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Chapter Text

When one in the ‘ton talks about ruin, it is along the lines of compromise and scandal. For if an unmarried woman, a lady, amongst their ranks have been touched, her virtue is streaked with mud. And weren’t men just of the cleanest souls?

The youngest of the House of Featherington—Penelope, she is called—had always believed ruin to be an exaggeration. What act of man can stain her gender so quickly? She had heard talk of such acts performed mere minutes, mere seconds in a closet.

…dark brown eyes embedded with gold flakes of lust digging deep into her azure eyes; a seductive drawl speaking her name so, so dirty; a hand around her neck, firm enough to have her panting and writhing for him, only for him…

She did not know then that such an exquisite feeling could ever come from such an act.

Across the ballroom, he trains his lustful gaze upon her, and the girl she was just last week, before she had learned the forbidden secrets of a married woman, would have blushed. 

But she is renewed. She is ruined.

The new Penelope stares back head on, lids lowering seductively. She taunts him, a flash of her tongue peeking out to wet her lower lip, smoothly moving her teeth to drag the plump flesh.

If it were even possible, his eyes darkened further. Satisfaction curls in her gut as her eyes trail down his arm to the fists that clench beside him.

Rough hands trail down smooth ivory skin… moans gentle and awed gasps filling the room.

A whisper — “ So, so beautiful, my Penelope…” then there are lips sucking around her clit and she screams —

“Anthony!”

The room is sweltering, as if she is to faint at any second. The desire burning in her throat has reached underneath her skin, about to burst. Her jaw clenches, hands twitching as she aches.

“Pen!” Colin—the third son of the House of Bridgerton, a dear friend to her own self—approaches her as she tempers down the delicious urge to rub her thighs together. 

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” he tells her, and in the corner of her eye, she sees a glimpse of chestnut hair. She turns her head inconspicuously and Anthony—the Viscount of the House of Bridgerton himself—is there. 

He is everywhere except where I want him to be.

Penelope faces back to her friend. She grits her teeth and forces a smile. “And you have found me.”

He nods, a grin splitting his face. Colin is sunlight, a bright energy that, she used to think, turns the wallflower of the ‘ton, Penelope herself, into a blooming rose.

Anthony is neither the sun, nor the moon. He is the tether that holds the celestials in place, that keeps the Bridgerton family by mere will and determination. He is the sky that holds her constellations together…

…and like a supernova, under his hands, she comes undone.

Colin tries to tell her something incredibly important, she is sure. Her mind is elsewhere, though. Her mind is on the night that has left her wanting every minute after. The night that has her waking before the rising sun is in view. She is stuck on the night that has her hand crawling down her thin white gown, in the darkness and quiet of her room, and accessing blinding pleasure.

Ruin. Anthony Bridgerton has ruined her.

“—Pen? Don’t you agree?” Colin asks.

She blinks and has the decency to look sheepish. “I am sorry, Colin. I seem to be out of wits at the moment. I have not heard a word you have said.”

He frowns. “You look flushed. Are you well?”

“Oh, I am perfectly fine. No need to worry. Only I think I may need a drink.” She smiles, a sweet thing that has Colin nodding eagerly and leaving instantly to be of her service.

Penelope stares after him and sighs in relief once he is away. It is embarrassing enough that she is thinking inappropriate thoughts in a ball— Lady Danbury’s ball! The opening to the season, out of all the events! —but it is a nail on the coffin that she is thinking those ruinous thoughts about his own brother.

“Miss Featherington,” a low voice that has implanted itself to her memory, speaks near her ear and she shivers, pure and debilitating want crawling up her spine.

“Lord Bridgerton,” she breathes as she turns and sees him close. It is almost improper in a public setting like this, and her heart is pounding like it is attempting to make an escape—right into his possession.

He smirks, his eyes dropping quickly to her lips. “A nice evening, is it not?”

She nods, her throat closing. Their proximity to each other gives her the freedom to smell his musky scent, to feel the warmth under the layers of clothing she is tempted to rip apart. “It is the most… pleasurable evening I’ve had in a while.”

“I hope, for my personal ego, that is not true.” His eyes twinkle for a moment.

