A/N: Penelope's POV!
Disclaimer: Not mine!
"I'm sorry."
Penelope huffed in a mixture of frustration and annoyance as she watched Clifford walk across the yard. She stared at his back, his name on her lips, but ultimately said nothing. She ran a hand through her hair that she had decided to leave down tonight and wished that she had worn lighter clothing than the sweater she had on. She was feeling flushed and she attributed it to the heat of the party, rather than consider it to be Hal Cooper's attention or Clifford's possessive streak.
She figured she was gone long enough to draw attention when Fred Andrews stepped onto the back porch and looked at her with a tentative smile.
She shot him a cold glare, her conditioned response to anyone in the Midnight Club.
"Where's Cliff?" He asked softly.
She shrugged, outwardly expressing her annoyance. "He just walked away."
Fred took a few steps towards her before he uttered, "The way he feels about you is… complicated."
She continued to glare. Who the hell did Fred Andrews think he was?
"Clifford is temperamental," she retorted.
This was about her brother; this wasn't about her.
Fred sighed and took yet another step closer. "Penelope, come on," he whispered, "we were friends once before." He continued talking when she lifted her head and looked at him with an open curiosity. "So talk to me now."
The redhead leaned back on the porch railing and sighed. "I never know what he's thinking," she confessed. "He's so hard to read."
Fred looked down at his shoes and chuckled. "The Iceman Cometh."
Penelope furrowed her brow. "What does Eugene O'Neill have to do with this?"
He shook his head in disbelief, most likely on her identification of that play and playwright. "No, no, not, I can't believe you know that," he muttered to himself. "Cliff plays like he has ice in his veins. Nothing phases him. Nothing rattles him. When he pitches," he stopped talking to whistle. "It's art. It's mastery. He has total and complete command of every. Single. Pitch."
He spoke slowly so that she wouldn't get lost in the baseball metaphors.
"But around you, I think he feels anything but that," he finished quietly.
She chewed on her bottom lip as she processed his words. His teammates and his classmates didn't know what to make of Clifford Blossom most of the time. He was raised to be a chivalrous, reserved, cultured gentleman. Well-bred. Well-groomed. Well-dressed. He was someone a little out of place in his time. Certainly better suited to the 90s in a different century. She actually liked that about him, and she knew that Clifford was an entirely different person around her. He was still all of those things but he was generally more talkative, more sincere, certainly less robotic than he was around his peers. Sometimes he was downright playful and lighthearted with her.
She had never considered that there were varying reasons for his different behaviour.
"I rattle him?" She asked after a lengthy silence.
Fred nodded in confirmation. "You definitely rattle him."
She nodded as well as she suppressed a smirk. There was a certain power in knowing that she could break Clifford Blossom's perfectly polished and practiced exterior.
Her heart felt like it was actively trying to escape her chest and her breathing was absolutely out of control. His lips were on her neck and she could feel him, hard and heavy, between her legs. Her cheeks, neck, and upper chest flushed instantly. She had an aroused, half clothed teenage boy on top of her and it all felt too much all of a sudden.
She had never gone this far with a boy before, she had barely even kissed one.
It had seemed like a brilliant idea after Fred Andrews brought her home in his dirty pickup truck.
Clifford wanted her. And maybe she wanted him too, that part was the most terrifying.
He growled her name and she pressed her fingernails into the damp skin of his lower back in response. She found her voice enough to gasp, "Clifford, I think we need to stop."
He raised his head and quickly shifted so that he held himself above her on his hands, the majority of his body weight off of hers. It granted her the opportunity to take a much needed breath. She gently ran her hands along his sides as she stared up at him. His eyes were a dark midnight blue and his nostrils flared while he took steady breaths.
When he finally spoke, it was in a deep, rough voice. "If you want."
She wasn't entirely sure what to say, how to explain this to him, all that she could offer was a weak, "I need to think."
He nodded and shifted onto his side, one of his legs slipped in between hers and he moved his arm to wrap around her waist. He smiled at her as he said, "I like this, being close to you."
She smiled back and raised a hand to stroke his cheek. "I kinda like sneaking into your bed," she admitted with a girlish giggle.
Clifford grinned and tugged her even closer. "It is always a wonderful surprise."
She leaned in to softly press her lips to his before she made a move to slide out of the bed. However, his hold on her reflexively tightened.
"Where are you going?" He asked in a murmur.
"I just, uh," she felt herself blush as she spoke, "was going to put my panties back on."
His response was practically automatic. "Don't."
His fingers grasped the material of the t-shirt at her hip and she shivered. She could see the taut muscles from his bicep down to his forearm, the physical evidence of his restraint. She wrapped her fingers around his elbow and gently tickled the thin skin there. "Do you think you can control yourself?" She asked with an arch of an eyebrow. She meant to tease him, but the question hung in the air.
He growled and pressed his forehead against hers. "There are so many things I want to do to you, but right now, I think we should sleep."
She nodded and wrapped her hand fully around his arm so that she could hold it tight to her chest. Much like the first time she shared a bed with him, she basked in the warmth, and the tenderness, and the satisfaction of knowing that someone wanted her the way that he did.
