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“I f-felt him!”
I suck my teeth, inordinately annoyed. It is ridiculous to feel jealous of a ghost. It’s not like he can truly touch her, and even if he could, it’s none of my business. And yet—
Penny snorts. “Why do you look like you’re sucking on a lemon? Did you want him to touch you again instead of me?”
“No.” Obviously not.
The walls bleed and bubble around us, tragically ignored as we turn to face each other. “Go on,” Penny says, her smile softer now. “Say it. Say why you’ve gone all prickly. I want to hear it, trust me.”
She can’t possibly know that, can she? Especially after the attic. Ah, but I can’t ignore a request from this woman. If she wants the truth, I’ll give it—even if it damns me.
“Alright. It’s because I don’t want another man touching you, Penny Dreadful. Not even a dead one. And I know that our kiss earlier meant nothing, that you were possessed, but even so, I—”
Penny flings her arms around my neck, pressing her mouth to mine. And what are the chances of two possessions in one evening? Slim, I’d assume.
As unlikely, perhaps, as the idea that several of these ghosts want to kiss me. I’m hardly a sex object. I wear wire-framed glasses, for god’s sake.
My body kicks in before my brain does, and I find my head tilting down, my lips working against hers, my bloodied hand reaching for her cheek—
I snatch it back and ball it in a fist behind my back. Penny laughs softly against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip. Her body arches closer, until we’re pressed together from head to toe.
The mirror rattles louder in the en suite, demanding our attention, and we ignore it completely. It’s unforgivably rude of us, but in my defense, I’d ignore a spaceship hovering outside the window right now. I’d ignore a sinkhole opening up in the center of the rug. With Penny’s lips on mine, all of my attention is fixed on her—and when she steps back for a moment, shrugging her baggy green t-shirt over her head and dropping it on the floor, I lose the power of speech.
“Is this okay?” she whispers, leaning back in and pressing kisses along my jaw. She’s wearing a simple white sports bra, the fabric faded from many trips to the washing machine, and it’s somehow the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“Uh,” I say. When Penny raises an eyebrow, I give a jerky nod.
Yes, obviously it’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s more than I ever dreamed possible, and now I feel like I’m flying through the night sky. Feel like a comet burning through the atmosphere.
The bare skin of Penny’s back is warm and silky beneath my clean hand, although goosebumps raise up at the chill. And we should probably go somewhere else, should probably stop giving this ghost a show, but this is my rented bedroom, damn it. We’re not going anywhere.
I press Penny closer by her hip.
We kiss for so long, my jaw aches. So long that the chill fades away, and the en suite mirror stops rattling, and blood stops spreading over the walls and begins to dry.
“Look.” I rest my chin against Penny’s head, breathing hard. “He’s gone. I think we offended him.”
Her fingers trail down my chest, flicking my shirt buttons open one by one. “What a prude.”
“Are you upset that you missed it?” Because I’d hate that. I don’t want her to regret any part of this.
“Nope,” Penny says. “Hauntings are cool and all, but this is way better.”
“Dialed up to eleven,” I agree, shrugging my shirt off and letting it drop to the floor beside hers. Balmy air rushes over my bare skin, the sensation so strange after that temporary chill. My body doesn’t know whether it’s summer or winter. “Would you like to keep going? We can stop at any time.”
Penny grabs my wrist and drags me toward the bed. “No shit. I want this if you do, Arthur.”
I really, really do. But first—
“One moment, then. I don’t want to leave bloody hand prints all over you.”
Penny’s soft laughter follows me into the en suite, and I turn the basin faucet with shaking fingers, then scrub my hands with soap. My breaths sound extra loud and ragged in here, every tiny noise bouncing off the old-fashioned avocado tiles, and static buzzes in my brain.
When I look up at the mirror, my reflection gazes back at me, wild-eyed. My cheeks are flushed, and my pulse races beneath my skin, tapping beneath my lower jaw. My day’s stubble is out of control, and my black hair has been tugged and twisted into disarray.
Penny. She did that. She’s out there, waiting for me. My perfect, pretty maid, lying on top of those white bed sheets.
When I swallow, I watch my own throat bob.
