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Chapter Text

Penelope sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day as she walked around the hallways of Bridgerton House, doubts over what she was planning to do plaguing her mind.

It felt as if she had been afflicted by a certain type of madness lately.

A madness that could be dangerous. Ruinous even.

A madness that began with their kiss. Her first kiss.

Somehow, even if she did not know quite what she was supposed to do, it felt wonderful.

Colin had been patient with her clumsiness, had treated her almost like treasure, as if he had never touched something as precious as her. And somehow, despite his touches being so barely there, he managed to leave a trail of fire on her skin all the same. Branding her. Claiming her as his, even if not intentionally.

By now, she was aware of her lot in life. She was not a Bridgerton—someone who came from a loving family, that was destined for love (profound, abiding, and devoted love) and knew that no matter what befell them, they would have loving siblings and mother to support and protect them.

No. Penelope was a Featherington. They lied, they schemed, they fought tooth and nail for every scrap they had (sometimes using means that would certainly not be viewed in the greatest of lights, despite being all they had or what they thought they had at the time). But one thing she could take pride in was how resilient they were, despite all that life threw at them. Perhaps that was something her mama passed down to her, for it certainly did not come from her father.

Penelope had years to conform herself with the fact that someone like her was not meant to be with someone like Colin—he had said so himself, even if he did apologize and tried to make amends. After all, the kind of love he was destined for was not meant for her—she was meant to read about it, not experience it.

But still…

For someone who by now was a master at loving him in secret—on keeping it so guarded to her chest that sometimes she could even fool herself into thinking that she could easily get on with her life without him—she could certainly slip up in magnificent fashion.

(Thankfully, no one really paid attention to her; otherwise, they surely would have noticed by now.)

It was how she found herself asking for a kiss during a moment of desperation.

After gossip spread that he had been trying to help her find a husband, Penelope had run away, feeling completely humiliated.

That night was the first time it dawned on her that she was truly doomed into spinsterhood. Not that she ever hoped for much—even if she did marry, anyone would pale in comparison to her one true love.

But Colin had gone after her—as he always did—comforted her and talked to her. He was always so sweet that in a moment of weakness (a moment where she realized that she would probably never experience the romantic love she daydreamed about), she asked him for a kiss.

She did not feel as embarrassed as she thought she would be when the words fell from her lips. Not when she felt so safe to finally, finally ask for something she wanted. Something for her. Not for stability, or to secure a future which would be only slightly better than the one that awaited her were she to remain a spinster (no matter what Eloise said, Penelope doubted very much her friend would ever be one).

It was something for Penelope. The girl who dreamed of romance, loving families, and love matches. She deserved a monumental closing chapter of that part of her life. And kissing Colin would be just that.

He had been torn, she could tell. The apology was on the tip of her tongue, embarrassment suddenly flooding her body, that need to flee for the second time that night almost taking over her. But then he looked into her eyes, almost as if he could see into her soul. And with a deep (trembling) exhale, he nodded.

It was meant to be a simple brush of their lips and nothing else. But he quickly returned for more, leaving her breathless, leaving her thrumming with excitement. He awakened something in her that would eventually send her down a spiral that could only be called madness.

(For what other word would someone call her for what she was about to ask of him?)

But once they parted (she distinctly remembered that his thumb was still caressing her cheek) and it dawned on her just what they had done, she ran away.

Penelope was not proud to say that she had avoided him since. She did not wish to hurt him, but she was deeply embarrassed by how wanton she behaved. Embarrassment that later turned into fear of him being regretful or repelled by her.

Thankfully, Eloise did not notice anything strange between them, accepting with ease that she would be the one visiting Penelope for a change.

But as time passed, instead of her feelings finally settling, the more she felt a certain… unrest.

When she first fell in love with him, it was like the slightest flicker of fire had been lightened inside her. As she grew older, it became something a little wilder but mostly manageable—it came to a point where she could even ignore it if she tried hard enough. But after their kiss, that slightly wild flame became a raging inferno that she had no hope to control.

But did she ever?

Loving Colin felt so natural, so inevitable, that she thought to herself there was never any hope for her besides succumbing to him in whatever form it was.

And now, after their kiss, she had been plagued by the most sinful (wonderful) dreams.

Night after night, she would wake sweaty and panting from dreams where Colin climbed into her bedroom, declaring his love and kissing her passionately, taking her to bed with a look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Usually he would gently lay her on her back, but sometimes… sometimes she would be sitting on his lap, and for some reason those were the ones that made her blush the most.

And that was always when she would wake. Every dream ended the same way, with him taking her to her bed and her wakening disappointed and with a throb in between her legs, never to know what would happen next.

All these dreams accomplished was making her yearn for more. More than the little taste she had in reality. More of what she had dreamed about.

She desperately wanted to know what happened next. Several times she had almost sent him a missive, asking him to meet her just so she could inquire him about… such matters (all under the guise of innocent curiosity, of course). But she would always lose her courage, feeling foolish and embarrassingly wanton.

Feeling discouraged, she simply pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and tried to ignore that constant throbbing sensation that now accompanied her constantly.

But that day she could not avoid him any longer. Not when Violet Bridgerton herself came to her home.

Apparently Eloise had a fight with Anthony and had been sulking around the house. Knowing how harsh her son could be at times, she thought having Pen around would cheer her spirits.

In the blink of an eye, those treacherous thoughts that she had barely managed to keep it to the back of her head made their return with a vengeance. Just the thought of seeing him was enough to put absurd ideas inside her mind.

So, yes, perhaps she should not do what she was about to do.

It was foolish.

But her foolishness had paid off once before, had it not?

It made perfect sense in her mind. She felt embarrassed, but Colin was her friend (she loved him), he was kind (he awakened these feelings inside her), gentle, and patient (he would let her down gently if anything).

(And she was already ruined. It was not like he could make matters any worse.)

Besides, she wanted to know. She needed to know what happened next.

Of course, he needed to say yes first, but Penelope hoped she could convince him. Otherwise, she would be completely mortified and would have to avoid him for the rest of their lives.

She really did not wish to do that. Was it even possible to avoid a Bridgerton? They—or two of them, at least—surely had trouble staying clear of her affairs.

That was how Penelope found herself at Bridgerton House, feeling a deep sense of unease inside her belly.

Perhaps unease was not the right word. Perhaps the right word was anticipation. Butterflies in her stomach that were somehow delightful and horrifying at the same time.

Being so close to the Bridgertons, she mostly had free rein around their home. Even the servants were familiar with her, always smiling whenever she would visit, a tender tone in their voice that came from knowing her ever since she had been a little girl.

Penelope had been trying to keep her distance until she could be alone with him. Trying to keep herself distracted, she had been looking at the family’s paintings—which by now she had seen more times than she could count—with a longing sigh. But of course, somehow, she always ended up in his vicinity.

Surely, surely one quick glance would not hurt. She had not seen him in so long, and she had missed him.

As silently as she could, she made her way closer, keeping her body turned to the other side as if to seem like she had been distracted by something else, just in the event that someone caught her.

Once she was close enough, she glanced at Colin from the corner of her eyes.

The way he held his drink on one hand, cards on another. He was so broad—all of him was—that it was easy to make anything seem much smaller by comparison. She had always been fascinated by it, especially his hands. They had always moved so gracefully, so… dexterously. Long, thick fingers with veins on the back of his hands, always adorned by his ruby signet ring.

A treacherous thought suddenly made its way into her mind. Images of that large, tanned hand splayed over her pale thigh, his cold ring kissing her skin, a stark contrast to how warm his skin would be.

She shuddered.

These thoughts had been plaguing her mind lately with (what should have been harrowing) regularity.

Another laugh brought her out of her reverie.

He was merely laughing with his brothers while playing a game of cards inside Anthony’s study, completely oblivious to whatever was happening outside. The only reason she was able to examine him so unabashedly was because he did not know she was there.

It was not on purpose that she had been near. She had been waiting for Eloise to pick up a book that she had forgotten from her bedchambers. At first, she had been minding her own business, looking at her own heels (and later at paintings that she knew like the back of her hand) and kicking at nothing while waiting when she heard his laugh—that did not seem as cheerful as it usually was—which made her forget all about her surroundings as it always did.

“Pen!” She turned around when Eloise’s voice reached her. Running towards her, her best friend was waving a book wildly, no care for how disheveled she would look. If Violet caught her, she surely would be in for a scolding (and Penelope had been present for many of those over the years). “I found it! Oh, you are going to love it—“

Eloise stopped in her tracks, frowning when she suspiciously looked over her shoulder to where Penelope had been staring earlier. “What were you staring at? Were my brothers up to something?”

“No!” She squeaked, trying to think of anything to distract her friend. Quickly linking their arms together, she pulled Eloise along with her. “I was just lost in my own mind; you know how I can be.” She laughed nervously. “Let us go outside so you can show me your book.”

Thankfully, it seemed to be enough. Eloise grinned and excitedly pulled her along to the gardens. Penelope spared only one last glance at Colin, just in time to see how his face had fallen when he thought his brothers had not been looking.

Colin grew more and more despondent with each day that passed.

Never mind that he had already been in low spirits even since he came back. As much as he tried to lie to himself, deep down he knew he had been putting up a front. One that he did not particularly like, but others seemed to. Even Anthony—his own brother—who should have known him better.

(And what was he supposed to do them? When he finally felt like he earned the respect and the praise he had always craved?)

But then it all came crashing down around him.

“Would you… would you kiss me?”

He picked up his drink, trembling hands, bringing it to his lips as he stared at Featherington House.

How strange that something—someone—that he knew for almost half of his life could take such a whole different meaning suddenly.

Or not so suddenly, if he really considered it. Perhaps this had been brewing for a while now, and he had been too blind to see.

He had been feeling a certain… stir even before their kiss.

Their kiss.

He kissed Penelope.

He kissed his best friend.

The reason for all the turmoil in his life currently.

She had been the one to ask, yes, but he had been dreaming about it for some time. Whenever she indulged in a sweet or when he would bring her a glass of lemonade during balls, for some reason he found himself staring at her lips—licking his own—imagining what it would be like to taste them.

Something in her called to him. An overpowering force that he had no hope of fighting. In fact, he did not think he wanted to anymore.

He could almost hear that treacherous voice in his head saying that he only had to lean in a little. Just a little and his lips would touch hers. Her reddened, plump, soft lips.

That she was just down the hallway. That he could easily knock on her door and resume what they had been doing that night.

(He wondered if there was any chance that she could perhaps feel the same. But she would not avoid him otherwise, would she? Although strangely, that morning he thought he saw her getting closer to the study—to him—pretending she was not. Most likely it had been his heart wishing to be near her, for her to want to be near him.)

It began when she stopped replying to his letters because of his careless remark during last season.

He did not know why he said it. He had been drunk and foolish—his words and thoughts jumbled in his mind and mouth. That night, he had been in such high spirits after finally feeling like he did something right. He saved Penelope and her family. He had been useful to her and proved to her that he deserved every bit of faith she had put in him.

But that was not all.

The entire night, he had been feeling the slightest change in the rhythm of his heart when near her. The need to make her happy, to make her feel safe and… loved. Those feelings were there before, but it was the first time it came to him that he wanted to be responsible for that as a husband should.

(Colin had a small taste of it that evening, and he found himself wanting it for the rest of his life.)

He caught himself noticing her beauty more frequently as well. She had always been beautiful, but he never allowed himself to truly look before. Even if the dresses her mama put her in hid her natural curves, he knew she was the most alluring woman he had ever seen.

But they were just friends, were they not? Surely she would be disgusted to know he had been thinking about her in such a way.

So when he was caught—at the height of his confusion and afraid that Pen could somehow see into his mind—he said the last thing he should have said.

I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington.

But as soon as he was aware of the damage his words caused, he did his best to earn her forgiveness, foolishly offering to help her find a husband.

He had no idea back then how much he would regret his words.

He valued Penelope and their friendship very much, but she had always been such a constant in his life that he never considered the day when she would not be by his side anymore.

And he absolutely should have.

Even if she wrote him back during his tour, she was expected to marry some day (despite Eloise’s claims that they would be spinsters together, for him, it was very clear that Pen would marry—she was wonderful; who would not wish to be with her?) and as much as he tried to fool himself into thinking otherwise, he knew things would not be the same.

From that moment on, everything grew progressively worse.

When Colin tried to make amends, he felt her bare hand on his for the first time, a current of electricity running through his body. He began noticing the way she fluttered her eyelashes at him innocently—unintentionally.

Whenever a gentleman gave the slightest inkling of making her laugh (or taking his place by her side), he was left with a jealous pit in his stomach—even if he had been the one to encourage her.

And there was the fact that they had been spending more time alone, too.

At first, it had been strange to be allowed to have Penelope all to himself—no Eloise tugging her away and scowling at him for pestering her with his stories. But it felt right, as if they were finally as they were supposed to be. Colin and Penelope.

And Colin enjoyed it all. In fact, he did his best to provide more opportunities to be left alone with her—some that required careful planning, others that required bribery. He was not above any of it for Pen.

It was no surprise to him that these little touches and stolen moments left him wanting more, even if he did not understand it at the time.

So when she asked for a kiss, he tried to be a gentleman. He did not wish to ruin her.

But she had been so sad, and Colin only wished to make it better.

More than that, he never wanted anything more than to kiss her at that moment. To finally feel her lips and know what they tasted like. Everything he had been dreaming of for the past few weeks.

And Penelope Featherington was so very tempting. It had been a losing battle from the beginning.

But now she was avoiding him. That was not who they were, was it? Ever since they were children, they (or at least he) felt comfortable enough to talk about anything and everything under the sun with her. Including topics that he did not usually discuss with anyone else.

He had tried to call on her only to have a door closed on his face, the words “Miss Featherington is not feeling well” ringing in his ears. Colin had been so worried, thoughts of her falling ill plaguing his mind. No one had heard from her in over a week.

So in an act of desperation, he tried bribing (yet again) her lady’s maid to give them a moment alone (another, his treacherous mind supplied). Penelope did not come to him, though.

(He vaguely considered climbing into her bedroom, but every time he glanced at it, it was firmly shut, and he doubted very much she would open for him.)

It was clear that it was him she was avoiding.

”I would never expect anything because of it.”

But Colin would not allow it, not without an explanation. And even then… he would make sure to do anything in his power to make things right. To have Penelope back in his life.

And now she was just within reach.

She was so close to him. Just upstairs, all he had to do was knock on her door and there she would be.

(But he could not. Being alone with her in a bedroom was very dangerous for them. Or for him, at least.)

He sighed before putting the glass down on his desk and making his way to his chambers.

He needed to talk to Penelope, and he needed to do it soon.

Slightly opening the door, she poked her head outside, looking to the sides so she would be sure no one would catch her.

The house was silent, and the hallway appeared to be completely deserted.

