Page 25

“Immediately.” Malik offers a reassuring smile, then his gaze shifts between us. “Get some rest. We’ve got eyes on you, and we’re just getting started.” He turns to Penn. “I’ll let you know who will be with you on the road trip by day’s end.”

The men shake hands, Malik gives me one more reassuring nod and disappears through the front door, leaving behind a house now wired and fortified and two people who suddenly feel… very alone in the almost deafening silence.

Penn doesn’t move. Neither do I.

“Thank you for doing…” I wave my hands. “All of this. I feel like I can breathe again.”

He stares at me, his expression fierce and possessive. “I thought they’d never fucking leave.”

I blink at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Because all I’ve been able to think about since we walked in the door is kissing you.”

“Oh,” I sigh out in surprise, but before I can process what he just said, he’s on me.

His body, his mouth, his heat—it all barrels into me in one smooth, overwhelming move and I am utterly lost in it.

His mouth captures mine in a bruising kiss that scrambles my brains.

His hands lock onto my hips, fingers digging in as if grounding himself—or claiming me.

I fumble for his shirt, clutching the fabric in desperation, trying to anchor myself.

He grabs at the collar of my sweater, pulls it to the side as his mouth moves to my throat, then lower to the curve of my shoulder.

Warm palms slide under the knit material, gliding along the bare skin of my back and his mouth returns to mine, moving with sinful precision, taking what he wants and giving back tenfold.

I’m spinning from how fast this went from talking to devouring, unable to get my balance emotionally…

physically… and yet I’m somehow fulfilled by the instability of it all.

I’m panting by the time his hand slides into the front of my pants, cupping me through my underwear.

My hips buck, a motion I can’t control, and a startled moan warbles out of my throat.

I arch into the contact, my head falling back and hitting the refrigerator.

I barely notice because his fingers slide beneath the silk of my panties, parting me, teasing through slick heat with unrelenting skill.

“Penn,” I gasp, clutching his shoulders now because my legs are about to give way. “What are you doing?”

“Taking,” he murmurs, lips feathering along my jaw as he slides a finger deep inside me.

My walls clench around him involuntarily, welcoming the intrusion, and my legs tremble.

When a second finger joins the first, the stretch makes me gasp, and the rhythmic thrust he starts steals any coherent thought I have left.

His thumb presses and circles, coaxing pleasure to the surface with merciless intent.

“Feel good?” he asks in a low rumble.

I can only nod, more moans and gasps pouring out of me without any control.

I grip Penn’s shoulders so hard he actually flinches from my nails digging in, but he doesn’t miss a stroke.

On the contrary, he adds more pressure, more movement, drawing me toward an edge I’m not ready for and yet desperate to reach.

His fingers move faster, firmer, keeping me on the cusp, holding my body hostage so that I’m on the verge of begging him.

And then… release. It crashes through me without warning, a violent, full-body eruption that steals the air from my lungs and leaves me sagging against him.

I barely register his hand withdrawing. I can’t even comprehend the fact I’m being lifted, carried down the hall in strong arms. I’m lightheaded, disoriented, tingling still between my legs.

Penn enters his bedroom and drops me onto the bed without ceremony.

His grin is devilish as he follows me with single-minded focus.

His hands move quickly, pulling off my shoes, clothes, underwear until I’m naked beneath the glow of the bedside lamps and afternoon sun pouring in through the windows.

I start to cover myself, but he stills my hands, silently commanding me to stop. And I do. Because the way he’s looking at me with such hunger banishes any lingering self-consciousness.

The man’s eyes never leave mine as he takes a moment to strip down to his bare skin. He doesn’t rush and I don’t look away as he reveals the broad expanse of rippling muscle and inherent power that comes with it.

When he stands before me, fully naked and already erect, I can’t look away. He’s beautiful. Strong. So very ready.

His hand presses to my chest and urges me back down. I think he’s going to cover me, but instead he grabs my ankles, drags me to the edge of the bed, and sinks to his knees.

This is our third straight day together—being intimate—and it’s the third straight day he’s gone down on me. He seems to love it and while I’ve never been comfortable with such worship, Penn makes me feel beautiful in that vulnerability.

Warm breath hits the inside of my thighs. I try to close them, nerves getting the better of me, but firm hands keep them apart. And then his mouth finds me.

The sensation is too much. Too intimate. Too overwhelming. Too everything and I can’t get enough.

