Chapter 30
Penny
“Don’t run too far!” my mother calls as Henry and Quinn take off toward the fields again after lunch.
We’re seated outside the big house at the picnic table and, while I really do have to get back to the store, I take a moment to revel in how nice it has been spending the morning with my mom, Tally, and the kids.
I stand to start stacking the plates. “I’ll help you clean before I go.”
My mom puts her hand over mine. “Just sit for a minute with us.”
“Yeah, I feel like it’s been forever since it’s been just the three of us.” Tally flashes me a grin. “And I’m dying to hear how things are going with Monty.”
“You saw him today.” I roll my eyes. “We’re fine.”
“Seemed more than fine to me,” my mother says, giving me one of her knowing smiles. “That boy seems positively smitten.”
“What’s his plan anyway?” Tally asks. “He’s writing his book and then what? Will he go back to New York City?”
I shrug, hating how the thought makes my heart ache. Hating how I’m too chickenshit to ask Monty his plan because I don’t want to put pressure on him. And maybe because I don’t want to know the answer?
“We’re taking things one day at a time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” my mother chimes in. Her eyes drift toward the green tractor that sits to the right of us, partly hidden behind a tree. As if a tree could mask the reminder that this year there will be no haunted hayride. Or how much we miss my dad.
“I just remembered I left the oven on,” my mom says quickly before getting up and disappearing.
I groan as I turn to Tally. “You saw that, right?”
She nods in response as her gaze drifts toward the tractor.
“We should figure out a way to do the haunted hayride this year,” Tally murmurs. “I talked to Walker and he said he can get everything set up with some help from the town—”
“Anything he needs,” I interrupt. “I’m in.”
“Okay,” Tally says decidedly. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Anything for Mom, right?”
“Exactly. Anything for Mom.”
***
That afternoon, I spend hours packing orders and updating my Instagram page with new content.
I even take a chance on reaching out to the author of one of the books I posted about that went viral, asking whether she’d be open to sending some signed bookplates to the store.
Then when her books arrive, I can surprise the customers with her signature. Readers love that type of thing.
The viral posts are working exactly as I hoped they would. I’m gaining more and more followers, which will hopefully help me continue to grow the store. I’d like to think that’s another way I’m honoring my father. Chasing my dream, just like he would have wanted me to do.
Once I’ve ticked off most of the jobs on my to-do list, I settle down in the window seat, a pumpkin spice chai latte in my It’s Fall, Y’all mug and “Feels Like” by Gracie Abrams playing in the background.
I take a deep breath as I consider what I’m about to do: write out every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had.
I wasn’t lying when I said I loved every second of last night.
I find it easier to manage my feelings toward Monty when he’s like that—possessive and aggressive, like he’s playing his part in our fucked-up production—than when he’s sweet and soft with me, like I’m his best friend that could be more.
Because like I said to Tally earlier, I don’t know what Monty’s plans are after he finishes this book.
So, though I know he cares about me, I need to guard my heart so I don’t get hurt if he leaves.
If I manage to keep us in this box by following the rules of our agreement and taking the emotion out of it, then I can safely explore the things I want to. And God, do I want to.
At seven p.m., when I receive a text from Monty, my heart pounds.
Monty: Five thousand words. Where’s that list, Xuxuzinho?
This is what I want to focus on. This is what I need from him.
With a deep breath, I take a photo of my chicken scratch and hold my breath as I wait for his reply.
Monty: Watch? That could mean a lot of things.
My eyes widen as I imagine a dozen different scenarios, none of which I’d actually like.
Monty: I’m a jealous man, Penny.
Monty: Watching you with anyone else would kill me.
Me: Hm, I never pictured you as the jealous type.
Monty: Fine. With you I’m selfish. Please don’t ask me to share you with anyone.
I try to ignore the way my stomach flips and butterflies erupt deep within me at that admission.
Me: That’s not the type of watching I was referring to.
Monty: You’re going to have to be more specific.
My cheeks burn as I type out my curiosity. It’s something I’ve read about time and again and always wondered what it would be like in person.
Me: I want to watch you touch yourself.
Me: Until you come.
Monty: Oh Xuxuzinho, your dirty mind might be one of my favorite things about you. And I like a lot of things about you.
His response has my entire body heating. He doesn’t ask questions about anything else on the list but, half an hour after our text exchange, he arrives right as I’m closing the store.
