Penelope's POV
I wake up to the scent of him.
Andrew.
The sheets are still warm, tangled, and soaked in the aftermath of everything we swore wouldn't happen.
But it did.
God, did it.
And it was… perfect. Wild. Wrong.
But why does it feel so right?
A soft groan escapes me as I stretch, sore in places I haven't been in far too long, still flushed with the memory of him—his mouth all over my body, his voice, his hands gripping my hips like he'd die if I pulled away.
But that pounding on the door last night? That wasn't a dream.
Nick. My brother.
I bolt upright.
The room is quiet now. Sunlight filters through the curtains. My heart hammers.
Where's Andrew?
I grab the oversized shirt on the floor—his, I realize, swallowing me whole. I race out into the hallway.
The house is too quiet. No yelling. No broken glass. No blood. Yet.
I spot Andrew standing in the kitchen, shirtless, coffee mug in hand like nothing happened. His jeans hang low on his hips, and my mouth goes dry all over again.
He turns, sensing me, and the second our eyes meet, everything I felt last night hits me like a freight train.
Desire. Panic. Lust. Regret.
And more desire.
"Morning," he says, low and rough.
"Where's Nick?"
"He left."
My shoulders sag with relief. "What did he want?"
Andrew sips his coffee. "Said his phone died. Needed a charger. I told him you were asleep."
"You… covered for me?"
He walks closer. "I covered for us."
My breath catches when he stops in front of me, close enough to touch.
I should say thank you.
I should say we need to talk.
I should say last night was a mistake.
Instead, I blurt, "You didn't finish your coffee."
He smirks, placing the mug on the counter behind me, caging me in with his arms.
"No," he murmurs, voice dropping, "but I didn't finish something else, either."
My knees weaken.
"And what would that be?" I whisper.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. "You."
A gasp escapes me.
"Andrew."
He cuts me off with a kiss.
Not soft this time.
Hot. Possessive. Like last night lit a fuse he hasn't finished burning.
My back hits the counter as his hands roam under the shirt—his shirt—fingers gripping my thighs as he lifts me onto the cold marble.
"Wait," I breathe, but my hands are already sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, hungrier.
He presses between my legs, hard and ready, his mouth on my neck, licking, biting, sucking the skin he already marked.
"You still want to pretend this isn't happening?" he growls.
I shake my head, panting. "No. God, no."
"Good."
His mouth finds my breast through the thin fabric, sucking until I'm moaning again. My legs wrap around him instinctively. There's nothing careful about it this time. No pretending. No holding back.
He shoves the shirt up and off me. I'm completely bare on the kitchen counter, and the way he looks at me, like I'm a feast, makes me forget everything else.
He drops to his knees, dragging me to the edge, spreading my legs open with his strong hands. His mouth is sinful with his tongue working magic on my pussy that pulls another climax from me in seconds. I cry out, nails digging into the counter as he licked off my juices.
"Fuck, Andrew—"
"Your pussy tastes so good." he growls, voice hoarse with hunger. "I could taste you for hours."
But he doesn't. Not this time.
He stands, one hand gripping my jaw as he kisses me again, filthy and deep, then he flips me around so I'm bent over the counter. My ass facing him.
I feel his press against me from behind, dragging the tip along my pussy's slick entrance, teasing me until I'm begging.
"Say it," he rasps. "Say you want it."
"I want it," I cry. "Please, Andrew... just"
He thrusts in, hard.
I gasp, barely able to hold myself up.
His hands grip my waist as he moves faster, deeper, harder. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the kitchen. It's raw. Loud. Shameless.
And so fucking good.
He reaches around, rubbing tight circles over my clit, and I cum on his dick as I fall apart for the second time shaking, sobbing his name.
"Penny, fuck," he groans, burying himself deep one last time as he shudders against me.
For a long, breathless moment, all we do is lean into each other.
Our bodies tangled. Hearts racing.
Reality catching up.
Slowly, he pulls his dick out of my pussy and helps me turn to face him. His fingers trace down my jaw.
"That was dangerous," I whisper, still trembling.
"So was last night," he replies. "And it won't be the last time."
I stare at him, dizzy with lust and something scarier: longing.
"You think we can keep hiding this?"
"No." He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. "But I'm not ready to give you up."
I open my mouth to respond, but the front door slams again.
We freeze.
"Penny?" It's Nick. "You home?"
Panic slams into me.
Andrew's eyes flash. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs, whispering fast.
"Shower. Now."
We barely make it just in time. Me wrapped in a towel, Andrew slipping out the back, his shirt half on as Nick rounds the corner and sees me at the top of the stairs.
"There you are," he says. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I lie, heart pounding. "Just got out of the shower."
He squints. "You didn't hear the door earlier?"
"Nope."
He shrugs, then looks around.
"Is Andrew still here?"
I almost choke. "Uh… I don't think so. Why?"
"His car's still out front."
Shit.
"Maybe he's out back," I say, praying I'm right.
Nick doesn't look convinced. "You okay? You seem… flushed."
"Hot shower," I say quickly. "And I haven't eaten yet."
He nods, then finally turns toward the kitchen.
The second he's gone, I rush to the bathroom, press my hands to my face, and exhale hard.
I'm lying to my brother.
I'm sneaking around.
And almost got caught.
But i just had the best sex of my life on the kitchen counter while my brother was a few feet away.
And the worst part?
I want to do it again.