Page 34 of Penn

The air between us, already charged, ignites.

“Fuck you,” Penn growls, low and dangerous, and then suddenly, he’sthere.

Grabbing me.

His hands are rough and sure, one curling around the back of my neck, the other cupping my jaw.

And then his mouth crashes down on mine and I think I might have just died and gone to heaven. Nothing else exists. There is no fear, no hatred, no irritation. Just his mouth on mine, and a bolt of pleasure rips through me so forcefully I moan against his tongue.

Penn jerks back, his hands falling away as his eyes dart wildly, roaming my face for perhaps some explanation of what the hell that just was. It’s over as fast as it started.

We’re breathless, faces inches apart. Neither of us blinks.

Air hisses out from between his clenched teeth and he mutters, “You’re fucking infuriating.”

“And you’re a bully.” I shove him—just a little, just enough—because I want to provoke him again. I’m sure I’ll be ashamed about it later, but I want to push him into kissing me again.

I almost smile when his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.

The silence is deafening. His fingers tighten for the briefest moment. “You’re a brat,” he murmurs, but I don’t hear anger. No heat. Just quiet… acceptance.

“And you’re a—”

Once again, he has me by the upper arms and pulls me in fast. His mouth finds mine in a collision of heat and fury. It’s messy and desperate and full of things we haven’t said, of years spent pretending we didn’t remember the dark times in our lives. My back hits the edge of the island and he presses his body into mine. My fingers clench into the front of his hoodie so he can’t escape.

The kiss is wild. Hungry. Raw.

Our teeth clash, lips bruising as he devours mine… like he’s starving, like this moment might be the last chance he has to feel something that isn’t fear or regret. His mouth demands, and I give, but then it’s just not enough. I pull at him, needing more. My body arches against his, my hips rotating and the friction lighting me up from the inside as I press against the hard length of him, and when I say hard, I meaneverythingis hard.

Penn growls deep in his throat, a raw, primal sound that weakens my knees. But he doesn’t let me falter. His hands are everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding down to my hips, pulling me flush against him like he can’t stand a single inch of space between us.

I gasp against his lips when he lifts me slightly so I can feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressed between my legs, and that sound ignites something even more feral in him. He grabs my thighs, lifting me effortlessly and setting me on the cool marble of the island. The stone chills my skin through my jeans, but I barely register it because Penn is standing between my legs, his body heat searing me everywhere we touch.

“Goddamn you,” he mutters against my mouth, hot and ragged. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“Right back at you,” I pant, yanking at the hem of his hoodie. I want it off. I want him bare, skin on skin, nothing between us.

His mouth moves to my jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where my pulse hammers wildly. I have no clue what’s going on. Sure, I’m attracted to the man. Who wouldn’t be? But I never envisioned this.

Not in a million years, and while I should stop it because it screams disaster, I let my head fall back, giving him full access. My fingers tangle in his hair as I urge him closer, needing more.

“You’ve been in my head for days,” he murmurs against my throat, a rough, gravelly confession that sends a shiver down my spine. “Can’t fucking think straight.”

For a man as closed off as Penn, who has no value in words or communication, the admission hits me in the tender part of my heart. Maybe he doesn’t have control of what he’s saying because we’re in the heat of the moment, but I validate what he’s feeling so he never feels awkwardly alone in that, especially after we regain our senses.

“Let’s not think at all,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve said in days. “Just feel.”

I hook my legs around his waist, drawing him in until I feel every inch of him pressed against me, the tension between us coiling so tight I’m afraid we might break.

My nails dig into his scalp as I drag his mouth back to mine, and this kiss is different—deeper, more consuming. Less anger. More need.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps against my lips, his forehead resting against mine, breaths mingling as we fight for control.

I tighten my legs around him, put my palms to his cheeks and force his head up so he can stare down at me. “Don’t you dare think about stopping. We need this. I… want this.”

His eyes hold mine for a long moment and I detect no wariness or skepticism. They remain heated, more gold than the darker hazel.

“Don’t think,” I reiterate, not understanding where this boldness is coming from, but I suspect it might be because I could be dead tomorrow if my tormentor makes good on his threats.

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