Chapter 15 #2
“Penn…” My voice is breathless, unraveling as heat builds, sharp and consuming.
“Come for me,” he whispers against my skin, his free arm wrapping tight around the back of my thighs, holding me up as my legs threaten to give out.
I can’t fight it. I don’t want to. The pressure spirals higher, faster, until it bursts. My whole body seizes, every muscle tightening as wave after wave of release crashes through me. I cry out, clutching his shoulders, the world blurring, shaking apart in his arms.
And when I open my eyes, he’s staring at me like I’ve just given him something priceless, something sacred. His expression is almost awed, as if he can’t quite believe I came undone for him like that.
My chest heaves, my skin still trembling, and my heart slams harder than it should.
Because I’ve had sex before. I’ve gone through the motions, even fooled myself into thinking there was intimacy.
But this? With Penn? It’s different. It’s raw and consuming, threaded through with something deeper, something real.
For the first time, I understand what it’s supposed to feel like when it’s not just your body giving in… but your heart.
“Penn,” I whisper, still trembling as aftershocks ripple through me. I feel boneless, but the need pulsing between my legs is far from satisfied.
He cups my face, his forehead pressing to mine, his breath hot and uneven. “I need you, Jay. Right now. I can’t wait anymore.”
My answer is a nod, a shaky, desperate sound escaping my throat as I reach for the button of his jeans. He groans when my fingers brush against the hard length straining inside, and together we fumble, urgent and messy, until his pants and boxers are shoved low enough for him to spring free.
The sight of him steals my breath. Thick, hard, the head already slick. He looks carved for me, like every part of him was made to fit every part of me.
I straddle him again, and his hands grip my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “Are you ready for me?” he rasps, his eyes searching mine.
Even though I’m sure I was never ready for him, I kiss him hard, sealing the answer with my mouth. “Yes, Penn. I want you inside me, now.”
His control fractures in an instant. One hand guides himself to my entrance, the other steadying me as I sink slowly onto him. The stretch makes me gasp, my body clenching tight around the thick intrusion.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, head tipping back, jaw tight. “You feel… so fucking good.”
The burn melts into bliss as I take him inch by inch, until I’m seated fully, filled in a way I’ve never been before. My hands clutch his shoulders, nails digging in, as my body adjusts.
When I shift, the friction sparks white-hot pleasure. He swears again, gripping my hips and holding me still. “Don’t move. Not yet. I’m already so close.”
But I can’t stop. I rock against him, slowly at first, then faster, riding the wave building between us. He meets me thrust for thrust, his hips slamming up, driving him deeper until I’m crying out, until every stroke has me clenching tighter, wetter, needier.
“Penn,” I gasp, my voice breaking, “Don’t stop. Please…”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he grits out, kissing me hard, devouring me like he needs me to breathe. His hand slips between us, finding my swollen clit, rubbing furiously as he pounds into me.
The world shatters again. My body locks down on him, my release tearing through me in violent waves. I scream his name, every nerve alight, and he curses, thrusts once, twice, before groaning my name into my mouth as he explodes, spilling deep inside me.
For long moments, the only sound is our ragged breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the storm raging outside. My body collapses against his, and his arms caging me in as though he’ll never let go.
When my heartbeat finally slows, I lift my head. His gaze is locked on mine, intense and raw, no trace of cockiness left, only truth.
“Jay,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “You’re going to wreck me.”
Emotion squeezes my chest so tight it almost hurts. Because for the first time in forever, I’m not broken, not abandoned, not someone’s second choice. In his arms, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
But isn’t this just all pretend? If it is, it sure as heck doesn’t feel it and I’m not sure what to do about that.
We hold each other for a long while, bodies tangled, skin slick and cooling in the firelight. His heart still beats fast against mine, and I let myself listen, memorizing the rhythm. Eventually, Penn taps the back of my thigh, his voice rough but gentle.
“We should get some blankets. And maybe add more wood to the fire before we both freeze.”
Reluctantly, I slide off his lap. He brushes a kiss across my temple before we pull our clothes back on, piece by piece, sharing small touches between buttons and zippers like neither of us can quite stop.
He adds wood to the fire and when I tug my sweater over my head, he’s already lacing his fingers through mine, tugging me along as if letting go isn’t an option.
“Where are we going?” I ask quietly.
“I thought I saw blankets in the ballroom.”
We walk down the long, shadowed hallway, the old boards creaking beneath our steps. His thumb strokes lazy circles across my palm, and that simple gesture is enough to make warmth pool in my chest all over again.
The ballroom yawns open in front of us, wide and echoing, the storm rattling against tall windows.
My breath once again catches as I take it in.
“This is such a beautiful room,” I whisper, my gaze snagging on the stage.
“Years ago when I went to summer camp here, I actually did a play on that stage.”
Penn glances over, one brow raised as he heads toward the storage closet. “Yeah? Which play?”
“Mamma Mia. It was a musical.” I smile faintly, memory tugging me back to those sticky summer nights, nerves before curtain call, and the giddy joy of pretending to be someone else.
He digs through a stack of boxes, pulling out feather boas and glittery hats, until he finally finds a pile of wool blankets and tosses a couple my way. “Really? So, you can sing?”
“Not well.” My laugh echoes in the cavernous space.
“Did you play the lead?”
“Sophie.” I tug the blanket closer to my chest, a little embarrassed but also warmed by the memory.
Penn straightens with another armful of blankets, a teasing glint in his eye. “Do I even want to ask who played the male lead?”
I shake my head quickly. “Nope.” It was Dylan and he knows it. “But…” I gesture to the closet with a grin. “I bet the costumes are still in here somewhere. I think they still put the play on every summer.”
He shuts the closet door firmly and catches my hand again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Together we wander back toward the hall, our footsteps echoing, the scent of old wood and dust mixing with the faint tang of smoke from the fire.
I glance back at the stage, remembering my lines, the songs, the applause.
But this time, another thought threads in, an image of Penn up there with me.
Not as some awkward teenage boy fumbling through choreography, but Penn now.
Strong, confident, magnetic. My perfect counterpart.
And I can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if he’d been the male lead.
Not just in that long-ago play, but here. Now. In real life.
Oh boy…