Page 207 of If Our Hearts Collide

39

COLLINS

If I’m going to lose my mind, it will be tonight. From the moment I realized Penny was heading toward Limit-X—unaccompanied and without protection—I have wanted to yank her out of here as fast as I can.

Trust me, if she was mine, her ass would be raw by now, and a reminder not to cross me would be branded into her permanent memory bank.

Since finding her in the presence of other men enjoying her tight, little body, I’ve been twitching with an electricity to fight, as jealousy slithers around me, taking root and growing with an undeniable force.

Her innocence plagues me, haunting me through the darkness of my desires.

Just seeing her grinding bodies on the dance floor caused a stir inside me to protect her from Wesley. I’m sure he meant no real harm—except for the fact he’s married and has kids—but just watching him paw her ample curves was enough to make me see red.

And now I can’t see any other color other than it.

I’m starting to think that Penny secretly hoped I would show up. I think she likes it when I go a bit crazy.

From the way she is dressed in tight leather shorts to how her fiery-red halter top accentuates her breasts, I’d think that she wore this number solely for my viewing pleasure.

And my eyes are pleased.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

But it’s more than just me watching her. Nearly everyone we pass gets a second or third glance at her over their shoulder—regardless of sexual orientation and regardless of who they actually walked in with. Penny has that appeal. She isn’t like the others.

I would know, because I’ve been with quite a fewothers.

Sadly, they’re all the same—eager to please and easy to pleasure. It sounds good in theory, of course, but in reality I got bored.

I am—was—bored.

While I never thought of Penny in a sexual nature while she was healing in therapy, I most definitely can’t prevent my mind from drifting to the darkness now.

She makes it impossible to not see.

Now she’s taunting me into arranging a forbidden sex contract between us, and I’m seriously considering it—only because I don’t think I can keep resisting her. Getting things in writing might help me maintain some level of professionalism, while she thrusts her sexual prowess at me every chance she gets.

Every time I witness her legs moving, I want to grab her luscious ass cheeks and sink my teeth into them.

I want Penny to wear my mark.

I want to dirty her up and make her so needy for me that only my touch will soothe the burn.

But can she handle a man as demanding as I am? I’m not an easy person to be with, and any of my previous partners will share that I’m controlling as fuck. It’s not something I pretend to hide or soften with flowery language or society’s kinky labels.

I need to be with someone who knows the score. I like what I like. And I’m not afraid to vocalize it. This is why there are contracts in place. So both parties consent to the activities willingly and without the risk of coercion.

But this is Penelope Hoffman.

And she doesn’t deserve to be treated in the same clinical way as I have any partnership over the last few years.

Yet I know if Penny doesn’t get her fill of the experience tonight, she will just insist on coming back here again and again. She is determined and stubborn—two qualities that I admire but also struggle to accept.

Limit-X is not designed for a girl as straightlaced as Penny Hoffman. She is soft and feminine and needs to be cherished—not thrown against a wall and felt up in public.

But that’s what’s happening to us, and the guilt of not giving her more than what equates to an alleyway grind session is messing with my focus.

Our desires can’t possibly align because she hasn’t lived long enough to discover her preferences—and I doubt I could be the man to walk her through the journey.

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