Page 52 of The Complete Truth Duet
The couch seemed to be approximately seven miles away, but with our mouths fused together, I was content to take the scenic route.
We lay on that couch, making out for somewhere between ten seconds and a hundred years.
I catalogued her every curve, and she explored my back from ass to shoulders.
My pants stayed on.
Her bra remained in place.
But there was nothing innocent about the way our bodies rolled together, like waves unable to find a shore. And I was a delirious man lost at sea who never wanted to be found.
When the frenzy finally ebbed from our bodies, I was lying on my side, my back against the couch, her front pressed to mine, our noses only inches apart as her head rested on my arm, and my fingers teased at her lower back.
Our breathing was labored.
Our skin was damp.
And I had no doubt the drumming of our hearts could be heard on the first floor.
“Wow,” she breathed, her eyes still closed.
“Agreed,” I rasped, ghosting one last kiss over her lips. “That was by far the hottest forehead kiss I’ve ever given.”
She giggled and cuddled closer, nuzzling her face against my chest. “I’m pretty sure you missed my forehead completely.”
“Did I? I’ve always been shit at anatomy.”
“That explains why I’m still wearing pants.”
“Smartass.” I tickled her side, causing a brilliant laugh to spring from her throat. I couldn’t have stopped my smile if I’d tried. Not that I was trying anymore.
She wiggled in protest as I folded her in my arms and held her tight. My fingers played up and down her sides like she was a grand piano, her laugh being my first—and greatest—symphony.
“Penn!” she screamed, writhing against me.
“Cora!” I mocked.
And then, like a poacher, I closed my eyes and absorbed every ounce of warmth Cora was offering.
Because, soon enough, it would be gone.
Just like me.
Cora
“Oh God!” I cried, falling over to the side, barely able to save my beer. I was in my hallway and thankfully already sitting down, so it was a short trip to the wood floor.
Penn was in the bathroom, his position mirroring mine except, rather than being dead from embarrassment, he had a wrench in his hand and was doubled over in laughter.
“Stop laughing!” Two words I’d never thought I’d say to him. A river of beer later, I had to repeat myself. “Stop laughing!”
That night, I’d eaten Thai food for the very first time. This being after Penn and I had put our shirts back on—a sight I’d seriously lamented as the fabric stole my favorite view. The man was gorgeous in clothes. But shirtless? His cut pecs covered in a light smattering of hair and a six-pack trailing down to meet a mouthwatering V that disappeared below the low-hanging denim at his trim waist? He was downright edible.
And while the Toolbox Thai had actually been delicious, I would have way rather feasted on Penn.
That damn second of hesitation had foiled it all. It was a gut reaction that had been programmed into me over the years. For the women in the building, sex was a paycheck. A means to an end. A way of life.
But, for me, sex was nothing more than a weapon in my arsenal.
A bargaining chip.
A last-ditch resource to stay alive.
But one kiss and I wanted it to be different again.
However, despite the fact that I’d thrown every please-God-get-me-naked signal I knew, including a few I made up on the fly, Penn had stuck to his guns and kissed me senseless in a very PG-13 version of what I truly wanted.
Not that I was complaining or anything. He was talented in the mouth department.
After Thai food and a sizable amount of self-reflection, I’d taken a step outside of my comfort zone and offered Penn one of my coveted cupcakes. It had been hard, but my manners had finally won out. I’d never been so relieved or genuinely puzzled in my life when he’d refused, stating that he wasn’t big on sweets. I should have known after seeing the thick muscles hugging his frame, but come on. Who hated sweets? The disgust on my face must have been obvious, because he’d chuckled, shaking his head before planting a kiss on my lips and saying, “But I’d love to watch you eat a cupcake, Cora.”
I’d retorted, “I didn’t know you could get creepier, Penn.” But I’d said it while peeling the wrapper off three layers of chocolate and then shoving it into my mouth, bordering between ladylike and a lion attacking a gazelle on The Discovery Channel.
After the cupcake massacre and a lot of laughs, we’d broken into the beer.
Penn creeped hard during this time, his hip leaning against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankle, his arms over his chest, his eyes sparkling with mischief as the tiniest of smirks pulled at his lips.