It felt a little eerie considering how loud everything was during the day. Or perhaps it was her nervousness over what she was about to do.

(But part of her was so very giddy as well. She loved sneaking around, doing things she was not supposed to do. It felt thrilling.)

With one last guilty look over her shoulder to her sleeping best friend—completely splayed over the bed, limbs in angles that should not be possible and that frequently ended up in Penelope’s face, snoring and drooling—she left the room.

As she padded across the floor, barefoot as to not make any noise—hands brushing the walls so she would not stumble and fall in the complete darkness—she thought about how different it all felt now that she was considered a lady.

An adult.

Before, it all felt like one big adventure, full of laughter, excitement, and innocence.

She supposed things did not change that much. There was still laughter. There was excitement too.

But it certainly was not innocent anymore.

Not when she felt a fire in her belly that spread throughout her body and a tingling sensation all over her skin at the mere thought of where she was going.

Not when she glanced down at herself and was met only with a sheer white nightgown that she had kept completely hidden from Eloise as to not risk making her suspicious.

Blood was pounding in her ears, and she wanted to giggle when she thought about what she was going to do.

What would he do? Would he be stern? Or would he be nervous? Could she make him nervous?

Somehow, these thoughts alone were enough to make her forget about a possible rejection.

A thrill went down her spine over the mere possibility of Colin accepting her proposition.

Stopping in her tracks, she looked at the door in front of her. This was it.

Colin’s bedchambers.

(It did not matter if it was Bridgerton House or Aubrey Hall; Penelope had spent so long in both places that she knew it as much as her own home. Perhaps even better.)

Feeling a little more anxious now that she was there, she slowly opened the door, trying to see through the crack if Colin was inside.

It was dimly lit and certainly looked like he had been there recently. The sheets were messy, and she could see papers scattered by his desk. But there was no sign of the man himself.

Quickly making her way inside, she gently closed the door, hopefully sealing her fate.

Looking around in wonder, she felt the need to pinch herself to make sure this was reality. It was the first time she set foot there, and she felt a little dazed over the fact. She was in Colin’s bedchambers.

There were maps scattered (he was probably planning for his next tour, she thought with a pang in her heart) and some scribblings in his journal that made her hands itch to take it in her hands so she could read it.

Making her way to his bed, she noticed the yellow sheets. It made her want to laugh, but thankfully she managed to control herself.

Penelope disliked yellow immensely—she had dressed enough in the color for it to traumatize her for eternity—and she did not think Colin was one to enjoy it either. For some reason it warmed her heart that he was not so appalled by it as she thought.

Leaning over the bed, she brushed her fingers over the sheets. It felt warm, so he must have left not long ago (it was so soft too, it made her think of him falling asleep on them and what it would be like for her to be by his side).

Hopefully he would come back soon; otherwise, she would feel foolish.

Thinking about how to best welcome him, she crawled over his bed on hands and knees. Should she lay down? Or should she sit? Perhaps it would be better to stand so if he did not accept her, it was easier for her to flee and hide in shame.

Before she could move from the bed and stand by the door—intending on being as near as possible to it—she heard it open.

Hearing a gasp and the familiar sound of ’Pen!’, she looked over her shoulder, her lips parting in surprise.

He looked so unlike anything she had ever seen. His waistcoat, coat, and cravat had been discarded, and there was so much skin she could see. His white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms.

He looked so, so strong. Oh, what would it be like to have his broad body wrapped around her?

When they were younger—before she was out in society, in simpler times—Penelope had seen him dressed in only his breeches and billowy shirts. It was nothing new, despite the fact that somehow it still caused butterflies in her stomach years later, the mere thought enough to make her flush.

So no, what he was wearing was not particularly surprising. Nor the fact that he looked dashing, as he always did. What was surprising was his desperate countenance. The way his chest quickly rose and fell with his breathing, as if something had made him nervous.

His curls fell over his forehead—one hand running over them nervously—a light sheen of perspiration making his shirt slightly see through. It was just a little more open, too, which meant his chest hair was peaking through the collar of his shirt more than usual.

And was he looking at her bottom, or was she just imagining what she wished he would do?

With a nervous squeak, she turned on the bed, sitting on it with both arms supporting her from behind.

Her eyes widened as she looked at him, her breathing picking up, which in turn made him look down at her bosom, licking his lips before meeting her eyes once again.

“You should not be here, Pen.” His voice sounded nervous—a little desperate—and the guilt she felt before was nothing compared to what she felt now.

“I apologize! I-I was just—“ She was quick to reply, stammering and not knowing what to say. Her earlier plans crumbling in front of her when faced with the reality of being alone with Colin inside his room.

“What is it?” He asked, and were Penelope anyone else, she would not have noticed the slight tremble of his words. Like he was affected by her and was trying with all his might to hide it. “Surely it must be something important for you to come to my room late at night dressed only…” He gulped as his eyes trailed over her, immediately noticing what he was doing before he cleared his throat and quickly turned his gaze to the window. “In your nightgown.”

Once Penelope could agree, it was just her imagination.

Twice, maybe she was mistaken, and his actions meant something else entirely.

But Colin had stared at her and licked his lips three times now. Surely it could not be a mere coincidence.

Possessed with a sudden confidence that she did not know where it came from, she rose from his bed, making her way to him.

Noticing her movement, he turned to her. His brows furrowed, but he stood his ground, not moving an inch. They were so close, closer than they had ever been before (even when they kissed), chests almost touching, both of them slightly out of breath.

She felt even smaller in this position, barefooted, looking up at him in determination.

“Colin,” she began, her voice more firm than she thought it would be.

“Yes, Pen?” He whispered, eyes glancing to her lips and then back to her eyes.

Penelope tilted her head to the side, examining him. He looked so handsome. There was truly no one better to teach her. And if he was as affected as she felt… perhaps this evening would be just the beginning. “Would you kiss me again?”

His eyes widened, and he stammered his reply. “Penelope, I do not think—“

“Please,” she pleaded to him, eyes surely showing her desperation. “You are the one I trust most in the world, and I do not wish to find another gentleman, I—“

“Penelope,” he admonished her, his gaze dark and angry, his voice sounding so severe that she had to reach out to his shirt, gripping it tightly so she would not fall. Oh, she had enjoyed that. Perhaps she could make him speak like that again. “You will not, under any circumstances, find another gentleman. I will not allow it.”

She raised her eyebrows, not expecting his words. “You will not allow it?” Turning her head to the side, she scoffed. “You are not my brother nor my father, Colin.”

Gripping the wrist of the hand that was holding his shirt, she looked at him, startled. He was not hurting her; even in his anger, he was gentle. What startled her was the fact that he was touching her, and this time it was not in her mama’s garden with Rae closely behind them—now they were alone, no one to stop them from doing whatever they wished to do. What startled her was the fact that he had a fire in his eyes that she had never seen before, and it was all aimed at her.

“I am well aware of that, believe me.” He spat the words, his eyes intensely looking into her own.

Not once in all the years they have known each other, she heard Colin speak this way. Much less directed at her.

It felt exhilarating to uncover this side of him. But still, he could not forbid her from doing anything. In fact, it made her want to do it even more.

“Well, I see I have made a mistake coming here.” She let go of his shirt and tried to pull away from him, but he kept her firmly in place. “Colin—“

With his lips pursed, he stared into her eyes as if looking for something. Penelope could only look at him in confusion, not understanding what he wished from her. If he did not wish to kiss her, then why keep her there?

“Very well, Penelope.” He nodded more to himself than anything. “I shall kiss you.”

Her eyes widened with realization of what was about to happen. A foreboding sense that whatever was going to happen that night, it would change both of their lives. Probably their friendship too, she thought with a hint of fear.

The air grew thick with the kind of tension Penelope was not used to feeling. It was electric; it ran through her body; it made her shiver in anticipation. She was completely aware of every little part of him, now more than ever.

And it seemed like they were both aware of all that was unsaid between them, although they chose to ignore it.

The love she harbored for him ever since they were children.

The reason he would accept what she had asked so easily (because as much as Colin hated disappointing anyone, he would never, ever, accept kissing any other young lady, much less twice).

And the reason he glanced at her when he thought she would not notice, quickly looking away when she caught him. Even before she mentioned looking for another gentleman.

Finally pulling away from him, she took a step back instinctively. Colin followed her, approaching her slowly as if stalking his prey.

Suddenly, she was assaulted by the smell of him (so much stronger now than when she entered his room—it felt like he was surrounding her completely). By the feeling of him. She was always so attuned to everything that Colin was that she did not even have to see him to feel his presence. The hair on her arm raised before he even got closer to her.

Slowly, so painfully slowly, he reached for her cheek, thumb brushing her skin as if she was the most precious thing in the world. No one had ever touched her with such care. In fact, barely anyone touched her at all.

She could feel her chest heaving with how quickly she was breathing. It was happening. Everything she had ever dreamed of for so long.

His eyes briefly glanced down at the movement of her bosom, licking his lips yet another time, but soon they were back in her face. He was so close now that she could see the scar on his chin.

Much like their first kiss, Colin softly brushed his lips against hers, giving her time to pull away. Penelope closed her eyes a little belatedly, in time to see the slight furrow of his eyebrows (was that a good thing?).

Not knowing what to do with her hands, she barely pressed them against his chest, shyly feeling the dampness of his shirt. His hand moved over hers, pressing it harder against the fabric and making a gasp slip through her lips, much to her embarrassment.

(She could feel him smirking against her when he heard it.)

It was the slightest of touches, but still managed to hold an enormous weight to it.

Despite how short it had been, it was enough to remind her of how soft his lips were. How addictive he was. How it surpassed all of her wildest dreams, and she had dreamed. Years worth of dreams.

He pulled back just enough to gaze down at her, searching her eyes for something once again—something she hoped he would find it. Whatever it was that he needed to see to kiss her again. Just one more time.

Apparently Colin found whatever it was that he had been looking for as he quickly brought their lips together again. It was deeper this time; their lips parted, and their tongues moved together. Penelope felt slightly clumsy, still not knowing what to do, but at the same time feeling comfortable enough to try to stumble through it, to mimic his movements until they found their pace and she could finally match his efforts.

And to think she came to his room in hopes of seducing him.

Feeling a little more confident, she pressed harder against him—body molding perfectly to his, fists gripping the fabric, not wanting to ever let go. And Colin apparently felt the same way. Before, he only had a hand on her cheek, the only part of him touching her. But then… then he had pressed his whole body against her, his free hand reaching for her waist and pulling her to him, gripping her. It was dizzying.

His room had been silent except for the sounds of their lips meeting and their ragged breathing.

The more she kissed him—the more she touched and felt him—the more her hunger grew. That feeling in her belly was powerful, the culmination of years worth of yearning for this man, and it only wanted more.

After what seemed to be hours but could not have been more than a few minutes, they pulled back, slightly out of breath as they stared at each other (both of them flushed, cheeks dusted a light pink, and seeing Colin flushed because of her… Penelope was in heaven). His hand was still on her cheek, both of them still gripping one another tightly, as if afraid that if they let it go, the moment would be over.

Looking at Colin, she knew. She was doomed.

She wanted more.

And apparently, Colin did too.

“Why must you tempt me so?” He asked before closing their distance one more time but did not kiss her. Instead, he just hovered over her lips, his warm breath teasing her, fingers gripping her just a little harder as he looked at her with a dark look in his eyes.

This was so different from anything she ever saw from him. Colin was charming, he was humorous (although not many people understood it) and he was endearing, so much so that she thought Violet and Edmund must have had difficulty punishing him whenever his mischievous side made itself known.

She had seen him trying to put a smile on people’s faces, excitedly speak of his travels and things he was passionate about. But she had never seen him like this. Dark, hungry eyes—an intensity to them that she was not sure if it meant what she hoped it did—and lips swollen from their kiss. All because of her. All aimed at her.

Penelope looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, and she could hear just the slightest hitch of his breath.

“Could we…” She licked her lips, their closeness—the fact that they were alone, that they kissed in his childhood bedroom— making her feel lightheaded. “Could we do it again?”

“Oh yes,” he breathed, bringing her lips to his in a searing kiss. This time she had let out an involuntary moan, his hand bringing her closer to his body, not a single space left between them. He pulled away—eyes still closed—only to whisper. “We can do this as many times as we wish to.”

But before she could answer him, her hands already pulled him back to her, as if they had a mind of their own. It was him who moaned this time, and she could not believe that she made Colin Bridgerton moan.

They made their way to his bed in between kisses and giggles, stumbling their way through his room, all because they could not pull away from each other. Penelope had to stand on the tip of her toes so she could thread her hands through his soft hair, which almost made her fall once or twice, but Colin never let her. Every single time his strong hands had been there, keeping her standing, protecting her.

If this was a dream, Penelope hoped she would never wake from it.

His hands slipped down to her plump bottom, and her surprised squeak quickly turned into a moan against his lips when she felt him squeeze her.

“Darling, jump when I tell you to,” he whispered against her lips. Her brain was so dazed from their kisses that she did not understand it at first, but before she could ask, she felt him pull away, his large, warm hands slowly sliding up her legs—touching the bare skin of her thighs under her nightgown, his cold ring kissing her skin just as she imagined—and with a demanding ’now Penelope!’ her body obeyed him like second nature.

Snaring her hands around his neck and crossing her legs around his waist, in part to hold herself up and in part because she just wanted him as near as possible, he carried her to bed as they kissed hungrily. Colin then turned his body around, sitting on his bed with her in his lap.

Just like in her dreams.

His hands trailed a path from her thighs to her bottom and to her back. Making his way back down her body, he encircled her thighs and spread them open, pulling her to him so he could press even more against her, causing her to gasp when something hard poked her.

“You are so soft, Penelope,” he mumbled against her neck, peppering kisses there. “Good lord, you will be the death of me.”

“There is so much I wish to know.” She pulled away, her voice sounding completely breathless to her own ears. She closed her eyes, leaning her head so she could touch his forehead with her own. “Will you show me?”

“You wish to know pleasure, Penelope?” His voice sounded rough, almost as if she had undone him as much as he had done to her.

She pulled away to look at him as he spoke, gasping when she saw the desire in them. Desire that mirrored her own.

He watched as one of his hands slid to her breast, squeezing, taking pleasure in the way she watched his movements and moaned wantonly, his eyes glancing at her in amusement, smirking at the reactions he was bringing out of her.

“Then I suppose I shall be your tutor.”

Chapter Text

His words echoed in his mind as if making a mockery of him.

“Then I suppose I shall be your tutor.”

He should not have said them, in fact, he did not even think before he did it. The mere thought of another man seeing her—touching her—was enough to make his skin crawl, the words leaving his lips before he could stop them (not that he would have if he could). The fact that she suggested them at all was enough to drive him to jealousy and to make him want to demand satisfaction from an imaginary man.

