"I'm sorry it's not a T-shirt," Penn yells up the stairs. "I need to do laundry. That's all I had, and I figured it would look better on you than on me."
That makes me smile. It also gives me an idea.
I change quickly, skipping over the shorts and buttoning the shirt halfway up. I use the small comb in my purse the best I can on my hair. Gently I tousle it, and lightly pinch my cheeks to give them a little color.
"Where is Slim Jim?" I yell down from the top of the landing.
From somewhere out of sight, Penn says, "I put him in his kennel when I saw you were out front. Rain tends to get him excited, and I didn't want him to jump on you or knock you down."
Following the sound of Penn's voice, I find him in the kitchen. Rain pelts the window, the sky outside deep gray. Penn's back is to me as he says, "I bought champagne after the last time you were over, just in case you came back. Are you interested in a glass? Or are you trying to make me do physical therapy here? You did say you were going to torture me."
"I'd love a glass, but maybe later." He spins around at the sound of my voice this close to him, eyes widening as he takes me in. "I don't know if this is the form of torture you were thinking of," I say, toying with the button between my breasts, "but it's most definitely what I had on the menu for today."
"Daisy." Penn says my name like it's agony.
"Penn," I respond, pulling the button through the eye.
A flash of lightning streaks through the window, closely followed by a clap of thunder.
"Keep going," he instructs, eyes locked on my fingers.
I do as he says, and when the buttons are undone, I grip each side of the shirt, slowly pulling it away until I'm holding it out to the side.
The rule has been no touching, so I expected relentless teasing, ending in something similar to last time.
But that's not what happens. Penn charges across the kitchen, wrapping an arm around my lower back, cupping the back of my head. He hauls me in, flush with him.
His eyes search my face. "Please tell me every inch of you is on the menu."
His words go straight to my center, making it ache. "What happened to your rule? Your self-control?"
His hand leaves the back of my head, finding my cheek. "I changed my mind. I don't want to live another day without knowing how good you taste. How perfect you feel."
"Me neither," I whisper.
"I'm going to kiss you, Sunshine." His fingers flex in their grip on my waist.
My hands travel into his hair, pulling him a half inch from my waiting lips. "I've waited so long for this, Sailor."
I'm not sure if his lips dip, or if mine lift, but they find each other, anddamn. In an instant, I'm lost. Lost to him. Lost to this kiss, lost to this moment. His thumb runs over my cheek sweetly before his hand moves to grab my hair, tilting my head back, angling me so he can come down over me. His tongue dances over mine, tasting me, and I respond.
He groans into my mouth and it releases something feral inside me. The front of me is naked, so I press against him, wiggling my hips, rubbing.
"Yes," he growls into my mouth. His hands leave me, only to slide up to my shoulders and find the opening of the shirt. In one swift motion, the shirt is over my shoulders and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
My heartbeat skitters. He takes a half-step back, eyes leisurely perusing my body. He looks hungry, and wolfish, and I love it.
"I thought of you so many times," he murmurs. "All these years, I pictured the woman you'd become." My skin heats as his eyes rake over me. "Nothing I came up with compared to reality. I couldn't have dreamed up perfection."
"I'm not perfect." His gaze, on my legs now, climbs upward.
"For me," he clarifies. "Perfect for me."
Oh.
I want him. Desperately. I have to have him. Now. He must be thinking the same thing, because he cups one of my breasts, and instead of being slow or gentle, he pushes me back against the wall and sucks one nipple into his mouth. My back arches, wanting more, more, more, wanting everything.
Reaching for his shirt, I slide my hands under the hem, finding the magnificence that was on display when he answered the door in a towel.
