Page 39 of Punishing Penelope
Her eyes widen, and she looks between the shower, me, and the door as if she thinks she can make a run for it.
I laugh, then shove her into the ice-cold water.
Penelope screams as she twists and turns, trying to get loose. I slam my hand over her mouth, and the fight in the pouring water drenches me as much as it does her. Difference is, I chose it, and she’s being forced. The terror in her eyes is real, and it doesn't sit as well with me as I thought it would. I scowl at myself and pull her out, holding her tight, and put my mouth to her ear.
“Had enough?”
Her teeth chatter. “Y-Yes.”
“How are we doing with the career change?”
“Screw you. Anything you throw at me will only make me more determined. C-Corrupted, fu-fucking c-cop!” She stutters out every word through her stiff jaw.
“Hm, we’ll see about that. The night is long.”
“You can’t keep me here forever.”
Once, we promised each other forever. Why did it change? Why did she run away? It didn’t have to be like that. I would have held her, supported her. We would’ve faced it together.
Somewhere deep inside, I still have a soft spot for this woman, and it doesn't matter if we're adversaries. I want her. Holding her tight, feeling her every shivering curve, I know it now more than ever.
I want her.
“Let’s get you out of these. Time to up the game.”
“G-Game?”
I won’t take her against her will—I’d never do that—but I can… skirt that line and push it.
Judging from her every gasp when I touch her, her response when I caressed her pussy, her long gazes when she thought I wasn’t looking during all these years, I think that line can be pushed way farther.
“N-No. Peter!”
“Y-Yes.” I taunt, then shove her up against the wall, one knee between her thighs. Holding her gaze, I undo the first button of her drenched, now semi-translucent blouse, which is glued to her chest, revealing a lacy bra underneath.
Undressing her, button by button, uncovering sun-kissed skin covered in goosebumps, skin that begs to be touched, does things to me. The lust returns full force, but it’s not only lust to thrust my cock into her pussy. It’s lust for sweet exploration, lust to feel that sense of being near again, of having her be mine once more.
Yes, it does things to me, which weakens my resolve to cause her more real pain.
I push the blouse back and yank it down her restrained arms, then grab her already ruined skirt and tear it open, pulling it off her.
She looks like a goddess of sex with her matching bra, garter, and panties, all sexy cream lace, sitting snugly on her toned body. Jesus, she’s hot. Her breasts are still on the smaller side and pure perfection. Her belly is flat and toned, and it shows she works out. There’s not an ounce of extra padding on her. Narrow hips and then those legs for days. Her stockings, damaged during our struggles, have long tears.
The air between us changes, thickens as I crouch and stroke one thigh, undoing one clasp after the other, then pull down the stocking. She lifts her foot obediently, and I remove it.
Her eyes are full of questions, but she doesn't ask, and I don’t have any answers.
What the fuck am I doing?
I uncover her other leg, then stroke all the way to her hip. Finding the hooks in the garter, I open them and pull the now-unnecessary garment off her.
Chest heaving, blue eyes wide and curious, skin ice-cold, she doesn't move one inch and doesn't object. I can almost smell the arousal on her, and it takes me by surprise, even though I knew we weren’t done with each other in this lifetime.
“You are one sick puppy, Hale.”
My clothes are soaked, and the tiles are covered in water. I stand and tower over her but only by a couple inches. She’s tall for a woman.
“Sicker than you who enjoy the treatment?”