His mouth is pouring heaven into her weeping cunt, taking her into clouds up high. Gripping his hair between her fingers, she pushes him further into her wetness, arching into his touch.

He growls, his free hand pulling hers away from him. He looks up, juices running down his chin and eyes twinkling. Leaning down, he places open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh and looks up at her once more. “Patience, Penelope. I’ll make you feel so good.”

She—

—whimpers, a soft sound that reaches Anthony. His smirk grows, his eyes almost black with need.

Penelope is breathless; she is sure her eyes are dark as well, showing every single person in that ballroom just how much she is burning for Anthony Bridgerton.

“Whyever would you think that, my lord?”

“Besides the inescapable fact that I had you in my arms, screaming bloody murder if I stopped, just a week ago?” He lowers his voice in a way that is dangerous; she is beyond drenched, walls clenching around nothing.

She does not respond, for fear she might beg for his hands to touch her right there, in the middle of the ‘ton to see.

“Or, that I have you here, so needy, even when I have not touched you at all?” Anthony seems to be closer to her, his lips grazing her ear.

“Pen, here is your—Anthony?” Colin’s return, drink in hand, makes her blink and step away from the blackhole that is the Viscount. “Brother. Is something the matter?”

Anthony shakes his head, trying so very hard to look nonchalant. It is obvious, to Penelope, that is, the way his eyes cut Colin just so, and his shoulders are stiff, as if a tight coil, about to snap. “No. I was merely asking Penelope how this night compares to others she has had before.”

His eyes return to pierce hers. She swallows hard.

“Oh?” They do not look elsewhere as Colin talks, his voice a white noise. “It is quite a nice evening. Lady Danbury has done exceptionally well.”

It takes some seconds before either of them react.

“She has, indeed,” Anthony breaks their stare first, looking at his brother with a strained smile. He pats his back. “I shall be off, brother.” Turning to her once more, he takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Her gloves serve as a barrier, though it does not stop the tingling on the spot where his mouth had been. “Miss Featherington.”

He leaves, though her heart does not stop its fluttering for a while.

Ruined, her brain tells her. You are ruined; beyond body, he has ruined your heart and your soul. And you thank him for it.

Chapter Text

The exciting itch of the upcoming season and the boredom that plagued all households at the lull the week before the opening ball were the main catalysts that day, for her, at least; Anthony's reasons were much more stress-related, she was sure.

She knew it was improper to have visited the Viscount's office unchaperoned, but in hindsight, she did not know he would look at her like that, desire for her like that.

"Penelope…"

...heaving breaths...

"Anthony?"

...hands exploring inch by inch…

...soft lips...

…tantalizing ruin…

In the days leading up to this ball, she avoided Bridgerton House. Eloise has been most curious and worrisome, but how could Penelope explain how being in the same room as her friend's eldest brother would have her flushed and heated beyond reason?

She understands now, very well, in fact, why debutantes are not told of marital bliss.

For it was, truly, indescribable, incomparable bliss.

"Miss Featherington, would you join me for a dance?" Anthony asks, approaching her after Colin has gone, finally getting the hint to leave his friend alone. He holds a hand out to her.

Penelope places her small hand in his palm, his fingers curling around her knuckles. The heat from his skin melts her into a puddle at his feet.

"You look breathtaking, my Penelope." The sincerity in his eyes makes her knees buckle. Thankfully, he has her held up tightly against his chest.

"Thank you, my lord." She gulps as she looks in his eyes. He smiles at her, the one that shows his teeth and crinkles the ends of his eyes. "I must admit you are deliciously dashing tonight."

He laughs lightly as he swirls her around. "Only tonight?"

Penelope returns to his embrace as they glide across the floor. It feels as though they are the only ones there. "Of course not. You should refrain from making assumptions and putting your own words in my mouth."

"I'd rather put something else in your mouth," he mutters. She gasps, a trail of desire shooting up her spine. Anthony smirks. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind?"

She blushes red. "You know I wouldn't."

His pelvis knocks hers and she could feel his arousal against her. He grits his teeth and leans down to press his lips near her hair. "I am losing control, Penelope."

