Pen opened her mouth but Bishop held up his hands, silencing her.
“You’re right, Pen, about all of it. I’m a hypocrite and I’m being grossly unfair to you.” He moved to grasp her shoulders but then looked at his hands as if disbelieving what he’d been about to do. Making them into fists instead, he dropped them to his sides.
He looked down at the floor, quiet for a moment, and then stuffed his hands into his pockets as his shoulders slumped. “It’s just that—no, that’s not fair. It’s not you. It’s my responsibility, but…”
She waited for him to elaborate, and finally prompted him. “But what?”
He scrubbed his forehead and then his face with a hand before answering, his tone taking on the hushed notes of a confession. “I’ve never been this weak around anyone before.”
Her anger snuffed out. Though she knew every word of what she’d thrown at him in anger was valid, seeing this man crumple behind her accusations was hard for her to bear. After all, she’d been working tirelessly to seduce him.
“Just stop.” She held up a hand, her tone leaking the emotional exhaustion she felt about the subject. “Please, just stop acting like you’re the mature adult and I’m a defenseless child you’re exploiting. I’m not. That warped idea of yours is a huge part of our problems.”
He raised his chin just enough to meet her eyes through his lashes. The unfathomable depth in his beautiful, pain-filled eyes nearly made her weep. How was it that sometimes she did feel like a child around him, wanting him to nurture her and care for her, and sometimes she felt like he was just a damaged little boy who needed her strength to overcome the things inside that were destroying him?
She wanted to wrap her arms around that young boy, hold him, and tell him he was okay. She wished she could somehow make Bishop believe he was a good man.
But he wouldn’t let her.
Her eyes searched his face, its perfection marred only by the impression he was far older than his age. She loved his face. She could get lost just staring at his soft bottom lip, full in the middle and tapered back at the corners into masculine, carved cheeks that didn’t smile often, but lit up her world when they did.
The thought of tracing along his bottom lip with her tongue until she plunged into one of those deep corners and teased out one of those rare smiles nearly made her whimper. Blinking, she had to force herself to look away, cursing the unfairness of the situation.
Frustration swamped her. Why couldn’t she have this man? Why wouldn’t he allow it?
“Look,” she said softly. “I have no idea how you feel, given your past, and obviously you had some kind of relationship with my father that I’ll never understand.” She clutched her shirt tighter, some of her empathy drying up at mention of her dad. “You think you owe Dad some sort of responsibility toward me. I get that. But none of that stuff is my fault, and I can’t fix it.”
The man in front of her nodded, as if he knew all of this already. He dropped his eyes and hugged his arms around his torso, somewhat mirroring her pose. But while Pen’s stance was borne of defensiveness and frustration, Bishop seemed to be closing in on himself, as if he was carrying an unbearable weight on his shoulders.
She hesitated, wondering if what she was about to say was too harsh. Then she thought of all the times Bishop had controlled their encounters—cut her off when he deemed it over—and she decided, fuck it. What did she have to lose?
“Bishop, you think I have daddy issues, and that you’re too fucked up to be with me, or whatever the reason is today, but I’m really clear about what I want, and you are at the top of that list, but you refuse to get the counseling that might somehow give us a chance.”
“Counseling won’t change the fact that you deserve a better partner than me, Pen. We’ve already decided on this. You agreed to go out and give life beyond me and this house a chance.”
“You’re right.” She nodded. “I did. And there are no restrictions on that, right?”
“There can’t be.” His face looked bitter, but he recovered quickly. “I want you to find happiness and move on to the life you were meant to have.”
She chose not to argue that last point. “Well, like I said, you’re first on my list, but sex is second, and it’s becoming increasingly more important.”
Bishop’s head jerked as if her words had struck him.
She shrugged. “I’m young. I’m a fucking virgin, and I’m getting tired of waiting. I want to experiment. I’m dying to feel what it’s like to have a man on top of me.”
He blinked and his lips parted, but no sound came out, so she went on.
“Look, I read a lot of sexy books. Between that and the vibrator, and living with you...” She trailed off, letting the unspoken things speak for themselves. “You’ve shown me how fantastic sex is—everything except penetration, anyway. But now I want to feel a man inside me. I want the real thing.”
“When you find the right guy—”
“Stop, just stop.” Now she was pissed. “How is it that you can somehow justify all the things you’ve done to me, but you can’t justify having sex with me?” She leaned closer to him. “I don’t get it. Is penetrating your ward the ultimate taboo? Is that the hang up? Does any of this sound totally fucked up to you?”
“No, no.” His eyes and tone were practically begging her to understand. “None of this is okay, honey. None of it. Luckily, I’ve just been able to stop at that point. Because, yes, that is the ultimate taboo. Taking your virginity?” His face twisted and blanched, and he glanced at the heavens as if looking for help. “Christ, Penelope, that’s not for me. Can you understand that?”
He held his hands palm up, as if beseeching her to agree with him, but she’d never agree to that. She maintained steady eye contact. Didn’t even blink. “I want to be fucked.”
He dropped his hands and drew himself up to his full height. Anger returned to steel his jaw. “You should want to be made love to, Penelope.” He seemed to force the words out through clenched teeth.
“Well I want both,” she shot back. “I’m selfish like that.”
His face darkened at her flippant response, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as if he was grinding his back teeth to dust. Finally, apparently giving up on arguing with her, he turned and stalked to the door.
She wasn’t ready for the conversation to end. Not able to control her mouth in the state she was in, she called after him, “Your brain’s harder than your dick, Bishop. At least sometimes I can get through to your dick.”
He slammed the library door behind him and Penelope aimed two, stiff middle fingers in that direction, letting out a scream of frustration.