Far From Neverland

by River Hale

He’s Peter Pan, and I will always hate him way too much even for hate sex. It doesn’t matter how pretty he is.

What the fuck? I always said Pan was mine, but I didn’t mean in this way.

His heat consumes me; his gravity pulls at me, ruining me. My star.

Poetic

He can’t want me as badly as I want him. We’re toxic, explosive. Might as well stick our heads in a loaded cannon.

“I don’t need you to hate me, Little Star,” he continues, casting a shiver down my spine. “But you can if you need to. You can hate me all you want, but that’s not going to stop me.” I realize how heavy I’m breathing when my arms continuously brush against his shirt. The room spins. I swallow. “Stop you from what?” The grin he gives me is wolfish, downright erotic. “Doing whatever the fuck I want.” The