Trouble (Dogwood Lane 3)

I hold my breath as he slides the tip around, getting it wet and making me ready to lose my damn mind.

“Penn—ah!”

He thrusts himself deep inside me. There’s no fanfare, no warming me up to the intrusion. Just a shock of pleasure ripping through my core.

My back slides against my clothes as he thrusts in again.

“You meant now, right?” he asks, a hint of a laugh to his voice.

“Mm-hmm . . .” I moan, squeezing my eyelids together.

His hands dig into my hips, keeping the motion steady and hard. My back arches as I give myself to him.

This is not the teenager I slept with before. This is a man, all man, taking what I’m offering and giving me something back.

That’s what I feel more than the delicious push toward a climax—the fall of Penn’s shield. The hint of vulnerability in his eyes, the care to each move he makes, and the gentle undercurrent of every touch is the sexiest part of this encounter.

He presses in, deep and hard, until the sound of our bodies sliding past each other echoes across the water.

The pressure inside me, from my groin through my core, gets stronger and stronger. Each drive brings me closer to the brink.

“I’m so close,” I warn him as my back bites into the ground.

A small moan joins the cacophony of sounds, and I feel my body starting to give. Warmth spreads through my veins, my vagina liquefying as it prepares to come apart around him.

He moves one hand to the center of my chest. The weight of his fingers over my breasts is enough to send a shock roaring through me. I topple over the edge.

“Penn,” I almost shout as my senses are shredded.

He picks up pace before shoving inside me one last time. I can feel the swell of his cock as he falls apart.

My heart pounds in my ears, but not loud enough so I miss the guttural groan of him losing himself.

Panting, I watch him come undone. His face lifted to the sky, his eyes shut in a bout of pleasure—it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

He drops his chin. I bite my lip and prepare for a variety of responses.

None of them are what I get.

He slips out of me without a word. Instead of getting up or cracking a joke, he wraps me in his arms and pulls me against him.

My breath stalls in my chest as he rests his chin on the top of my head for a long moment. Before he pulls back, he leaves a kiss in its place.

There is a wariness in his eyes, an uncertainty of what to say. I don’t know what to say either. Even so, I’ll be damned if this gets weird. It was too perfect.

“I have to say, you didn’t lie,” I say, trying to lighten the mood and draw attention away from too many feelings.

“What about?”

He offers a hand and helps me to my feet. I brush off my legs and back as I try not to smile.

“Eight inches was fair,” I note.

He laughs as he gathers our clothes. Mine get a quick shake. Grass and twigs fall off them.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m great with tools.”

I take my clothes from him and slip my shirt over my head. Looking him up and down and then back up again, I grin. “I’d have to agree.”

He shakes his head as he buttons his pants. “Let’s get you home so we can clean you up.”

“Harper is going to love this,” I say. “Maybe I can tell her I fought a lion in the woods. That’s believable, right?”

He stands still. “I was, um, meaning my house. But I can totally take you to Harper’s.”

I hold my shorts in my hands. Looking up, I take him in. He’s watching me with what I can only think is hope.

I grin. “Your house will be great.”

He smiles but doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PENN

I could get used to this.

The ceiling fan sends ripples of cool air over my naked body. The sheet that’s supposed to be covering me is askew, a remnant of a long, altogether enjoyable night.

And morning.

Because Avery doesn’t play around.

She’s curled up next to me, her head on my chest. One of her arms is stretched over my stomach, and a leg is entwined with one of mine. I tug the sheet up around her, making her as cozy as possible. If she doesn’t wake up, she won’t leave.

Now I sound like a lunatic.

I brush her hair away from her face. Her lashes are long and displayed along the tops of her cheeks. She looks peaceful and happy. When I think I had something to do with that, a peace settles over me too.

I’m fucked. I know it. I don’t know what to fucking do about it, but I’m out of my depth here. How I got here, in my bed, with Avery Perry, a.k.a. Anthill Abby, makes my head spin. Add to that the fact that I’m not actively freaking out, and I might as well be admitted to a mental institution because people aren’t supposed to do this—wake up one morning and feel like a different person. I learned that on a television show once too.