Stalking toward me, he steals my lips with a heated kiss.
“Monty,” I whisper against his mouth.
“I’ve been so good today, Penny,” he groans. “I wrote so many words. You should see the chemistry, baby. I hope you love this story, because it’s all for you.”
His hands reach out to cup my cheeks, his slutty glasses fogging up as we breathe heavily together.
“I’m sure it’s perfect.”
Because if this book is even half as good as he’s been to me, everyone will love it.
“Can I take you upstairs?”
I nod and am about to grab his hand to guide him when he wraps an arm behind my back and lifts me straight off my feet.
“Monty!” I squeal. “You’re going to hurt your back!”
A low growl rumbles in his chest as he mutters something in Portuguese, not bothering to reply as he tucks me against his chest and carries me fireman-style through the store.
“You know I can walk,” I say with very little heat and a lot of mortification. He can’t possibly carry me up the twenty steps to my apartment. Monty is not a little man, but I’m not a small woman.
All I get in response is a singular jaw movement, a definitive no. Monty doesn’t stop moving until we’re in my apartment, and even then, he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he carries me straight into the bedroom, where he sits down on the bed, continuing to hold me in his arms.
His breathing is heavy—probably because he just lugged me up the stairs like a damn caveman—and he’s still not looking at me. I try to push off him, but his grip only tightens.
“If you say you’re crushing me, so help me God, Penelope Darling, I won’t be held responsible for the color I’ll turn your ass.”
“Monty.”
His expression is pained when he turns those emerald eyes on me.
“You are beautiful, Xuxuzinho. Your curves, your hips, your stomach, your ass—” His eyes dip and his jaw strains.
“Your tits. I’m obsessed with every inch of you so please don’t put yourself down.
Stop thinking you’re too much for me when you are absolutely everything I want. ”
He traces a finger across my heaving breasts and I can barely breathe with the words he speaks, and the way he’s looking at me.
“These freckles,” he murmurs as he runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “You’re so fucking adorable.”
I almost cry from all the compliments. I’m not used to this, not used to anyone really looking at me, let alone telling me how they feel about the way I look.
I’ve never been the girl people are drawn to because of physical appearance.
I’m the girl who makes people laugh with my one-liners and fast talking, or entertains people with my knowledge of books.
Rosie’s the knockout, and Tally’s always had that bright sunny personality and the appropriate curves that men go crazy over.
No one has ever looked at me—or spoken to me—in the way Monty does. And it’s really starting to scramble my brain. Could he ever want me for more than just these few months? Are the words he seems so intent on making me hear really true? Is he actually obsessed with my curves? With me?
“What are you thinking, Xuxuzinho?” Monty’s words are low and his fingers continue to sweep gently across my skin, creating a warmth in my belly.
I shake my head, unable to make the words come out.
“Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you,” he continues. “I want to make every single one of your dreams come true. So, tell me, which one are we starting with tonight?”
I can’t do anything but stare at him. Fuck, I’m too in my own head. It was easier to write down what I liked—to send it in a text—but saying out loud what I want to start with? My tongue is heavy in my mouth as I try to come up with something—anything—to say.
Monty pulls his glasses off and sets them down on the nightstand. Then his lip tugs up on one side and into one of his sexy smirks.
“I’m beginning to think that my words aren’t getting through to you tonight.” He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to my chest before tipping his head up and looking me straight in the eyes. “So maybe I just have to show you.”
Monty dips his head down again but, this time, he drags his hot tongue right between my breasts. I shudder from the desire written on his face.
“Would you like that?” He drags his mouth lower, along with my shirt, until he’s pulling my nipple out of my bra and sucking it into his mouth. Any thought I had is lost to the pleasure sweeping through me.
“Words, Xuxuzinho,” Monty husks out. “I need at least a few of them. Tell me you want me to touch you.”
“Yes,” I pant, watching as he smiles up at me, my nipple in his mouth.
“Good girl,” he mumbles before tugging on my shirt and lifting it over my head. I scramble to remove my bra as he pulls down my leggings before, finally, I kick off my ballet flats.
I’m completely naked, spread out on the bed, within mere minutes of entering the apartment. We hadn’t even turned on a light when we walked in here so only the light of the moon and the stars allow me to see every beautiful expression etched on his face.