everything. I wanted him to claim me. Remind me that I was his and he was mine. And what had happened wasn’t real.
It was irrational. Our problems would still be there when we finished. But I still cared for him. I still wanted things to work between us. I still wanted him so desperately. Just like I had that night in Paris.
It didn’t change how I felt. Even though how I felt complicated my entire life. Because Penn Kensington was a game changer.
I knew it. And was helpless to the fact.
I’d been so upset all those years ago because I thought I’d known even then. We’d connected so deeply, so fast. I’d told him things I’d never really told anyone else. I’d thought it would be a fairy tale. Now, I was living that fairy tale. And I refused to let it go.
Penn’s hands pushed under my dress, sure yet impatient. He found the edge of my thong and yanked it down my legs. They fell to the floor, a casualty of our desire.
I fumbled with his belt, button, zipper. Tugged his pants over his ass. He never relented on my lips as he hoisted one of my legs around his hip. His body pressed against me. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I wanted it too. I wanted last night to not have happened. I wanted to forget.
My hand moved into his boxers, and I stroked his dick. He was already hard at my touch.
“Please,” I pleaded against his lips.
He groaned and lifted me up completely. I squeaked slightly at the sudden movement, but then his cock was in his hand, and he lowered me onto him. Slow at first, easing himself deep inside me.
My eyes fluttered closed, and I gasped at the feel of him. The pure strength of holding me against the wall as he filled me. My legs were tight around his waist, arms on his shoulders, but he was the one doing the work. He was the one lifting me off of him and slapping me back down into place.
Up and down.
Harder and harder.
He rocked into me, driving up into my body as he leveraged me securely against the wall. And I just wanted more. More of him. More of this. More of us.
I knew that we had issues. That, together, we were both a daydream and a nightmare, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t go back to how things had been. Not when I knew what was right in front of my eyes.
“Come with me, Natalie,” he commanded.
Our eyes locked, and something crashed down between us. Joy and ecstasy and sweet, sweet relief. Climax hit us both at full force. He dropped his head into my shoulder, and I nearly cracked my head open on the wall behind me.
Then he pulled out of me and released me to my feet. We were both panting. Our chests heaving. I felt like, at any minute, I could collapse into a puddle of goo. Still, I dragged his lips back to mine and kissed him, tender and sweet.
“Maybe we should have make-up sex more often,” I joked.
He chuckled and shook his head. “All sex is good sex with you.”
“I think we’re disproving your hypothesis,” I said cheekily. “Perhaps the standard view is best for your happiness.”
“You’re best for my happiness, Natalie Bishop.” He kissed me thoroughly. “Just you.”
Natalie
32
Ten days.
Sometimes, a minute felt like a lifetime.
Sometimes, time flew.
Like a butterfly.
And when you tried to hold on to it too hard, you crushed its delicate wings.
Day one, Penn took me sailing. Not just him sailing, but he actually made me do it. I was abysmal. Truly. I had some upper body strength from swimming, but it was hardly what it once had been. He didn’t mind that I failed. He helped, and then he made me do it again. I almost got the hang of it by the time we were out in the bay that afternoon, having a picnic on the water.
Getting the boat back into the dock was another story.
Day two, we ordered my favorite pizza, crowded into the library, and wrote all day. My new story flowed out of me like a sieve had opened in my brain. I still wouldn’t let him read it. But the book was on submission. Any day now, I could hear if someone wanted to buy it. From experience, it usually took months before everyone said no. I didn’t get my hopes up.