Biting her lip, she breathes, "Good," as the dance comes to an end. They stay standing for a moment, eyes locked and entranced with the other.

Another song starts and she blinks, picking up her skirts in a curtsy. "My lord." She leaves quickly, the urge to rid herself of her suddenly suffocating dress almost impossible to ignore.

Penelope runs away, going through the doors and heading towards the garden. The fresh air knocks against her lungs and she closes her eyes.

Her whole world has tilted off its axis, and where Colin once stood as her anchor, Anthony now engulfs her like tides high in the sea. She is drowning in him.

"Penelope." She stiffens at the voice. Her heart pounds against her chest, almost painful in its knocks. She turns, staring at the man who has crawled into the space between her ribs and claimed her as his own.

She smiles at him softly and fiddles with her gloves. The mesh is itchy on her sensitive skin. Without thinking, she removes it, the cold breeze touching her fingertips. "Anthony, you did not have to chase me."

"I'd follow you anywhere." His gaze on her is earnest, and however she tried, she couldn't find any trace of deceit.

Penelope gestures to the ball, the music and voices and shuffling of feet a clumped array of muffled sounds. "They would think you foolish."

He shakes his head, and takes her hand. Electricity shoots up her arm, and an involuntary moan escapes her throat. Anthony squeezes her hand in surprise. 

She watches his breath get heavier, and she sees him take a moment to calm himself down. "And perhaps I am. I am a foolish man to have not seen you all this time."

"My lord—"

He pulls her to him with a tug of her hand and she yelps, finding herself in his arms. "No, say my name, keep saying it, for I know I belong to you," he murmurs, leaning down, his lips grazing hers in the softest of touches.

Her breaths are heavy, her chest heaving against her corset. Her eyes drift to a close and her hand reaches up to cradle his cheek. "Anthony…"

He turns them around, a growl escaping him as he presses her against a post decorated in flowers. His lips descend on hers, ardently seeking every bit of her.

Penelope lets out a soft moan, a sound that only seems to urge him on. He cups her cheeks with both hands, pulling her almost impossibly close.

Her hands circle his neck as she pushes herself against him, her toes rising as she chases his lips.

With a groan, he pulls away, only to descend down her neck with wet kisses. 

His teeth grazes the hollow of her throat, and Penelope pushes him away, pupils blown wide and panting. "We… we can't do this here." Her hands seem to say the opposite, though, as her fingers trail down his chest, her eyes following their journey as she takes him in with a lust-filled gaze.

Anthony takes her hand, pressing kisses on her palm, his lips moving towards her wrist. Once he was done, he drags her hand down to his middle, letting her feel the hard planes of his stomach, down to the growing bulge in his breeches.

"Do you feel that?" He rasps, his shoulders and neck tight with tension. She finds herself wanting nothing more than to ease it, to replace his stiff posture into a relaxed state. She wanted to see him come apart, just for her.

Penelope nods, her eyes trained right on his prick. He holds her hand against it, letting her feel him.

She looks back up at his eyes, looking at him through her eyelashes. She observes him as she palms him, making him moan.

"Oh, Penelope," he breathes. "God, you are making this incredibly—"

"Hard?" She asks, her voice low and seductive. "Yes, I suppose it is." She chuckles at her own joke. 

His eyes roll to the back of his head as she steps close to him, her hand grinding harder, and her lips kissing his jaw.

"P-Penelope…"

The raw ache in his voice takes her breath away. He is there, in front of her, vulnerable at her touch, needy for her. It is her name in his mouth. And the fact makes her fall in love with him more.

And that is the problem, isn't it?

She pulls away, her hands feeling burnt—and not in a good way.

Anthony's eyes snap open, confusion melding into worry as he sees her. "Penelope?"

Taking care not to let him notice the tears that suddenly prick at the corner of her eyes, she turns her head away. "I must be going, Lord Bridgerton." She shakes her head. "It is a pleasure to see you tonight."

She winces at her awkward statement, yet she continues to move farther from him—a move her body screams at her not to do. The wetness between her legs only serves as a reminder of his touch and she bites her lower lip as she runs away, the sound of his voice calling her name drowned by the sound of her heartbreak.