Penelope awoke in Clifford's embrace, his arms around her waist and her head tucked under his chin. They were laying chest to chest with their legs tangled together, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart. She pulled away so that she could tilt her head up to look at him and she smiled at how utterly peaceful he looked. She had never seen him look so at ease. She took the opportunity to gently trace his prominent jawline and cheekbones.
He stirred, emitting a soft groan, and his hands on her lower back tightened. "You smell so good," he murmured. He slowly dipped his head and buried his nose in her hair. "It still feels early."
She glanced at the bedside clock over his shoulder and nodded. "It's not even seven," she confirmed.
And the Blossoms always did brunch on Sundays, which meant that they had several more hours to sleep in. Sunday was the one day of the week that it was acceptable to be a little lazy, at least until they went to their evening church service.
Her fingers moved up to touch the shell of his ear as he pressed his lips to her neck, just below her jaw. One of his hands glided up her back until it was cupping her skull, his fingers tangled in her hair. "How did you sleep?" He breathed.
She shivered at his touch and tried not to answer with a break in her voice. "Good. You?"
"Really good."
She felt his tongue brush against her skin and she gasped. She had felt a lot braver last night, in the dark, with the alcohol from the party still coursing through her. She wasn't sure how to process all of this physical contact, and desire, in the light of day.
She gasped again, much louder this time, when his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her collarbone. "Clifford."
He hummed. "I had a dream about you last night, before you woke me," he revealed.
"What was it about?"
"This."
Her breath stuttered again as the hand not in her hair cupped her behind. "Clifford." She spoke his name again and grabbed both of his shoulders. "What are we doing?"
"You've thought about this before, right?" A touch of insecurity coloured his voice. However, his touch was firm, confident, and insistent.
Her silence was enough.
He abruptly pulled away and looked at her with a furrowed brow. "Do you think about me, Penelope?" He asked, a sad resignation coming into his voice. "At all?"
"Of course," she responded. "You're my best friend."
She knew that was not what he wanted to hear. But at least it was the truth.
He frowned and deliberately created space between them. "I think I'm going to go for a run," he muttered.
She sighed as she shifted onto her back. She watched him as he got out of bed and walked towards the door. He had developed a habit of running away from her when she said something that he didn't want to hear. She wasn't sure what to do about that yet.
She was surprised when he returned to the room only minutes later, but it gave her the opportunity to say what was on her mind.
"I don't know what you want from me, Clifford."
"Yes. You do," he snapped. He brushed a hand through his hair as he looked at her. "I don't know what you want, Penelope. One minute you're all over me and the next you're pushing me away." He heaved a sigh and slowly walked towards the bed. He sat down on the very edge of the mattress and murmured quietly, "You said you wanted to stay with me."
She sat up in the bed and pushed her own hair out of her face. "I did, and I do."
"Then show me," he challenged.
At some point during the afternoon, Penelope found herself wandering around the Blossom property and she eventually ended up amongst the maples. The ultimate symbol of Blossom legacy, opulence, and tradition. All things that she was brought, not born, into. All things that would be Clifford's someday.
The question that she had taken a walk to ponder was: what role did she want to play in all of that?
And deep down, she already knew the answer. She wanted the wealth. She wanted the power that went along with being the lady of Thornhill. She liked the control that she could have over Clifford. That was an absolutely exhilarating feeling.
There was a reason that she had been so comfortable as the Game Master. It suited her. She was intelligent, observant, astute. She deserved to be in control.
But at what cost? Was it worth giving up on her dreams? Was it worth staying in this horrible family? Was it worth marrying a man that she didn't love? Could she grow to love Clifford?
"Do you think about me, Penelope? At all?"
She sighed as she reached out and pressed her hand against the trunk of one of the tallest maple trees on the property. It was actually amazing to think that she had all of these difficult decisions to make because of something as simple and insignificant as maple syrup.
What would happen if she just burned it all down?
She turned her head as she heard the telltale crunching of footsteps on the ground behind her. As she had expected, Clifford had come to find her, and she offered him a small smile.
"I was just thinking," she began in a soft voice, "your entire future is controlled by these very trees. Isn't that ridiculous?"
"Ours," he corrected promptly. "Our future. This will all be ours someday."
She nodded as she ran her fingers along the coarse bark. She supposed she should find the idea of that strangely romantic.
"If you want," he added almost as a breath.
She fully turned towards him, and after a moment of silent contemplation, she grabbed him by the front of his sweater and tugged him towards her. He was a head taller than her, but he dipped his head so that their mouths could meet. She stumbled a little under the force of his kiss and her back collided with the very tree that had collected her most intimate thoughts.
She clung to his broad shoulders as she licked at the inside of his mouth. He grunted, tilted his head so that he changed the angle of the kiss, and slipped his hand into the front of her riding pants.
The irony and the symbolism was not lost on her – Clifford Blossom gave her her very first orgasm against a maple tree.
A/N: I already know where I'm going with the next installment! Having way too much fun with this honestly. Please leave a review! :)