Page 66 of Major Penalty

I was wrong. I was so stupidly wrong about her. She’s not fragile and naive. She’s strong and caring. She’s incredible.

Irene turns her head back around, sniffing as she focuses on the skyline again.

“It’s not about becoming a doctor, or making money. It’s about making a difference, helping where it matters most. Maybe I can help them see that they’re worth more than they’ve been told. They deserve to be happy, to be kids, not to be burdened by things beyond their control. I wish I could say I have the answers, that I know what they need. But I don’t. All I can do is show them that someone cares, just like my dad did for me. Just like he’s done for everyone else in his life. He’s always been my role model, and I want to be like him, even if it’s in my own way. Maybe I’m not changing the world, but I’m trying to do what I can.”

Her words move me. Every single one of them. I’ve never heard anyone speak like this before. Not ever.

And it fucking kills me. If she knew I’m the boy she’s talking about, would she feel the same way?

She’s so goddamn pure, so selfless, so fucking good, it breaks something in me.

For the first time in forever, I want to let myself believe it's ok to hold on to someone. I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. Hold her so fucking close she can’t slip through my fingers.

I don’t say anything at first. I can’t. My hand is still resting on her thigh, but now it’s gripping tighter, my fingers pressing into the skin I was worshiping a few hours ago. And suddenly, all the noise in my head, all the hunger, all the need, it all explodes, and I’m spiraling.

Coach Brown. The man who saved me. Who never gave up on me. The one who put a hockey stick in my hand and taught me how to fight for a life worth living. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father—the man I owe everything to.

And what did I do?

I just fucked his daughter.

Not sweetly. Not the way any father would want it to happen.

I took his daughter’s virginity with my hand around her throat. I came all over her stomach. I carried her into the shower because her legs wouldn’t hold her up. Watched her stumble. Watched my cum drip down her body before I washed it off.

I put marks on her breasts and thighs, and now she’s sitting in my lap, her bare pussy pressed to my sweatpants. No panties. No barrier. Just skin, warmth, and the memory of how she moaned for me.

Begged for me.

Broke for me.

I look down at her. I feel her weight on my lap, and it’s nothing compared to the weight of what I’ve just done. I’m not the kind to feel regret, not the way most people do. I don’t waste time on guilt unless I’ve been handed the complete fucking picture, but there are a few people in my life I’d never want to hurt, never want to betray. And her father is one of them.

The heaviness settles in me, heavier the more I think about it. This isn’t just crossing lines. No, I’ve burned everything I owe him to the ground.

What makes it worse? I don’t want to let her go, not now that I’ve had a taste. Not now that I’ve felt her beneath me. I want it all, every inch of her, even with the sick feeling clawing at me. Even though every part of me knows how wrong this is, I still know, deep down, I can’t stop.

That’s the worst part. There’s a twisted part of me that isn’t recoiling. And that part is making my cock twitch.

I’ve already taken a bite out of the fucking apple. And now I can’t stop myself from devouring the whole damn thing.

I should be sick with guilt. I should feel disgusted with myself.

But all I feel right now…is hard.

Fucking hard.

My cock’s thickening again, swelling under the cotton, right against where she’s pressed to me. I shift slightly, just enough to feel the drag of her slick warmth through the fabric.

I should stop this now. I should do something to atone for what I’ve already taken.

But I know I won’t. Despite it all, I still want more. I want to fuck her again and again and never let her leave me.

Chapter seventeen

~IRENE~

I wake up sore. Not the kind of soreness that makes you regret it, but the kind that makes you close your eyes and smile. I turn slightly, and there it is—that slow, pulsing ache between my thighs, a reminder of what he did to me. Whatwedid.

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