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I spent the last hour of school watching as she struggled to work through the math problems in class, and all I could think about is how it feels to have her beneath me, how sweet her lips taste when I kiss her, and how she gave herself over to me in a way no one has ever done before. She’s perfect in all the very worst ways, because her perfection blinds me to who she really is.
I’ve been berating myself for coming here again since I got into my car, but no matter how many times I told myself not to come, I’m still here, standing outside her hotel room with my fist poised to knock. Banging the door, I step back and wait, wondering if she’ll answer. Quicker than I expected, the door swings open, and a tired-looking Penelope appears in the doorway. Just like yesterday, she’s wrapped in the white cotton hotel robe, but the cord is tied tight, covering her from her neck to her knees.
My dick still twitches, because I’m pretty sure she’s naked beneath the toweling fabric, but no matter how much I want her, I don’t think that’s why I’m here. Something fundamental changed between us yesterday. It started in the darkroom when she gave herself to me so fucking prettily, and then built and built when I held her in my arms and felt her fall apart.
I crave her like I’ve never craved anything else before. But I don’t just want to fuck her, I want to own her and not for an hour or a night. I want to own her the way Gulliver owns Izzy, the way she owns him.
I’m still finding it hard to accept that I’m attracted to someone who could be so awful to their own flesh and blood, but the more I get to know about her, the more I’m wondering just how much her parents manipulated her. The moment she asked me to take her virginity, some weird, fucked-up part of me claimed her, and now I want to help her, to protect her, to take care of her, and no one, not even my family or Izzy, has ever made me feel this way.
After I ran away from her last night and all the weird emotions she makes me feel, I spent an hour Googling all these messed-up feelings I have for her. I’m either about to die from a brain tumor or I like her.
I like Penelope Rhodes. No. I like my Princess. I like the sweet, sad, lonely girl who gave me her body, not realizing that once it was mine, I might decide not to give it back.
I’m aware that I have control issues. I like things a certain way. But those things are all about me. The guys know about my quirks, but I’ve never felt compelled to push my oddities on them.
But I’m itching with the urge to take control of Penelope, not just her body, and not only while I’m fucking her. I want to take control of her completely in every way. I want to throw her over my shoulder and take her back to The Escape. I want to feed her, buy things for her, and be hers.
I sound like a fucking psycho even to myself, but it doesn’t stop me from stepping past her and into her room without waiting for her to invite me in.
“Please, come in,” she says sarcastically, but she doesn’t ask me to leave. I wouldn’t anyway, I couldn’t walk away if I tried. Now that I’ve admitted my feelings for her to myself, there’s no going back. Maybe if she hadn’t treated me like I was a stranger and walked away from me without looking back this morning, I might have taken the time to ease her into being mine, but it’s too late for that now.
Not looking at her, I cross the room to the small closet and throw open the door. It’s empty except for the dress she wore to the engagement party, the jeans and shirt she picked when I took her to the mall, and a GAA uniform. Pulling the drawers open, I find all but one empty, and except for a handful of underwear, she literally has nothing.
“Why haven’t you been shopping?” I demand.
She shrugs, and her robe falls open a little, exposing her shoulder.
“I asked you a question,” I growl, unreasonably angry at her, at her parents, and at myself for not considering that she hadn’t been home.
“I’ll get around to it,” she says, her tone becoming obstinate.
“Get dressed.”
“No,” she snaps, righting her robe and crossing her arms across her chest.
“Princess, I am not fucking around right now. Get dressed,” I say, fighting the urge to demand she do as she’s told.
“No. I’m tired, and I don’t want to go anywhere.”
Inhaling sharply, I lift one hand and rub at my temple, trying to stop myself from imploding at the fact that my woman has an empty closet and only two pairs of panties right now. “Penelope,” I hiss. “You can either get dressed and walk with me, or you can be a pain in the ass and I’ll carry you out of here in nothing but that robe. Right now, I don’t give a fuck which option you pick, but either way, you’re coming with me. You have one minute to make a decision.”
Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head dismissively. “Go away, Hawthorn. After you ran out of here like your ass was on fire last night, I thought we decided you weren’t going to act like you cared anymore. The sex might be great, but you’re my sister’s. We have our roles; you hate me, and I hate you. We need to stay away from each other. I want to stay away from all of you,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching for the TV remote.
“Time’s up,” I snap, fighting back a smirk. If she thinks she can send me away with a little attitude, she’s got no fucking clue how wrong she is.
“Goodbye, Hawthorn,” she says, wiggling her fingers at me in a “fuck you” wave.
Laughing softly beneath my breath, I close the distance between us in a single stride, grab her around the waist, and haul her off the bed, into the air, and over my shoulder.
“Put me down,” she screams, beating her fists against my back.
“I gave you a choice, Princess, it’s not my fault you picked the wrong option. You better hope it’s not busy in the lobby, because I’m pretty sure you can see your ass out the bottom of this robe.” Ignoring her protests and her tiny fists smacking against my back, I grab her cell and room key, open the door, and carry her out.
Shrieking, she writhes around trying to break free of my hold, but I just laugh and grip her a little tighter. “Behave,” I chide, my voice full of amusement.
“Where are you taking me? Put me down, Hawthorn, I hate you so much.”
“You don’t hate me, and I don’t hate you,” I say, then mutter, “That’s the fucking problem,” beneath my breath.
