Chapter 178 Take Me, Sir Reese “Take me, Sir. Please, take me.” Penny begged, turning over on her belly with her ass in the air. You'd think that after sending the senator's son to prison with her carelessness, she'd be much more responsible now. But no. Once a deviant. Always a deviant. Well, what could I do except give her what she wants? But tonight, it wasn't so easy. Not like the other time. There was a distraction tonight. A distraction that crawled beneath my skin and stayed put there. And it had to do with the movie playing on low volume in Penelope’s bedroom. It wasn't gore. But it reminded me of gore. Of a certain someone who loved watching heads roll. Shit. Focus, Reese! My other hand traced the defined ridge of her hip bone, down the flare of her thigh, avoiding the place she wanted me the most—just like I avoided looking at the TV. The touch was clinical, almost assessing. Seeking the heat, the yielding flesh, the proof of her submission. I found it in the dampness on her inner thigh, the involuntary clench as my fingers brushed close. I didn’t linger. I owned it. All of it. “Right there! Fuck!” I hooked my fingers into the waistband of the flimsy lace thong she wore and tore it down her legs with a single, brutal motion. The sound, a sharp rip in the humming silence, made her flinch. I tossed the ruined scrap aside without a glance. I unfastened my belt buckle. Leather hissed through belt loops. I didn't remove my trousers, just pushed them down enough to put a condom on. The cold air, or perhaps the implication, drew another sharp breath from Penelope. I positioned myself behind her, one hand clamping back onto her neck, the other gripping her hip, fingers digging in. I held her utterly still. Pliant. A vessel. She whimpered like a needy puppy, face pressing into the pillow. “Oh God.” I entered her without a preamble. A hard, deep thrust that punched the air from her lungs in a choked cry. I didn’t wait for her to adjust or to catch her breath. I set a relentless, punishing rhythm, each stroke deep and claiming. The bedframe, heavy as it was, gave a muffled groan against the polished floor with every powerful drive of my hips.“Oh Fuck!” She slammed her hands down on her mattress. “Yes! Right there!” I stared over her bowed head, out into the city’s indifferent sprawl. The cool perfection of the skyline, the orderly grid of lights. My mind went elsewhere. On the screen. On the romance movie playing silently. It reminded me of her. Elizabeth. That infuriating girl. Penelope’s sharp gasps, the slick sounds of our joining—they were white noise. Background static. My mind was replaying the memory of how she'd ground down on me in an attempt to get the remote. I groaned. Fuck. But then, a rogue current flickered. It wasn’t Penelope’s shuddering moans of “God, yes! Harder!” that snagged me. It was the texture of her skin under my palm. Too soft. Too… pliable. Not the remembered taut resilience, the defiance beneath smooth skin. Not the way Elizabeth used to push back, even when she shouldn't. Elizabeth. Her name detonated silently in my mind, a depth charge in the carefully still waters of my detachment. She was fire. And suddenly I craved conquering that fire. Penelope cried out again, her body clenching tight around me in a sudden peak. “Please!” Her voice was ragged, pleading, pulling me back to the opulent cage of the present. I gritted my teeth, driving into her harder, faster, as if I could physically obliterate the ghost. I focused on the mechanics: the slap of skin, the sharp scent of sex now cutting through the jasmine of her shampoo, the visible tremors racking Penelope’s frame as I pushed her ruthlessly towards another crest. My grip on her neck tightened with a command. “Take it. All of it.” “Oh fuck! Yes! Just like that!” I rolled my eyes for the hundredth time tonight. God, those lungs though. Penny's unending screams and moses were actually doing the opposite of what she expected they'd be doing. Instead of turning me on, they were turning me completely off. It's grating on my nerves. I sped up, desperate to get this over with and get the fuck out of here. I pulled out and changed positions. Pulling her up by a fistful of her hair, I flipped her on her back. I hauled her leg upwards, then the other, forcing them apart, bending her knees slightly. I pushed her thighs wider, wider still, until her legs formed a rigid, inverted V in the air, heels pointing towards the ceiling lights. Her back remained flat against the mattress, pinned by my strength and her own shock. The position was brutally exposing and vulnerable in a way that felt less like surrender and more like dissection. But she was sick. And thus, Penny loved it. She even fucking smiled at me, gums showing and all. “Yes, sir! Use me.” I gripped her ankles tightly, my fingers digging into the delicate bones, anchoring her in this unnatural spread. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts now, anticipation warring with need. I positioned myself between her splayed thighs, the head of my cock still hard, pressing insistently against her slick entrance. I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t tease. I drove into her with one brutal, deep thrust, burying myself to the hilt. Penelope cried out, a sharp, involuntary sound ripped from her throat. Her body arched off the bed, instinctively trying to recoil, but I held her ankles fast, locking her in place. Then I began to move. Not the relentless piston of before, but something deeper, more punishing. “Oh God!” Her eyes turned glassy. I pulled back almost completely, then slammed back in again, each powerful drive a deliberate act of conquest aimed at the deepest part of her. The angle was severe and very invasive. Her hips lifted slightly with each thrust, her spine straining against the mattress, her suspended legs trembling violently in my grip. “You're not running away from me, Penelope!” I slammed in. “You're going to thank me for ruining you!” Thud. The bedframe groaned in protest. Thud. Her sharp gasp. A moan. A sob. Thud. The slick, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh with brutal force. I focused on the mechanics again, the raw physics of possession. The strain in my arms holding her open. The jarring impact traveled up my own thighs with each deep plunge. The way her inner muscles clenched desperately around me, a reflex she couldn’t control. “How's that, Penelope?! Still want more?!” I barked, thrusting ruthlessly. She whimpered, eyes squeezed tight. “Please.” I stared down at the point where our bodies joined, then up the vulnerable line of her torso, the frantic pulse visible in her throat, the tears silently tracking down her temples into her hairline. I needed to see the breaking point. I needed proof I could shatter something tangible. But my mind, treacherous and relentless, flickered. The paleness of Penelope’s skin blurred, replaced momentarily by the remembered olive tone of Elizabeth’s. Fucking hell, Reese. Get a damn grip.