“It’s useless to hide your voice from me, beautiful.” His lips meet my ear again. “You’ll scream.”

I’m about to say no, that good girls like me don’t scream, but then he gives me another order I can’t resist. “On your knees.”

I fall.

Just like that.

There’s something about the way he issues orders, a command that needs to be obeyed, or else it’ll wreak havoc.

“I want those tits on the mattress, legs wide apart and your ass in the air.”

My cheeks go up in flames at the image, but they nearly explode when I’m in position.

I hear the ripping of something and turn sideways to find him rolling a condom onto his cock. Jeez. I never thought I would find this of all things hot, but on him, it’s so much of a turn-on that I gulp.

“Eyes ahead, beautiful.” He lowers himself behind me and I stare at the hotel’s wallpaper, my ears heating.

I’m the one who’s supposed to be against any type of eye contact, but I forgot about my own rule just now.

He grabs both of my wrists and holds them at the small of my back, then something soft wraps around them. That’s when I catch a glimpse of his tie from my peripheral vision.

For some reason, it feels as if I’m completely at his mercy now and he proves that when he digs his strong fingers into my hip and thrusts in.

I was ready for it, soaking wet even, but it feels so sudden that my whole body jolts forward.

It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would, though. There’s a sharp sting, but it quickly vanishes, probably because I’m so aroused that I’m about to burst, or maybe it’s because he’s so entangled with my body that there’s no room for me to feel the extent of the pain.

He pulls out a little, then stops.

Has he figured it out?

Of course he did. The British stranger will know I lied to him and he’ll stop and this night will end. My trip to Neverland will finish before it even starts.

But apparently, that’s not the case, because the only reason he pulls out is to thrust in again. An electric shock paralyzes my whole body and I wish there was something I could hold on to. My bound wrists forbid me from latching onto anything, and somehow that sends tingles down my spine where my wrists are bound.

He wraps my hair around his fist and my head angles up, even though my chest stays on the mattress which adds friction to my sensitive nipples. The motion is so possessive, drool forms in my mouth.

And it’s not only because of the position. It’s his mad rhythm. He thrusts deeper, harder, rougher. The pace is so crazy and out of control that only the slaps of flesh against flesh echo in the air. Oh, and the sloppy sounds of my arousal.

I should be ashamed, but I’m not, not even a little.

I’m completely at a stranger’s mercy as he fucks me like he hates me. He fucks me like he owns every part of me while still having a vendetta against me, and yet I love it.

I love it more than I should.

It should be demented—handing so much control to a man I just met, but it’s a fantasy, right?

And fantasies don’t have limits.

Fantasies don’t have shame.

Fantasies are just like me when I was a little girl and pretended to be Wendy and had the whole forest as my audience.

My thoughts are scattered when he pulls on my hair harder and then a burning sensation explodes in my neck. He’s biting it, I realize. His teeth are so deep in my skin, I can feel it right between my legs.

Drool gathers in my mouth and just when I’m about to shriek, he sucks on the skin with an intensity that leaves me gasping.