Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DECLAN
Jesus Christ. What the fuck had I just read?
Better question—what the fuck had Penelope written?
I couldn’t escape to my room fast enough because I was still hard. Not from sounds. Not from touches. From words.
Her words.
There was no denying it—Penelope Shea was a massive contradiction. Sweet librarian. Rabid rule-follower. Pure sunshine to everyone but me. Epic, unrelenting pain in my ass.
And, apparently, my complete goddamn undoing.
With her sexy little glasses perched on her nose and her tight ponytail just begging to be gripped in my fist, the unassuming woman somehow always managed to look like temptation wrapped in a cardigan.
All the while, she’d also been writing about being pinned down and eaten out like it was her goddamn due in life.
And fuck me, but I wanted to be the one feasting.
I tugged off my shirt and tossed it on the bed. Pulled out my phone and did the same. My sweatpants were next, yanked down so fast, I nearly tripped over them.
Didn’t matter, because I was too far gone. And sure as hell too far to stop.
I was already there—cock straining against my boxer briefs, the tip leaking, just begging to finish before I’d even touched myself.
After dropping onto the bed, I shoved down my boxers and wrapped a fist around myself. The hiss I released was involuntary. Caged and rabid for the one woman I shouldn’t have.
Couldn’t have.
I stroked my shaft slowly at first. A tease. A threat. A promise.
Trying to delay the inevitable, I ignored the flushed head and the barbell through it that already glinted from my precome. I wanted this to last. Wanted to savor what she’d done to me.
With my left hand, I fumbled for my phone and quickly called up the text she’d sent full of her dirty words.
I’d been shocked at my first exposure to her writing—too shocked to do anything but read the words as they’d been presented.
But not this time.
This time when I read them, I pictured her spread out and wanting. Her eyes heavy lidded behind her glasses, her full tits heaving and topped with stiff little peaks. Her thick thighs were spread wide, giving me an unencumbered view of the prettiest pussy I’d ever seen.
“Fuck,” I groaned, closing my eyes, her words already locked in my brain and fueling my fantasy.
She’d written about tension. About teasing. About being edged so long, the woman’s entire body quaked with anticipation.
In my mind, Penelope quaked with anticipation.
As I stroked my shaft, I pictured her spread out on her bed, her wrists and ankles tied to each bedpost. Her lush body completely at my mercy.
I didn’t know where to focus first, had so many parts of her I wanted to touch and lick and bite. But in the scene she’d written, he’d started at her ankles, so that was what I did in my fantasy.
I brushed my lips along the inside of one, then the other before scraping my teeth over the skin.
I kissed a path up the inside of her leg, flicking my tongue out to lick at the hollow behind her knee.
Nibbled on her plump inner thighs. Then ignored her pussy other than to blow a gust of air across her drenched slit.
With a groan, I tightened my fist around my cock, needing to fill my mouth with all that sweetness, even if it was only in my fantasy.
Instead, I climbed up her body, circled my tongue around her belly button, licked beneath each of her heavy tits. Then I cupped them in my hands, pressed them together, and alternated between each tip—sucking and licking and nipping—until she was a panting, writhing mess.
Fantasy Penelope breathed the handful of words that had nearly undone me when I’d read them. “Please. Please. Lick my pussy and make me come.”
And I couldn’t wait another second to taste what I’d stopped pretending I didn’t want. It was no use anymore. Not when I was able to conjure her up so vividly that I could practically feel her body beneath mine, her hips rolling to get closer. Could nearly smell how turned on she was.
I imagined settling between her spread thighs. Imagined gripping handfuls of her ass as I lifted her up to my mouth. Imagined the taste of her hitting me like a fucking wrecking ball when I licked a line through her slit.
She gasped my name and arched toward me like I wasn’t giving her enough. Suddenly, her hands—somehow no longer bound—were on my head, her fingers gripping my hair as she tried to guide my movements.
But she’d wanted someone to make her come, so that was exactly what I was going to do. Even if only in my mind.
Her legs shook, her head thrashing as she whispered pleas to God. She arched her back off the bed when I slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right. Just where she needed.
Fuck.
I gritted my teeth and stroked harder, the slick sound of my fist over my cock obscene in the quiet. Except it wasn’t quiet. Not in my head.
There, Penelope was panting. Whimpering and begging and moaning my name.
“Oh god, Declan—”
Her voice wasn’t polite. Not clipped or careful. Not measured or soft. In my fantasy, she was filthy. Unfiltered. Completely fucking unraveled.
She dug her nails into my shoulders while she babbled incoherently, moaning about how good it felt. With every orgasm I coaxed from her body, she thanked me with a rush of her come coating my tongue.
I pumped my shaft faster, my grip tightening. My thighs locked and my stomach clenched as I circled my thumb over the crown, spreading precome around my piercing.
What would she do if she were watching me now?
Would she retreat into her shy little shell?
Or would she be brazen…her eyes locked on my hand, her gaze ravenous as she watched me stroke myself to thoughts of her?
Would she touch herself? Slip those sweet fingers between her thighs and circle her clit while I jerked off?
Would she tell me how close she was? Would she beg me to come with her?
That was the image that wrecked me. Her trembling body lying beside me, thighs slick with her arousal, her fingers a blur and eyes locked on mine as we came together—loud and desperate and feral.
I clenched my teeth, my hips jolting as my orgasm tore through me like a fucking freight train.
“Penelope—” I called her name into my empty room—zero shame, zero filter, and absolutely zero control—loud enough for the goddamn neighbors to hear.
Loud enough for her to hear.
Come erupted from my cock and arced over me, thick and hot and endless. It hit my neck, my chest, my abs.
“Fuuuuck,” I groaned, my body jerking through the aftershocks, the last spurts messy and brutal and still somehow not enough.
Breath sawed in and out of my lungs as I collapsed back against the pillows. Blindly, I reached for my discarded T-shirt and wiped myself off with shaking hands, my muscles still twitching.
What the actual fuck was that?
I’d been jerking off for almost twenty-five years. And I’d never once come like that. Not alone. And definitely not without anything but remembered words and a vision of one woman fulfilling them in my mind.
With a rough exhale, I draped an elbow over my eyes, blocking out everything else.
Except I couldn’t block out Penelope.
And that was a fucking problem.