Colin almost scoffed to himself. When did he become this sort of man? He did not think he ever experienced jealousy over someone before.

How could he have possibly ever thought that he would be able to watch her marry someone else?

There was a lot he should not have done in relation to Penelope, some of it dated years back, but none that he could bring himself to regret.

Now that he truly thought about it, they had always managed to skirt along the rules of propriety—even before their lessons on how to charm suitors—and strangely no one ever noticed.

Or if they did, they assumed that there was nothing that could come of it (they had only spoken about it when it could be used to humiliate her, which made that familiar feeling of anger begin to boil inside him).

Did people not take him and Pen seriously? Did they think nothing could ever possibly happen? That there was no danger?

Colin wanted to laugh at the irony, imagining the faces of every so-called gentleman and lady of the ton if they knew just how dangerous it could truly be to leave him and Penelope alone, but kept it to himself lest she thought he was laughing at her.

Deep down, he knew jealousy was not the sole reason for the situation he found himself in.

He wished to see her and to touch her. To kiss and pleasure her. He wished to love her. To feel that connection that he had been craving almost his entire life. He had already felt it from their kisses—intimacy already felt infinitely better with her from a kiss—so he could not imagine what making love to her would be like.

Could he perhaps move her to the mirror so he could watch her in all of her glory as she reached her climax?

No, he should absolutely not.

He was a gentleman. Or he was trying to be one, at least.

Before Penelope.

Before their kiss opened something inside him that he never thought possible.

Before he could see blue eyes pooling with desire, peaked nipples tenting her nightgown—almost able to see them through the sheer fabric—and feel the weight of her in his lap.

(Never before he felt such enormous need for another person. In fact, he does not think he ever needed someone the way he does her. As if she was the other half of his soul. As if without her, he was doomed to go through life with a piece of him forever missing.)

Now all he wished to do was to lock himself with her in his bedchambers and not leave until both of them were thoroughly ruined.

Even if Colin’s ruination would be sightly different from hers.

Her reputation would be no small feat, of course, but Colin would not fare much better.

Not when he knew she was already engraved into his heart, with no hope of anyone ever measuring up to her.

At the moment, he did not know Penelope in that most basic of ways. But once he knew—once he was aware of what it felt like to have her trembling and moaning in his arms as she reached her peak—his fate would be sealed. More than it already was.

“Colin?”

He blinked, her uncertain voice bringing him back to her as he quickly forgot about the war he was raging with himself.

She was still perched on his lap, fearful blue eyes staring at him as a pout that he itched to kiss away formed on her lips.

And he was allowed to do that now, apparently.

Heat rose in his belly at the thought of all the things he was allowed to do to her now, a flush surely forming on his cheeks from how warm he felt.

Perhaps… perhaps he could show her just a part of it. Enough that she would know how to pleasure herself. No one would be any wiser, her reputation would be safe, and he would not see nor touch her more than he already had.

Yes, that would work perfectly.

(Besides, mostly touching her over her clothes did not count, surely.)

“I apologize, Pen; I was only considering what your first lesson should be,” he said, trying to put on his most charming smile, hoping that it would be enough to hide the whirlwind of thoughts going through his mind.

Penelope looked at him suspiciously at first, probably guessing that he was not being entirely truthful (did anyone know him as well as she did? He usually delighted in it, but it was rather inconvenient when he was trying to hide his feelings for her), but eventually she relented, giving him one beautiful smile of her own in return.

Her hands caressed his shoulders before dropping to his chest, running them up and down over the thin fabric of his shirt.

She looked down as if embarrassed, eyes focusing on her hands as she avoided his gaze. “I was afraid you might be reconsidering it.”

He should have, but he was ashamed to say the thought did not cross his mind for even a second. In fact, he was excited for it, and he knew she could feel the evidence of it.

“Never, Penelope. I give you my word,” he promised, one of his hands reaching for her chin—thumb lovingly brushing the skin there—as soon as the words left his lips, bringing her to him and locking their lips in a passionate, unhurried kiss.

Colin could kiss her for a lifetime and never grow tired of it. And as he heard the shy little mewl she let out, he thought to himself that he would never grow tired of the little sounds of pleasure she made, either.

How could someone feel like she was made entirely for him? Just as he had been made for her.

“Alright, darling,” he began, pulling back regretfully. Giving gentle little taps on her thigh, he continued. “I need you on your feet so we can begin.”

She squeaked, quickly leaving his lap, and he could not help the light chuckle that escaped his lips. The enormity of the situation was probably affecting her only now, just as it did him.

“We should—we should take things slow, ease you into it.” He looked at her, searching her eyes and trying to examine her reactions to see if she would be disappointed or if she expected something else. But she only kept that charming wide-eyed stare, and that was when he remembered. She would not know that there was more than what he was about to show her.

She was trusting him. What she had asked of him required no small amount of bravery (and she had done it twice now, his brave girl), and Colin would make sure she would not regret it. He would be brave for her, too.

Even if his bravery might break his heart when she no longer had need of him.

Taking her hand in his (he heard a small hitch in her breath, but was not sure if it was due to their bare hands making contact or if it was due to what was about to happen), he brought her to the side of his bed.

As he sat down against the headboard, legs stretched and spread in front of him so he could make space for her body, he turned to her once again.

“Come here, Penelope.” His voice came out rougher than he meant to, making her shudder when she heard it. He stretched one of his arms for her so he could assist her in getting into bed, blood pounding into his ears as he felt embarrassment flood him at how affected he sounded already.

Could she tell?

With his free hand, he did his best to unbutton his shirt, her attentive eyes following his movements, fascinated.

(He did not know where the thought came from, but there was a need that took hold of him to feel her body against his bare skin. He was merely trying to be a good tutor. Surely the warmth would be comforting. He just wanted to make things better for her.)

She let out a trembling breath, taking his hand (so small on his own, so easily to encompass the entirety of it) as she kneeled on the bed, making her way to him.

As he watched her tower over him (if one could say Penelope Featherington ever towered over another person), both breathing heavily, eyes boring into one another—fleetingly looking down at the other’s lips when they thought they would not be caught—as if waiting for the other to act, his hands reached for her as if they had a mind of their own. He gripped her hips tightly, fingers sinking into the fabric of her nightgown as he brought her closer to him and buried his face in her lovely bosom.

Penelope gasped, not expecting it, but soon reached out to his hair, threading her fingers through his curls and pressing him closer to her.

Breathing in her sweet smell as deeply as he could, he almost purred at the feeling, as if he were finally where he belonged. If it were not for the fact that he was about to pleasure her and that his cock was currently tenting his trousers, he surely would have been much calmer by now.

Parting from her with a kiss to the swell of her breast (which made her let out a small humming sound that proceeded to tear away at his sanity even more), he looked up at her, his hands still holding her by the hips.

(Colin wished he could see if his marks would remain on her. That he could bring her nightgown down her shoulders and past her hips to examine and kiss each stretch of naked skin he uncovered.)

“I need you to sit between my legs, darling.” He bit his lower lip to keep a smile from appearing. Saying the words made him feel almost delirious with happiness.

Turning her back to him, she did just as he asked—his hands sadly falling from her body while she moved. But once he saw how she had positioned herself, he could not control himself any longer.

Penelope had shyly sat in the space he made for her; not a single part of her body touched him. That would simply not do. How would he be able to teach her this way?

Returning his hands to their rightful place on her fleshy hips, he easily pulled her to him, as she made the most delightful little noise of surprise in the process.

Her plump arse and lower back were now firmly planted against his cock (and with the way she was squirming against him, she was sure to put him in a difficult position if she did not stop soon) as her back pressed against his chest. Even with the fabric of her nightgown between them, he could feel how she was just as warm as he was.

Colin was aware that their difference in height was significant, but this was the first time he truly saw how small she was in comparison to him.

It would be so easy to cover her body with his own. No one would be the wiser, as he plucked the most sinful little sounds from her. No one would be able to see her body under his own as he drove into her sweet cunny repeatedly.

“What should I do now, Colin?” She tried to look to the side in an attempt to see him, but his reflexes were quicker.

His strong arms wrapped around her protectively as he craned his neck so he could put his chin on her shoulder, whispering in her ear. “Now you will plant your feet on the bed and spread your legs like a good little girl.”

“Oh!” She jumped slightly—clearly enjoying being called a good girl—and the way she was quick to comply with his request brought a smile to his lips. A smile that she was quick to wipe from his face when her movements made her arse rub against his cock again.

He tried his best to keep his groan locked inside, but could not help the heavy sigh he let out, warm breath fanning over her shoulder and some of the hair that fell over it. Penelope would drive him to madness before the night ended, and she would be entirely unaware of it.

“And now?” She asked, her voice tinged with anticipation.

“Now,” he croaked out and cleared his throat before continuing. “Now you will lift your nightgown for me.”

As Penelope brought her hands to the fabric, he was finally able to see and admire the expanse of pale, soft skin. He wanted to reach out and touch her but forced himself to keep his hands on her hips (although he did grip her a little harder).

Do not touch her under her clothes, he reminded himself. At least not any more than he already had.

“A little more, darling,” he guided her, his voice sounding almost distracted by the sight in front of him. If he was not careful, soon he would be drooling on her shoulder. “All the way to the top of your thighs.”

And as the good little pupil that she was, she did not question him despite her nervousness.

(Her trust in him almost made him choke up. For someone—Penelope—to trust with something so important, so intimate, he felt like perhaps he could be worthy of her.)

Looking over her shoulder, images of his head buried in between her thick thighs as he made her moan and gasp for air assaulted his mind. Perhaps if he leaned over enough, he could see her—

He stopped himself.

That was dangerous territory. There was a line he could not cross. He had already crossed too many.

He had bloody rules and he needed to follow them.

“I am going to teach you how to pleasure yourself, Pen,” he said, his voice coming out as if he had spent weeks on a desert with not a drop of water in sight. “Every young lady should know, especially you. I do not think there is anyone that deserves to be pleasured more than you.”

“But I want—” She sounded as breathless as he felt. It was comforting to know he was not the only one affected. “I want you to touch me, Colin.”

This time it was her turn to make his breath hitch. Oh, she did not know what she was asking. He had to remember that.

“I will,” he said before his brain understood what he was saying. “But I will guide you, alright? So that you can learn, too.”

He knew that she wanted to protest. Colin knew Penelope too well to think otherwise. So before she could say anything else, he slowly slid his hands over her arms—allowing his fingernails to lightly tease her delicate skin and enjoying immensely the way it would rise in gooseflesh—until he reached her dainty hands, intertwining their fingers.

It was fascinating to watch the way they molded together, almost as if parts of a missing puzzle. How her small, pale hand complimented his larger, tanned one.

“You should always start slow; there is no rush,” he let his warm breath tease her ear. Guiding her hands, he ran her fingertips over her thighs up and down before moving them to her inner thigh. Repeating their movements, he kept her touch almost featherlight, just enough to tease and leave her wanting more. Each time they drew a little closer, but never enough to touch where she wished.

Penelope may not know what to do, but that did not mean her body was completely unaware. He could feel her trying to get closer to their joined hands (which resulted in her slightly rubbing her arse against his cock), doing her best to bring them to that place she needed most.

“Not yet, darling,” he told her patiently, making her whine in protest.

“But it is where I need you,” she said, looking to the side, momentarily forgetting that his chin was propped on her shoulder. Her change in position brought their faces close together, lips and noses almost touching as their eyes found each other, not able to look away.

He hummed, glancing down towards her lips. “There are a lot of places where you might need me, I think.”

And he could not keep himself from gently brushing their lips together as he brought their hands to her breasts, squeezing her flesh. Penelope gasped against his lips, throwing her head back with eyes closed, and Colin did not think he ever saw a sight more beautiful. None of the cities he visited could ever compare. If he could watch her just like this for the rest of his life, he would be a very happy man indeed.

Colin brought her thumbs to brush them over her covered nipples, a place where she was so sensitive and the fabric so thin that he could feel her tremble in his arms, the smallest of whimpers leaving her lips.

He did not enjoy the fact that he could not hear the sounds she made properly. He enjoyed even less the fact that she was (sensibly) trying to hold them back.

“Colin,” she called him, her voice was already breathless when they had barely done anything. He was instantly filled with pride. “It is not enough. Could I—”

But she stopped herself, slightly pulling away from him and his hands.

Colin’s heart suddenly pounded in his chest. She either had regrets or she was planning something, and he did not know what scared him more.

“Pen—” He began before realizing what she was doing, and immediately choked on his saliva as the words died in his throat. “Fuck, Penelope,” he groaned, not having in himself to mind his words.

Penelope—his sweet, innocent Pen—was moving her hands to her sleeves, bringing them down her arms until her breasts were free.

But she did not stop there.

No, she had only stopped when her arms were free and the fabric was bunched around her hips.

From where he sat, he could not see a thing besides her naked back (somewhat obscured by her long hair) and the curve of her breasts. It felt like he was stuck in between bliss and torment.

On one side, he had Penelope bare from the waist up, just within reach. He only needed to turn her towards him, and he would be blessed with a sight that he had only ever dared dreaming of. But on the other side he had Penelope bare from the waist up, just within reach and it was not doing his self-control any favors.

You are not to touch her under her clothes, he chanted in his mind.

“That is much better,” she breathed, the words going straight to his cock. “I-is this alright?” She asked in a timid voice, head slightly turned to the side, as if only now it came to her what exactly she had done. As if she had felt so comfortable with him that she acted on pure instinct.

“Yes,” he quickly replied. Too quickly, too eager. It was not good for his sanity, but he would worry about that when the time came.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he brought her back to him, handling her a little more roughly than he should have. Not that she seemed to mind, if the (loud) moan she let out was any indication.

He was impatient to have her soft body back where it belonged, in between his arms, pressed against him and driving him to madness.

As soon as her back touched his chest, they both sighed as if relieved to have their bare skin touching.

“We have to be quiet, darling,” he whispered in her ear, breath tickling her and making her shiver in his arms as he guided her hands back to her breasts, their fingers drawing circles around her pebbled nipples. “You can be quiet for me, can you not?”

“Or perhaps I should help you,” he continued before she could say anything. He moved one of her hands towards her lips, leaving Penelope confused.

“Colin, what—”

“Suck, Penelope,” he commanded in the gentlest voice possible, leaning in as much as he could so he could watch.

(Making every effort known to men to not look down.)

She took the two fingers he offered inside her mouth, her pouty lips not nearly as stretched around hers as it would have been around his own.

“That is a lot one can do for pleasure.” He left wet, open-mouthed kisses in her ear as he whispered—each word punctuated by a kiss and a little mewl around her fingers.

He carved a path downwards with his lips, over her hollowed cheek and then to her jaw, stopping to nip at the skin there.