I clutch the sheets, crying out as pleasure sparks like wildfire, building into something that threatens to consume me whole.

Penn’s mouth is everywhere, and it’s all I can do to stay grounded beneath the relentless onslaught of sensation.

He moves against me, hungry, focused. My mind fractures and scatters and once again, I’m thrashing beneath him.

I’m already raw from the first orgasm he pulled from me with nothing but his fingers, but I need the next one that’s building. It’s not enough for him and it’s not enough for me. How can it ever be enough when it feels this good?

Penn’s hands slip beneath my thighs, palms curling around and over the top. He lifts my legs, spreads them wider and exposes every part of me. The cool air grazes my damp skin seconds before he lowers his mouth again, tongue dragging slow and deep between my folds.

My hips jerk violently. It’s instinctual. Desperate. A raw plea without words. He doesn’t just kiss me there—he devours me, lavishing attention that borders on obsession. Each pass of his tongue builds a pressure so sharp it hurts. I want to tell him to stop. I want to beg him never to stop.

There’s no rhythm I can latch onto, no pattern to brace against. He gives and takes on his own terms, teasing me with long, slow laps until I start to come down from the edge…

and then he strikes again with fast, ruthless flicks that make me cry out, fingers twisting into his hair as I cling to the only thing anchoring me to the bed.

“Penn… I’m going to die,” I practically sob.

Something about those words seems to turn him on because he sounds like a man in pain as he groans against my wet folds.

It feels like this is something he’s thought about a thousand times and now that he’s finally here, he won’t be satisfied until he’s undone me completely.

It turns him on to wreck me and God help me… that turns me on even more.

I’m robbed of air. I can’t think. All I know is the slick slide of his tongue, the wicked curl of his fingers when he adds one, then two, and I arch so hard my spine threatens to snap. There’s no grace left in me, no modesty. Just a primal need to fall over the edge.

The moment he flattens his tongue against the most sensitive part of me and adds a maddening flutter, I break apart. No warning. No control. Just pure, reckless release that rips through me like a lightning strike.

This orgasm is so violent it almost hurts.

I feel the scream catch in my throat, but it never makes it out.

Instead, I choke on it, mouth wide and silent as my whole body shudders beneath the weight of it.

My fingers are still tangled in his hair.

My legs shake against his shoulders. Every inch of me trembles as the aftershocks ripple through my core.

By the time I blink myself back into the present, Penn is already surging up my body. Despite the fact that I was just shredded from the inside out, I actually lust for him more than I ever have. I need him inside me. His eyes meet mine… sharp, focused, so very hungry.

His big body settles over me as he supports his weight, his arms pressed down into the mattress.

He bends his head, lips finding my breast in a startling move of reverence.

His tongue drags across a peaked nipple, and just that easy, he has me writhing once again.

My body arches up, chasing the friction, needing more.

When his hips roll forward and the heavy length of him presses against me, I nearly lose it.

I grip his arms, nails biting into hard muscle. He doesn’t rush. He just looks down at me, watching every flicker of reaction as he slowly pushes in.

The stretch is glorious. Exquisite. I gasp, not from pain but from the overwhelming fullness of it. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep, pressed tight to my hips, his body trembling with restraint above mine.

And then… he moves.

Not slow. Not soft. He thrusts hard and deep, each stroke pushing a moan from my lips. There’s nothing gentle in the way he takes me now, and I don’t want it to be. I want it wild. I want it rough. I want it to echo inside me so I never forget what it feels like to be claimed like this.

Penn groans deep in his throat, forehead pressed to mine as his hips piston between my thighs.

I wrap my legs around him, dragging him closer, deeper, and the friction is so intense, so perfect, it pushes me right back toward the edge.

Surely, I don’t have another in me but with one hard, deep thrust, another orgasm breaks free, a violent quake that leaves me arching again, nails raking down his back.

Penn curses, a guttural sound that shakes against my skin as he drives harder, deeper—one, two, three more strokes—and then he’s coming too.

He buries his face in my neck, his body twitching as he releases with a broken growl. “Fuck yes, Mila.”

We lie tangled together, sweat-slicked and gasping, my heartbeat drumming against his chest. Three massive orgasms from a man who was hell-bent on getting me there. None of this was on my bingo card for this year. My life has spiraled out of control.

But I just survived the hurricane force of Penn Navarro and for once, I don’t feel like I’m running from the chaos.

I’m welcoming it.