Page 107 of Wicked Spite
“Thank you, Ramsey,” Reese says with a sweet smile, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. He returns her smile and nods, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
“Alright, everyone,” Oakley calls out, her voice ringing clear above the chatter. “Let’s get this dinner started!”
“Finally!” Lincoln exclaims, rubbing his hands together in delight. “I’m starving.”
“Patience is a virtue, or whatever the ten commandments say,” Penn teases him, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling my chair closer. “Isn’t that right, my wife?”
“Oh yes, because you aresopatient and virtuous. And thatis not one of the ten commandments, you blasphemous fucker,” I say with a smirk, leaning into his embrace. His touch sends shivers down my spine, and I find myself lost in his eyes for a moment before remembering where we are.
“I agree, I am,” Penn says, and everyone laughs except Graham who holds his phone up with a scowl.
“You sent Dad your fucking dick from my phone?” Graham snaps. Penn cackles, leaning back in his chair and letting his whole body bounce with the movement.
Ramsey reaches out and covers Reese’s eyes, which I’m grateful for, but I squint and say, “Your dick isn’t pierced.”
This makes Iris gasp and Lincoln start belly laughing because apparently his dickispierced and he also lied about not taking any pictures on Graham’s phone.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Iris tells Lincoln.
“Uh oh, the siblings are fighting,” Penn chimes in, which makes Lincoln kick him under the table. They’re technically step-siblings who barely knew each other before their parents married, but my husband likes to refer to them as brother and sister.
“We should pitch a tent in the backyard and make them sleep outside until they know how to behave,” Iris suggests, and Oakley and I hum in agreement because we’ve got a nice little girl power pod going on between the three of us. We love our respective Blackwood brothers, but we have to stand together, or they’ll go off the rails and take us with them.
“I wish I could see Robert’s face when he opens it,” Penn snickers. He’s gonna be so pissed.
“It’s all fun and games until Dad shows up to castrate us,” Jeremiah clears his throat, drawing our attention.
“I’m not that fucking lucky for him to show up and take the three of you out back and shoot you,” Graham adds,lowering his phone to the table and grabbing the bowl of mashed potatoes.
“Alright, everyone, dig in!” Oakley announces, beaming as she passes the first plate with the meat around.
“Oakley, this looks amazing,” Reese gushes, her eyes widening at the array of delicious food before her. “I can’t wait to try everything!”
“Thank you,” Oakley replies with a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetheart.”
As we chat and laugh while passing around dishes, I feel Penn’s fingers gently graze my thigh beneath the table. I bite my lip to suppress a moan. He grins wickedly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on me.
“Something got you hot and bothered, Mrs. Blackwood?” Penn whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “You okay there?”
“Perfectly fine,” I reply through gritted teeth, trying to maintain my composure as his fingers continue their teasing exploration.
“Good,” he murmurs with a smirk, leaning in to press a soft kiss on my neck. “Just making sure.”
And as we sit around this table, I know that I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.
Chapter 41
Penn
I’m sitting in the kitchen, my knuckles splayed out on the table like a sacrificial offering. My personal tattoo artist, Nico, is hunched over my hand, his focus unwavering as he meticulously etches the words “hell” and “fire” onto my knuckles. The buzzing sound fills the kitchen, almost drowning out the sounds of Bad Omens blasting from my phone speaker.
“You’re a goddamn masochist, Penn,” the artist mutters, his voice muffled by the mask he’s wearing.
“Better than being a coward,” I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just make sure you spell it right. Don’t want to walk around with ‘heel’ and ‘frye’ on my hands.”
Nico chuckles, never taking his eyes off his work. “I love your money too much to misspell your shit.”
“Shit, man, you always know how to make me feel alive,” I quip, my lips curling into a sly grin as I watch the ink flow beneath my skin.
