Page 98 of The Games We Play
Her eyes shimmered, but she blinked quickly, turning her face slightly as if afraid of being too seen.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “Miss you. Miss us. But I do. Every damn day.”
That undid me.
To know she missed me, to hear those words fall from her lips, was everything I needed.
The playful energy that was downstairs hadn’t followed us up here. It was like being in this space again, together, alone, had spun everything into a tangled web of feelings and truths.
I raised my hand to her jaw, brushing my knuckles across her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft, familiar in a way that made my chest ache.
The shift in the air brought a sense of comfort.
“I’ll take it.”
Her laugh was breathless, a little broken, like she was fighting off the same weight I was.
Then she tilted her head, leaning into my palm.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, needing to know she was sober enough to make this choice. I felt the shift in our energy, felt the pull like we were tethered by a string that kept getting shorter.
Penny had quite a few drinks, I could tell she was fine, but I needed to make sure.
She smiled softly like she appreciated the fact that I checked in, because I cared about her. I wanted to ensure we were doing this the right way.
“Yes. I want this. I want…you.”
That’s all it took to break the restraint I’d been holding on to out of respect for her, but I couldn’t any longer.
I leaned in and took a split second before I pressed my lips against hers. Slow, deep, reverent. The kind of kiss you givesomeone when you’re scared—but hope like hell she wanted it, too.
Penny melted against me, her hands finding the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I wrapped my arms around her waist and lifted her slightly, just enough for her to rise on her toes.
The tenderness turned to hunger in a matter of seconds. Once you’ve tasted something you thought you’d lost forever, it’s impossible not to want more.
Her fingers slid beneath the collar of my shirt, nails grazing skin. My breath hitched as I guided her backward toward the dining room table, kissing her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered.
Because she was.
We broke apart just long enough for her to whisper, “I don’t want to think tonight.”
I looked her in the eye. “Then don’t. Just feel.”
“I-I don’t know if I’m ready,” she whispered, her eyes flickering between mine—uncertain, vulnerable,beautiful.
I exhaled slowly, leaning in until my forehead touched hers as I caressed her cheek. “I’m here foryou, Pen. Whatever you want… whatever you need. Always.”
There wasn’t a part of me that wanted to pressure her. I’d already broken her trust once. And if I’d learned anything, it was that real intimacy was so much more than physical. It was emotional. It was trust rebuilt. It was being willing to wait.
Before Penelope Hudson, I didn’t understand that. But now, I was a man who would wait forever if it meant earning her heart again.
Her hands slid to my sides, grounding me in the moment. I pulled back, and in her gaze, I saw resolve beginning to settle beside hesitation. She stepped back slowly, tugging me with her, until the backs of her knees hit the chair at the table.
She sat.
And I dropped to my knees before her.
There was no performance in it, just reverence. My place was at her feet, worshiping her in all the ways I hadn’t when I was too blind to see what I had.
