Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(66)

Not given a choice, I stepped into the love dungeon and spun around just as my roommate for the night appeared.

A fucking angel with debauchery on her mind and sex in her smile.

Elle.





Chapter Thirty-One


Elle


I’D SURVIVED TWO and a half months without Penn in my day-to-day life.

I’d slept alone, I’d worked alone, I’d plotted his freedom every second I was awake.

Yet standing in that doorway, drinking him in while the guard reeled off the rules—

No BDSM

No anal

No toys

No role-play

No restraining

No airplay



—the minutes multiplied into years.

I wanted the officer gone. I’d never despised someone purely for talking before. Couldn’t he see how unwanted he was? How Penn undressed me with his eyes and I made love to him with mine?

God, I’d missed him.

To be so close but then have to listen to this idiot pompously announce the rules as if we were about to be introduced to the president was too much.

Penn locked in place—a mirror image of me. His hands curled into fists, the dark green of his uniform bunched with power from his muscles. He looked ready to explode, like a track runner waiting for the starting gun.

I trembled with the desire to kiss him. I melted with the need to have him kiss me. And still, the guard stood in our rapidly growing sexual tension, utterly oblivious.

“At seven a.m., you’ll be given breakfast and an hour to shower. Then at eight, you’ll be escorted back to your cell while your guest returns home.” The guard tapped his chin. “I think that’s it...oh, almost forgot—”

Penn snapped. “Goddammit.”

With bared teeth, he grabbed me by the hand, jerked me inside, and slammed the door in his face. “Fuck, we get it.”

A giggle erupted from my lips—partly from lust, mostly from giddiness at how vicious he looked. How wild and untamed and already delirious with the temptation of me...alone.

I doubted an inmate had willingly locked himself up before. I opened my mouth to joke, to break the unbearable awareness between us, but Penn marched me backward, his eyes sharp with need, and his face black with lust.

“Fuck, Elle.” His nose skimmed my throat, inhaling me, imprinting me, drowning in me. “What the fuck did you do?”

My spine slammed against the wall. His hands grabbed my wrists, pinning them brutally above my head; his body landed on mine, his hips drove forward, and his mouth...

God, his mouth sought mine with raunchy speed.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t question or tease or ease into our physical reunion with soft licks or sweet caresses.

He exploded as if he’d ultimately die if he didn’t have me that very moment.

We kissed until we were breathless. Until his voice returned and he mumbled incoherent thanks. Nuzzling my hair, he whispered, “Christ, Elle. Did you arrange this? Arrange a night to be together? How?”

Kissing my cheek, my chin, my jaw in his race to capture my lips, his groan unraveled the rest of my decorum. I’d come here to seduce him. I’d expected a moment or two of uncertainty before we attacked each other.

I hadn’t expected him to turn rogue on me.

His lips found mine again.

He came utterly undone. His groan turned to a grunt, switching to a growl. He hummed, he purred, he sighed in utmost need.

His hips rocked forward, robbing me of breath as he pressed into me as hard as he could. His body tried to either consume mine or become one; regardless, we were still fully clothed.

I gasped, giving him access to my mouth as his hands formed tight cuffs around my wrists, his tongue diving deep, licking mine with impatience to join him in the frenzy.

He kissed and thrust as if he had twelve seconds to climb inside me not twelve hours.

There was no reprimand for touching. No bullhorns to separate. No knocks to keep our distance.

Just Penn and me.

Together.

Alone.

It didn’t matter we were guests of the state or the bed wasn’t our own.

All that mattered was our body heat as it exploded into sinful, the sweat slicking our skin in anticipation of joining, and the clenching in our bellies at just how good it would be to finally devour one another after so, so long.

Capturing both my wrists with one hand, he dropped his other to my neck. His fingers wrapped around my throat as he angled my head, taking me past the realms of sanity and into chaos with his kiss.

It hurt. It broke. It freed. It destroyed.

Teeth and tongue and wet and heat.

Our heads tilted and fought. Our breathing ragged and short. My lips burned from his as if we’d burst into flames.

His hand dropped from my throat, reacquainting itself with my breast. He pulled my nipple, rolled my weight, and squeezed the flesh until I cried out for more.

His touch moved again, this time dropping down my side to jerk my leg over his hip and angle my core, so his pants-clad erection pressed as perfect as ever, driving me crazy.

I’d deliberately worn a floaty daisy print skirt. Something he could gather and hoist up—which he did.

I’d purposely gone without underwear. So he could reach between my legs and find—which he did.

His mouth tore away from mine as his fingers found the slick heat that’d burned in me for months. Nothing could damper my need for him. No personal late-night ministrations. No celibacy. No tricks. Only he could help me because he was the one who ruined me.