Removing her fingers from her lips, he guided them down and over her nipples so they could circle them once more, leaving them delightfully wet. Over her belly, where he suspected she might be ticklish from the little hitch in her breath and the way she squirmed on his lap (making him groan as he prayed he would not spend himself in his trousers). And finally, towards where they were both most eager to arrive.

“W-what else can one do to feel pleasure?” She asked, a lovely panting and stammering mess. And all because of him.

“A kiss on the neck.” He proceeded to show her by planting one kiss there. “A whisper in the ear,” he breathed the words against her, making her close her eyes as he guided her to caress her inner thigh. “Even words can bring pleasure, Pen. They are powerful tools, as I am sure you know. Imagine how it would feel for me to tell you in great detail how I might worship you, kiss you, ravish you.” He punctuated each word with a kiss.

“Oh, please,” she groaned, turning to look at him as if remembering herself. “B-but that is what someone might do to me.”

“No, not someone,” he answered her, his intense gaze and voice surely betraying how the mere thought bothered him. “Only me, Penelope.”

And finally, finally he took pity on her, deciding to give her what she most wanted as he guided her hand to her cunt.

“Oh! Oh, Colin,” she moaned, hips moving against her fingers as she tried her utmost to keep her eyes open and looking into his. She was so sensitive in every single part of her body that Colin had to bite a moan of his own. He had barely allowed her hands to touch her; her fingers were merely grazing over her lips—teasing her—and already she was a wanton mess for him. “More, please.”

And when she asked so sweetly, how could he possibly deny her?

Pressing her hand a little harder, he allowed her to run her fingers over her slit, gathering her wetness but never allowing her to touch that little nub, which would make her explode in pleasure.

“If at any point you wish to stop, you must tell me,” he pleaded, eyes locked into hers and attempting to convey how serious this was.

She should not feel like she had to see things through to the end for his sake. Not if she felt uncomfortable.

“I do not wish for you to stop,” she said in such an earnest way, the words coming out desperate, making him drop his forehead to her shoulder as he took a deep breath.

(He would give her so much pleasure. He would give her anything she wanted. The world, even if that was what she wished for.)

With his breath finally under control, and now with her clear permission, he moved her fingers to touch her clit. As soon as Penelope felt the first contact of their joined fingers, she threw her head back on his shoulder, a strangled moan reverberating through his room.

“You are so good, Penelope,” he praised her, almost in a trance as the words came out before he could stop them. “Such a good girl.”

The wet sounds they made together paired with her sounds of pleasure were almost deafening with how loud they sounded in his silent room (in fact, Penelope was a loud lover, and for a moment he could not believe this was something he now knew about her). It made his mouth water, wanting to taste her, wanting to see her, wanting to be directly responsible for them.

Guiding a single finger of hers towards her entrance, he paused, giving her time to stop if she so wished. When she did not—when she in fact whined and asked for more—he guided it inside her cunt, making her cry out as Colin quickly let go of her other hand and brought it to her mouth.

“Quiet, darling. Do you wish for me to stop?” Penelope quickly shook her head and whined a little ‘no’ in against his hand for good measure, making him chuckle.

After making sure she would remain quiet, he brought her hand back to her breast so she could tease a sensitive nipple with her fingers.

Their pace quickened as he moved her hand from her breast to her cunt so she could draw slow little circles around her nub, but when he dared glancing at Penelope, he could see her biting her lips to keep any sounds from coming out. She risked drawing blood at some point with how hard she was biting it.

Instinctively he let go of her hand—the one who was moving her fingers over and over into her awaiting cunny—and before he could rub her lips so she would not hurt herself, a hand—a wet hand—gripped his wrist.

It was as if time slowed down when Colin looked to where she was holding him. Her hand. Her fingers that had just been inside her cunt were touching him. Smearing her wetness all over his skin.

(It was a good thing they were in his bed, otherwise Colin might have fallen down.)

“It is not enough,” she whined, bringing his hand towards her cunt as he was now glistening with her from fingers to wrist. He was powerless to stop. He did not even wish to.

(The alluring scent of her desire was heavy in the air, making him relish in it. A depraved part of him wondered if he could keep his bedchambers closed and anyone from entering it so it could forever smell like her.)

Once he finally touched her and felt how warm, wet, and ready for him she was, she turned to him and whispered that little word he knew by now was the sign of his approaching downfall. “Please.”

With a growl, he pushed one finger inside. Being longer and thicker than her own, Penelope whimpered slightly, but firmly held onto his arm to keep him in place.

Colin let out an unsteady breath as soon as he felt her around him. Warm and soft all over. Drenched for him. Needing him.

He was not supposed to touch her.

Over the clothes was fine. Over her hands was slightly worse but still fine, surely. But fucking her with his own fingers was most definitely not fine.

And he loved it.

Deciding to abandon all of his meticulously thought-out rules, he brought his other hand to her breast, allowing his fingers to graze her skin before squeezing (so full, so soft, the perfect size for his hands). One of her hands reached for him, pressing against his own so he would tighten his grasp. The other was still firmly holding his wrist, as if afraid that if she let go, he would stop.

He would not. Not even if half his family entered through the door that instant.

(And how exactly did he end up in this position? He was supposed to guide her, how is she the one guiding him?)

“Do you like that, Pen? Do you enjoy how my fingers stretch your little cunt?” The words shamelessly fell from his lips, as Colin was too intoxicated by the way she felt around him and by what he was doing to consider anything else.

Penelope seemed to enjoy his improper language, gushing around his fingers and turning her head to his neck, lips finding his skin as she sucked and cried out against him.

“You are so much bigger than me. I could not reach—” She pulled back momentarily, her words coming out as adorable little whines that he cut off with sinful delight when he added another finger, making her breath falter. “I-I feel—so full, Colin, so good. I did not know it was possible—” She babbled, her words barely making any sense.

She let go of his hand on her breast, bringing it to the back of his head, pulling him to her. “It is because of you, because I lo—”

Penelope sounded delirious; she sounded lost in pleasure as if not aware of what she was saying, as if the truth was coming out since her walls had been lowered. But he had already pressed the heel of his palm over her nub, the pace of his fingers quickening, unintentionally stopping the words from ever leaving her lips.

“Fuck, Pen, you are drenching my hands,” he said in wonder. It was as if she was able to read his mind with the way she sank further into his embrace so he could see it better. Her hands moved to her nightgown that still kept that last barrier in between them and raised the hem, bunching the fabric around her waist.

Colin felt dizzy as he looked at her, his neck comically bent so he could watch. The swell of her breasts taunted him from the corner of his eyes with how they rose and fell as her breath came in shallow gasps.

Her thighs—that were spread for him as far as they could go—were glistening under the candlelight, along with his hand (he would not be surprised if his sheets fell victim to her pleasure as well).

And he could at last see her perfect, drooling little cunt. So beautiful, swallowing his fingers time and time again, making the most sinful sounds that he had ever heard.

(God, he needed to have her on his mouth.)

She must not be aware of what she was doing, either. Penelope seemed to be moving entirely on instinct as she moved her hips to meet his thrusts.

Pressing his palm over her clit a little more firmly, she stiffened as her legs closed around his fingers, trapping them. The hold she had on his neck did not let on, almost as if she was holding him so he would watch and not dare to move his gaze away.

A series of moans (that increased in pitch as time went by) left her lips, and Colin moved his fingers faster as his other hand slid to her legs, so he could keep them open.

“Keep your legs spread for me, Penelope,” he commanded as his movements grew progressively quicker, her sounds of pleasure growing louder by the second.

Colin should have been more mindful of it. He could only hope that no one would hear them. Or perhaps they should; then they would have to marry; Penelope would be his, and he would be hers—

“It is just us. You can let go, my love. I have you. You are safe with me. I will always catch you,” he whispered, and she was powerless to stop from falling apart under his touches.

Penelope reached her peak with a muffled cry to his neck, followed by a bite that made him grunt, hoping she left a mark. Part of him, the one that could still muster a single logical thought, hoped his words were the reason for her to tip over the edge.

If he thought she drenched his hand before, it was nothing compared to now. As he suspected, his sheets were thoroughly ruined, and he would have to dispose of them before a servant saw.

(Not that he wished to. If he could, he would keep them and sleep in them, just to have tangible proof to remind himself that this evening indeed happened.)

Colin could only watch, his mouth gaping in wonder, eyes flickering between her face and her cunt. He could feel her spasming and gushing around his fingers as he slowed his movements, helping her ride the waves of her pleasure.

He had never seen anything like it. He did not even know it was possible.

When she finally stilled and opened her eyes—immediately searching for his—with her face flushed, lips parted in surprise, and her pupils so dilated they were almost black, Colin could not help himself.

Removing his fingers from her cunt—the wet, sucking noise making her whimper and flush—he brought them to his lips with a satisfied moan, delighting in removing every trace of her from them as she watched through a heavy-lidded gaze.

Suddenly, her eyes widened in surprise as she looked downwards, realizing just what had happened.

“I am so, so sorry! I did not know!” She began, her voice sounding completely mortified as a pretty blush stained her cheeks. Her hands moved to her cunny to cover herself once she realized the mess she had made. As if she could stop what had already happened. Her blush only became more prominent as she desperately continued to apologize.

“You are bloody exquisite, Pen,” he said once he removed his fingers, licking his lips. Using the same hand that he had just sucked clean, he gripped her by the jaw—his cold ring kissing her warm skin—bringing their lips together in a hungry kiss. “I love it. I wish to see it again. I wish for you to cover me in it.” He pulled back to whisper before diving in to her again.

She briefly lost herself in their kisses, moaning when she tasted herself in his tongue, before pulling away once she remembered her shame, her teeth worrying her lip as she looked at him for reassurance. “You do? Is that—is that not bad?”

“The only thing that could be bad about it was the fact that you did not do it on my mouth,” he panted, kissing her in between the words as her hand moved over his, pressing it closer to her, making her jaw glisten with his saliva and the remnants of her release. “You have no idea of the power you can hold over a man, Penelope.”

“Do I?” Her voice held a sensual rasp to it that he was entirely unaccustomed to hearing, and her eyes gleamed with something akin to innocence, as if the thought had never crossed her mind before. “Do I hold any power over you, Colin?”

He groaned, not knowing how to answer her without spilling every single thought he had since their kiss, from the most romantic to the most depraved.

It was too much. It was all too much.

He had promised himself that he would not let this go too far. He had made every effort, but that was before he knew what Penelope looked like in the throes of passion. Before she gushed all over his fingers and bed.

Now he found himself moving against her arse, his cock throbbing and begging for relief, as he kissed her to his heart’s content, not having in himself to care about propriety and possible ruination.

“Is that how you…?” She trailed off, not knowing the words or perhaps feeling too embarrassed to say them. But she did not need to. He understood what she meant.

Her words made him come back to himself, shame taking hold of him. She did not know what she was doing, and he was using her for his pleasure.

“I apologize, Pen; I do not know what came over me,” he said, his words laced with guilt as he tried to pull away from her. A quick hand slapped his lower back, pressing against it with all her might, surprising him.

“No! Do not stop, please.” And the way her voice broke at the end, along with the pleading look in her eyes—what he could see of them—was enough to weaken his resolve once again.

(All Penelope had to do was breathe, and it would be enough for him to drop to his knees for her.)

As her hand kept pressing him against her, the other returned to its rightful place—on his hair, gripping it tightly, almost painfully as she brought his lips to hers.

Her eagerness made Colin chuckle against her lips as his hips resumed their movements against her plump arse. Penelope was no mere audience, matching his efforts as she moved with him, clearly wanting to bring him pleasure just as much as he wanted to bring it to her.

“Just like that, my love,” he praised, feeling completely lost in her. “So good to me.”

This entire night he had been on the edge of losing his composure (if one could say he had kept it at all). He had been resisting her for so long; she had been so alluring, so captivating, so enchanting, that it did not take him long to find his release.

Just like a green boy, he spilled inside his trousers, but he could not find in himself to feel any shame.

Not when he had Penelope in his arms. Not when she wanted this, helped him arrive there.

Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, she turned in his lap, his hands gripping her thighs almost instantly. Moving so naturally, as if they had been doing this for years.

Leaning his full weight on the headboard and finally allowing his neck some much-needed reprieve, he looked at her as he tried to keep his breath under control.

Penelope, adorably eager Penelope, moved her lips over his sharp jawline, trailing a path until she met his lips again in a desperate kiss, as if she had waited for this for as long as he had. His brows furrowed as he kissed her hungrily, fingers digging into her skin, still unable to wrap his mind around the fact that everything he ever wished for his life had been right across the street.

He felt like he had wasted so much time.

When she pulled back, Colin was somewhat dazed from their kiss, smiling as he tried to chase her lips again. Penelope teasingly pulled back, giggling and biting her lips as she looked at him with playful eyes.

Raking his eyes over her body, he noticed that her nightgown remained bunched around her waist, leaving her entirely on display for him.

He does not know why he thought Penelope would be shy in the bedroom. As much as she could be reserved with those she did not know well or feel comfortable with, she had never been as such in his presence.

In fact, she was the very opposite. He cannot remember a time when Pen had ever been any different with him. Ever since their first meeting when she teased him when he landed in the mud.

He preened himself on being able to make her feel comfortable.

Brushing her rosy nipple with his thumb, he watched the way her chest flushed with his attentions.

“You are so beautiful,” he sighed, his eyes not leaving her for an instant, his fingers and attentive gaze mapping every part of her that he could see.

“I feel beautiful when I’m with you,” she said in a shy little voice, smiling to the side, but she quickly looked back at him when a thought passed through her mind. “Colin, can I see you?”

For the second time that night, Colin choked on his saliva.

“Perhaps—Perhaps later, Pen,” he managed to croak out the words, his voice coming out a little higher than normal. The first time she saw… him would certainly not be in his currently embarrassing condition.

“But…” She trailed off, sneaky little hands reaching for his softening cock and making him grunt when she squeezed him.

“Penelope,” he admonished her, a little half-heartedly, but the effect was still the same as earlier that night. She gasped, hands finding purchase of his chest as he saw arousal returning to her eyes.

He had been noticing that she did enjoy a firm hand, the thought bringing a self-satisfied smile to his lips.

As the effect of his words subsided, she pouted at being interrupted from exploring him, but once the words truly registered in her mind, a gleam of delight appeared in her eyes.

“Speaking of later, perhaps you could climb into my bedroom during this week’s ball.” Her hands innocently played with his chest hair, as if she had not just said the damning words she did. “Mama will be attending with my sisters. If you could find a way to stay home as well…”

He furrowed his brows, thoughts of climbing into her window and ravishing her momentarily forgotten.  “Are you still not attending, Pen?”

She seemed startled at his question, as if the answer was obvious. “I do not think there is any point in me going. People only seem to stare and whisper when they see me. Besides, I might as well consider myself a spinster now. And as you know, spinsters do not need to attend balls, especially when they have much more pleasurable things they could be doing instead.”

