24 Inches (Size Matters 2)

I walk up to the podium that he's standing at and smile at him.

"Hey babe," I whisper to him. The photographers are going crazy trying to snap as many pictures as they can. Good thing yesterday was an ass day at the gym, as I turn around to put my purse down.

"Babe, what are you doing here?" Magnus whispers. "Are you okay?"

I smile. How sweet. We really are meant for one another.

"I'm here to close this chapter, hon," I tell him.

And then I turn to the masses.

They want a scandal?

Then it's time for a real story.

Magnus

I look out at the sea of faces and then look back to Penny. She's standing there like a champion.

God, she looks so fucking beautiful.

Can you fucking believe that even in this mess, my cock is twitching as I see her standing there in that tight skirt and suit jacket.

I mean that skirt is hugging her ass so tightly, I can fucking see the outline of her thong if I squint hard enough.

I know they say thongs take out the visible panty line, but to my eye, I can spot just about everything. That little triangle of fabric—I totally zero in on that, and then the rest of the cheeks are opened wide up, baby.

That's how fucking turned on I am by Penny Wright.

She's grown so much as a person. She's become so strong.

It's so amazing.

I don't think I had anything to do with it. I mean you can sit there and say that it was her experiences with me that made her tougher. But I don't know. I think she grew on her own. I was just the sunlight that allowed her to flourish like a germinating plant.

And now here she is, standing in front of half of New York City if you count all the people watching through the cameras and who'll be reading the news once it goes online and gets printed.

I'm ready to step in at a moment's notice now and shut this shit down if I see it going south.

But let's let this girl see what she's got, shall we?

She's already starting to speak.

"My name is Penny Wright, and it seems that over the last several days, a lot of stuff has been said about me," she says out loud and with clear and strong conviction. "A lot of it is complete and utter garbage."

And the photographers go wild.

They can sense a fucking story is coming.

Not for nothing, those motherfuckers from the Daily fucking Journal look like they're about to throw up they've gone so fucking green.

Good.

"Until recently, I was a reporter who worked on the Page Eight desk, also known as Gossip Central," Penny says. "They employed a few of us, about five or six and our job was to troll through things happening in the city that were scandalous and salacious and blow them up in the pages of the Daily Journal."

People are nodding along.

"What can I say?" she asks the crowd. "It was a fun job."