Jacob
Ever since Penelope arrived, I’ve been waking up well before my alarm goes off.
It’s probably my mind trying to remain vigilant to the perceived threat in my house. But if I’m being honest, our roles reversed that night she got down on her knees for me.
I’m the threat now. To her.
Penelope is still asleep on the couch when I go to the living room. She’s snuggled up tight under the sheet. I frown at the sheet’s thinness then go over to the thermostat and bump it up.
Work starts in less than two hours. Instead of getting ready for it like I should, I take a seat in the armchair to watch Penelope sleep.
I don’t know why but I like to study her, capture all the small details about her that even she herself probably never notices. I recall what she looked like when she was younger. It’s interesting the way time changes a face, yet somehow keeps it the same.
She was an unsmiling girl when we first met, a shrewdness in her eyes that said she’d seen men like me before. It felt like she judged me in seconds and made up her mind.
This one won’t stick around either.
Sure, I got her to laugh that day, but she kept me at arms length for a long time. She thought I was another guy her mother would toss aside once Alyssa got bored.
Sometimes, I wonder if I really married Alyssa for love or to prove to Penelope I was committed to staying in her life.
Penelope warmed up to me as we spent more time together. I thought we were developing a bond that seemed stronger than the one she had with her mother. Stronger than the one I had with Alyssa too.
Nothing inappropriate. It was pure and good. She wanted stability and trust. I wanted emotional connection and purpose. We both gave that to each other, which is why her betrayal hurt worse than Alyssa’s.
The girl who stabbed me in the back on her mother’s command is gone now. She’s all grown up into a woman with pretty brown eyes filled with genuine remorse.
Do you forgive me?
I want to.
It’s getting warmer with the heater running at a higher temperature. Still asleep, Penelope shoves the sheet down her arm and lets one of her legs slip out into the open. Her sun-kissed thigh is exposed so she’s only wearing a shirt and underwear.
I follow the curve of her thigh like a thirsty man given a drink. Except, like alcohol, this drink is off-limits to me. Out of my reach even though she’s confined with me.
Temptation to touch her comes over me anyway. I imagine myself running my hands all over her smooth skin again then exploring her with my mouth. I rub my face to get rid of the thought and my facial hair prickles my fingers.
I need a shave.
A great idea dawns. Yesterday, I had a barely valid reason to touch her. I don’t have any today, but I could let her touch me.
Eventually, Penelope wakes, stretching and yawning. She freezes when she notices me across from her, a confused look on her face.
“Is something wrong?”
“Why would there be?”
She rubs her eyes. “Why are you sitting there?”
“I was watching you sleep.”
She blinks and makes a face.
“That’s kind of creepy, Jacob.”
“This is my home. I can look at whatever I like, whenever I like.”
My gaze slides to her exposed leg again and she quickly covers herself with the sheet. Faint pink colours her cheeks, suspicion in her eyes. She’s probably wondering if I did more than look.
She’s right to wonder. I still have a firm grip on restraint, but it’s slipping the longer I’m alone with her.
“I need a shave and I want you to do it.”
“Where? Your face?”
I smile. “Where else? Do you want to shave other parts of me, darling?”
She purses her lips. “I can shave off all the hair on your head if you like, dear.”
A chuckle escapes me. She snatches up her leggings from the basket beside the couch and gives me a pointed look.
When I refuse to move, she awkwardly tugs on her leggings under the sheet, throwing an annoyed look at me. She should know by now I like making her uncomfortable.
Penelope stands and heads down the hall. I wait until she returns before grabbing one of the kitchen chairs and taking it with me to the bathroom.
Unlike Lewis, my shaving routine is pretty basic. I put my kit on the counter, wet my face, and fill a cup with enough water to rinse the razor.
I take a seat when I’m done. Penelope draws closer, the can of shaving cream in her hand.
“You should be worried.”
“Why?”
“I’m thinking about giving you either a really skinny chinstrap or mutton chops.” A tiny smile plays on her lips. “Wait, I have a better idea. I’ll shave everywhere except for one small patch above your top lip.”
“If you give me that moustache, you better sleep with one eye open, sweetheart. I have permanent markers and a strong sense of justice.”
She lets out a soft laugh and I’m surprised how much I enjoy it. A part of me craves hearing it again. I back away from that feeling like it’s uncontrolled fire. I’m setting myself up for big trouble if I entertain that kind of thought. The only thing I should crave from Penelope is penance.
She squeezes out a thick, white glob of shaving cream into her palm then sets the can down on the counter. An unsure expression crosses her face.
“I’ve never shaved a man before.”
I like hearing that as much as I liked her laughter. Maybe even more.
“It’ll be fine. Just move the blade downward on my jaw.”
“I hope I don’t cut you.”
“Don’t cut me.”
“Thanks. That’s so helpful.”
She steps closer then smears the foam against my face. Her delicate fingers caress my jaw, sweep under my chin, and slide down my neck.
Well, fuck.
For over twenty years, I’ve rubbed shaving cream on my face and it’s never felt this arousing. My body recognizes this generally innocent task as foreplay and my cock agrees.
It doesn’t help that Penelope is standing close. She’s between my legs, her scent wrapping around me, and her amazing tits in my face.
What I would fucking give to shove my face between them right now.
Done with applying the cream, she picks up the razor next. The concerned look on her face switches to determination. She tightens her grip on the razor and begins shaving me.
She goes slow. A bit too slow. It would’ve been much quicker if I’d done it myself. At this rate, I’ll probably be late for work by the time she’s done. I don’t mind, but the longer I’m here with her, the weaker my resolve not to do something stupid.
“Hold still,” she murmurs
Penelope leans forward, her hair swaying with her movement. She slips her hand to the back of my head, her fingers sliding into my hair as she sweeps the razor under my chin.
Her fingers in my hair is fresh torment. My cock doesn’t obey her order and twitches in my pants. I move my hand over my crotch, willing the bastard to behave.
She’s finally done a few minutes later. I stand and wash my face. Yeah, this was a bad idea. I’m not going to let her shave me again. It requires too much willpower to keep my hands to myself.
Penelope hands me my towel. I take it and dry my face then investigate her handiwork in the mirror.
I nod. “You did a pretty good job.”
She smiles, looking proud of herself.
“And I didn’t cut you.”
She reaches up and caresses my cheek. When I go still, she yanks her hand away, embarrassment on her face. A charged energy fills the bathroom and it suddenly feels too small for us.
Dark hunger stirs inside me as I look at her.
I want her.
I want this woman who I’m supposed to resent, who I’m not supposed to want, who can never be mine.
A voice whispers I can press her up against the wall beside the door and have her anyway. I turn away from it and from Penelope, quickly leaving the bathroom.