Page 168 of If Our Hearts Collide

“What? Why are you asking me this?”

“It’s a get-to-know-you type of question, and I feel like that is a major way of getting to know someone.”

I mean…she’s not wrong. “I’m not answering that.”

“Challenge accepted.”

I rub at my temples and try to steer the car to stay on the road as Penny mentally tries to derail me.

“Do you think anyone will want to touch me”—she spreads her legs and points between them—“in my?—”

“I know where,” I say in a rush. Why does she keep using her fucking pussy as a landmark? “And yes, someone will.” But they better plan on their fingers being broken if I have any say.

“But not you?”

I allow my lungs to deflate. “That’s correct.”

“Because why?”

“Because you are under my protection and because I’m sixteen years older than you.”

Penny crosses her arms. “Well, with age probably comes experience…”

Where is she going with this?

“And wouldn’t my pussy benefit more from someone of your expertise than from some twenty-two-year-old stumbling around trying to pin-his-finger-on-my-clitoris blindly in the dark like a birthday party game?”

She does have a point.

“With age comes responsibility. And I know better.”

“That’s my point. I want someone who knows better than someone my age who won’t make my”—she spreads her legs to awkwardly point to the spot as if I could forget—“pussy feel good.”

It’s a miracle I can drive with a hard-on.

It’s an even bigger miracle that I arrive to town without pulling over to the side of the road and fucking Penny so hard that she will be sore for weeks.

Because I’m not a gentle man.

And it’s that realization that continues to keep that wall between us intact.

When I get to our street, I hit every freaking red light. It isn’t until I’m pulling into the parking garage, cutting off the engine, and helping a clumsy Penny from the passenger seat that I relax.

I survived this awkward trip home—barely.

Rounding the back of the vehicle, I pop open the trunk and say a silent thank you that I have a rain jacket tucked into the side compartment. There is no way in hell I would have allowed Penny to walk into our apartment building wearing scraps of white fabric—even if there was a minimal chance of someone catching sight of her.

And she is a sight.

Her body would have demanded everyone’s attention, and I don’t have enough energy to fight off anyone who would have looked at her twice. And they would have looked. I’m having a hard time myself keeping my eyes off of the straps of her heels and the way her calves flex and relax as she steps forward.

The girl is gorgeous.

“No thanks,” she says sweetly, as I try to help her into the jacket.

“Too bad.”

“I don’t need help,” she insists, stumbling into the side of a parked vehicle.

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