She stretched her arms above her head again. Her shirt lifted even more this time, exposing half her ribs, the dip of her waist, a glimpse of the curve under her breasts.
I looked away. She noticed and then… she smiled.
"Relax," she murmured. "If I wanted to do anything, I'd say it. I'm not exactly subtle."
"You don't say."
Penelope laughed, low and warm.
"I saw the way you were looking at me during Twister," she said. "And earlier, outside with the cigarettes. You're a hunger-and-denial type, aren't you?"
"Penelope—"
"You want," she cut in softly, "but you don't let yourself have it unless someone drags it out of you."
She traced a finger lazily along her thigh.
"And I do love dragging."
My cock throbbed against the fabric. She glanced down again. This time, she bit her lower lip.
"Wow. You're really trying to hide it, huh?" she whispered. "Sweet. But useless."
I exhaled slowly, trying to keep cool, but the heat was there, burning, pulsing, growing.
