Page 15 of Penny
The dishes moved around on the counter, and I chose that moment to turn and see the exchange. Her gray-blue eyes widened, and the corner of her mouth tilted up slightly before she stuck her fork into his food, which was basically untouched. She scooped it into her mouth with a sexy moan and rolled her shoulders. Connor watched her intently as if she were a highly anticipated documentary premiering on television.
He scooped up her discarded plate and walked to the sink, tossing it in with the dirty pans. The hash browns were stuck to the skillet. He’d left it sitting without a drop of water to help wash it later. My chest burned as I took in the mess with a shaky breath.
"Come to my office," Connor barked from behind me. For someone who didn't like our father, he was bossy just like him.
I looked between the dirty kitchen and Connor, not understanding why he didn’t clean it now. Reluctantly, I turned away from the mess, letting out a ragged breath. Penny looked up at me from under her lashes and fallen strands of hair, watching me forcibly move myself away.
The bottle Connor had drunk last night was empty, explaining his good mood. He was the exception of most drunks. When nursing a hangover, he tended to be calmer and kinder. Probably from his lack of energy. He didn’t have it in him to be a dick. The throbbing in his head must have disoriented him just enough to take the prick out of him.
“What did you want?” he grunted. I obviously wasn’t on his list of people to be kind to when he was hungover.
“To help you. Tell me, what are your plans for tonight?” I asked, wanting to get straight to the point.
Being twins gave us a connection of understanding, allowing me to have a relationship with him that others couldn’t. If he sensed deceit in your words, he would react, and it rarely looked pretty. Part of that was due to the heavy games our father played on us growing up.
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped, leaning against his desk.
“All right, I’ll back off if you answer a few of my questions. Does Penny have a family? Or a job?" I walked around the desk, not meeting his stare as I spoke. His bottles were clean and free of dust, telling me he had a housekeeper coming in on at least a weekly basis. Was he going to wait for the maid to clean those dishes?
"She was homeless. Doesn't have any," he quickly responded, pulling my attention back to our conversation and not his cleaning habits.
"She told you that already? Or did you look into her?" I continued to question him.
"She's homeless. If she had family, they wouldn't have let that happen."
He was smug and cocky, which was a recipe for disaster. His muscles flexed, and he scratched his stubbled beard, trying to hide his obvious annoyance. I didn’t know when our relationship had turned for the worse. One moment, we were closer than many other twins we knew; the next, he was at my throat, every step we took.
"If you chose to become homeless, you would still have a family. That is not how becoming homeless works," I retorted, trying to hide my laugh.
"No, I wouldn't be homeless. If that happened, I would be dead," he deadpanned, grinding his teeth.
My face and stomach fell at his response. I would never let that happen, which is why I needed to get through his thick skull and make him understand we needed to stick together. Our father wanted sons to take over his business. He was not going to turn over a new leaf and become a loving and doting parent.
"Let me at least try to get some information out of her for tonight. You can research her on your computer, and I'll see if I can get her to open up to me," I said, trying to show him I meant no harm and that this wasn't a competition.
His chest rose and fell with an audible sigh.
"A hair stylist will be here in twenty minutes. Show her to my closet. On the right-hand side are some of the clothes I have for the girls," he answered me, walking around the desk to fall into his chair.
I nodded and quickly left, not wanting to push it further and have him change his mind. Being forced into looking out for my brother and tending to the family business had put my life on the back burner. I didn’t even have much time for sex lately, and it was making things grate on my nerves faster. Getting laid would be easier if I relinquished my rule of not fucking people I dealt with at work. Picking up chicks at the bar was easy enough, but snapping your fingers like Connor did with our sex workers would be faster and cheaper.
The water was running in the kitchen, and Penny stood in front of the sink, scrubbing at the dishes. My shoulders relaxed when I saw the dishes organized. Maybe she would be a good slave for someone, but with how she handled herself, she would be better to keep on our payroll at this point. If she was an escort, it would bring in a steady revenue. If we sold her, it would end there, and we would only make a quick buck off her. I would have to try to convince Connor to not sell her off.
"Thank you for doing that. Do you need help?" I asked, wanting her to see a compassionate side of me.
She shook her head in response, choosing to keep her attention on the dishes and not look up at me. A spray of water fell next to her feet, driving me to grab a paper towel and a spray bottle to clean it up. I wet the paper towel with a cleaner and bent over, starting to mop up the soapy water on the floor. She flinched, taking a small step away from me. Her soft legs were speckled with dark strands of hair, making me wonder when the last time she shaved was. Was her cunt all-natural too? Curiosity won, and I looked up her long shirt, hoping to see her pussy from this angle. Her ghostly eyes stared down at me, and her eyebrow lifted.
“Curiosity killed the cat with that stare.” I snickered, smiling at her with all the pretty boy genes I inherited. My chest bounced as I got caught red-handed, sneaking a peek.
“I think my cat is the only one in jeopardy here,” she quipped, tilting her head slightly.
“You spilled a little water. I had to clean it up,” I bantered, shrugging my shoulders.
Her eye roll was so slight that I almost missed it, but her small smile made up for it. Her golden beige skin was stunning against her brown curly hair, but her light eyes were something I could get lost in if I stared too long. Depravity lurked in her gaze, confusing me about how she could take the news of losing her choice and becoming a slave with such dignity.
“Let’s go get you ready for the hairstylist,” I insisted, tossing the paper towel into the trash.
Her head remained high, and her stare never faltered, almost like a trained Olympian. It was captivating, and I was determined to be the one she would open up to first.. All women felt safe with me. She wouldn't be any different.