Chapter Text

In the grand scheme of things, she knows she is being somewhat unfair. Anthony, for all that he is kind and bold and generous, has never implied what it was between them.

She is well aware she is not the most desirable woman. In fact, she is sure any other lady in the 'ton is much better suited as his Viscountess.

Then why, oh, why does the thought of him being with anyone else turn her stomach?

"It is just an infatuation," she calls out in the emptiness in her room. She expects to hear an answer back, which she supposes is an obvious sign of her madness.

Sighing loudly, she lays back on her bed and closes her eyes.

She turns in her bed a few times but sleep does not come. She huffs and pulls her pillow from under her head. She closes her eyes tightly and puts it over her face, hoping the softness would make her pass out.

After a few minutes, she pulls it off her face and gets out of bed. She knows by this time that her family is asleep, and she sneaks off, feet light and breaths silent.

Penelope doesn’t know where she’s going, but under her navy cloak, the possibilities are endless. She goes through dark alleys and places not exactly allowed for a young lady as her, but she finds she doesn’t particularly care.

She’s walking with her head down when a hand grasps her forearm. Her mouth opens to make way for a gasp or a cry for help, but another hand covers her mouth and pulls her in a secluded alley.

With all her strength, she pulls her arm back and throws a punch.

“Bloody hell!” The voice is one she knows and she looks at the figure looming over her more closely.

“Anthony!” She exclaims. “Oh, I am so sorry.” She takes his face in her hands and observes his bruised nose. She is thankful it is not bleeding, and instinctively, she places a featherlight kiss on the base of his nose.

He clears his throat, a grin taking over his face. Penelope blushes and pulls her hands away. “What are you doing here?” She asks, pulling her cloak closer subconsciously.

Anthony raises an eyebrow. He brushes a hand over his nose and scoffs. “I might ask you the same question, Penelope.” He steps forward, eyes blazing. “What are you doing here, in this place, at this hour?”

She knows she is supposed to be afraid, or at the very least, wary, of him, but all she feels is arousal at the sight of him.

“I could not sleep,” she tells him, her voice steady and her gaze unyielding. If he is to be angry at her, he would not speak to her as if she were not his equal.

“And you thought it best to stroll along these dangerous pathways?” His hands land on her hips and she draws a sharp breath.

Penelope raises her chin. “It is only dangerous if I do not know where to go.” She steps closer to him, his closeness engulfing her body with heat.

“And you do?”

“I think you’ve learned not to underestimate me, Viscount.”

His eyes darkened. He leaned in, his lips only a breath away from hers. “Why did you leave me earlier?”

The memory of pulling away from him makes her back away. “It was not proper,” she reasons, though it is a weak attempt.

“You can give a better excuse than that.” His face is of hard determination, yet she sees the vulnerability in his eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

Penelope shakes her head. “It is not appropriate for us to do this. That night… it was a momentary lapse of judgment in both of our parts and I deeply regret it.”

“You cannot mean that,” he pleads. He takes her hands in his and pulls it to his chest. “Penelope, tell me it is not true. Look me in the eyes, and tell me you do not want me.”

She stares at him, her heart breaking into pieces. She averts her gaze and pulls away from him. “I-I do not want you.” She takes off and runs through the streets she now knows like the back of her hand. Her vision blurs with tears as she turns a corner and collapses on the servants’ entrance of her home.

-

"Penelope. Wake up!" Her eyes open to the frantic face of her mother.

"Mama?" She murmurs sleepily, her legs twisting under the sheets. She rubs her face and closes her eyes again. The night was long and when she had fallen asleep, she had only dreamt of—

—soft lips trailing down her neck, hands gripping her hips. There's a smile on Anthony's face, encouraging her breathless groans.

"Penelope, Penelope, Penelope," he chants, mouth enclosing on erect peaks of her breasts—

"Penelope!" The shrill of Portia's voice causes her eyes to snap open. She sits up, sleep rushing off her in waves.

She looks up at her mother, dazed. "Mama, what is going on?" She yawns.

