Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DECLAN
In my fifteen years as a tattoo artist, I’d never been so distracted at work. Usually, being here served as a recharge. Tattooing energized me…the act of permanently imprinting art onto another human being was exhilarating and grounding all at once.
But today, I’d fumbled through my appointments with barely there attention. Yes, my lines were clean and my consults were taken care of and my art was on point. But my mind? My mind had been stuck on last night, the events playing on a loop.
Penelope in my lap. Grinding and gasping and so fucking desperate. Trying so damn hard to come that she’d been bogged down by the weight of expectations. Expectations she’d solely put on herself.
We weren’t doing that shit tonight.
The perfect little librarian was always so focused on that perfection, she couldn’t get out of her own way. She was trapped in her head, and I was going to do everything in my power to make her forget all that.
By the time I was done with her, I wanted her so mindless with need, she’d be unable to think about anything other than how fucking good she felt.
“Earth to Steele.” Cam’s voice cut through my thoughts like a damn air horn.
I blinked and glanced over to where he stood at his station, his grin as sharp as a blade. Rowan sat in her chair, trying—and failing—not to look entertained.
“You planning to actually tattoo that guy today?” he asked, jerking his chin toward my client. “Or are you just gonna sit there and brood in his direction for a few hours?”
After double-checking that Levi had his earbuds in like usual, I muttered, “Fuck off. I’m working.”
Rowan snorted. “You’ve been staring at that stencil for five straight minutes.”
“I was thinking.”
“Uh-huh.” She swiveled in her chair, her smirk obnoxious as fuck. “And I’m sure that thinking has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re cohabitating with a certain sweet librarian who blushes when someone says the word ‘thrust.’”
I clenched my jaw, the muscle bunching. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I already started.” Her grin only widened. “You’re distracted. More than you usually are after a run-in with everyone’s favorite rule-follower, so I know that’s not it.”
“He didn’t have a run-in today because he didn’t park on the sidewalk,” Cam said. Like a fucking narc.
“Oh really.” Rowan’s eyes sparkled. “Next thing you know, you’re going to have her coffee order memorized and deliver it to her at the library.”
Joke was on her because Penelope didn’t have a coffee order—the only drink she ever got from the café was a London Fog with extra vanilla syrup.
Rowan squinted at me. “Why are you grinding your teeth?”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Cam said. “Like you’re resisting the urge to correct her.”
“Why haven’t you two fucked off yet?”
Rowan leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “What does she get, Declan?”
I only clenched my jaw in response and focused on getting started with Levi’s tattoo, ignoring their echoing laughter. I turned on the machine and let the buzz drown them out, dragging my mind back to the task at hand.
Because thinking about Penelope right now—or ever—was a liability.
After my long shift at Steele Ink—during which I’d absolutely failed in my effort not to think about the sweet little librarian—I opened the apartment door and stepped inside, my gaze landing on her immediately.
Penelope was curled up on the couch, laptop open, legs folded beneath her. A short burgundy dress flared around her hips, the hem riding high on her thighs. And over it? A pale pink cardigan that looked as soft as a cloud and as sweet as sin.
I’d had actual dreams about that thing. It was thin enough, clingy enough, that if she ever wore it without anything underneath, I knew I’d be able to see everything—especially what I knew would be perfect, rosy little nipples, pressed tight to the fabric in invitation.
“Hi,” she said, her voice soft…hesitant. As if she didn’t know where we stood.
After last night, I couldn’t blame her.
By the time I’d woken up this morning, she’d already been gone. I hadn’t seen her since last night when I’d swatted her ass outside her bedroom and told her not to worry about it…that we’d try something different next time.
And I was very much ready for next time.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were nervous.” I gave her a challenging stare, one I knew she’d rise to. First step to getting her out of her head was to irritate her.
Fortunately, I was extremely good at that.
Her brows snapped down, her pretty lips pursing into a scowl. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to provoke me.”
“That’s what you should always think, rebel. Provoking you is my favorite pastime.” I tossed my keys onto the table, toed off my boots, and shrugged out of my coat, my muscles already wound tight beneath my T-shirt. “You already eat?”
“Choked down some leftover chili.”
I huffed a laugh through my nose and headed straight for the kitchen. After washing my hands, I peeked inside the fridge to see just how much of my chili she’d managed to choke down and hummed low in my throat. At least a bowl and a half…maybe two.
I filled a glass with water and downed it, my eyes locked on her. She looked keyed up. Like her thoughts were sprinting in circles. Like she was bracing for something.
But under all that? Anticipation. And that I could work with.
I set my dirty glass beside the sink—right next to her most recent Post-it, the one threatening bodily harm if I didn’t rinse and load. I was already looking forward to tomorrow’s scathing note. “Darcy?”
