Page 64 of Wicked Spite
With a few more powerful thrusts, the pleasure crests and breaks over me in waves. I cry out, my body clenching around him.
“Fuck, I’m...” Penn’s voice breaks, and he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.
“Me too. Come for me. Come inside me,” I breathe, my nails digging into his shoulders as I brace myself for the inevitable.
With a few more rough strokes, he follows me over the edge, burying himself inside me as he finds his release.
We stay locked together, both struggling to catch our breath. My inner thighs are slick with sweat and cum. Penn’s weight presses me into the ground, pinning me there beneath him.
When the waves of our orgasm finally recede, leaving us gasping for air and trembling with aftershocks, I let my head fall against Penn’s chest. He wraps an arm around me, holding me close, and I find myself nuzzling into the warmth of his skin.
He murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at the top of my head, “that was…fucking hot.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” I reply with a shaky laugh. “I think you just rewrote the definition of ‘earth-shattering.’”
“Only the best for my wife,” he teases, and despite everything—I can’t help but smile against his chest. “I’m gonnaneed you to tell my brothers that. Earth-shattering will send Lincoln to outer space.”
I laugh at Penn’s antics, smacking him in the middle of his sweaty back. Gross, we’re going to need like four showers and possibly a decontamination.
“Hey,” I say softly, playing with the Blackwood ring that’s now back on his finger, “I know this is going to sound crazy, but…I don’t actually hate the brand you gave me.”
“Really?” Penn raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
“Maybe it’s because now I’ll have something tangible to remember this night by.” I pause, biting my lip as I choose my words carefully. “It’s like the time we spent together can’t be erased,” I admit, tracing my fingers along the edge of my neck. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just a mess of scars and broken pieces, and I wonder if I’ll ever find a way to put me back together again.”
“Maybe never, but at least we’re fucked up together.” He grins back. I press my cheek against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath my ear as it starts to slow down and even out.
He murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my spine, “I might let you go, but you’re still my wife and everyone who looks at you for the rest of your life is going to know it. Even if you’re in Paris at the Louvre.”
I can feel the intensity in his words, and despite the vulnerable state I’m in, I can’t help but respond with a teasing grin. “Well, it is an honor to be married tothePenn Blackwood.” My snarky remark is meant to lighten the mood, but I’m also aware that there’s a thread of truth woven through it.
His low chuckle rumbles in his chest, vibrating against my skin. “It really is, you know,” he agrees, his hand coming to rest at the small of my back, holding me closer. “Even if it’sjust for a short time, I like the idea of belonging to you, Reagan. And having you belong to me.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a tremble down my spine. As much as I’ve always fought against the idea of being owned by anyone, there’s something undeniably thrilling about being claimed by Penn Blackwood.
“Admit it, hellfire,” he teases, his breath hot against my ear. “You like owning me.”
I roll my eyes, but my racing pulse betrays me. “I do,” I concede, knowing there’s no point in denying what’s already so painfully obvious.
“Good,” he says, pressing a heated kiss to the top of my head. “Because I have no intention of letting you go right now. You’re stuck with me for at least another year.”
Chapter 23
Penn
The front door creaks open, and Reagan and I step into the dimly lit hallway from our late class. The scent of old wood and faint traces of lavender greet us. Oakley must be burning some of her incense. Reagan groans, dropping her bag with a thud.
“God, I need a hot bath and bed,” she mutters, running a hand through her tangled dark hair.
“Go ahead and take your bath,” I say, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms. My eyes follow her as she starts to ascend the stairs. “I’ll grab us some food. But no bed for you, wife. Check the bag on the bed. Got you something to wear.”
Her head snaps back toward me, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why?” she asks, skepticism dripping from her voice.
“Chaos Theory concert tonight,” I reply, smirking. “Thought you’d want to look hot for it.”
“Wait, what? You got tickets?” Her tone shifts, bewilderment mixing with excitement. The edge in her voice softens, but only slightly.
“Yeah, consider it an…anniversary gift. Happy fucking three months or whatever,” I say, my lips curling into a devilish grin.