"The Viscount Bridgerton is here to see you."

She blinks, mouth suddenly dry. "Anthony?"

Portia frowns, as if she was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. "Yes. He has been waiting a few minutes. Get up and fix yourself, your maid shall assist you. Make haste, Penelope. It would not do us well to incite his anger."

Penelope sits on her bed a few more moments before her lady's maid enters her room and helps her dress.

It took some amount of convincing her maid to deviate her clothing from that of Portia's bright and citrus colors, but Penelope has mastered the art of negotiation in the past year and she enters the drawing room in a sage green dress.

She holds her chin high amidst the anxiety bubbling up her chest and focuses on the heated look Anthony gave her the moment she stepped in the room.

"Pe—" he clears his throat and takes two long strides to her. The confidence and ease in which he moves with grace creates a knot of emotions in her belly. "Miss Featherington," he corrects.

He holds out his hand to take hers and he places a soft kiss on her knuckles, eyes never straying from hers. Her breath hitches.

She is vaguely aware of Varley and her mother in the corner of the room, and she pulls away as soon as she is able.

"Lord Bridgerton," she says, thankful her voice is steady. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Anthony raises an eyebrow. She has known him all her life and while she has not spent as much time with him as Eloise and Colin, she has learned his mannerisms and the silent words his expressions convey long ago.

Do not play coy, his eyes say, you know why I am here.

His mouth moves to say instead, "Eloise is feeling rather ill and wishes to correspond with you. I am to run some important business this morning and I offered to deliver it to you personally." He reaches in his coat to give her a sealed envelope. It surprises her to see that the script is, indeed, Eloise's writing.

She bites her lip and averts her eyes. "I am sincerely grateful, my lord. Though you should not have bothered; the letters do not get lost when the destination is only a block away."

His eyes shine with mischief. For a moment, he is not the Viscount. He is her Anthony, the one without the burden of his title and his family, the one that shows rarely in his household and not at all in public. He is the one that bared her soul, the one who cradled her in his arms and embedded dirty secrets in her skin.

The look in his eyes fades in an instant and he is back to his usual rigid and strict expression. He stands. "Of course, Miss Featherington. You are correct, though this visit has done its purpose, has it not? My business is close by, and your household was on the way. It is a mere pleasure to be the middleman between the two of you."

He grins then looks away. He nods at her, Varley and Portia. He turns his body and face so he would not be seen by their curious chaperones, yet he is still in full view of her. "Do not read it yet," he murmurs. "When you are alone, in your room, with no future disturbance in sight, then and only then shall your gaze grace the pages. Understood?"

The gravel of his voice vibrates through her body and down to her core. She swallows the lump in her throat and nods. "Yes."

She watches as he leaves the room and she collapses on the couch, clutching the letter to her chest.

"Penelope," Portia calls out, pulling her from the clasps of stoked desire. "Are you well? Did the Viscount say something of importance?"

She nods easily, her fingers playing with the envelope in her hands. "I am quite fine, Mama. He merely mentioned that I am welcome to visit even though Eloise is otherwise occupied." She misses the look Varley and Portia share. “I am going back to my room, Mama. Please have someone call me once breakfast is served.”

Without waiting for an answer, she stands and leaves the room. Her hands shake as she turns the envelope in her hands. The paper is crisp in her grasp and she itches to learn its contents. 

Upon closer inspection, the writing behind the envelope is definitively not of her best friend’s, but rather a sloppy forge. She hides a smile. If someone else had picked it up, they would think it normal, as the two girls were practically attached at the hip.

He is clever, my Anthony, she thinks, and her heart speeds up at the thought of him being hers.

As promised, only once she enters the privacy of her room does she pick up her letter opener and swipes the seal clean. When the letter is unfolded, she takes a moment to close her eyes. 

Once the moment is over, she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath and reads.

Chapter Text

As promised, only once she enters the privacy of her room does she pick up her letter opener and swipes the seal clean. When the letter is unfolded, she takes a moment to close her eyes. 

Once the moment is over, she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath and reads.

