Chapter 16 Griffin
Griffin
I did not mean to say that. Ever. And certainly not to Penny herself. I planned to take that secret to the grave for both our sakes. But it slipped out, and I can’t take it back.
Fuck, I want to take it back.
But do I really? Isn’t there some small sliver of relief in my cold heart that’s glad it’s finally out in the open?
Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve given in to that weakness.
I’ve fought it for so long, doing my damnedest to hold it deep inside, because I know the damage this truth bomb is going to cause.
I’ve played it out in my mind hundreds of times.
Sometimes, I imagine it wouldn’t be that bad .
. . that Penny would leap into my arms and say, Me too; that Dominic would be mad at first but would then hug me tight, saying that he’s glad I’m the one to capture his beloved sister’s heart because he can’t imagine anyone better than his best friend with her.
Even in an imaginary fantasyland of my own making, that pretty picture doesn’t seem probable.
The much more likely response would be Penny saying something cruelly dismissive and Dominic beating the shit out of me, which I’d let him do because I’d deserve every hit.
In that scenario, I never see Penny again, which is untenable.
If she doesn’t know how I feel, at least I get the joy of seeing her, knowing her, and watching her succeed. From one small step away, I can witness everything as she lives the life of happiness she deserves.
But now I’ve fucked it all up. I’m good at that. Always have been, always will be.
“Nothing, never mind.” I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen (a.k.a.
running away from Penny and the clear look of shocked horror that’s written all over her face).
Threading my fingers through my hair, I pull harshly at the strands.
The pain is a much-needed punishment for ruining everything, but it’s not enough.
I slam my hands onto the counter, the sound sharp and too loud. “Fuck!”
“Griffin?” Penny says from the doorway, her voice quiet and unsure.
I don’t look at her. I can’t. I don’t want to see the revulsion on her face.
It’ll be there—I know it will be. I’ve done too good of a job at becoming the asshole she hates.
There are years of insults, of pushing her away, of making her feel beneath me, when the truth is, I’m the one unworthy of someone as amazing as her.
“I thought . . . well, I’ve always thought you hated me? Right? You hate me?”
God, I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t fucking stand it.
I don’t decide. I don’t choose. Or maybe I chose a long time ago and have been denying the inevitable, even to myself. My feet move of their own will, getting me closer to the one thing I want the most—Penny. “Does this feel like hate?”
Not giving her a moment to answer, I take her mouth with a kiss.
She jolts in surprise, but I cup her cheek, keeping her at my mercy.
It’s such a relief . . . a release . . .
to finally touch her the way I’ve wanted to for so long.
She’s somehow familiar, the Penny I’ve known for years—and new, the Penny I’ve never experienced like this.
When she gently falls against me, the small surrender ignites every ember I’ve kept at a slow burn, cranking my need up to the point of desperation.
I reach down, wrapping an arm around her lower back and picking her up easily.
She hangs on to my neck, but she’s so short that her legs dangle, her toes bouncing against my shins.
Spinning, I deposit her on the kitchen counter, shoving her knees open with my hips until there’s enough space for me.
Her hands explore my chest, and I lift into her touch, wanting the invisible branding of her fingertips.
She’s already unknowingly tattooed her name onto my heart; she might as well claim my body too. Because it’s hers. It’s been hers.
And she will be mine.
Even if only for this one ill-fated moment. I know this is madness, but I can’t stop it now. I don’t want to. And unless Penny herself tells me to stop, I won’t. I’m seeing this through, even if it leaves my life in ruins and my heart in pieces.
I move a hand to cup her throat, remembering how much she said she enjoyed that.
I almost expect her to giggle at the obvious callback, or make a joke of it, but her breath catches, so I put the slightest pressure, squeezing the tiniest bit, and I feel her pulse flutter rapidly against my fingers.
Fuck, she does like that. My other hand drifts even lower, finding the fullness of her breast, and though she’s wearing a sweatshirt and a bra, I can feel the hard nub of her nipple.