Her eyes glinted with mischief, teasing little fingers playing with his nipples as if the thought of being a spinster did not bother her. Colin frowned, not enjoying when she referred to herself as such.

Penelope purred in contentment, lying her head on his shoulder as she kissed the scar on his chin and her nails scratched his stubble (a result from just how despondent he had become lately).

Feeling her soft touches and just how comfortable she was with him, a plan began forming in his mind.

Penelope did seem to enjoy his company in more… carnal manners, and Colin does not think it conceited to assume she enjoyed his company as her friend. Would it really be such an impossible feat for her to be fond of him?

He knew he did not have much to offer her, being a third son with no purpose of his own, nothing he felt he could excel at. But he knew there was one thing no gentleman in the ton could do as well as he could.

Loving Penelope Featherington.

Colin knew her soul like no one else, and now the same could be said for her body, even if he did not yet have all the knowledge he would like.

Perhaps that was how he could begin showing her how much they would be well suited for one another.

He would continue to teach her; he would show her pleasure beyond her imagination, and perhaps along the way he could find a way to subtly court her.

And when the right time came, perhaps she would be half as smitten as he felt.

They would just have to make sure they did not cross any lines that could not be uncrossed.

Penelope could not stop herself from smiling and losing herself in the memories of her evening with Colin.

Unfortunately, she had not seen him much after their encounter. It would be dangerous for him to be caught with her after their scandal. When she had said as much, he tried to protest, but she was adamant that they had to be careful and made him promise he would behave. She may not have a reputation to protect anymore, but Colin did and she would never forgive herself if she caused any harm to him and to his family.

That did not mean he accepted willingly. No, he had found a way to speak to her without breaking his promise.

When Rae brought her the first missive—a knowing smile in her lips as if she knew that there was now a shift in her relationship with Colin—Penelope tensed, afraid of what words it might contain.

Did he regret it? Did he wish to never see her again?

Trembling hands opened the paper, and she could not stop the smile that appeared on her lips once she read what he had written.

He did not sign his name (not that he had to; she could recognize his handwriting anywhere), surely trying to respect part of her wishes, which only made her fall a little more in love with him.

Colin missed her. He worried for her.

How could she ever be expected to overcome her feelings for him when he was the sweetest man she had ever known?

She made her way towards her desk, eager to reply without delay.

(However, she did spend a few moments considering how she should refer to him without making her unwavering love known. In the end, she settled for ‘dearest’ thinking it would be best to follow his example.)

Stopping for a moment, she wondered if she should once again take a chance on fate and attempt something dangerous. A reminder of what she asked him that evening.

She stared at her words, considering if she should truly let Rae take them to him.

It was very forward of her. And she had already done so twice.

But he had been worried about her. He called her dearest (in fact, he had called her ‘my love’ before as well), and the way he had touched her that night was so gentle, so loving, as if he were entranced by her. It was no surprise she almost told him she loved him.

Hope flared in her chest. This was dangerous. Many times she felt this same hope only to end up in tears.

But deep down something felt different now. Something had changed between them. She was now aware that he found her pleasing, at least physically.

Perhaps it would not be so far-fetched to think he could feel some attachment to her some day.

In the end, she had allowed Rae to take her message. She would be waiting for him, and if he came…

Then he might not be so unaffected after all.

“What are you smiling about?” Eloise’s voice interrupted her thoughts, making her blink slowly as her best friend stared at her with squinted eyes.

“Oh! I-I’m thinking about the small reprieve I shall have this evening,” she stammered, cheeks flushing as if El could see inside her mind and read each one of her traitorous thoughts. “I shall have the house all to myself.”

(She wished she could talk to El about it all. But Colin was her brother; how could she? What if she became angry? She had just gotten her friend back.)

They had been lying on her bed side by side in the most unladylike of fashions, as they were wont to do when together, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

Eloise pouted, quickly distracted from her suspicions. “Will you leave me to fend for myself yet another night, Pen? It has been dreadfully lonely without you by my side to help me bear insipid conversations and mama’s endless attempts to find me a suitor.”

“I am sorry, El; you know I miss you too.” She reached for her friend’s arm, rubbing up and down. “I am not ready, not yet. Besides, I enjoy having some moments of peace and quiet for myself.”

But if it all went as she hoped, it was the last thing she would have that night.

(Should she feel any different after their night together? She did not think she did. Except for the fact that she found herself daydreaming about him much more than usual, that throbbing sensation between her legs much stronger, and her thighs were now always wet with her arousal. She had tried to replicate what he had taught her—what he did to her—but it was not the same; it only left her frustrated and yearning for longer, thicker fingers.)

Eloise laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. What she would not give to have the house all to herself for once. She could not begrudge her friend for that, but she could never imagine being allowed to do so.

“And your mama is alright with it?” She asked with her brows furrowed and voice tinged with surprise.

Penelope hummed, fingers lazily running over her belly. “Surprisingly, she is. At first, she all but called me a fool for what I did, but now she has been kinder to me. I do not know what brought on such a change, but it is… nice.” She smiled to herself. It was all she had ever wanted since a child (besides Colin, that is). For her mother to look at her with love, not as a nuisance or afterthought at the best of times. Not that they did not have their stumbles here and there, but Portia was trying and perhaps that could be enough for now.

“I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning,” El muttered, turning to look at the ceiling.

It was true.

Once Penelope told her about Colin helping her, El had felt angry and betrayed—somewhat understandably, since Penelope did keep it from her for a while. And she had been slightly hurt by Penelope wanting to find a husband, essentially abandoning their future plans to live as spinsters. Eloise had even avoided her for a few days. But Colin had said something to her that had her on her doorstep one evening, waiting at the servant’s door with red-rimmed eyes, hugging her tightly when Penelope came to see her.

She never asked, and Eloise never told what had happened. She was only glad to have her friend back. And she was thankful to Colin, who apparently had helped matters.

She did, however, explain why she had accepted his help. Not that it mattered now.

“Well, it is in the past. No gentleman shall look my way now, and to be honest, I am not looking their way either. I suppose I never truly was.”

“I would say someone is looking your way,” Eloise whispered as she toyed with her necklace and shook her head, muttering something about blind fools.

But Penelope had stopped listening, thoughts about what she had left unsaid flooding her mind.

Like the fact that she had her eyes set on one particular gentleman. One that she was planning to seduce that very night.

Perhaps he would never court her.

That did not mean she could not try.

And if in the end their nights together were truly the only part of him that she could have, then Penelope would enjoy it for as long as she could and nurse her broken heart when the time came.

Colin had a plan for that evening.

Unfortunately, he could not avoid attending the ball without raising some eyebrows, and Penelope had asked for him to be discreet.

And there was nothing Colin would not do for her.

That did not mean he would stay long. No, he was already walking along the walls, allowing people to hide him from view as he approached the stairs to take his leave.

He would leave without saying his goodbyes, which he felt slightly guilty for doing, but if all went the way he hoped he would, his mother would forgive him. She would forgive him for everything if he brought home Penelope Featherington as her future daughter.

It was hard to remember if he ever wanted to leave a place as quickly as he wanted to do at the moment. He had always enjoyed social gatherings, but lately he found himself quickly growing bored with them. Always looking around and looking for that flash of red hair before he caught himself and realized what he was doing.

It was baffling to him how he did not realize before that he had always found himself near her, even unintentionally.

Penelope was funny and witty, her barbs managing to surprise even himself. She was also the only one who understood his humor, having a similar one herself. It was no surprise that he would gravitate towards her.

And he was now aware that they complimented each other in something else as well. She had a voracious hunger to match his own. He would never have thought that she could be such an insatiable little minx.

Images of her teasing little fingers squeezing his cock made him quicken his steps slightly.

He could not—should not—run up the stairs, he reminded himself, even with excitement eating away at him.

Although he was not one for secrecy, he had to admit it was thrilling to know what he was about to do and that none of the people in the room had the slightest idea.

Colin was about to climb into the bedroom of a gently bred lady—his friend—and declare his intentions. Subtly, of course.

If he could, he would ask for her hand, but the fear of rejection made him pause. Instead, he would give her something. Something small, that he hoped would begin to make his intentions clear.

He gave the pocket of his suit a little pat to make sure it was all in order as he climbed into his carriage. His older brother’s amused face was waiting for him as soon as he entered.

“I know what you are trying to do.” Benedict teased in form of greeting him.

Colin groaned, rubbing his temples. “And what am I trying to do exactly?”

“You want to sneak off the ball so you can see Miss Featherington. I have been there, little brother; I recognize the signs,” he answered, clearly feeling very satisfied with himself.

Colin’s ears perked up at his words, looking at him with sheer incredulity. He was not above dueling him if he had made any advances towards Pen.

Benedict immediately raised his hands in a sign of peace offering.

“Not with Penelope. Good lord, I know you have always been… attached to her.” He smirked, as if those were not the words he truly wished to use.

Colin debated with himself on the merits of one throwing themselves off a moving carriage. Would he hurt himself too badly? Surely anything would be preferable to this conversation.

Benedict gave three small taps to the carriage ceiling, which promptly started moving, taking them home.

“What I mean to say,” he continued, bringing Colin slightly closer with an arm over his shoulders. He could only stare at his brother in a mix of suspicion and irritation. “Is that I know the signs of someone wanting to do something they should not. And finding proportion or not, you are still inexperienced. I noticed what you were trying to do instantly, which means someone else probably did as well. So as the good older brother that I am, I decided to help.” He finished with a smile—the smile of someone who was enjoying himself immensely.

Colin should not be surprised; Ben was always the most likely to help his siblings disregard rules and social conventions (besides himself, that is). But he was surprised that he would help him do so to see Pen. She was another sister to the rest of his siblings.

“And how are you helping me, exactly, besides making me late?” He drawled, trying to keep himself from frowning.

“I told mother, rather loudly, that you were not feeling well and that I was taking you home, of course,” his brother said, clearly finding no fault in his plans.

Colin groaned. Now he had made their mother worried as well.

“And when she sees that I am not at home?” He could not keep the slight tinge of impatience from his voice this time.

“Do not worry, I will cover for you. This is not my first time, you know.” He waved his hand dismissively as if Colin had nothing to worry about, which in fact made him worry more. “But I do need to speak to you about something.”

He paused, eyes trailing over his younger brother as if examining him.

“You have to be careful with whatever it is that you are doing,” he continued, his tone serious for the first time during their conversation. “I do not only mean with Penelope, but you as well. Colin, you clearly have feelings for her, as she does for you. I do not want either of you getting hurt.”

His eyes widened. Could it be? Could he trust Benedict? Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps—

“I am not wrong, you will see eventually,” he said ominously, as if he could read his thoughts. But his face softened when he said the next words. “Just be careful, alright? And if I am wrong and you truly do not have feelings for her, perhaps it is better that you stay home—”

“No!” Colin quickly cut him off, cheeks flushing when he realized how adamant he sounded. Benedict was being honest with him (even if he might be wrong), perhaps… perhaps he could be as well. It would be nice to have someone to speak to. “I do have feelings for her. I wish to court her.”

Benedict nodded, patting his back. “Good man. Just… do not sow your wild oats just yet. Do I still need to speak to you about that?” He asked through squinted eyes.

Colin groaned for the third time in the span of five minutes. He could feel a headache incoming. “You do not need to, it will not come to that. We have been… careful.”

(Not that he had many opportunities to be careful, and the one time he did… well, he remembers how that ended. It truly did not bode well for him.)

“Oh? So something did happen for you to need to be careful?” Benedict teased him, his exasperating smile back in place. “My little brother is finally spreading his wings, I could not be prouder,” he said with a hand over his heart.

He brought Colin closer to him, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek, which promptly made him scrunch his face as if he hated it. “Stop it; I do not want your drool on me, brother.”

Ben pouted, pretending to clean his drool but instead spreading it further. “Oh, I apologize if I am embarrassing you before you meet your lady.”

Colin wanted to be vexed; he truly did. But he loved his brother, and hearing Penelope being referred to as his lady made him overflow with happiness.

He looked away towards the window, cleaning his cheek and pursing his lips as he tried (and failed) to keep the smile from appearing on his lips.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, but he could feel Ben’s eyes on the back of his head, no doubt smiling proudly as well.

Penelope had been waiting for him for longer than she thought she would have to.

Wanting to prepare for Colin’s arrival, she had dismissed Rae early, telling her that she wanted to retire. That she could fend for herself for one night, and that Rae deserved a night of rest for all that she had been doing for her.

It was hard to sound inconspicuous when she felt giddy with excitement. When she had gently but firmly guided her lady’s maid out of her bedroom.

When she closed the door and leaned against it, a smile appeared on her face, her legs pressing together as she thought about what would occur in her bedroom later.

When she thought about the surprise she prepared for him.

But now, dressed in her floral robe, glossy curls cascading down her shoulders just as he seemed to enjoy, her room filled with the sweet scent from the oils that she had applied to her body just for him, just because he raved about her softness, she felt disappointment filling her body.

Her mama would soon return and Colin had yet to arrive.

He seemed so eager to touch her that first night that she assumed this evening would be much the same. That he could not wait to see her.

For a moment she felt foolish to assume as such.

But before the thought could fester and make her abandon her plan altogether, she heard noises coming from the tree outside her bedroom.

Gasping in surprise, she ran towards the window (that she had left open for him), leaning over it so she could look down.

A full-blown smile made its way to her lips when she saw him.

Adorably concentrated on what he was doing (muttering a few curses to himself thinking no one would hear), clothes disheveled, and curls falling over his forehead in the messiest of ways.

How could one know him and not love him?

She made her way back towards her bed so she could allow him to surprise her.

By the time he had climbed into her room, her smile was mostly under control, but as soon as she saw him, she could not help herself anymore.

“Good evening, Pen,” he panted, trying to make himself a little more presentable.

She giggled as she walked to him, hands reaching for his to stop his movements. There was no need for that. If she had her way, soon enough he would not be wearing any clothes.

“I thought you would not come anymore.” Penelope pouted, his eyes immediately locking on her lips.

“Of course I would, Pen,” he said in that gentle tone of voice of his that she was beginning to think it was reserved just for her. Taking something out of his pocket, he rubbed his neck as he offered the small package to her. “I uh… I brought you something. It was supposed to be flowers, but they would have wilted by now. And then I thought—I have noticed you have taken a liking to them; I have seen them in your hair, so I thought perhaps—”

But as much as Penelope loved the rare times in which he rambled, she did not pay much attention, too focused on opening the gift he gave her.

“Oh!” She sniffed once she saw what was inside. Already she could feel the tears pooling in her eyes as she saw the array of different colored ribbons he bought her. Looking up at him, she hoped he could see it in her eyes how much she loved them. “They are beautiful, Colin.”