-

My Penelope,

I suppose it is not customary, nor is it proper to write a lady of your standing a letter as crude and inappropriate as this one, and I hope you shall forgive me. It is only with the best intentions, I assure you. At the end of my rambling, you shall see.

Penelope, I have cared for you long ago—you are my sister’s friend, and most of all, you are a Bridgerton in every aspect except for your name—but it wasn't until that afternoon, in the candlelight of my office, that I truly began to come undone.

My mother has always told me to be a gentleman, but at that moment, only my instinct existed. I had to have you. In my arms, you felt like heaven, and your mouth against my own is the most delicious of fruits I will ever taste. Your curves, one the ‘ton has always made fun of, were hills of beauty and the only place I would ever travel to. 

I think about that night on repeat. Every time I close my eyes, it is all I see; your fiery hair slick with sweat, your tantalizing breasts on my face, the lust in your eyes… oh, the thought of you coming apart on my tongue arouses me even now. I suppose it is my own fault that I am uncomfortable and needy of you as I write this. But it is important that you know I think of you often, because you are magnificent in every way, Penelope, not just physically, but your mind is an enigma I will always be eager to unravel. I hope you know that.

I am not a poet by any means, but I finally understand what Benedict always speaks of when he rattles off words like a maniac. He is right—though for my sake, I hope you do not repeat that little phrase to him; he will never let me forget it.

But it is not love I feel, I am sure. No, it is a concept greater than love, greater than what can be accomplished by a mere four-letter word. My dear Penelope, what I feel is a flame, burning to the touch, yet soothing to the soul; I cannot breathe for wanting you.

I am in awe of you, and I wish to never let you go. I know I risk facing rejection, though I could not find much else to do than to present my battered self to you, with every bit of my heart, soul, and body already marked yours.

Know that it is not easy for me to display my emotions on a platter like this, but last night, I knew that I was not alone in this debilitating madness. Why else would you turn away from me? Why else would you stray your stare elsewhere if you were indeed truthful?

I’ve come to the conclusion—not on my own bearing, I’ll admit, for you know I can be foolish; Simon has helped clear my mind—that a misunderstanding may be keeping us apart. And I do not want something as silly as that to pull you away from me. So in the honor of complete transparency, Penelope, I wish to marry you. You deserve to be courted, that is true, but I am a selfish man and I wish to skip it all. I want, no, need, to make you mine, officially, immediately. My Viscountess, Penelope Bridgerton. Does it not look and sound true? Please, will you grant me the honor of fulfilling this desire?

I will await your correspondence. Or, perhaps I am in my office, needing another unchaperoned visit from my beloved.

My Penelope, you hold my heart in your hands. Please do not break it.

Yours,

Anthony Bridgerton

Penelope’s heart hammers in her chest as she reaches the end of the letter. There are drops of tears smudging the parchment, and only then does she realize she is crying.

“Oh, Anthony,” she says, her smile unparalleled. It is as if her heart has opened and light is streaming within and all around her. 

She stands and throws her door open. Her skirts drag against the floor as she hurries down the hall and down the stairs. She hears her mother and her sisters calling after her when she passes them by near the drawing room.

“Penelope, where are you going?” Portia asks, but she ignores it. She bolts outside and looks around.

Her heart drops when she does not see any hint of him. The hope in her smile does not dim, though. She runs across the street to the Bridgerton House instead.

The staff greets her as she passes them by. She knows them well and they are familiar with her also. Without thinking, she heads to Anthony’s office. Déjà vu strikes her as she opens the door, the letter now crumpled in her hands.

“Anthony,” she breathes, seeing him holding a glass of whiskey. He was turned away from her and his back was stiff, but when he heard her voice, he faced her and his shoulders became much more relaxed.

He smiles at her, his face split open by his joy. “Penelope. My Penelope, you are here.”

She laughs, a sound that echoes through his walls. “I am here, my Anthony.”

They both step forward to meet the other, though they stare at each other’s eyes for a moment. Penelope sees love and affection shining in his brown eyes and she pinches herself. It is not a dream nor is it fantasy. She berates herself for ever doubting him.

“It is a ‘yes’, then?” He moves forward, taking her face between his hands. “Please tell me it is.”

