Page 21 of The Penalty

The sheets slip down between us as she arches her chest into me. Those fantastic breasts are so tempting, but I resist the urge to reach down to stroke the curves.

She’s all mussed up and glazed over when I pull away. “How was that?”

“What? Where’d you go?” There are two cute little creases between her brows.

“Can I see your art now?”

“No fair. You can’t get me all...” she flaps her hands around, “and then... not cool, Castle.”

“I never said I played fair.”

“You can’t leave me hanging here.”

I look at her from under eyelids that are still heavy, but I’m determined. I have years of practice controlling my needs. I want to see her art and I’m going to win this one. “What are you talking about?”

“You know.”

I shake my head.

“You can’t kiss me like that and then stop. What have I done to deserve this cruel and unusual punishment?”

“You want punishment? That can be arranged. We don’t have time for the things I want to do to you, anyway. Room service.”

“They can wait.”

“I tell you what. You show me your art and I’ll give you three more orgasms after dinner. If you can handle it.”

“Not possible.”

I chuckle and shrug.

“Fine. Get my sketchbook. It’s in the front pocket of my red bag.” Her tits lift and swell as she crosses her arms over her chest and judging by the sparkle in her eyes, she’s doing it on purpose, but I won’t be swayed.

“You want me to go through your bag?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

And there it is. Now I feel even worse about snapping at her for touching my backpack, but it’s clear we’ve lived very different lives.

My fingers fumble the zip at first, and when I turn around to double check she’s okay with this, she startles, tearing her gaze away from my ass.

My right eyebrow arches toward my hairline, and she narrows her eyes, waving me on.

The sketchbook, a few pencils, and a sharpener are the only things in the pocket, so I pull them all out, but I don’t open it. She can choose what she wants toshow me.

Her mouth twists to the side in thought, fingers dancing on the pad.

I crane my neck for a better look when she finally makes her decision, flipping through the pages until she lands on a blank one.

“I’m not going to show you any of my current works in progress. How about I draw something just for you?”

“Really?” Nobody has ever created something just for me. I’m curious and a little impatient to see what she’s going to draw.

It becomes obvious where all the nibble marks on the pencil came from when she tucks it between her teeth, pausing to think.

The flash of inspiration seems to descend on her quickly because she lowers the pencil to the pad and starts sketching out rapid lines. I track her progress and it’s incredible how her strokes transform the blank page into something else. Something with depth and texture. The image on the page starts to form into something recognizable, and it’s... “A bear?”

Her forehead crinkles in a frown and she shakes her head at me. “Don’t interrupt me. No comments until it’s done.”

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