He smiled shyly, leaning in the balls of his feet in that charming way he did when he clearly felt proud of himself for making someone happy. He cleared his throat before speaking, watching her walk towards her desk so she could leave her gift there.

“In fact, there is something I have been meaning to ask you—”

“I have something for you as well.”

They spoke at the same time, both looking startled, as they did not expect it. Silence filled the room as they waited for the other to speak, until Colin decided to break it first.

“What is it that you have for me, Pen?” He asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Well,” she let the word linger for a while, allowing the anticipation to build while her teeth worried her lower lip and she debated on what to say next.

“I suppose it is better if I show you,” she finally settled on, putting some space in between them as her hands slowly moved to undo the tie of her robe.

Colin’s eyes darkened as he understood just what she had prepared for him, his gaze moving over her with rapt attention as she allowed the robe to fall to her forearms, partially baring her body to his viewing pleasure.

“Penelope,” he groaned, one hand moving to palm himself over his trousers, almost as if he was not aware of what he was doing. His cock was already hardening at the pretty picture she painted.

A lazy, teasing smile appeared on her lips as she watched his reaction. This new power she discovered she had over him allowed her to have a confidence that she had only dreamed of.

The robe slipped further down her arms until it fell in a lump on the floor. Penelope almost burst out in delirious laughter at the way Colin accompanied the movement, as if hypnotized. He gave her no opportunity to feel nervous with the way he was devouring her with his gaze.

His eyes slowly trailed over her naked form, from her bare feet to her calves and thighs—where he stopped for a moment and licked his lips once he glanced at her cunt.

Once he had his fill, he continued his path to her fleshy hips and belly and then her plump, heaving breasts—his hands flexing by his sides as if he had to physically stop himself from touching her.

That would simply not do.

She looked up at him through her lashes, her voice sounding almost innocent, as if she were not completely undressed in front of him.

“What is my second lesson to be, Mr. Bridgerton?”

Chapter Text

Though the situations could not have been more different, being with Penelope reminded him of a time before tragedy—when his father had been alive, and he had spent sunny afternoons at Aubrey Hall getting up to all sorts of trouble with Daphne, while Eloise followed them around, threatening to tell on them unless they allowed her to join.

The situation he was in now did not carry the same innocence, but it did carry the excitement. The freedom. The happiness. He doubted there was anyone else in the world who could make him feel so… unburdened.

Mr. Bridgerton, she had called him. By now, he should not have been surprised that Penelope awakened desires in him he had not even known existed.

He had always thought he abhorred the formality when it came from her—that he would never, ever enjoy the sound of her calling him by his surname.

Not for a single day of his life had he ever been Mr. Bridgerton to her.

He had always been Colin, and she had always been Penelope. His Pen. Even when propriety dictated that she should not be.

Before her debut, Anthony had once warned him it was improper to treat Penelope with such familiarity—that it might ruin her prospects. Ruin her. He had never been more offended in his life, for how could his friendship with her be anything bad? Caring for someone could not ruin them.

He had been unnecessarily harsh, of course—this was before Kate, after all—but now, as Colin reflected, he wondered if there had been some truth to his brother’s warning. Even as a boy, he had found it impossible to control himself around her.

But those moments of familiarity were what made her his Pen.

He had always treasured these moments with her. And sometimes, if he were lucky enough, something else would slip from her lips.

She would call him Col, and once she realized what she had said, she would blush the prettiest shade of pink, stuttering and trying to change the subject, desperate to pretend she had not said anything.

But he had heard it, the name making him smile like a fool, for only his family called him such.

And Penelope was family, was she not?

Just… not in the same way his siblings were. She was in a category entirely of her own.

He could never explain why it felt so different.

Not until their kiss.

Suffice it to say, the first time she called him by his surname when he returned, it felt like a punch to the gut.

But now…

Hearing her call him Mr. Bridgerton with that sultry voice he had not known she possessed…

Well, he might enjoy it. In fact, he might even be persuaded to let her call him that again.

(He was quickly learning there was precious little—if anything at all—he would not allow her to do to him.)

And now, seeing her in all her glory, Colin decided then and there that he would never set foot outside Mayfair again.

(Unless Penelope went with him, of course. As his wife.)

Not when he was currently blessed with the most beautiful sight he could ever hope to see.

Who would concern themselves with traveling the world when they could have Penelope Featherington, completely undressed, waiting to make each one of their debauched fantasies come true?

She did not even need to be undressed. Just having Penelope welcome him in any way was enough to steal his breath away.

(Perhaps by the chaise, distracted by a book because she could not wait for him to make his way to their bedchamber, running to kiss him and envelop him in her arms. Perhaps with their child in her arms, because they had missed him so, two adorably similar smiles lighting up at the sight of him. Or perhaps he could be the one waiting for her, their son or daughter excitedly babbling in his arms at the prospect of their mama appearing—an exact copy of their father.)

“I, uh…” He licked his lips nervously, heat pooling low in his belly as his eyes lazily trailed over her form, unsure of where to look first. He had bloody rules. Rules that were far too difficult to follow with Penelope baring herself to his gaze, making every coherent thought he had vanish.

That plush, exquisite body—just days ago, he had rutted against it, and it had felt better than any other encounter he had ever experienced.

He truly was very weak when faced with the splendor that was her.

How could Penelope not have suitors falling at her feet?

“If I remember correctly,” he rasped, pausing to clear his throat, which felt entirely too dry, before continuing, “you mentioned something about being singularly affected. Perhaps we should start there, and then I shall decide what to do with you.”

His slow steps brought him closer, and he did not miss the way her breath quickened, her wide-eyed gaze simultaneously innocent and curious. It was all so subtle, imperceptible to anyone who was not as attuned to her every little change as he was.

Colin smirked. For someone so determined to seduce him, to make him lose every shred of sanity he was clinging to, she could be so innocent in her ways—acting first and only realizing later the dangers her actions would invite.

Dangers that he was so very willing to bring upon her, despite all his efforts not to.

(He could not allow himself to entertain the traitorous little thought he feared most: that perhaps this was entirely physical for her. No, if he let that thought take root, he would lose his courage—and he could not afford that.)

Suddenly, the sound of rain pattering against her window pulled them out of their tension-filled bubble, a cold wind blowing through the open frame.

“What a shame,” his voice came out rough from pent-up desire and anticipation as he glanced toward the window, not a hint of regret in his tone. “It seems you are stuck with me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, he turned back to her with a roguish grin. He was now standing so close to her that she could surely feel the heat radiating from his body.

After their first kiss, he found himself in a near permanent state of longing and arousal, more often than not choosing to forgo cravats, finding them unbearable against his warm skin. Day and night, he was haunted by visions and dreams of her—her perfect lips and soft skin (along with soul-stirring declarations of love). And now, it was inevitable that he would dream of her delectable form as well.

“What a shame indeed,” Penelope replied, a teasing lilt to her voice as her lips curled into a smirk, her eyes playfully avoiding his own as if she were a demure little thing. “All alone in my bedroom with a rake… What shall he do with me?”

“A rake, darling?” Colin asked, feigning offense—but failing, for an amused grin was already forming on his lips—as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The evidence of his all-consuming desire pressed against her.

(Had anyone else called him that, he would have scoffed and been irritated. But not Pen. Not when she knew him better than anyone—well enough to know that was not the real him. Not when she said it in a way that invited him to play a game he was all too willing to join.)

At last, she lifted her gaze to his, her blue eyes burning with that fire and determination he had seen that first night.

“Well, what else would you call a man who climbs through a gently bred lady’s window?” She quipped, playing with the lapels of his suit and pretending she had not been the one to beckon him in.

He pretended to consider, his thumb brushing over his lower lip as she watched with rapid attention, all parted lips and hitched breath, making him want to preen at the thought of drawing such inviting reactions from her.

“That depends,” he drawled, his eager hands sliding down to her arse and pressing her tightly against his body, making her gasp softly. “What would you call the lady who invited him?”

Penelope considered his question with a tilt of her head as she ran her hands over his clothed chest.

“I know what the ton would call her. A wanton woman, perhaps. Or a harlot?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement at the word. She had always enjoyed the forbidden, and he had always known that. Except now, the forbidden was no longer them and Eloise playing pranks and being in places they should not. Or perhaps it was still being in places they should not. Although very, very different places. “At least, I feel positively wanton when I think about you. When I remember what you did to me.”

Colin smirked at her excitement. Perhaps he could indulge her later if she truly wished him to. Would she enjoy it if he called her his little wanton wife?

“And what exactly have I done to you?” His voice was deep and teasing as he tilted her chin upwards, his thumb lovingly rubbing her lower lip, his other hand caressing her arse. “You still have not told me.”

Penelope leaned into his touch, turning slightly to the side so she could bring his thumb inside her mouth. She gently licked the pad, gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes that made him lose all remaining sense of composure he still had (if one could say he had any left).

When she did not reply, he allowed his hand to slide from her chin, tracing a path over her delicate jaw to the nape of her neck, his thumb, slick from her mouth, leaving a glistening trail along her pale skin. He pulled her towards him and crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss.

Both moaned rather loudly at the contact, making Colin realize that perhaps he was not the only one who had forgotten all about composure.

Penelope always tasted so good—always so sweet to him, a blend of the éclairs she favored, the tea she loved drinking before bed, and something entirely her own. Many times, he had caught her and Eloise sneaking into the kitchens in search of tea so they could drink it while reading into the early hours of the morning, fully aware they were not allowed to. It always brought a smile to his face to see them trying not to look tired and attempting to stifle their yawns around his mother (Eloise always failed and received a proper scolding, much to his amusement).

Grasping her hair a little tighter, her soft, inviting lips parted for him with a gasp, finally allowing him entrance and their tongues to meet. His nose bumped clumsily against hers in their shared hunger, and Penelope’s breathy little moans spurred him on. Each time he pulled away, she followed with a needy whine, drawing him back until he slanted his mouth over hers once more.

His hand roamed over her body, exploring the lush softness of her curves. He squeezed, kneaded, and gripped her roughly—committing every sensation to memory. There was just so much of her for him to worship. He had never been a particularly devoted man, but for Penelope, he would. He would be her most faithful devotee.

Each time his fingers pressed into her skin, she drew closer to him—trapping his hard cock even more firmly between them—and If he had any presence of mind, he might have been concerned that they could fall at any moment.

Penelope was a quick study, as with most things. Whereas before their kiss she had been a little clumsy and hesitant—albeit very passionate—she now kissed with newfound confidence, her hunger finally given free rein.

For a moment, Colin thought himself to be the inexperienced one in their relationship.

Dainty little hands grasped him by the hair, tugging him away from her with a strength he did not know she possessed. Once she saw how utterly undone he looked—how much he enjoyed her taking charge—she merely smirked, a dazed, almost drunken look in her eyes that suggested she was every bit as intoxicated by him as he was by her.

Lost in his own desire, he smiled—slow, languid, dirty—as he gazed at her. It bode well for his plans if he was right.

But before he could lose himself to thoughts of Penelope wanting him, she pulled him to her once more.

Their lips met again, and this time their kiss was desperate and wild. Colin moaned into her mouth—when had he ever been so loud?—as they clung to one another, fearful that if they let go, the spell might be broken. Just like that first night.

Regrettably, he pulled back slightly, his chest heaving, sighing in adoration as he drank in the sight of her.

She still had her eyes closed. Long eyelashes softly brushed her skin, round cheeks delicately flushed, lips swollen and glistening from their kiss.

So trusting of him.

The sight was humbling. Had anyone ever trusted him or placed as much faith in him as she had?

God, he had never felt more sure of anything in his life.

“Penelope,” he murmured, warm breath ghosting over her lips, coaxing her to slowly open her eyes and meet his. “We must speak. At some point, you must promise me you will allow me to say what has been on my mind for weeks.”

She nodded slowly, the flicker of uncertainty and fear in her gaze making him furrow his brows. He did not enjoy seeing it, but he would make it right.

Pressing one last kiss upon her lips—one where he hoped she could feel all of his love and devotion for her—he pulled back, walking back to put some much needed distance between them.

“But first,” he said, eyes sweeping over her form before settling on her face. “You shall tell me everything.”

He knew the expression on his face must have looked positively indecent from the way she flushed down to her chest.

“Do not stall, Miss Featherington,” he warned her, raising an eyebrow sternly as he unbuttoned his suit. “A good little pupil does as she is told, does she not?”

Apparently, the formality had the same effect on her as it had on him.

With one of those charming squeaks that only she seemed capable of, Penelope moved to the bed, looking over her shoulder to where he stood, lips parted in a perfect little ‘o’ as she watched him with those same wide, curious eyes.

Considering the mess she had made the other night, Colin thought it best if he removed some of his clothes. Just to be mindful, just to do as she had asked and be discreet. After all, walking back home with Penelope’s release all over his clothes was the very opposite of discreet. So he should remove it all.

Except for his trousers. Those were most definitely staying on.

For now.

Penelope quickly sat on her bed, curious to see what he would do, how far he would go.

As her gaze flickered over the bare expanse of his neck, she could confidently say he did not disappoint (as if he ever could).

Her mouth watered. She wanted to trace a path with her tongue, to press kisses, to taste, even to mark him with her teeth.

Heavens, she truly was a wanton woman.

There was not a single part of Colin that did not make her burn for him. Instead of her situation improving, it had only worsened to the point where she was in a constant state of want for him

His long fingers—fingers that had once been inside her—worked with ease at the buttons of his shirt. Penelope’s breath hitched, her lips parting in anticipation, though she did not realize. Slowly, he shrugged the fabric from his shoulders, his movements unhurried and deliberate, his smirk taunting her. It was as though he could read each of the devious thoughts racing through her mind.

That night, she could not look at him properly, but now, not only could she look, he wanted her to. Every one of his actions had a single purpose: to capture her attention.

As if he had not been doing that since they were children.

His tanned skin glowed in the moonlight streaming through her window. Somehow, he seemed broader after his latest tour, and the sight made Penelope instinctively press her thighs together. A light dusting of hair across his chest drew her gaze downward, disappearing beneath his trousers, and she was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to let her hands wander, eager to discover how far the path truly led.

As if possessed, she rose from the bed and padded across the floor, her eyes fixed on that tempting trail.

Her room was eerily silent, save for the sound of rain and their heavy breathing. Somehow, that only made Penelope feel everything more intensely.

When she stood before him, her trembling fingers reached for him, brushing lightly against the hair there. A sharp intake of breath escaped him, and her eyes darted upward, locking with his darkened gaze.

Releasing a deep breath, she made her way down, down, down until her fingers finally brushed against the hardness she had felt before. It was merely a brush of her fingers, uncertain of what she was doing but unwilling to stop.

His gaze burned with hunger—something she never thought she would see, much less be the reason for. It was impossible to look away from him.

Encouraged, she pressed her palm more firmly against him, drawing a gasp from his lips. He reached for her wrist, his grip firm yet gentle, anchoring her in place.

