Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DECLAN
My beard still smelled like her.
Or so my brain kept telling me. That was how bad it had gotten. How far lost I was to Penelope’s orbit. Days later, and I swore I could still taste her—sweet and addictive and wholly fucking intoxicating.
Every breath I took in this goddamn apartment only made it worse. Like her scent had worked its way into the air vents, into my lungs, into my fucking bones.
It’d been three days since I’d had my mouth on her. Three days since she’d come apart against my tongue, cried out my name, and then thanked me while acting like I hadn’t just wrecked her for any man who’d come before and every one stupid enough to try after.
And for some fucking reason, that thought had me pacing my room like a caged lion. My jaw was clenched so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if I cracked a molar, and my dick was proving to be a permanent fucking problem I couldn’t work out, no matter how many solo sessions I partook in.
This wasn’t the deal I’d agreed to.
It was supposed to be just sex lessons. Education for her. A few hands-on demonstrations to help her write her smutty books before we’d revert back to our regularly scheduled antagonism.
I was supposed to be able to fuck her out of my system. Instead, she was in my system. Under my skin. Gnawing at my every nerve ending. And with two weeks still left under the same roof, this wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.
My sketchbook lay open on the nightstand, the latest page half finished—Penelope’s profile from the other night, head tipped back, lips parted, throat bared. I’d drawn it from memory, and that was the fucking problem. She was in my head so deep, I saw her every time I closed my eyes.
I snapped the book shut and shoved it in the drawer. I needed to get the hell out of here. Needed some space to fucking breathe. Just for a few hours.
Snatching my keys off the dresser, I stormed out of my room—and almost barreled straight into Penelope.
She startled and jerked to a stop in front of her door, eyes wide. I swept my gaze over her from head to toe. Her lips were glossed, her hair curled. And that dress? That dress was going to be my goddamn undoing.
It was fitted at her waist and flared at her hips, accentuating the generous curves I’d filled my hands with only days before, and the neckline was cut low enough that her tits poured out of the top. The loose cardigan she wore did fuck-all to hide the mouthwatering perfection beneath it.
My jaw clenched right along with my fists, anger simmering under the surface for some unknown reason. “Hot date?”
She blinked like the words surprised her. “What? No. Girls’ night.”
“Girls’ night,” I repeated flatly, then dragged my gaze from the smooth column of her neck to the full swells of her tits to the exposed length of her thighs. “That why you look like you’re going out for the sole purpose of destroying a man’s will to live?”
A flush bloomed on her cheeks, but she straightened her spine. “If I were going to destroy anyone’s will to live, it would be yours.”
Well, mission fucking accomplished.
I gestured for her to head down the hallway in front of me, trying and failing at not staring at the sway of her ass as she went. She picked up Darcy for a cuddle and held him close, murmuring something low in his ear.
And that was just fucking great. Apparently, I was jealous of a cat now. The pompous little shit knew it, too, if the smug look he was giving me was any indication.
She released him, murmuring that we’d be back soon, and I diligently ignored the clench of my stomach at how that sounded—like we were leaving together and returning together. That we were a we, period.
I opened the apartment door, holding it for her like a fucking gentleman, and followed her down the steps to outside. “You need a ride somewhere?”
She pointed down the street. “Just going to Stan’s.”
Well, that was perfect. Just fucking perfect.
She was headed to the exact place I’d been hoping to escape her. Except that was going to be impossible when she’d be there, looking like she belonged in one of my goddamn wet dreams.
I should’ve turned around. Headed back into the now-empty apartment. Locked myself in my room to get the peace I desperately needed.
But the thought of Penelope walking into the bar without me—without someone watching her back—while looking like a walking, talking librarian fantasy made something savage rise up in my chest. Something I couldn’t shake off.
So I followed her. Because of course I did.
There was no denying it—Penelope lit up the whole fucking place.
Even amid the noise and chaos of a packed house at One Night Stan’s, I couldn’t look away, my eyes tracking her like a compass locked on true north.
Her laugh was pure sunshine. Her smile could bring me to my fucking knees.
And she wasn’t looking at me. At all.
Which was good. That meant she didn’t catch the way I was watching her like a starving man. Didn’t see the way I gripped the edge of the bar every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or leaned forward in her seat, her tits spilling over the top of that dress, just begging for my mouth again.
“You’re sure watching your roommate intensely, Dec.” Lincoln stood beside me, pouring another beer for a patron and smirking like he was desperate for me to wipe it off his face with my fist.
“Gotta make sure she doesn’t get roofied,” I muttered, dragging my gaze away from her. That lasted for all of seven seconds before it snapped right back.
Atlas stood on my other side, disposing of a few bottles under the bar. “She’s with the wives. She’s probably safer than you are.”
I raised a brow. “You and Sutton get married and forget to send an invite?”
Atlas shrugged. “The certificate’s just a formality.”
Wasn’t that the fucking truth. He’d been locked in to Sutton and her teenage daughter, Laurel, since the first day they’d moved into town. Even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it.
Xander leaned against the bar, arms crossed. “Our point is, you’ve been staring at Pen since she walked in.”
“What’s the big fucking deal? Every one of you has been looking at that table too.”
Lincoln barked out a laugh and glanced at our brothers. “Who’s gonna tell him?”
Xander raised a brow at me. “That only proves my point. Seems like there’s something happening there.”
