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Air hisses out from between his clenched teeth and he mutters, “You’re fucking infuriating.”

“And you’re a bully.” I shove him—just a little, just enough—because I want to provoke him again. I’m sure I’ll be ashamed about it later, but I want to push him into kissing me again.

I almost smile when his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.

The silence is deafening. His fingers tighten for the briefest moment. “You’re a brat,” he murmurs, but I don’t hear anger. No heat. Just quiet… acceptance.

“And you’re a—”

Once again, he has me by the upper arms and pulls me in fast. His mouth finds mine in a collision of heat and fury.

It’s messy and desperate and full of things we haven’t said, of years spent pretending we didn’t remember the dark times in our lives.

My back hits the edge of the island and he presses his body into mine.

My fingers clench into the front of his hoodie so he can’t escape.

The kiss is wild. Hungry. Raw.

Our teeth clash, lips bruising as he devours mine…

like he’s starving, like this moment might be the last chance he has to feel something that isn’t fear or regret.

His mouth demands, and I give, but then it’s just not enough.

I pull at him, needing more. My body arches against his, my hips rotating and the friction lighting me up from the inside as I press against the hard length of him, and when I say hard, I mean everything is hard.

Penn growls deep in his throat, a raw, primal sound that weakens my knees. But he doesn’t let me falter. His hands are everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding down to my hips, pulling me flush against him like he can’t stand a single inch of space between us.

I gasp against his lips when he lifts me slightly so I can feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressed between my legs, and that sound ignites something even more feral in him.

He grabs my thighs, lifting me effortlessly and setting me on the cool marble of the island.

The stone chills my skin through my jeans, but I barely register it because Penn is standing between my legs, his body heat searing me everywhere we touch.

“Goddamn you,” he mutters against my mouth, hot and ragged. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“Right back at you,” I pant, yanking at the hem of his hoodie. I want it off. I want him bare, skin on skin, nothing between us.

His mouth moves to my jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where my pulse hammers wildly. I have no clue what’s going on. Sure, I’m attracted to the man. Who wouldn’t be? But I never envisioned this.

Not in a million years, and while I should stop it because it screams disaster, I let my head fall back, giving him full access. My fingers tangle in his hair as I urge him closer, needing more.

“You’ve been in my head for days,” he murmurs against my throat, a rough, gravelly confession that sends a shiver down my spine. “Can’t fucking think straight.”

For a man as closed off as Penn, who has no value in words or communication, the admission hits me in the tender part of my heart.

Maybe he doesn’t have control of what he’s saying because we’re in the heat of the moment, but I validate what he’s feeling so he never feels awkwardly alone in that, especially after we regain our senses.

“Let’s not think at all,” I whisper, and it’s the most honest thing I’ve said in days. “Just feel.”

I hook my legs around his waist, drawing him in until I feel every inch of him pressed against me, the tension between us coiling so tight I’m afraid we might break.

My nails dig into his scalp as I drag his mouth back to mine, and this kiss is different—deeper, more consuming. Less anger. More need.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps against my lips, his forehead resting against mine, breaths mingling as we fight for control.

I tighten my legs around him, put my palms to his cheeks and force his head up so he can stare down at me. “Don’t you dare think about stopping. We need this. I… want this.”

His eyes hold mine for a long moment and I detect no wariness or skepticism. They remain heated, more gold than the darker hazel.

“Don’t think,” I reiterate, not understanding where this boldness is coming from, but I suspect it might be because I could be dead tomorrow if my tormentor makes good on his threats.

That’s all it takes and I see the moment in Penn’s expression where he decides to throw all caution to the wind.

His mouth once again claims mine as his hands go to my jeans, fingers working the button and zipper with maddening precision.

I shift to help him, pushing against his hoodie again until it’s bunched up, exposing abs sculpted from years of dedicated work.

My fingertips trace the heat of his skin, his grip on me tightening.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the hoodie over his head.

It comes off along with the T-shirt underneath, and he tosses them to the floor.

I barely have a second to admire the perfection of his body before he’s on me again, lips moving on mine like he’s trying to imprint himself on me.

“Penn…” His name is a whisper, half moan, half plea, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he demands.

I cup his face, my thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw. “I just want us both to feel good.” I respond softly, but there’s no hesitation. No doubt. “I trust you.”

His eyes search mine, something wild and dark burning there. “This is gonna be a mistake,” he murmurs, but he’s already leaning in again, his lips brushing mine like he can’t stop himself.

“Probably,” I whisper back, but I don’t care.

Because right now, this feels inevitable.

And there’s no stopping it.

His hands are back at my jeans, tugging them down, and I lift my hips to help. The scrape of denim against my skin makes me shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they skim up my thighs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

We’re past the point of no return now.

And neither of us wants to stop.