Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PENELOPE
I woke up in a tangle of sheets and shame. Darcy loomed above me, staring down at me like he had questions. Fair. I had a few myself.
Like why had I thought it was a good idea to drink an entire bottle of merlot by myself and confess my entire secret identity to Declan freaking Steele?
Why had I sent him the dirtiest thing I’d ever written?
Why had I asked him if he always got that hard?
Why had I thought any of that was a good idea?
But most importantly…why had I been able to hear him last night?
Just the memory of him groaning my name made my face flame so hot it could’ve powered the apartment’s heating unit. I covered my face with both hands and whimpered, a pathetic sound muffled by my palms and Darcy’s body as he’d given up politeness and tried to smother me instead.
I turned on my side, gathering Darcy close as I cuddled the little monster, trying diligently not to remember how Declan had sounded, all low and rough and raw.
He hadn’t tried to be quiet. He hadn’t stifled a damn thing.
Through the thin wall separating our rooms, I hadn’t even made it to the end of that groan before I’d closed my eyes, bit my lip, and slipped my hand into my panties like a pervy little voyeur.
It had taken almost nothing before I was whimpering and moaning and coming apart as I’d ridden my fingers. Nothing but the thought of him getting off to me. Or my words, at least.
And now, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been able to hear me.
I groaned again and mumbled, “I will simply never leave my room again. Problem solved.”
Unfortunately, I needed to pee. And eat. And I really needed to take something for my head.
With a deep exhale, I crawled out of bed, pulled on an oversized cardigan, and poked my head into the hallway, listening for life.
The coast was clear as I tiptoed to the bathroom.
If I was lucky, Declan had already left for work.
If I was really lucky, maybe he’d lost all memory of the past twelve hours.
After finishing up in the bathroom, I padded quietly down the hallway while Darcy silently judged me from my bedroom doorway. The apartment was quiet and still as I turned the corner into the kitchen—and froze.
Barefoot, shirtless, and sporting the same sweatpants as last night, Declan stood next to the fridge like sin incarnate. Coffee mug in one hand, the other resting on the edge of the counter.
Between the barbell through his nipple, all those sprawling tattoos, and the bunch and flex of his muscles, he looked unfairly good for a man who’d zapped my brain by jacking off to my written confession.
That thought brought me up short, and I clutched the edge of the counter like it might anchor me to this planet. “G-good morning.”
After a quick scan over me from head to toe, he met my gaze, his unreadable. “Morning.”
There. That wasn’t so bad. Maybe this would be fine. Totally and completely normal.
I shuffled past him to my tea kettle, all while trying diligently not to look at his chest. Or his arms. Or those abs. Or that sharp V of muscle that poked out where his sweatpants hung indecently low, an arrow pointing straight to his cock.
Tried diligently. Failed diligently.
Without my permission—and without much of a fight—my gaze landed on the bulge in his sweatpants.
And I couldn’t look away.
“You know it’s not going to do it all the time, right?” Declan said dryly.
I jolted like I’d been tasered and forced my eyes anywhere but him—the backsplash, the sink, the ceiling. “I wasn’t—it’s not—”
But then I made the mistake of glancing back, and it was…growing?
A gust of air left my parted lips as I stared, my brows shooting up. “But…it’s doing it now, isn’t it?”
Declan cleared his throat. “Morning wood.”
“I thought that only happened right when you wake up?”
“Maybe you thought wrong.”
And that was exactly the issue—I didn’t have a penis. Didn’t have a penis-wielding friend I could go to with these kinds of questions either. Didn’t have a significant other—had never, really.
Which was why I needed Declan.
“See? I do need you.” As his gaze traveled down the length of my body and back up again, I quickly added, “For research. Obviously. I won’t tell anyone and you won’t tell anyone because of The Roommate Rules, and I can get what I need and—”
“What exactly are you asking for?”
I swallowed as a dozen scenarios flew through my mind, each one more perverted than the last. But no…all I needed was to borrow some of his experience…some of his knowledge.
“Since this is all confidential, I was hoping I could ask you some questions. About…stuff.”
“Questions,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
“About ‘stuff.’”
I shifted on my feet, my cheeks flaming, and nodded.
He didn’t break his steady gaze on me. Didn’t even blink. “Sex questions, you mean.”
Despite the lava currently flowing through my body and heating me from the inside, I nodded again.
After placing his mug on the counter, he crossed his arms, his muscles shifting like a live work of art. “You want me to teach you what you don’t know.”
“Exactly,” I said, entirely too enthusiastically.
He let that hang in the air between us, thick and electric. And then, when he spoke, his voice was so low, I felt it directly between my thighs.
“That makes me the sex teacher,” he said slowly. “And you the sex student. Which means what you’re asking for are sex lessons. From me.”
I no doubt resembled a tomato at this point with how flushed I felt. I immediately averted my gaze, dropping it…straight to his cock.
Which had absolutely graduated to full attention.
Oh my god. Was he turned on by the idea of this? Of teaching me? Was that normal?
“Are you unusually responsive to sexual situations?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Declan blinked. “What?”
I waved vaguely toward the bulge in his sweatpants. “I mean, does this happen a lot? Like…do you walk around the grocery store like this or—?”
“You really do have a lot of questions,” he said, voice gruff.
“A whole list, actually.”
Something sharp and unreadable filled his gaze, but the emotion was there and gone before I had a chance to decipher it.
He took a step toward me, not stopping until I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. “Say you want sex lessons from me, and I’ll answer right now.”
A wave of heat swept over me from head to toe, and I couldn’t stop the images from assailing my mind. Images of what sex lessons from a man like Declan Steele would look like.
Could I do this? Did I have the guts? Could I put aside all my worries and fears and leap into something I knew nothing about?
Normally, the answer would be a resounding hell no. I wasn’t a risk-taker. Definitely not with something like this. And definitely not with someone like him.
But…maybe? Maybe I could do this.
The overwhelming pressure I felt to get this next book right was crushing… It had been extinguishing my muse in a way I hadn’t ever experienced before.
Not since college anyway.
The closer book four’s deadline crept, the louder the fear grew that Eden Foxbury was just an elaborate bluff, and readers would find out I was a fraud with next to zero experience.
When was I going to get another opportunity like this? Never, that was when. I might’ve stumbled into a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. Where I’d once looked at these thirty days of living together as a jail sentence, what if, instead, I viewed them as a learning opportunity?
The librarian in me knew it was too good to pass up. And since this would be confidential as part of The Roommate Rules, the woman and author in me concurred.
I could do this. For research, obviously. Only research.
“Yes,” I said, too fast and way too breathy. “That’s what I want.”
He shook his head once, his gaze intense. “The words, Penelope. All of them. Be explicit.”
I opened my mouth to do just that, but nothing came out. It was too much to speak aloud—too real, too vulnerable. The second I actually said the words, I wouldn’t be able to take them back.
Sure, I wrote about women who took what they wanted without apology. But here I was, debating whether I had the nerve to even ask for it.
“Tell you what,” he said evenly, eyes locked on mine even as he took a step back. “When you can ask for it, you can have it.”