Page 58 of Wicked Spite
For a moment, we just lay there, the tension between us palpable. Then, slowly, Penn brings his hand up to stroke the side of my face. I lean into his touch, something I can genuinely say I’ve never done with anyone else. His fingers slide through my hair, and I feel him shift toward me. He’s huge, but right now he feels impossibly large lying beside me. I mimic him, moving my hand to the side of his face and I’m surprised when his eyes flutter shut and dips his face to lean into my fingertips.
He’s really pretty and I think with all the chaos he causes sometimes it’s hard to see that. I trace my fingers around his face, stroking over his nose and tracing his lips. I feel him take in a sharp breath and his fingers flex in my hair. This is the most intimate I’ve ever been with anyone and the fact that it’s with Penn Blackwood almost makes me burst out into hysterical laughter.
Penn leans in, his face inches from mine. My breathhitches, my heart hammering in my chest. Every instinct screams at me to pull back, to protect myself. But I don’t. I can’t.
And then his lips are on mine, soft and warm, sending a shockwave of emotion through me. It’s gentle at first, tentative, as though he’s testing the waters which feels silly to even think because of the things we’ve done and said to each other. I respond, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, growing more urgent, more desperate.
When we finally pull apart, both of us are breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other. “Hellfire,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I...”
But I don’t let him finish. Instead, I press my lips to his once more, silencing any doubts or fears that may linger in either of our minds. I don’t want the mood to change. I don’t want either one of us to be able to slip our masks back on and pull our guards back up.
Penn gives in, relaxing against me and pulling me to him all at the same time. He pulls my leg up over his hip, letting me feel the weight and heat of his hard cock against me. He’s not rushed, not focused on dominating me or getting inside of me. His fingers are exploring my skin, pulling me closer with every stroke of his hand.
“Let’s have a truce, just for tonight,” I tell him, and he mumbles his agreement into my mouth, unwilling to break our kiss.
Because in this moment, I think we both realize that we need each other.
Chapter 21
Penn
Ipush open my door and find my wife taking up my entire room yet again. She’s sitting on the floor, painting her toenails an inky black like my soul and hers. The stark contrast of the polish against her pale skin draws my eyes, but I don’t have time for distractions.
“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” I start, pacing back and forth, my voice loud and fast. I can barely understand my own fucking ranting.
“Slow down, Penn,” Reagan cuts in, her voice sharp enough to get me to stop talking for a moment. She doesn’t even look up from her toes. “Explain clearly.”
“Clearly?” I echo, stopping dead in my tracks. My blood boils. “Alright, how’s this for clear? Graham’s accident? Graham and Memphis were racing. Memphis was high as a kite—probably popped some pills or snorted something. Almost rode headfirst into a damn car. Graham had to clip him, make him lay his bike down. Then Graham took the hit from the carhimself.”[1]
“Jesus,” she mutters, finally looking up at me, her eyes locking onto mine. “They’re fucking insane.”
“Fuck,” I say, feeling the weight of it all settle in my chest. “I’m going to kill him. He’s a fucking addict, and I told Graham to stop fucking with him. Graham’s always been a goddamn hardhead, but this…Fuck, Reagan, he could’ve died.”
“Could have,” she repeats, her tone almost mocking. “But he didn’t.”
“No, he didn’t, but all Memphis got was road rash and bruises. For now.” My voice drops.
My eyes trace the curve of her neck, drawn to her pulse beating just beneath the surface. My fingers itch to touch her, to feel that life thrumming beneath her skin.
“Penn...” Her voice is a warning.
“Shit,” I mutter, stepping back from her. My head’s a mess, tangled in the chaos of Graham’s crash and stupidity. Reagan’s golden eyes are locked on mine, probing, searching for something I’m not even sure I can give.
“Hey,” she says softly, breaking through my mania. She stands, her long legs unfolding gracefully as she moves closer. Her touch is hesitant, awkward—a quick pat on my back like she’s comforting a lost puppy. It’s almost laughable, but it works. Something in me unravels.
“Reagan...” I breathe her name, and it’s like everything else fades.
“It’ll work out or you’ll make it work out,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Such fucking faith.” My hands find her hips, pulling her against me. For a moment, I just hold her, breathing her in.
Her fingers dig into my back,anchoring me.
“Come with me,” I say, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“A ride?” She arches an eyebrow, skepticism written all over her face. “Now? It’s almost ten at night.”
“Yeah, now.” My grip tightens on her hips. “I need to get out of here. Clear my head.”
