Chapter 3: Pressure Points

Jack couldn't stop thinking about the hallway.

The warmth of Penny's body pressed against him. The way her blouse had stretched and clung like a second skin to her chest. The knowing gleam in her eyes when she'd said, "See what happens when you push my buttons?" It haunted him—in the best way.

That night, his dreams weren't kind. And the next morning, neither was the sight of her in the kitchen.

She was standing at the counter, pouring coffee in a tight lavender tank top that clung like it had a personal vendetta against modesty. Her nipples teased the cotton fabric, proud and unbothered. Her lower half was covered in a pair of lounge shorts that seemed painted on. They rode up as she reached for a mug, revealing the soft undercurve of her thighs.

She turned.

"Morning," Penny said, sipping her coffee like she didn't just cause the blood to drain from Jack's brain.

"You always dress like this to cook eggs?" he asked, his voice lower than he intended.

She smiled. "Depends who's watching."

Jack stepped closer, eyes scanning every slope and curve. "You make it really hard to focus."

"That's kind of the point," she whispered, brushing past him. Her chest grazed his arm, the softness making his breath hitch. "You like playing games, Jack?"

He turned slowly. "I like pressure. I like testing limits."

Penny's gaze dropped, lingered at the heavy outline under his shorts, then met his eyes again. "What if I'm the one testing you?"

He moved closer, enough to feel the heat radiating from her. "Then you better be ready to lose."

She chuckled, stepping back into him, her back meeting his front. "I've never lost when I play with fire."

---

Later that day, the house was still. Jack was headed to his room when Penny called from behind her cracked door.

"Jack. Come help me with something."

He paused, heart kicking up a notch.

Inside her room, it smelled like warm vanilla and something faintly wicked. Penny was standing by the closet, holding up a barely-there black dress that looked like it had been cut from desire itself.

"I can't zip this up," she said, not looking back.

He stepped behind her, hands trembling slightly as they reached for the zipper. Her skin was bare, her back smooth and warm beneath his fingers. He moved the zipper slowly, almost reverently, watching the fabric tighten around her waist, then up toward her shoulder blades.

"Little higher," she murmured.

Jack leaned in, his chest brushing her back, zipper grazing the edge of her bra strap. He could feel her breathe. She smelled like temptation.

His fingers accidentally brushed her side, and she didn't flinch. Instead, she pressed back—just slightly—her hips aligning with his.

"Thanks," she said, not moving. "Can you check the front? Make sure it's not…gapping?"

She turned.

Jack's mouth went dry.

The dress was a cruel joke—low-cut, clinging, practically painted on. Her breasts sat high, almost defying gravity. One wrong move and they'd spill over. He stared. Couldn't help it.

"Well?" she asked, arms slightly out.

"There's… definitely some gapping," he said hoarsely.

Her eyes dropped. "Looks like you've got some tension too."

He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool. "This dress shouldn't be legal."

"Then arrest me," she whispered, stepping forward.

Their bodies met.

His hands instinctively found her waist, pulling her flush against him. The soft swell of her breasts pressed into his chest. Her fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, then slipped under it, nails grazing his skin.

Jack's head dropped, lips brushing her neck. "You know you're driving me crazy, right?"

Penny moaned softly. "Good."

She backed him up slowly until his knees hit the bed. He sat, and she straddled him, dress riding up her thighs. His hands found her hips, thumbs teasing the skin where her dress ended.

They didn't speak.

Their breaths did the talking.

She rocked against him, her chest pressed into his face. Jack couldn't help but bury himself there, kissing along the top curve, feeling her arch into him. His hands slid down to her thighs, gripping, kneading.

He leaned back, and she followed, grinding against him. The friction was maddening. Her breath caught when he flexed under her.

"You feel that?" he growled.

She bit her lip, grinding harder.

"Jack…"

He grabbed her wrist and brought it between them, guiding her hand to the thick outline pressing up under his shorts.

Her fingers grazed him. He groaned.

"That's all for you," he said against her neck.

She rocked again, the dress riding up even more, hips moving in slow circles over him. The pressure built between them, soaked in heat, tension, and breathless teasing.

"You gonna break your own rules?" he asked.

Penny's eyes flared. "There were never rules."

They stayed like that—clothes on, but hearts bare. Touching, rubbing, tasting just enough to lose their minds—but not quite lose control.