“I am here, am I not? I hold your heart and you hold mine, what else is left?” She asks him, moving further into his space. She could not get enough of him. Their lips touch, and it is an abounding relief to feel him again.

Anthony’s lips are a puzzle piece to her own, and she knows she has found home.

He kisses her slowly but fully, his lips pressed to hers ardently, and she moans against him. The sound seems to spur him on and he grips her hips, turning them around to press her against his desk.

Penelope pants as his mouth descends on her neck, teeth grazing her skin. Her back arches, in desperate need of him. He is an excellent lover, that she knows, and her mind ceases to work as he pulls her skirts up.

His hand is cold on the skin of her inner thigh and she jumps, need coursing through her veins and oh—

She has forgotten—how has she forgotten this— how his hands were made for this purpose and this purpose only. He is a God-given gift to man, and the thought of him being only hers makes her moan.

His fingers thrust inside her, the slow and tender pace almost unbearable. She closes her eyes, but his nose nuzzles her cheek and his breath is near her ear.

“Look at me, my Penelope,” he says, and her eyes flutter open. His eyes are dark and full of lust, daring her to come. Her gut pulls at her and— and—

Stars burst in her stomach and she screams his name, ecstasy climbing from her core and around her body.

Anthony murmurs sweet nothings in her ear, lips following their own trail down her skin. He pulls out his fingers, but they remain between her legs, his palm kneading her thigh slowly. 

She bites her lower lip in anticipation. HIs eyes bore into hers as he hovers over her. “God, Penelope…”

Holding her breath, she pulls him towards her face, the urge to kiss him suddenly unbearable. Their kiss is slow but no less deep and destructive. He grinds his palm between her legs, and she closes her thighs around his hand. 

“I want to feel you,” she murmurs against his lips, which curve into a delighted smile.

Anthony fails to bunch her enormous skirts up her waist, causing her to giggle at his struggle. He pouts at her and takes a few more seconds until her lower half is bare.

He licks his lips. “You are so wet for me, my Viscountess.” The title, not hers to claim yet, makes her hold her breath as she watches his eyes scan her body. She could only describe the expression in his face as hunger. 

Pure and raw hunger.

“Anthony,” she breathes. “Please.”

Without any more prompt, his hands work quickly to remove his breeches. Soon enough, his erection is released from its confines.

Her chest rises and falls in uneven breaths as her eyes glue onto the masterpiece in front of her. She looks up at Anthony’s face and her restraint jumps off her body.

She grabs his shoulders and pulls him on top of her, feeling his bare hips knock against her own. The heat from his skin melts her and she guides him into her entrance.

Anthony groans in her ear and her mouth falls open as she feels him slide in, antagonizing inch by antagonizing inch. He curses, his nose buried in her hair. There is a moment where they pause, their connection the only thing that matters.

She wiggles her lower body against him, and he growls. He moves, picking up the pace instantly.

Pleasure crawls up her spine in jagged movements, taking her by storm, and yet not at all. It is not enough yet overwhelming at once.

How—how is it that he is already a million times better than the last time?

She groans and throws her head back, arching against him. Her chest presses against his, and she is sure he can feel her pebbled nipples brushing on him, if the sudden dig of his fingers in her hip is any indication.

“Penelope, my love, come for me,” he commands when her walls start to flutter around him. His voice is gruff and tight, as if he is holding in his sounds.

She chokes on a moan. Her head falls back, neck exposed for Anthony to kiss and lick on as he finishes inside her.

His release triggers another tremor of pleasure in her body—a smaller one yet still every bit as earth-shattering and mind-blowing as the ones that came before it. He holds her tight in his arms, kissing every bit of skin he can reach as she comes down from her high. Anthony bites gently at the exposed tops of her breasts and she whines, pushing his head away.

He chuckles and rests his chin on her bosom. He looks at her as if she is the most wondrous sight he’s ever had the chance to see. Her heart melts in awe of him.

“I love you,” she tells him, because how could she not? He is perfect and all hers.

Anthony smiles and kisses her sweetly. “I love you.”

Her ruin is now utter and complete. And oh—how glorious it is.