She tipped her head toward her bedroom. “I wouldn’t give him another treat, so now I’m dead to him.”
Good. The last thing I needed was that nosy little shit pouncing onto the couch while I had Penelope in my lap, coming apart by my hands.
In a few short steps, I closed the distance between us, every muscle in my body coiled with intention. Her eyes widened slightly as I stopped in front of the couch, and she glanced up to meet my gaze.
“You ready to try something different?”
She let the same words I’d said last night settle, not answering right away. Instead, she stared at me, arms crossed tight over her chest. An armor to hide behind.
Finally, she said, “Why, you think you have the magic touch?”
Her words were cold, biting, but they held a hint of uncertainty, tender and raw. I knew if I had any hope of coaxing her out of her mind tonight, I needed to bait her.
Fortunately, I had a shit-ton of experience doing just that.
“What I think is that I’m gonna make you come right there on this couch.
So hard you forget to breathe.” I stepped into her space, close enough that she had to tip her chin up if she wanted to keep glaring at me.
“And then you’re going to tell me I made you feel so good, you don’t give a shit if I ever clean another dish again. ”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “That’s big talk for someone who’s wildly overestimating their skills and how useful they’ll be on me. But sure. Good luck.”
“Say whatever you want, rebel. I know your legs will be shaking and you’ll be begging me not to stop before the night’s through.” I reached for her laptop, set it on the coffee table, and dropped beside her on the couch.
“God, you are so—”
I scooped her into my lap and settled her astride me before she could finish her sentence. She squeaked, her hands flying to my shoulders as she steadied herself.
Fuck me.
Her lush little body—warm and so goddamn soft, her thick hips yielding beneath my hands—fit against me perfectly.
“Keep talking shit, Penelope,” I murmured as I sank lower on the couch, spreading my legs wide beneath her. “Your sassy little mouth only gets me harder.”
Her breath hitched, her grip tightening on me as she shifted her hips just enough to slide a bit closer—like her body wanted more even if her mouth couldn’t admit that just yet.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as I explored her curves. Glided my fingertips over the generous fullness of her hips, down the outside of her thighs, until I met bare skin below the hem of her dress, just above her knees. “You were real mouthy a minute ago.”
“I’m…thinking.”
“That’s the opposite of what you should be doing right now.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to turn my brain off?”
“Just feel.” I slipped my fingertips beneath the hem of her dress. Barely an inch but enough that she could pull away or toss out a yellow or red and everything would pause or end.
Instead, she just stared, lips parted, eyes growing heavy lidded as she settled even more fully against me, her thighs spreading wider.
I hummed low in my throat, my cock thickening at her acquiescence. “Good girl.”
Those two words sent a shiver coursing through her, her nipples tightening into stiff peaks beneath her cardigan, and I filed that information away for future reference. Not a surprise my rule-following, perfection-seeking librarian liked a little praise.
“See what happens when you stop arguing with me?”
Her breath caught, spine stiffening like she wanted to fight back, but she rolled her hips instead, slow and instinctive. “Thought you said something about making me come…”
“I’m getting there.”
Under the hem of her dress, I framed her thighs, my thumbs grazing the inner flesh, my fingers curved over the outer edges. At the first whisper of touch against her sensitive skin, she exhaled a sharp breath and tightened her grip on my shoulders. Swallowing hard, she darted her eyes between mine.
My movements were slow, intentional, gliding upward on a questing journey. One where I mapped her body and committed every single inch to memory.
She was warm and smooth and soft…so fucking soft as I dragged my hands over her. Finally, I brushed my thumbs over the silky skin just an inch from where her legs met her pussy, and Christ.
Christ.
Heat emanated from her cunt, and I wanted nothing more than to close the scant distance and confirm just how wet she was. Wanted to sink my fingers inside her…wanted to feel just how needy her little clit was.
Instead, I shifted my hands over her hips to the generous swells of her ass, only pausing when I hit the lace trim of her underwear.
Fuck. Why did that knowledge alone make my cock twitch? The fact that this woman, with her studious glasses and sweet cardigans and unassuming exterior, wore lacy panties designed to make a man lose his mind.
And I couldn’t deny how much I loved that it was a dirty little secret just between us.
“Good girls don’t put on lace like this unless they’re hoping someone notices.” I slipped both hands beneath the barely there fabric, palms fitting to her ass like they were made for it. “Question is—were you hoping it’d be me?”
“I don’t select my underwear with you in mind.” Her words were meant to be harsh and cutting, but they came out breathy in a way that made me think her decorum was hanging off the side of a cliff.
And I wanted nothing more than to push it all the way over the edge.