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He hadn’t, not until he’d gone to jail. Then he’d discovered words could take him out of his cell, away from his enforced routine, shield him from the grim realities of prison. He didn’t say any of that to Penta, just grunted an acknowledgement.
“Is that the bedroom?” She nodded toward the open door through which a dresser and nightstand were visible.
Answering with action rather than words, he led her in. Another window overlooked the street, and cold white light fell onto the blue and red plaid bedspread. He’d always had a tendency toward neatness, which prison had hardened into an unbreakable custom. Compared to Penta’s cluttered, lived-in, well-used home, his tidiness seemed grim and forbidding.
“I’m a little nervous.” The words rushed from her in a clipped cascade. “It’s been a while for me.”
“Me too.” Longer than a while. He’d tried to be “normal,” to meet people, make friends, maybe find someone to love. But his past kept getting in the way, and he’d stopped trying years ago.
Until Penta. What had begun as a ruse had become so much more.
“And I’m not exactly...” She waggled her free hand at her body in a self-deprecating motion. “I mean, I’ve had four kids.”
“You are beautiful. Your body is beautiful.” Not that he’d seen much of it yet. Tonight, that would change. Drawing her to the bed, he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. “Remember. We can stop any time. Any time. You got that?”
She nodded, brown eyes huge.
Cupping her face in his palms, he kissed her forehead, letting his lips slide over the crease lines between her brows. Her breath whooshed out in a sigh, fluttering against his neck. He wondered if she could feel his cock stiffening.
He feathered her chin and cheeks with his whiskers before meeting her mouth with his. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she shifted so she was straddling him.
He fell into her kiss like a stone plummeting into the dark depths of a well.
Chapter Eighteen
Penta threaded her fingers through Cash’s hair, the strong planes of his skull smooth under her palms. Their mouths nipped and teased, licked and clung, the choreography excitingly familiar yet deliciously new.
At the back of her mind, a voice whispered they should stop before things went too far, that she would bore him as she’d bored Mark. She appreciated the tact that had spurred Cash to call her beautiful, but she knew who she was, what she looked like—
She slapped duct tape over that timid creature’s mouth.
Calloused hands slid under the hem of her shirt and rested on her hips, thumbs brushing the soft skin of her stomach, the underside of her breasts. Tonight, she would be Penta Unleashed. She would savour and remember every moment. If this was her only chance to be with Cash, she wouldn’t squander it.
He drew back, eyes heavy-lidded, cheekbones stark. “I want to see you naked.”
Heart thundering, she wriggled out of her jacket and let it fall behind her. His hands trailed up her torso, bumping over the bulges her bra raised in the flesh under her arms, and dragged her oversized T-shirt off.
Reaching behind her, he struggled briefly with the clasp, all the while kissing her jaw, her neck. It was a fine distraction from the knowledge he would soon be uncovering her four-baby breasts. He grunted as the hooks let go and lifted his head, fingers already at the straps on her shoulders.
He peeled the bra from her, slow and tantalizing, his gaze locked on what he revealed. “Pretty.” He thumbed her nipples and her back arched. “Silky. Warm.”
Her arousal spiked at his obvious satisfaction. Rocking her hips into the ridge behind his jeans, she tugged at his shirt. “Now you.”
He ignored her, kissing the imprints her bra had branded onto her shoulders, fingers busy on her breasts. She moaned. “Please, Cash. Please.” She wanted more. She wanted everything.
With a growl, he reared back, whipping off his shirt. Before she had a chance to see anything, he wrapped his arms around her and twisted, somehow managing to haul them both further up the bed so she was stretched out across its width.
He rose above her, braced on his hands and knees. “Please what?”
She ignored the question, fascinated by the marvellously thick pelt of hair covering his chest. Raising her head, she buried her nose in it and inhaled. Cash's scent—cinnamon, fresh air, and was that gear oil?—made her dizzy. Arousal heated her core, melted her thoughts. Her head dropped back to the mattress and she took another long, slow look.
A chain tattoo led from one shoulder to the other just under his collarbones. She caught glimpses of more ink on his ribcage. Her fingers swept up his pecs, down his sides, teased at his waistband.
He caught her hand, tugged it over her head. “Please what, Penta.”
“Hmm?” It was the best she could do, her mouth dry with lust, her brain dazed with his overwhelming presence. Her free hand wandered lower and he captured that too. She wriggled, unexpectedly enjoying the determined yet delicate restraint.
“Tell me what you want.”
