Penelope was almost lost then. An hour ago and asked if she'd have envisioned the two of them as they were now, both near desperate and fucking- almost as if neither of them could get enough and she'd have said no. She'd might have imagined the two of them indulging in the type sex they had that was more soft and tender, the kind that was slow but full of feeling, that had both their bodies slick with sweat and their breathing heavy and labored against each others lips.
Not that Penelope cared. The love was there no matter how they came together in the end, she knew that now, and this- it was near frantic but no less perfect. He said it too, with that curse word sounding like an exclamation to just how much he meant it.
She wanted to move then, to reach her hand up to stroke his face, to tell him that she loved him too but her hand strained against his hold and the reminder that he had her pinned beneath him and completely at his mercy had lust spear through her and her gaze fly to his. She lifted her head from the covers then, to almost beg for him to take her lips and to kiss her.