Page 40 of Punishing Penelope
She shrinks back the little she can.
“You’re full of shit.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Mirth fills me at the light and silly exchange.
The corners of her mouth twitch, then she tightens her lips and chases off the almost-smile. Looking at those plump lips, I’m overcome by an overwhelming urge to kiss her but fight it down and grab her upper arm, pulling her with me.
“What are you doing?”
Throwing her on the bed, she bounces on the mattress and tries to use the momentum to bounce up and get off on the other side. I snake a hand around her ankle and pull her back, then climb up and straddle her.
“Did you think we were done?”
“No, I… What are you doing?”
I pull my wet shirt over my head and toss it.
“I have years of anger to unleash.”
I undo one button after the other in my jeans.
“You have been the scourge of my life since you came back to this town, with your fucking ‘journalism.’”
I hold her in place while I yank off my soaked jeans—not an easy task—then toss them aside too.
“Peter?” Her voice quakes pathetically.
“I’m going to punish you, Penelope Wilder. You have fucked with me long enough. It’s payback time.” Turning her over on her belly, I yank down her panties to below her ass cheeks, then slap her. “Let’s get you warm again.”
It’s a rush to see her squirm and watch her skin turn red, then mottled with little blue bruises, adding to the ones from before.
“Please, stop! Please!”
The sound of her voice, sexy and raw, shoots straight to the pit of my belly. I look at the enticing split between her intensely red and swollen cheeks, at the shadow that hides all the goodies, then at my hand that rests on her butt. I move slightly, stroking the bumps and ridges I’ve created.
“Do we have an agreement?”
“No!”
Moving lower, I dip between her ass cheeks and brush over the puckered tight hole, then move to the soaked smooth slit, my fingers barely there, gauging her reaction. Every fiber of my being wants to proceed, and I will push, but I don’t want to violate her sexually… there’d be no coming back from that.
Her shoulders heave faster with every breath as shudders run through her. Her hips wiggle, only slightly, but she’s not moving away.
“That’s a shame.”
“Peter, I—”
I grab her cuffed wrists and push them higher up, making her arch from the strain in her shoulders, then drag my hand away from between her legs and smack her butt hard… again… again...
Again.
Squealing, Penelope kicks and tries to hit me. Jumping back up, I force her down and straddle her legs to subdue her fight. Her squeal turns into a wail, then she buries her face in the pillow as sobs rack her body. When she’s out of it—distracted, her senses on fire from the pain—I touch her again. She’s as slick as I knew she’d be. She gets off on this… like me.
We’re both sick puppies, and maybe that’s part of our connection, but there’s more. She knows it, and I can’t keep denying it. Our union, and our reunion, was always written in the stars.