"Fuck," he whispers, breathing harder.
"What do you say we test that self-control?" The fabric slides away smoothly.
"Perfect," Penn grunts, jaw tight, eyes feasting on the most private part of me. "Pretty and pink and perfect."
"For you," I answer, and I don't know where that came from, but it doesn't feel wrong. I feel made for him.
"For me," he echoes possessively. And I love it. I really, really do.
I slip a finger inside myself. He reaches for his zipper. "If I don't, I'm going to finish in my pants like a teenager," he admits.
"Take it out," I instruct.
He does, and it's long and thick, something I desperately want to feel inside me.
He fists himself, and I moan. "You look like a feral fucking caveman, and I love it."
"You look like my dream, legs wide and hand working yourself. Hair blowing in the breeze." He pants, breathing labored. "Lips parted, eyes hooded. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I want to get between your thighs and never come up for air."
"Ohhh." The idea of reaching down, scratching my nails over Penn's scalp while he drives me wild, is otherworldly. Pleasure builds low in my belly. "I want you to do that."
"I know," he says, arrogant now, pumping harder. Stormy eyes locked on my center. "Puffy lips. Pouty and wet. I would make you scream."
Penn's hand works in a relentless and punishing rhythm, eyes hot and steady, focused on me. The sight of him spurs me on, taking me there, pushing me to the edge. And I fall.
"Yes," I whisper, knees shaking, head tipping back. My eyes close as fireworks detonate, body trembling as I shatter.
Penn moans, a sound deep and delicious, and something warm and wet hits my breasts.
I look down, then at him. He still has a hold of himself, and my hand is in place as I recover from my high. The faintest blush creeps onto his cheeks.
"No blushing, Sailor. I do believe I volunteered to be your canvas."
I take my hand from between my legs, swipe a finger through the mess on my chest, then place it on my tongue. The taste is absolutely disgusting, but his wide eyes, his slack jaw?
So worth it.
And me? I feel good. Confident. Sexy. And happy. Deliriously happy to have done something,anything, intimate with Penn.
I blow him a kiss.
He laughs softly, almost disbelievingly. "I don't know what to say right now. My brain isn't working yet."
He puts himself back in his jeans, and I situate my skirt before returning back to the seated position I'd been in prior to our shenanigans.
"Don't move," he tells me, glancing at my breasts that are still free, bearing the evidence of his climax.
"Not going anywhere," I quip, gathering my breasts and holding them together to keep Penn's release from getting on my top.
He slides off the hood, opening his passenger door and digging in the glove compartment. He returns with a handful of napkins, printed with the name of a restaurant unfamiliar to me. Bracing his foot on the front tire, he settles in front of me. "May I?" he asks.
I smirk. "Sure, but remember, no touching."
He huffs a laugh. "Right. No touching."
Gently, dare I saylovingly,he wipes his release from my skin. I affix my top, and he tosses the napkins on the other side of the hood, but he doesn't go anywhere. He sits back, gazing at me.
"Daisy, that was?—"