“Must you stop me every time?” She whined, her cheeks flushing at her words, but she did not relent. “You have seen all of me. Why should I not see all of you?”

Colin chuckled, as though taunting her with what she could not have.

“Do you wish to see me, darling?” He asked, letting go of her wrist and quickly removing his boots, tossing them aside without care. His only concern was her.

She pouted, nodding as she fluttered her eyelashes in the way he had taught her.

Penelope had just enough presence of mind to wonder if she might have taken on more than she could handle, but could not bring herself to care.

Let Colin devour her; she would gladly give herself over to him again and again.

While she had been lost in thought, his hands moved to undo his belt—and oh…

His fingers worked so deftly, his movements so graceful and that knowing smirk still lingering on his lips, his eyes never once leaving her.

Her heart pounded, her chest heaving as if she were the one who had climbed through the window.

Colin did not stop like she had thought he would, slowly undoing the buttons on his trousers. She never imagined he would be naked in her childhood bedroom, that she would see him—all of him.

A fleeting look of uncertainty crossed his face, his hands faltering for the briefest moment, but before she could react, determination took over.

He dropped his last article of clothing to the floor, and time seemed to slow.

A soft whimper escaped her lips as she took in his muscular, thick thighs, so long they seemed to stretch on forever. And then his… member—as she heard whispers calling it so once. For all her supposed confidence, she flushed at the sight. He looked nothing like the statues she had seen. Colin was longer, thicker, and—

A sigh of relief interrupted her thoughts, making her realize she had been staring for too long.

She moved her gaze upwards to find him slowly making his way to her, but his smirk had vanished. Now there was an intense look in his eyes, as if he knew what he wanted—and she was it. Nothing would stop him from getting it.

Penelope moved on instinct, kneeling at the edge of the bed as she waited for him. The moment he reached her, he wasted no time. His hands pressed firmly on her shoulders, gripping her tightly as though holding himself back from letting them roam—not just yet.

“May I?” He asked, his voice husky, his gaze flickering from her heaving bosom to her eyes, waiting for her permission.

Penelope nodded slowly, too breathless to speak, still dazed by the sight of Colin undressing in her bedchamber.

Gently, his hands slid down to her breasts, cupping her flesh with reverence. He watched the movements closely, his attention rapid, which made her cheeks flush at how intently he focused on her.

She bit her lip, the heat of his touch and the coldness of his signet ring sending sparks of pleasure through her. He stared at her, his head tilted to the side in that endearing way of his, as though committing every detail to memory, his tongue darting across his lips.

Was he pleased by what he saw?

But before she could let her fears take hold, his hand cupped one of her heavy breasts, his thumb gently brushing and rolling her nipple.

Penelope tried her best to stifle any noise—they could not risk waking the servants, after all—but a surprised moan escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice sounding as if it were far away.

She felt a flutter in her stomach at his words, but before she could reply, his hands slid lower as he knelt on the floor, his lips finding her skin, planting kisses across her collarbone, her breasts, and the small pouch of her belly.

She could not decide what thrilled her more: the tempting sensation of his touch or the fact that it was Colin who was touching her.

Bringing her hands to her waist to cover his, she squeezed gently, and he, in turn, tightened his hold on her, making her breath hitch.

He looked at her in surprise, but once he recovered, mischief danced in his eyes. “I have dreamed about this, you know.”

“You have?” She asked, astonished.

Colin hummed. “I have.” He rose to his feet and leaned closer, his mouth now trailing a deliberate path from her neck to her ear as he continued his adoring touches upon her breasts (her hands still on top of his, encouraging him to press harder). “And I must say, the reality surpasses my dreams in every way, Penelope.”

“Oh,” she sighed, releasing his hands to embrace him, holding him tightly. His own hands circled her waist, drawing her closer. His warm skin, the roughness of his chest hair brushing against her, and the firmness of his grip on her waist set her senses ablaze.

She clung to him so tightly that they lost their balance, tumbling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, giggling uncontrollably.

“Colin!” She admonished him, though she was mostly to blame, trying to keep her voice low but failing and covering her mouth in between giggles. “We have to be quiet—what if my mama returns?”

He groaned, burying his face between her breasts; his voice muffled as he replied, “Penelope, please do not mention your mother while I am naked in your bed.”

A fresh wave of giggles overtook her, and she was certain she felt him laugh against her skin, his shoulders trembling slightly from it.

As she ran her fingers through his hair, he pressed soft, wet kisses between her breasts, drawing a sigh from her lips.

Colin must have heard it, for he propped himself up on his forearms, the amusement fading from his eyes as they locked with hers.

(The way he hovered over her—his arms taut with effort—made her press her thighs together once more. He was so much bigger than her, it made her feel utterly encompassed by him. And she loved it—longed for more, wanted to lose herself in him entirely, until no one could tell where one ended and the other began.)

“I think…” He began, licking his lips before shifting to support himself on one arm, allowing his other hand to slide to her waist, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. “We should see how else you surpass my imagination. Do you not agree?” He glanced up at her with playful eyes, a boyish smile curling at his lips.

She nodded, feeling a little shy. It felt strange to hear Colin speak about imagining her, almost as if she were dreaming. How could this be her reality after so many years yearning for him?

One of his hands ventured lower, seeking her most intimate place. Her cunt, he had called it, the word feeling deliciously wicked even in her mind.

When she heard his sharp intake of breath, she tried to meet his gaze, but he looked as though he were in a trance. Colin simply stared down at where his fingers moved between her legs, and when a knuckle caressed her unexpectedly, she could not help but arch into his touch.

It had been just the barest of touches, but it already felt so good. Her fingers shot up to hold his wrist against her as a whimper escaped her lips, her widened eyes locked with his hungry ones.

She did not think she would ever grow accustomed to the feeling of Colin touching her like this. It was only the second time, but still… for some reason, it felt like the first all over again. Perhaps it was because this time, he could see her entirely.

“Touch me, Colin,” she pleaded, guiding his hand in slow, up-and-down movements against her.

With a strangled groan, his fingers flicked against her in a way that sent a burst of pleasure through her body.

So many times she had tried, but she could never replicate what he did to her.

“You are drenched, Pen,” he said, his voice rough and laced with a kind of pained wonder. “Is this all for me?”

She nodded frantically, her breath hitching. “It is, it is. It has always been for you.”

With a low grunt, he shifted on the bed, repositioning her thighs to rest over his shoulders, pulling her close and making her squeak in surprise.

“Colin, what—” She flushed, feeling utterly exposed, both physically and emotionally. “Oh!” Penelope gasped when she felt the first warm stroke of his tongue, sending a jolt of pleasure throughout her body. One hand shot to his hair, gripping it with more force than she intended. She almost apologized, afraid she might have hurt him, but then Colin moaned against her as though he loved it.

“Yes. Yes, Colin,” she sighed.

His tongue felt positively sinful against her, its heat and quickness overwhelming her senses. The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that she did not know whether she wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

It felt so wonderful, but at this rate, it would all be over far too soon.

Her body betrayed her as she became a moaning mess, quickly biting her knuckles to muffle the sounds. Her hips instinctively ground against his tongue, her legs parting wider to give him better access as he licked and sucked with abandon

And god, the sounds. She could feel her face flushing once more, if it ever stopped at all. The once silent room was now filled with wet suction noises and the sounds of Colin moaning against her as if she were the most delectable meal he has ever tasted.

Then suddenly, he moved just slightly higher, his tongue finally brushing that little nub that sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body. Stars seemed to burst behind her eyelids as she gasped, her hand flying to the back of his neck to press him closer—slapping against him in her eagerness, much to her embarrassment—holding him to her as she reached a high she had not known was possible.

His movements slowed gradually as the euphoric sensation faded, though it still felt impossibly good.

Was it his tongue, or was it simply the fact that it was him?

And could she have him do this for her for the rest of their lives?

She should feel embarrassed, should she not?

Why did she not feel embarrassed?

A soft whine escaped her when he pulled his mouth away. “Please, do not stop.”

“I will not stop, darling,” he promised, moving up her body just far enough to press a kiss to her lips. Penelope could taste herself on his tongue. It was… different. Was it wrong that she liked it? That she craved more? That she wondered how he tasted?

Oh god, would his release rival hers in intensity? Would he cover her with it?

“This night shall only end,” he murmured against her skin, his voice dark and full of promise, “when we are both utterly ruined.”

And as her gaze finally lifted to his handsome face, she flushed, seeing how wet she had left him once again. Colin did not seem to mind, licking his lips and giving her a look that promised he would gladly do it all over again.

As he trailed down her body once more, he paused to suck the peaked tips of her breasts, his tongue teasing them just as he had worshiped her cunt.

He did not stop, not until he had left them swollen, wet, and flushed. Penelope could only stare at them in wonder, her gaze flickering to him, who looked back at her as though she were a masterpiece. As if she were worthy of reverence.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over her wet nipple and making her gasp at the sensation. She suspected he had not meant to say it aloud.

As he moved lower, his lips brushed over her belly, his mouth sliding to her waist before he sank his teeth into her flesh.

“Colin!” She squeaked, her voice louder than it should have been. Oh, but she had enjoyed that.

“My apologies, darling,” he said, that indecent roguish smile curving on his lips as he kissed the spot where his teeth had marked her. “I could not resist.”

Penelope caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks aflame. “I do not wish for you to.”

Colin raised his head sharply, his eyes widening in surprise as they met hers.

“You do not?” He asked slowly, as if he could not comprehend the words in his mind.

Penelope shook her head. “I wish to know everything. I wish for you to… show me, everything,” she answered, her gaze flickering to his cock before finding his eyes once again.

“Penelope,” he groaned, his voice heavy with restraint. His eyes closed, and he buried his face against her belly, a shuddering breath escaping him as he ground his hips into her bed, his resolve barely holding on.

“Very well, darling,” he said at last, lifting his head and staring at her with a gaze so intense that it made her feel like the single most important thing in his world. “Remember, you asked for it,” he warned, pressing a lingering kiss to each of her thighs before descending upon her.

Penelope cried out the moment his lips met her cunt. Expecting the same exquisite pleasure his mouth had brought her before, her hands flew to his hair, but before she could grasp it, he pulled back with a mischievous glint in his eyes—lips glistening with her—leaving her breathless and aching.

“You said you wished to see me,” he said in a low murmur, and Penelope could already feel excitement pooling low in her belly. She shuddered at the sound of his voice, his words unleashing a wild, restless beast that gnawed at its cage, desperate to be free. “I will show you exactly what you do to me.”

Taking himself in hand, not once he broke their eye contact, and though Penelope wished to allow her gaze to wander, to watch him fully, something in the intensity of his eyes warned her not to look away.

Feeling emboldened by the way his eyes lazily roamed over her body before locking with hers once more, she parted her legs wider, inviting him in.

Draping himself over her, he let his heavy cock rest against her slick heat, rutting slowly against her, allowing her to coat him with her arousal.

Oh. That was—

Instinctively she moved her hand down over his cock, pressing him harder against her cunt, his groans of ”fuck, Penelope” and “I think you shall be the death of me” against her skin making her smile, pleased that she could surprise him despite her inexperience.

He stilled for a moment, his breathing heavy, before tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Do you feel it, Pen?” He asked, his voice still rough from her actions. “This is what you do to me. This is how I find myself lately—hard, aching, and wanting.”

“Hard?” She asked, furrowing her brows in confusion. “Are you not like this usually?”

“No, darling.” He chuckled softly, his voice laced with warmth. The look in his eyes was so tender, so full of adoration, that it made her heart ache. His fingers brushed her cheek, guiding her towards him for a sweet, unhurried kiss.

“You see, I find myself singularly affected too,” Colin murmured huskily after pulling away, his teeth grazing his bottom lip as his eyes gleamed with desire. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered. “Let me teach you, Pen.”

“Yes,” she sighed, her breath quickening as she surrendered herself to him.

Colin smirked, taking one of her hands in his and guiding it between his legs, wrapping her fingers around him as his larger hand moved with hers. He was slick with her arousal, their hands sliding easily together. “This is my cock,” he said, his eyes glinting devilishly as the word rolled off his tongue. “Say it, Pen.”

“Your… member,” she finished lamely, her voice barely above a whisper and her tone laced with embarrassment.

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, sending a shiver down her spine.

“No, Penelope. I know that is how ladies refer to it in whispers amongst themselves when they think no one can hear. But you…” He trailed off, his mouth finding her neck, his warm breath ghosting over her skin as he murmured his next words. “I wish to hear you say it. Say you want my cock inside you. Inside your warm, tight cunt.”

“I-I want—“ She flushed. It was not in embarrassment, though. No, it was the heat of unrestrained want, the thrill from doing wicked things. She was intoxicated by him, by the idea of speaking words no proper young lady should utter. “Please, Colin, I need your cock inside my… my cunt.”

His blue eyes darkened at her words, his desire clear as day for all to see, as his hands guided hers to move faster.

“Will it—” She licked her lips, her gaze flickering nervously to his cock before returning to his eyes. Her lashes fluttered anxiously as she asked in a small voice. “Will it fit?” Embarrassment filled her as she looked away, her inexperience suddenly feeling glaring in comparison to him.

Would she be any good to him?

Sensing her uncertainty, he stilled their movements, releasing her hand. Yet Penelope kept hers there—she could not let go, not when it felt so good to hold him, not unless he made her. Gently cupping her cheek to guide her gaze back to him, he nodded, a patient smile softening his handsome face.

“But it shall not be tonight,” he said with finality. Penelope could not stop the pout that tugged at her lips, already preparing to protest. He laughed, delighted by the adorable sight she made. “Soon, darling. Tonight, I shall show you something else.”

“What will you show me?” Her voice betrayed the excitement bubbling within her, not once she tried to conceal it.

But Colin did not answer her. Instead, he smirked, gently moving her hands away from him—much to her dismay—as he wrapped his own around himself, stroking with intent.

“Tell me, Penelope,” he commanded, his voice low and raspy. She knew exactly what he meant. She had delayed for too long, and it seemed his patience had run out.

“I-I…” she stammered, her words faltering as her gaze fixated on the movements of his hand. Oh, what she would give for it to be her hand instead. Or perhaps…

Could she use her mouth on him as he had done to her? Surely he would not allow it—not unless she caught him by surprise.

The mere thought made her flush, heat pooling low in her belly as more wetness seeped from her cunt.

“I have been doing as you told me,” she blurted out, wincing at how high-pitched her voice sounded.

But Colin did not seem to mind. If anything, his hand moved faster, as though her lack of composure only spurred him on.

“Tell me,” he pleaded in a much too eager tone that made her smile. Perhaps they were not so different after all.

