Page 25 of Forbidden Obsession

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Penelope.”

She swallowed the words on her tongue, and her legs crossed. My brows rose as I assessed her body language. She was aroused by me calling her name. That wouldn’t be good for either of us if I were correct.

“I need to?—”

“Your car will be returned. Whatever was stolen from your accounts will be replaced. Anything else?”

Her eyes widened again, and she glanced at Mano, who held a smirk, then back at me. “Can I talk to you in private?”

“Your food is waiting for you back in the lounge.”

She took a step forward, then hesitated and glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was there.

“Proceed.”

Her eyes slipped up my torso to meet my gaze, and then she continued walking.

Back in the lounge, she sat on the couch, said a quick prayer, and dug into her food. While she ate, everything was quiet in the room. One thing about Penelope; she was full of words, primarily questions—which irritated me—but words, nonetheless.

Her tongue slipped from her mouth as she indulged in the food, but it was such a significant portion of food the kitchen offered that she barely made it through before sitting back, full.

“Those are the best wings I’ve ever tasted. Shit. Who’s in the kitchen—Gordan Ramsey?” She laughed at her joke, lifted her glass of tequila, and took a sip.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“You should have some of this. I’m not going to eat it all.”

“I’m not hungry.” Just then, my stomach growled, loud and ravenous, like an untamed animal lived inside me.

Penelope’s mouth opened in a gasp. “I think you’re starving.”

“Yes, but not for food.”

Her eyes dropped to my lips. “What are you hungry for, Dominic?”

Her voice had dropped an octave, and my dick jumped with the rise in my pulse.

“I need to take you home.”

“So you can eat?”

My dick jumped again, and it was taking all my might not to grab her throat and fuck her relentlessly on the couch.

“Are we talking about food, Penelope?”

Her hand slipped down her jeans between her thighs. “I’m not.”

“Give me your address.”

She rattled it off quickly as if she’d been waiting for me to ask.

I turned from her, stood to my feet, and strolled to the door.

---