I tease my thumb over it, and it responds, pearling up even more.
Using my hold on her throat to lift her chin, I press heated kisses down her neck and simultaneously slip my other hand beneath her sweatshirt, wanting to feel her soft skin.
She struggles at my waist, fighting to raise my shirt.
If that’s what she wants, she can have it.
She can have anything, everything. I force my hands off her for the one second it takes for me to rip my shirt off and drop it to the floor, and then they’re back on her.
I pull her sweatshirt up, too, and she ducks out of it.
Her fingers dance over the bare skin of my biceps as I cup her breasts, taking my fill.
I could dive into the line of her cleavage and live there for the rest of my days as a happy man, surrounded by her scent and the beating of her heart.
I’ve seen her in a swimsuit before. It nearly killed me because I wanted to lay her over my legs and smack her ass for daring to let anyone see that much of her, but I also desperately didn’t want her to cover up.
I wanted to see—and memorize—every inch of her that I could, from the freckle on her rib cage to the small heart tattoo on her right hip bone.
This bra has more coverage than her favorite swimsuit does, yet this feels more intimate.
Swimsuits are for the public; her lingerie is private. Just for me.
That thought has my cock surging demandingly in my jeans, but he’ll have to wait. I want to taste more of Penny—more of her mouth, her breasts, her pussy, anything she’ll let me have. I would beg for scraps of her attention, worship any inch of her body.
“Jesus,” I growl, “you’re so fucking beautiful.
” I press a kiss to the fullness above her bra on one side and then the other, my thumbs swiping over her nipples.
She reaches behind herself, easily undoing the fastener in the back, and with the slightest dip of her shoulders, her bra falls.
She throws it out of the way like the damn thing is cursed.
And Penny Lee is topless on my kitchen counter.
I know exactly what I want to eat first.
I trace a circle around one of her nipples, then tease over the nub with my tongue.
Penny arches into me, and I suck more of her flesh into my mouth as her arms wrap around my neck, holding me to her.
The barest brush of my teeth has her whimpering needily, so I do it again on the other side.
I want to learn every single thing she likes and doesn’t like.
Hell, I can’t wait to hear her Yelp ratings.
Her fingers splay over my chest and move down my abs, which clench and flex beneath her touch.
Fuck, is she . . . ? When she cups my cock, I instinctively buck into her touch with a groan of pleasure, cursing the barrier of my jeans.
Her movements turn frantic, her fingers working at the button of my jeans. “Off, take them off,” she orders.
I press my forehead to hers, eyes demanding her full attention even though fire is rushing through both of us, burning any shred of logic we might have under different circumstances. “Penny, are you sure?”
“Don’t make me question myself. Just do it,” she gasps, her fingers still struggling to undo my jeans. But then she freezes. “Unless you’re not sure?”
The insecurity is deafeningly loud. And entirely my fault.
Every cruel word I’ve spat her way, every grumble of annoyance, every dismissive glance has made her doubt me.
I wanted her to think I hated her, needed her to think that, but for just a moment—this reckless, dangerous moment—I want her to understand the truth.
“I was sure the second you walked into your parents’ kitchen wearing a pair of jeans that fit your ass like a second skin, a team shirt, and a smile that made it feel like there might actually be some good in this world.
I was sure then, and though I’m going to burn in hell for it, I’m sure now.
” For all the sweetness in the picture I’m painting, I might as well be telling her to fuck off, because my voice is rough with desire, the words gritted out like they’re being forced from the depths of my soul without me wanting them to be heard.
She blinks, and I think she’s realizing that’s what she was wearing the first time we met. In truth, it’d been Dominic’s team logo, and she’d been supporting her brother. But in my twisted head, it was always for me.
I deliberately slow my movements as I reach for my jeans, giving her every chance to stop me while praying she doesn’t.
Instead, she goes for her own waist, making quick work of her zipper and lifting her hips to shove her jeans over her hips and down, taking her panties with them.
While she kicks her legs, trying clumsily to get her shoes and clothes off, I rush to do the same.