" Fear makes it hard to breathe. "Colt, take that gun out of me. Please, take it out…"

"Mm… I like seeing it there. Time to make room for mine, too."

"Yours?" He strokes the barrel of his gun over my chin, taps it on my lips. I turn my head to the side. "No. I can't."

"Would you rather I left now?"

"No! Please. You can't leave me like this!" Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. "You… assholes. Please…"

"You talk too much. Peter will hear us. So…" Colt pushes the barrel of his gun into my mouth. "Make love to it, baby."

I gag.

And I throb.

And I don't know what is going on with my body because it's never felt so hot and tight, clenched so tightly.

I've never been on the cusp of a mind-shattering orgasm by being tied up and fucked with guns—like, hell no. I never had fantasies like that. I mean I did fantasize about a guy shoving me up against furniture, grabbing me roughly, stuff like that, but this?

Never even knew that gunplay was a thing. A thing that got me aroused.

Or maybe it's their faces, gazes gone dark and hazy, mouths slightly parted, muscular chests rising and falling as if they've been running, their cocks tenting their pants like never before.

I'm doing this to them. Handling me like this makes them so hard their cocks look just about ready to bust the seams.

But they don't do anything about it. They don't free their cocks, touch them, they don't linger. With one last look at me, stuffed with their guns on both ends, they walk out of the room, leaving me to scream soundlessly at them.

Oh God…What now?

* * *

I'm choking.I can't breathe. It's as if I'm back underwater. The room is dimly lit, with glow stars stuck on the ceiling, a bit like my room when I was growing up.

I'm falling, and I'm panicking, and every shift of my body on the bed, every shallow breath, seems to stoke the fire in my belly.

This is insane.

More tears leak from my eyes. They can't leave me like this, can they? It's… dangerous. Scary. Humiliating. They brought me here for a reason, an obscure reason, true, but still…

Peter seemed convinced I'm the one—whatever that means. He wouldn't let me suffocate. He wouldn't let them harm me.

I cling to that belief as time grinds by, the soughing of the waves marking it like a metronome, like the island is a giant clock and the sea its pendulum.

God.

Can't.

Every movement jostles the gun inside me, makes me gag on the other gun in my mouth, and I don't know how long I will last—

"Wendy?" Tink steps inside the room a minute or maybe a year later, impossible to tell, and stops. "What in the ever-loving fuck?"

I yell at him, muffled by the gun. Its barrel is too thick, holding my jaw wide open, making it impossible to spit it out.

Then he starts laughing. "Oh, my fucking god. Those fucking Twins. I leave the house for five minutes and I come back to this?"

"Tink," I try to say and choke on the gun.

"Of course, they found a loophole," he mutters to himself. "Hands, mouth, toys… They could have used some of our toys. Dildos. Vibrators. Nipple clamps… but no, they had to go for their own favorites."

I choke again, and now I can't breathe at all.

Finally, Tink takes pity on me. He comes around the bed and pulls the gun out of my mouth.

I gasp for breath, saliva running down my chin. "Tink! Help me!"

"I just did," he says, lifting the gun, then tossing it on the bed. "You're welcome."

I pull on the ropes tied around my wrists. "The other one! Please."

"Hm… I don't know." He strokes his chin. "It looks good in you."

"You're all psychos!" I yell at him, pulling harder on the ties around my wrists. "Take it out. Tink! Please!"

"Is it uncomfortable?" he asks.

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah!"

"I think I'll leave it there," he says.

"What? Why?"

He's still stroking his chin. "I like it."

"But I don't! Untie me!"

"Oh, Wendy, Wendy…" Tink shakes his head. "Why do you still think we're nice? We are the ones who kidnapped you. Did you forget?" He leans over me, teeth bared. "Then again, this place makes everyone forget. Some more than others."

"What's happening to all of you…?"

"You see what you want to see," Tink continues, his eyes darkening, his wings springing out of his back. "Such a human thing."

"You're half human, too!"

"Yeah, that sucks."

"Tink… Peter said I'm the right one."

"Yeah, and? He said lots of things. Whether you're the right girl or not, we can't get attached to you. So we have to punish you."

"You're making no sense!" The barrel of the gun, lodged so deep inside me, is jostled when I twist on the bed, making me gasp.

"So you say. The gun stays." And yet Tink doesn't walk away. Instead, he approaches the bed, his gaze heated, eyes locked between my spread legs. His wings have vanished again, but the darkness in his eyes remains.

"You're not evil," I whisper.

"Aren't we?" His voice is a whisper. "You're aroused by us, you lust after us, you like us touching you, kissing you. But we never did any of that for you. Only for ourselves. For our own pleasure. Our own excitement."

"Please…"

"So tell me, little human girl… Are you so aroused you want to weep? Ready to combust with need? Your blood burning in your veins, between your legs? Is it your wish to be allowed to come?"

Hot tears slip from the corners of my eyes, just as the confession slips from my lips. "Yes."

"I didn't hear you." His voice is a low rasp. "Repeat it for me."

"Yes! I said yes."

He grins. "Then beg for it. Beg if you want my help. Go on. Let me hear it loud and clear."

I draw a shaky breath, and oh God, I'm going to do it, I'm going to beg… when a shadow falls over us.

A shadow long and jagged, dark and ominous, crawling over the floor, climbing the bed.

The King is here.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Peter snarls, lips pulled back, baring his teeth, hands clenched into tight fists. His eyes burn.

"Well, hello to you too," Tink mutters, his grin falling. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Only I can hurt her!" Peter growls.

"Well, she's not hurt," Tink says. "And fuck you."

"Get out!"

"Oh, I'm going." Tink casts me a thoughtful look. "Sorry, girl. He's the King. Maybe now you'll decide you like the barrel of a gun better than the knife."

What does he mean?

"Out!" Peter grabs Tink and all but throws him out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Oh God…" I squirm, tug harder on the ties. "Don't… Just…"

Peter comes around the bed on the other side, still snarling, his broad-shouldered form looming over me.

Right now, he doesn't look quite human, and his fury shakes me, shakes the bed, the house.

The entire island.

"How fucking dare they," he barks. "Those motherfuckers."

Yep, he's furious, and I'm trembling, so frigging deathly scared and also so aroused I can't bear it.

Peter's nearness is like a cold wind, sending waves to stroke my skin, raising goosebumps. My breasts ache, my nipples are diamond-hard, and I'm wound up inside, so close to coming…

He bends over me, his eyes gone black like the pits of hell, his bared canines sharp. No, he doesn't look entirely human right now.

"You're mine," he snarls. "Fucking mine." He growls, and the shadow behind him seems to grow larger and move along the walls on its own, a hulking shape of a beast. I stare at it, uncomprehending.

Then he grabs the handle of the gun between my legs. Pulls it out an inch, shoves it back inside.

Again.

And I shatter. I come apart with a cry, shaking on the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashes into me, rushes through my body, as my pussy clenches hard, again and again.

Peter swears, though I can't make out the words, lost in the storm raging inside my body. The barrel is still inside me and I'm still coming, weeping and wailing with my release.

It takes me some time to realize he never even once asked if I slept, if I dreamed, if I even tried to do his bidding.

He leans over me, lips peeled back, and I finally realize what has just happened:

Peter has lost control.