Page 2 of Punishing Penelope

She pulls a little, but I hold on.

“Maybe.”

“Oh, really? What’re you gonna do?”

“Keep it.”

“You can’t keep my hand, silly.” She laughs. “I need it.”

“Maybe I need it, too?”

“Don’t you have your own right hand?”

Ouch!

I don’t have a comeback. Her eyes glitter, as blue as the water around us, then she winks. Yeah, she fucking knows. I look from her eyes to her full, very kissable lips, wanting to taste them so bad. Her pink tongue slips out, and she licks them.

Something happens between us at that moment. A spark passes back and forth, and it’s as if the air thickens with all this crazy want.

“What are you guys doing?” Cole swims toward us, flicks a few drops of water at us, and breaks the tension.

I let Penelope’s hand go quickly as if it burned me.

“Are you guys making out or what?” Liam splashes a wave of water at me, then floats up on his back.

“Or what!” I take a few strokes toward him, then body slam and push him below the surface. He wrestles me off him and hangs heavy on my head, pushing me down instead, shoving me deep.

“Fuck you,” I sputter when I resurface, making a promise to myself to hit the gym for real, not just hang and watch the others. I need to build muscles, a lot of muscles. I’m still getting taller, and it’s great—tall is good, tall is respect—but I’m skinny, and I hate it.

“You started it, dude.” Liam swims away, then floats on his back again as if he doesn't have a care in the world.

My care in the world swims away from the group, back toward the cliffside. She’s aiming for the climbable part to ascend, then jump again. At least I’ll have the best view of her ass while she climbs. I’ll stay in the water a while longer. The day is hot as hell, but that’s not why I need to cool off.

That’s not why at all.

Penelope

Peter throws me completely. I didn’t know he would feel so... possessive. It’s interesting. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, makes a hell of a lot more parts than my heart throb. I climb the rock, again and again, my belly—and the whole area below it—aching with breathtaking arousal, knowing his eyes are on me the whole afternoon.

That night, I get off to the memory of his hand holding mine and have to bury my face in the pillow to mute my scream when I come.

“I want a smoke.” I nudge Sandra. She’s always up for an adventure. She hates it at home, probably more than I do, and takes every opportunity to get away.

“I don’t have one. Ask Stephan.”

I scoff while I fiddle with the playlist on my phone, scrolling to find some inspiration, flipping between Blink 182, Arctic Monkeys, and No Doubt. I look back up at Sandra. “He’s got pot, and that’s cool, but I want a cig.”

“You don’t even smoke, Pen.”

I shrug. “Never too late to begin.” Maybe I should. It’ll probably annoy someone. My idiot, judgmental folks, for example.

“It’s stupid, expensive, and you’ll get all wrinkly around your mouth,”—she gestures to her face—“like your aunt.”

“Pssh, my aunt spends too much time in the sun,” I say, ”she’s like overbaked.”

Sandra looks pointedly at my deeply tanned legs.

I cross them self-consciously and scowl. “You know what I mean.”

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