Chapter 18 #2
“Penny…” He trailed off.
“In a bit. I promise.”
He disappeared inside the house, and Penny rolled back over, her hands going to her necklace. She twisted the chain around her fingers and pulled the coin into her palm. Slowly, she rotated her ankle out—no pain—then back in, a short, sharp twinge.
Not so bad.
It was, like she said, manageable.
Everyone would have to eat their words, and she was looking forward to the various versions of “you were right” and “we never should have doubted you” once she was holding that trophy over her head on Centre Court.
True to her word, it wasn’t much later that she crept up the stairs, using the banister for support, hopping as gracefully as she could from step to step.
The second floor was dark, no light shining out from under any of the guest room doors, but as she turned, the door to the bathroom opened and Indy stepped out into the hallway.
Her blue eyes were wide as they met Penny’s.
There was that hurt again, different but just as painful as what she’d felt back in the garden with Alex.
She knew Indy wanted her forgiveness, but at the moment, she just didn’t have it in her.
Penny managed a grimace, and Indy’s shoulders sagged before she slipped into the guest room she shared with Jasmine.
With a heavy sigh, Penny faced the other end of the hall. Alex’s bedroom door was cracked open just a hair, just enough for the golden glow of light to spill out into the hallway. A shadow passed. It was Alex moving around the room, getting ready for bed.
She’d been blunt, more than she meant to be, but they’d sworn to always be honest with each other after that fiasco in Paris with Caroline and those pictures.
Be careful what you wish for, Pen, she said to herself, letting her bad foot rest gently against the floor.
The pressure wasn’t too terrible, the effects of the cortisone shot beginning to take hold.
Still, she did her best to keep her weight off it as she hobbled down the hallway.
He’d given her honesty and that was all she’d ever asked of him.
She slipped through the doorway and whispered, “Hey.”
He stood at the opposite end of the room, shirt unbuttoned, taking his watch off his wrist. As he glanced up, she was able to catch his gaze in the mirror. “Hey,” he repeated.
“Listen, I’m sorry about—”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, shaking his head and turning around, giving her an even better view of the firm chest underneath his shirt as it fell open over his torso.
“One of the things I love about you is that fire, Penny. If you weren’t a stubborn mule, I’d never have fallen for you in the first place. ”
Stepping into the room fully, she reached back and shut the door behind her.
“Can we… can we just ignore everything when we’re in here?
No tennis. No ankle. No Indy giving me the ‘please forgive me’ puppy eyes.
No pressure for you to win again. No pressure for me to win for the first time.
Pretend like none of it is happening and it’s just me and you, nothing else?
” she asked, her teeth catching on her bottom lip as he moved closer to her, crossing the room in just a few long strides.
“In here, it can be however you want it,” he said. “You and me, though, we don’t have to pretend. All that other shit, it doesn’t matter. It’s always just you and me, forever. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds go—” Her words were stopped by his kiss, hot and wet and possessive against her mouth, his body colliding against her, hands falling to her waist to lift her slightly as he pressed her against the door.
“How’s that, love?” he said as he pulled his lips from hers, letting them travel along the column of her neck, biting down gently at her pulse point.
“Perfect,” she said, sliding her hands through his hair. His mouth carved a trail of heat across her chest, his nose nudging the V-neck of her shirt out of the way, allowing him to explore the tops of her breasts, the lace of her bra finally impeding his path.
Letting out a frustrated noise, he shifted his body against hers, one arm sliding beneath her knees and the other bracing across her back as he lifted her up into his arms, swinging her away from the door and toward the large bed at the center of the room.
For a moment, she tensed, thinking he was about to toss her onto it, but instead, he kneeled at the edge, setting her onto the mattress easily.
Her hands went to his hair, lightly running her nails over his scalp.
He looked up at her, his hands resting against her knees, his palms warm and steady, his thumbs tracing small circles on the skin of her inner thighs. “Come on,” she said, tugging at his wrists. She wanted to feel him, every single inch of him.
“No,” he said, pulling free and fiddling with the button on her jean shorts.
“No?” she asked, and he smirked, his blue eyes flashing.
“Let me take care of you,” he said, pushing gently at her shoulder with one hand, the other working open the button.
“Don’t you always?” she asked, letting her back hit the mattress and feeling a rush of cool air as he pulled her shorts down her legs and tossed them over his shoulder.
He chuckled, the rasp of his stubble on the inside of her thigh and the warmth of his breath making goose bumps spring to life on the skin behind her knee. “Not nearly as much as I’d like.”
He had a wicked mouth. She’d known that long before she’d allowed him between her legs.
Hell, she’d known it before they even met.
His banter with officials and the press and even his opponents was legendary.
But she hadn’t known just how far his talent extended, how he could use his tongue and his lips and his fingers in ways that had her arching off the mattress with genuine violence.
There was worship there, a devotion to the act of bringing her to the edge and keeping her hovering at the precipice as the world and every ounce of anxiety and stress and pain melted away around her. There was only him and her and this.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out over her skin as she began to shake, her thighs aching to close around his ears, but he held her firmly as he lifted his gaze to hers over the angles and curves of her body and he pushed her past the breaking point.
She came in a long, slow, rolling wave of sensation that left her as nothing but a languid mess against his silk sheets.
“Sleep, Pen,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to her temple.
When had he even moved up beside her?
She didn’t care. His arms were around her, her mind was quiet, and finally, she could rest.