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Penelope, though…she doesn’t look like she pities me. Her voice is reverent when she tells me I’m beautiful, and my heart inflates in my chest. It hurts to breathe. There’s a lump in my throat that makes it hard to speak, and all I can do is stare at her fingers as they sweep over my damaged skin.
No pity. No disgust. She’s…She’s being honest. She likes the way I look. Is that…a joke? Why isn’t she looking away? Why isn’t she saying anything? Why is she still touching my skin like she loves the way it feels?
In the cool air of the kitchen, my body feels almost too sensitive. Goose bumps pimple over my skin and when Penelope sweeps her hands over my chest, she sends sparks flying through my body. She doesn’t pause at the edge of my scar, choosing instead to lay her palm flat against my skin and slide her hand up to my shoulder. Her thumb teases the edge of my jaw as her eyes take me in. All of me. Scars and all.
“You didn’t want me to take your shirt off at Gabriel’s wedding,” she says in a low rasp.
“No,” I answer.
Her eyes meet mine, hot fire dancing in their icy blue depths. “I wish you’d let me.”
“I was afraid,” I whisper, surprising myself with my honesty.
“Of what?”
“Of the face you’d make when you saw me.”
“How does my face look now?” Her brows draw together, and my hand cups her cheek.
Heat curls low in my stomach, but there’s something else. A tugging in my chest. A twinge, deep inside me, telling me I’m not here just for a diamond mine. I’m not here to show my father I deserve to inherit the company. I shake my head, letting my eyes close for a moment. “You look like an angel.”
Air is sucked in through her full, pink lips. Her thumb makes slow movements over my jaw, over and back. It’s making me dizzy. With one hand cupping her cheek, I let my other hand find her hip. She notches one leg between my thighs, pressing her body against mine. She fuses herself against my mottled skin, holding me close as if there’s nothing wrong with me at all.
“Pen,” I say, pushing the word out past the obstruction in my throat. “I’m not sure I can stay professional. Not when you’re here, like this…” Her robe feels silky beneath my fingertips and it would be so easy—so fucking easy—to slide it off her body and show her just how much I’ve missed having her in my arms.
Pen’s eyes close, face tilting toward mine. I let my gaze sweep over her face, her lips, her jaw. Her neck is graceful, and her body perfectly molded to mine. She melts in my hands, clinging onto me as her thumb keeps moving on my jaw, so soft and consistent that she might be putting a spell on me. That movement—back and forth, back and forth—makes my head spin so fast I can’t think about anything other than her, her, her.
“Maybe we can make an exception,” she whispers, eyes still closed.
My heart thumps hard enough for her to feel it. It’s bursting out of my chest. I tighten my grip on her hip, loving the way my fingers press into her flesh. When she rolls her core toward me, the heat between her legs rushes toward me and makes fire dance in my veins. Glancing down, I see her dressing gown slipping open. Her bare leg is against mine, gently grinding against my thigh. I groan. “I want to kiss you, Pen.”
Opening her eyes, she lets a soft smile drift over her lips. “So what are you waiting for?”
Nothing, is what I’m waiting for. Sliding my hand to the nape of her neck, I tilt Penelope’s face toward mine and crush my lips to hers. Somehow, her kiss tastes sweeter than the first time. A moan slips through her lips as she parts her mouth, deepening our kiss. She tastes like candy. Like roses in bloom. Like everything that’s been missing from my life.
The newspapers are wrong about her. Nothing about Penelope is icy or cold. She’s hot fire and sin.
My Queen.
Dropping my lips to her jaw, I leave a trail of kisses down her neck. I brush my lips over the shell of her ear, worshipping every inch of skin my lips come across. Penelope rewards me with whimpers and moans, sinking her fingers into my shoulders and pulling me close. Both shoulders—scarred and unscarred alike. Her hips roll against mine, gown falling open.
I let my hand sweep up the bare skin of her waist, feeling sparks ignite against my palm. Her body—my God, I missed this. One of the shoulders of her dressing gown falls down, and my lips are drawn to her shoulder. Clawing at the silky fabric, I pull it down lower to expose her upper arm, her chest, the top of her breast.
Under the dressing gown, Penelope’s wearing a thin, blue tank top and a tiny pair of matching shorts. I feel like an animal. Hunger for her sweeps through my core, and I see nothing except her soft, pliable body molding against mine, her swollen lips, her eyes full of need.
And I need her too. I need to feel her palms running over my skin—every inch of me. I need to feel the heat between her legs pressed up against my thigh. I need to feel her nails sinking into my shoulders as she pulls me closer. I need her to touch me. Touch the skin I’ve grown to hate and tell me she likes the way it feels. I need her to tell me I’m beautiful and mean it.
When I sweep my hands up her sides, my thumbs tease the undersides of her breasts. She trembles, lips parting. Her eyes meet mine, and I see none of the distant, cold Queen that was there before. She’s all heat and fire, and she’s all mine.
“Tell me what you like, Pen,” I whisper, dropping my lips to her chest. I lay a kiss on the swell of her breast, then on the neckline of her shirt. Dipping down lower, I drag my teeth across her nipple, with only the thin fabric of her top keeping me from tasting her skin.
Penelope bucks against me. She gasps, clutching me tight as her head falls back. I grin, loving the way her face loses all its harshness. I’m seeing the real Penelope—just as she’s seeing the real me.
Dragging my tongue over her breast, I suck her pebbled nipple into my mouth. Pen’s fingers tangle into my hair, pushing me closer and tugging me away all at once. She arches her back, gasping again. I groan. I want her to make that noise again. Heat spears my core as I grind myself against her. I know she can feel me—my hardness. The steel pressing up against her stomach that tells her exactly what she does to me.
Moving to the other breast, I leave a wet patch on her blue top. With hazy eyes, Penelope glances down at me. She leans back against the kitchen counter, spreading her legs wider.
My heart is beating so fast I have to grip the edge of the counter to steady myself. When Penelope sweeps her hands over my shoulders and down my sides, she doesn’t hesitate to run her palm over my scars. She holds me close, exploring every inch of my body with her hands.