“There isn’t.” My voice was flat. Sharp. And I wasn’t sure if it was them I was trying to convince or myself. “I don’t know what everyone’s obsession is with Penelope, but nothing’s going on between us.”
“Jesus, could you have said that any louder, dipshit?” Lincoln smacked me upside my head.
I shoved him and returned my gaze to the girls’ booth, only to find Penelope already looking at me. Her brows were drawn down. In confusion? Or…hurt?
Like maybe she’d heard every goddamn word I’d just said.
Fuck.
Of course she’d hear that part and think the worst, not understanding my reasoning behind it. It was no one’s goddamn business what she needed or what we did behind closed doors. And I wanted to keep it that way. Wanted to protect the secret she’d shared with me.
But even knowing my motivations, I was still gutted by the look on her face.
For some reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted her to know it hadn’t been what it sounded like. And I didn’t want her to sit there in the booth for the rest of the night thinking the worst of me.
Declan:
I wasn’t trying to be a dick.
Penelope:
And yet you managed to be one anyway.
Declan:
I said it so they’d shut up.
Penelope:
Right. Can’t have your brothers thinking you’re slumming it with the librarian.
Declan:
Jesus Christ, that’s not why. I was trying to keep your secret a fucking secret.
Penelope:
It’s fine. Really. I don’t care.
Declan:
You clearly do.
Penelope:
And you clearly don’t know when to stop texting.
I stared at her last text for far too long. My jaw was tight, thumb hovering over the keyboard to respond. But what the hell was I even supposed to say? I wasn’t good at this shit. Had no idea what the right words were.
“It’s a good thing nothing’s going on between you two,” Lincoln said, clearly baiting me.
I didn’t bite.
At least not until Xander followed up with, “Especially since that guy seems pretty into her.”
I jerked my gaze to the booth, only to find some asshole leaning too fucking close to Penelope. His eyes were locked on her and her alone, like he hadn’t noticed the other three women at the table. Like she was the only thing worth looking at.
She was, but that was beside the point.
She gave him her polite little librarian smile—the one she never sent my way. Nope, I only got her sharp tongue and her sharper words. And honestly, I’d take that rawness instead of this overly perfected bullshit any day of the week.
Something dark and possessive surged up my spine, drowning out logic and reason. This guy needed to fuck off. She’d been coming on my tongue the other night. And she’d be doing so again tonight if I had my way.
Declan:
Go to the bathroom. Take off your panties. Hand them to me on your way back to the booth.
I didn’t look away from her after I hit send, so I saw her reach for her phone. Saw her read the words. Saw the moment they hit, and her entire body glitched. Her lips parted, a flush stole over her cheeks, and she darted her gaze to the bar. To me.
Her stare sharpened, but the irritation in her eyes melted into something different. Something that said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap me or obey me, and that indecision lit her up from the inside out.
Penelope:
Say please.
Declan:
Now, rebel.
She didn’t respond right away. Just stared down at her phone while a war played out inside her head. After what felt like an eternity, she turned to the guy still hovering at her side and said something polite enough to send him on his way. Then she stood and stepped out of the booth.
Her movements were calm. Controlled. Looking to the rest of the bar like a woman just taking a quick bathroom break.
But she wasn’t fooling me. I clocked the flush that had spread down to her chest and the tight line of her mouth.
When she passed my end of the bar, she cut her gaze to mine.
Her eyes were burning—not with defiance but with decision.
She was going to do what I’d told her to.
My cock swelled in my jeans at the realization that when she walked back out here, that dress would be the only thing between her and the rest of the world. And we were the only two who would know it.
A couple minutes later, she reappeared. Her walk was smooth, her expression casual, but her eyes? They were wild.
She came up beside me at the bar, every movement precise. Every step calculated. And then—with fingers that trembled and a chin held high—she reached into the pocket of her cardigan and tucked her panties into my hand.
“Good girl.” I met her challenging stare. And then, slow as sin, I brought the scrap of material to my face and inhaled, nearly groaning at the scent that greeted me. “Someone’s got a wet pussy, don’t they?”
She clamped her fingers around my wrist, yanking my arm down with a force that didn’t match her hushed voice. “You cannot just huff someone’s panties in a bar, you absolute degenerate!”
I shrugged. “If you didn’t want me sniffing them, you shouldn’t have gotten them this wet.”
Her brows snapped down in a scowl, and she crossed her arms over her chest, presenting me with an obscenely delicious view. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“Now?” I leaned in close. “You go sit back down and pretend you’re not dripping wet without any panties on while in a room full of people.”
She stared at me like she might actually explode. “And you?”
“I’m gonna tuck these in my pocket and try not to think about all the things I want to do to you tonight.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, clearly thinking better of whatever smartass comment she was about to unleash on me. Her glare was pure fire, but her pupils were blown wide, and her chest was rising fast, like she couldn’t catch her breath.
This was turning her on something fierce.
With one last look intended to cut like a dagger, she turned on her heel and walked away, her skirt swishing and daring to reveal what only we knew. All the while, she pretended to be composed, when I knew she was anything but.
I flexed my fingers around the soft lace in my pocket as I watched her go, my cock throbbing behind my zipper, and every protective, possessive, dangerous instinct inside me howling like a motherfucker.
Even after I’d fucked up and put my foot in my mouth, she still trusted me with this. With her.
And I had no desire to squander that. I was going to do everything in my power to ruin her in the best possible way.