Page 72 of The Anaconda Downstairs

She took a long, deep, empowered breath and got right back to work.

That first day was fucking brutal, but I loved waking up with her in my bed, in my arms the next morning. No matter what happened, I wasn't ever letting her go.

I gently kissed her awake, crawled over her, and planned on making sweet love to her. But Penelope had other plans.

“All these stories of women overcoming their fears have me thinking,” she gave me a little shove on the shoulder, “about all kinds of things I've never done because I was worried about my size.”

“That's great, baby. You know I'm happy to help you work on any of the items on your list.” Please let there be a couple that she wanted to try in bed.

“You know how the wives, girlfriends, partners, and lovers are the Cowgirls and the CowPals?”

Holy shit, I hope she was going where I thought she was with this line of thought. “Yeah.”

“Do you know why they call themselves that?”

I played dumb. Which wasn't a stretch since the way her eyes were twinkling at me and the way she pushed me down so I waslaying on my back had all the blood from my brain headed other places farther south. “Why, Penny?”

“Because cowgirls ride Mustangs.” She slapped a condom into my hand and just barely waited for me to get it on before she straddled my hips and sank down onto my dick.

My eyes rolled back in my head, and I was barely able to get moaned words out. “Ride 'em, cowgirl.”

Two orgasms later, three for her, and I was on my way back to practice. I'd rather have stayed and let her check off every item on her bucket list and support her in what promised to be another busy day, but she insisted I get back to practice. And I was smart enough to know when to do what I was told.

The rest of the week flew by in a blur of practices for me and social media strategy for her, besides the work she and Kelsey had to do to get Kelsey's next album ready for release. But we managed to get in some stolen moments.

Odin didn't let up, making reply videos, gathering his own forces to post, and generally stirring up a shitstorm. The last thing I wanted to do over the weekend was leave for the last game of the season before the playoffs. I stood in our bedroom, packing my bag, the weight of leaving Pen feeling heavier than any tackle I'd ever taken.

“You know,” Pen said from the doorway, “I could still come with you. Kelsey and I don't have to skip this one.”

I zipped up my bag and turned to face her. The circles under her eyes spoke volumes about the stress she'd been under. “Pen, you need to rest. Focus on taking care of yourself for a few days.”

She nodded, but I could see the worry in her eyes. “Go beat those big kitty cats for me, okay?”

I laughed. She knew full well the team was called the Pumas. “You got it, babe,” I promised, sealing it with a kiss.

The drive to the airport was quiet, my mind torn between game strategies and worrying about Pen. It had been a whilesince I'd flown with the team, but we'd let Hayes and Willa take the Kingman plane on some impromptu trip since he was still out with his concussion. It had been Dad's idea to leave Hayes out of the loop on this for now. He had enough to worry about trying to recover.

I boarded the team plane, and when we landed, my phone buzzed with a text from Jules.

Operation Pen Protection is in full effect. We got this. Now go kick some Puma ass.

Honestly, I was going to miss having her in the stands this weekend. But some of the tension eased from my shoulders. Pen wasn't alone. She had good friends and family looking out for her, and I couldn't ask for better than that.

The flight and pregame prep passed in a haze. I was hyper-focused, channeling all my worry and frustration into my game plan. I had a job to do, one that I was very good at, and I'd be damned if I let Odin or any of these trolls affect my game.

The match was brutal from the start. The Pumas came out swinging, and we were on the back foot for most of the first half. But every time my focus slipped, I thought of Pen—her strength, her determination. It fueled me, drove me to play harder than I ever had before.

Because Kingmans play better when we're in love.

By the fourth quarter, we were behind by six. With just minutes on the clock, I slammed through a big ole defensive tackle who'd decided I was his target for the day, and I sprinted down the line. Chris's spiral landed right in my hands. There was no stopping me as I ran that sucker in for a spectacular touchdown run.

The Mustang fans erupted, my teammates mobbed me, and I pointed right at the cameras, hoping Pen saw and knew it was all for her.

But football, like life, can be cruel. In the final seconds of the game, the Pumas managed a fucking field goal that won them the goddamned game. The whistle blew, and just like that, we had our first and only loss of the regular season.

As I showered and changed, my mind was already racing ahead to Pen. I needed to call her, to make sure she was okay, to tell her?—

My thoughts were interrupted by a commotion near my locker. A group of my teammates were huddled around someone's phone, their faces a mix of anger and concern.

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