Page 39 of Penalty Kiss
Her breathing quickens, her resistance thinning.
"And I remember," I drop my voice to a growl, "that when I was inside you, you stopped running. You stopped hiding. You were just... you, mine."
For a moment, I think I’ve won. Her lips part, her gaze drops to my mouth, and I can practically feel her melting.
But then, she rallies, forcing a wall back up with a breathless blurt:“Teammates, Cam. Nothing more.”Like if she says it enough, it’ll build a wall between us. Her chin lifts.“So, go wash or put on some clothes, please.”
I grin and take a deliberate step closer, still naked, still unbothered. “You want to be on my team, Rookie? Then learn the rules. In the locker room, nobody’s shy. Nobody hides. You earn trust by showing up exactly as you are.”
Her eyes go wide. They flick down—fast—before jerking back up, her cheeks flaming. “Cam…”
“Unwritten rules,” I add, laying it on thick. “Guys strut around bare-assed, smack each other with towels, borrow razors, deodorant—hell, even underwear. Don’t ask. Totally normal.”
She makes a choking sound, half laugh, half horror. “That’s disgusting.”
I lean in, savoring her fluster. “And now imagine all of that… with you in the mix.”
Her mouth drops open. She looks like she might faint or swing at me. Maybe both.
And then her phone buzzes sharply against the heated moment like a starting horn.
She jerks away, fumbling for the device on her in her pocket. Her face goes white as she reads the screen.
"What is it?" I ask, immediately shifting into protective mode.
She hands me the phone with a shaking hand. The message is from an unknown number:
Saw you got a new pet. Pretty thing. Would hate if something happened to him.
Attached is a photo of me walking into the cottage last night, clear as day.
Every playful instinct in my body evaporated, replaced by a cold dread that quickly sharpened into calculating fury.
Someone was watching her. Threatening her. Threateningmy ability to keep her safe.
They just made the biggest mistake of their short, soon-to-be-miserable life.
I snap a photo of the screen, forward it to Chief Alvarez with our location and time stamp.
"Get dressed," I tell her, already moving toward my discarded clothes. "We’re going to start a board with these communications and threats. Then, we're going to work. Together."
"Cam, you don't have to—"
"The hell I don't." I pull on my jeans with sharp, efficient movements. Someone wants to play games with my woman? Fine. But surveillance? That’s escalation.”
“We are going to start tracking. Every text, every photo—they’re leaving a trail. That’s our play. And they're going to learn real quickly that I don't lose." My voice comes out gravel-thick.
She blinks at my possessive language—my woman—and a flash of something unreadable crosses her face. Surprise? Interest? A tiny, undeniable thrill? Whatever it is, she doesn't argue.
I read the message again, my jaw locking.Pet.
My laugh comes out sharp, humorless. “That’s what they think I am? Some mutt they can leash to scare you?” I yank on my Henley. “Fine. Let’s show them what kind of pet I am.”
Her eyes widen. “Cam—”
“Ferocious,” I snap, a predatory glint in my gaze. “The kind that chews through leashes and bites back. Hard. The kind that leaves a bloody mess.”
Twenty minutes later, we walk into Mane Street Bistro side by side. Not sneaking. Not hiding.