“I feel warm all the time,” she confessed, her tone carrying a note of frustration. “My stockings are constantly ruined with how wet my thighs become. And I cannot do anything about it, Colin.” She looked at him with pleading eyes, her voice turning softer. “No matter how much I try, I cannot do it like you. I do not feel as full—it does not feel the same.”

“I do not—” she hesitated, lowering her voice to a mere whisper, a pretty blush painting her cheeks. “I do not gush as you made me do.”

“Perhaps…” He licked his lips, movements faltering for just a moment. “Perhaps you should show me, so I can see what is wrong.”

The guilty flash in his eyes betrayed him—he did not ask out of concern. No, he asked because he wished to see her.

Penelope smirked, propping herself up on one elbow as her hand slid down her belly to her cunt, her knees falling open to his ravenous gaze.

A shiver ran down her spine as his eyes raked over her, lingering on her breasts and the movements of her hands.

Doing just as he taught her to, she grazed her slit first—gasping at the sensitivity of that initial touch—then dipped her fingers inside to gather her wetness. Slowly, she brought it up to her nub, rubbing it in slow, lazy circles.

“Oh, Penelope,” he sighed, his wrecked voice sending a wave of heat throughout her body and making her want to press her legs together. And he looked wrecked, too. Flushed skin, heavy, lustful eyes and that messy curl that always fell over his forehead. His cock and hand glistened with her arousal, and the sight—combined with the pleasure of her fingers moving quicker as his own strokes sped up—made her own eyes grow heavy with desire.

Quickening her pace, she drew tight little circles around her nub, slowly thrusting two fingers inside herself and moaning at the stretch. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she watched the white substance leak from the tip of his cock. She wanted a taste, more than she had ever wanted anything in her life (except for him—she had never wanted something as much as she did him).

The thought sent a jolt of electricity coursing through her, loving just how wanton she sounded. Throwing her head back, she bucked against her hand, moving desperately quicker as she chased her pleasure, her moans growing higher in pitch, uncaring of her surroundings or who might hear them.

“I cannot—Colin!” She cried out, trembling as her body overflowed with pleasure, warmth, and love. Panting softly, she rested her hand against her slick cunt, giving it gentle pats, feeling dazed and utterly spent.

It was only ever this good when she was with him.

Penelope felt her eyes growing heavier, but she refused to close them—she wanted to see his release. She wanted to see his expression, to know if he would throw his head back as she had, or if he would keep staring into her eyes instead.

The latter sounded much more appealing to her. The fact that Colin wanted to see her, to watch her.

A groan of ”Penelope!” snapped her out of her daze, drawing her gaze just in time to see his hands working faster along his cock as he spilled his release into his hand, never once breaking eye contact with her.

(There was something there, as he stared at her. Something she could not quite name it, or perhaps she could, but was too afraid that it was her mind playing tricks on her yet another time.)

They stared at one another, their gazes heavy and chests heaving, his hand still wrapped around his cock and hers still resting against her cunt. Both of them were a mess, marked by their releases.

The thought made Penelope smile—a smile that quickly turned into a soft chuckle, which Colin soon echoed.

“You are beautiful, you know,” she said, a little bashfully, as though sharing a secret. It was almost laughable, because everyone already knew Colin was beautiful.

But she had not meant it in a physical sense (although he was too, of course). She meant it in this vulnerable, arousing, and utterly maddening way they just shared.

He hummed, rearranging his body so he could lie down beside her, taking care not to dirty her skin with his release. “That is only because you have not seen yourself.”

But Penelope barely paid attention, too entranced by his hand.

“Colin,” she called softly, reaching for his wrist to guide his stained hand towards her. “May I taste you as you did me?”

He spluttered, clearly not expecting her words.

“Pen, I—” he stuttered nervously as she brought his fingers closer to her. Colin’s gaze darted between her eyes and her lips, watching intently as she turned her attention to his hand, staring intently at his release and licking her lips.

But just as she was almost, almost about to fulfill another dream of hers, a sudden knock on her door startled them both. They jumped apart, scrambling for their clothes and desperately searching for a way out of this situation.

“Penelope, dear, are you awake?”

It was her mama.

She closed her eyes in exasperation. While she appreciated that her mother was trying to take more of an interest in her, she could not have chosen a worse time.

They had been so close, she thought in despair, glancing at the hand that had been mere inches from her lips—now entirely out of reach as Colin hurriedly picked up his clothes.

“Yes, mama?” She called out, attempting to disguise her tone, though she knew it came out displeased.

Colin looked at her with amusement in his eyes, his trousers already back in place as he cleaned his hand with a handkerchief.

And in the blink of an eye, all her happiness was being packed away, little by little.

Not that she wished for it to happen—she felt a little possessive of him—but if anyone saw Colin, they would surely understand her predicament.

“I just came to check on you. Are you alright? I heard noises.”

Her eyes widened, and her heartbeat quickened, now for entirely different reasons.

“Oh, I am! Just tripped over one of my books,” she said with a nervous laugh, closing her eyes and cringing at how obvious her lie must have sounded.

Portia clicked her tongue. Though she was trying to be gentler these days, she still could not quite hide her disapproval of Penelope’s reading habits. “Do not stay up too late, then. You must rest; dark circles under your eyes are not flattering.”

Hearing her mother’s footsteps grow fainter and fainter, she finally released the breath she had been holding.

Turning to Colin, she found him already mostly dressed, save for his cravat and suit.

Rising from the bed, she crossed the room to him. Standing on the tip of her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. His hands instinctively settled on her waist, as though that was where they had always belonged.

She knew he had to leave. The last thing she needed was for her mama to catch them and demand they marry.

She would never entrap Colin.

Whatever was to happen between them, it had to be his choice—and his alone.

With one last peck, she regretfully pulled away—her heart skipping a beat when she noticed his eyes were still closed (his brows were furrowed, as she had always noticed they were), and he made no move to leave, as if he, too, wished to stay.

“I will send word tomorrow,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her hand—the one still slick with her release. He parted from her with a smirk, his tongue flicking across the corner of his lips.

Shameless, charming man.

Penelope released an unsteady breath, her eyes following him as he climbed out the window, his perfect arse flexing as his muscular frame moved with ease. She hurried after him—with no care that she was still undressed and anyone could see her—peering out to watch him cross the street, her heart aching with every step he took away from her.

Next time.

Next time, he would not run away from her.

Colin could not recall a time in his life when he had been happier than he was now.

For the first time, he felt as though he had something worth striving for.

If Penelope were watching him from her window (he did not dare to look, afraid she might not be), she would surely see the satisfaction in his stride.

Surely, it was written all over him, as clear as day.

He was certain there might as well be a sign in bold letters declaring his love for Penelope Featherington, visible to anyone who cared to notice.

(Which was a tempting thought. While the secrecy had its allure, it did make him feel melancholic at times. He wished for everyone to know that he was hers, just as she was his. Not that he wanted them to know the current extent of their relationship, but he no longer wished to love her in secret.)

Last night, for the first time in weeks, he had fallen into a dreamless sleep, too blissfully spent to conjure anything in his mind. It was a good thing, he reasoned, considering how much he needed to accomplish today.

Straightening his waistcoat, he strode towards his study, mentally preparing the list of tasks awaiting him.

Thankfully, he had managed to speak with Anthony. It was not exactly ideal, considering he had been sneaking home so late at night. Which would have been fine—encouraged by him, even—if not for where he was coming from.

He had been passing by his study, trying to slip into his bedchamber unnoticed. But he had not counted on his brother being awake, let alone far from Kate.

“Brother, I thought you were not feeling well,” he greeted him in an amused tone with a knowing look.

Colin did not enjoy it. It was an approving look that silently said, ‘I know where you have been.’ Anthony did not know, and Colin resented the assumption that he would ever do that to Pen (never mind the emptiness that came with the fact that people looked at him and thought of such things, seemed to appreciate him more because of it). Even so, he knew his brother had no way of knowing the truth—that he was… Entangled? Promised? Courting her.

But he needed Anthony on his side, so he said nothing, deciding to play along.

“I merely went out for a walk and some much-needed fresh air—you know how much I enjoy it,” he said with a chuckle he hoped sounded genuine. “It is a good thing you are here, though. I wanted to ask you: is our property in Bloomsbury still available?”

“Yes, I am aware,” Anthony said in amusement, though a crease formed between his brows as he motioned for Colin to sit down. “It is, but why do you wish to know?”

“Well, I was hoping to take up residence there,” he replied, a determined glint in his eyes as he considered exactly what the property would be used for. “It is time I moved into my bachelor lodgings, is it not?”

What he did not say was that it was not meant to be his bachelor’s lodgings at all. It was meant to be a home—a home for him and Pen. The thought made him feel giddy. Could he find a way to show her soon? He was desperate to know if she would like it.

Later, he knew he would have to ask to look at the family’s rings, though he was already thinking of doing something different for her. He would give her something from the family, of course, but… perhaps he might draw inspiration from his mother’s ring, creating something a bit more personal, a little more meaningful.

Mother always did say one should marry their dearest friend, as she did with father. A ring that reminded them of his parents’ love story—one certainly for the ages—felt appropriate.

“Of course you can,” Anthony said, rising from his chair and making his way to the bulky safe in the corner of the study. “But you do know you do not have to, right? Kate and I are more than happy to have the family stay here.”

“Do not worry, brother, I know,” Colin reassured, watching as Anthony rummaged through the safe, presumably for the documents and key to the property. “But I am ready for the next chapter of my life. I think I am about to make you very proud.”

It had been a nice talk. Anthony was much more pleasant now that he married Kate.

Although, if he wanted to fulfill what he had said about making him proud, he most definitely should never let him know the extents to which things had gotten with Pen.

Now, he hoped to work on his writing for a little while before heading to Bloomsbury to ensure everything was in order. Surely—

“I hear someone is planning to fly away from the nest.” A voice interrupted, quickly wiping the smile from Colin’s face. He rubbed his temples, already feeling the impending headache that seemed to accompany every interaction he had with Benedict lately.

“Oh, only now? Which of our other siblings’ affairs have you been concerning yourself with as of late?” He joked, making his way to his desk and searching for his journal. Benedict better not have touched it—if he valued his life, that is.

“Well, someone had to take on the mantle for you since you have been so… preoccupied,” Benedict teased, pressing his lips together as if to suppress a grin, his eyes curiously tracking Colin’s every movement.

“Oh, how nice it is to be suddenly so highly regarded,” Colin muttered, more to himself than to Benedict, as he finally found his journal. Still, the comment stirred a thought—where had that regard been when no one had bothered to answer his letters? No matter, he had other, far more pressing matters on his mind.

“Well, if that is all you needed…” he said, already moving around the desk, eager to escape the conversation. But Benedict, ever the nuisance, stuck out his leg to block Colin’s path.

“Colin,” his brother began pleasantly.

“Benedict,” he replied, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

He loved his brother, truly, but he neither had the time nor the patience for a sermon about something he already knew he must do.

His brother rose from his chair, slapping a hand on Colin’s shoulder as he made his way toward the door. “I am not trying to vex you, Colin. I just think you should talk to her—it really would save you so much trouble.”

Colin sighed, watching him leave.

“I am trying,” he muttered under his breath. “It is not my fault we get so… distracted.”

Besides, these distractions were all too welcome, so afraid he was of that gnawing thought that he might be alone in his feelings.

Truly, how difficult could it be to get a single moment alone with a man?

It was strange to think that once, they had no such qualms. Everywhere she went, he always seemed to be there—waiting for her or arriving just after.

But now, he was busy. Colin was not one to lie, so it must be true. He was not avoiding her and regretting what they had done.

He had sent her a missive, just as he promised—sweet man that he was—letting her know he had some tasks to attend to, including seeing to his bachelor’s lodgings, but that he would do his best to come and see her soon.

The thought sent a thrill down her spine. Would he take her there? If he did, it would be the first time they’d be completely alone since their… lessons began.

But ever since their first kiss, Penelope found herself growing impatient. Instead of sitting back and letting life happen to her, she was now filled with an unfamiliar urge—to grab what she wanted with both hands.

Which was how she found herself attending her first ball in weeks, scanning the ballroom for familiar brown curls, her hand pressing self-consciously to her stomach as she heard the whispers and felt the curious stares.

(She felt a small pang in her heart at the sight of dancing and courting couples. Did he miss dancing? She had noticed he had not done so once since returning.)

She truly should have been used to it by now. How long had she been made a laughingstock by these people?

Earlier that evening, she had sat in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as Rae fussed over her hair, carefully pinning her curls into place. Penelope had not particularly wanted to attend the ball—though her mama had been delighted by her decision—but if it was the only way to see Colin, then so be it. She would make the sacrifice and endure the ridicule for him.

Glancing at her emerald green gown, she wondered if she should have chosen a blue one instead. He did favor that color, and the thought of wearing something for him brought a smile to her face.

Well, it was too late now.

Besides, she had something for him already, tucked secretly inside her bosom—a handkerchief, one she had spent the entire afternoon trying to embroider for him.

If she was to court him, surely she should give him gifts, should she not?

He had ruined the other one, she thought with a flush, as memories of their last night flooded her mind. It seemed an appropriate gift.

It did not look particularly nice—she had always been terrible at embroidery—but she hoped the thought and care she had put into it would count. Besides, Colin was the nicest man in the ton, after all. If anything, he would accept it with a smile.

“Pen!”

She looked around, startled, and came face to face with El, immediately breaking into a smile.

“I’m so glad you are here,” El said in a suffering tone that told her Violet had already made her strike conversation with at least two suitors. Her friend hugged her tightly, and Penelope immediately returned the embrace, wrapping her arms around her.

“But why did you not tell me you were attending?” El asked, furrowing her brows as they pulled away.

“Yes, well, I was not going to come, but…” She bit her lip, glancing around instinctively before catching herself and turning back to El, who wore a suspicious look on her face. “Mama was growing impatient with me wanting to stay home,” she added nervously.

“Yes, I am sure she was,” Eloise replied dryly. But then, suddenly, she gave Penelope a wide grin, grasped her hand, and pulled her along. “No matter. The important thing is that I have my faithful companion with me once more.”

Penelope smiled, overcome with a surge of affection for her friend. Eloise could be stubborn and a little difficult at times, but Penelope did love her so very much.

Linking their arms together, they made their way to a quiet corner, Eloise trying to hide from Violet while Penelope subtly scanned the room for Colin. They stayed in their peaceful corner for a few moments, during which Eloise—true to form—launched into another tirade, vexed by her mama and brother.

“…And why should I be treated like an infant, incapable of making my own choices? I had thought that with Fran debuting this season, I might get a modicum of peace, but of course, she already found her match. And do not get me started on Anthony. I am happy for him, truly, but why are happy couples so… utterly insufferable? Must I suffer inside my own home as well?”

Receiving no reply, Eloise glanced at her, finding Penelope wistfully staring at the dance floor.

“Pen,” she called suddenly, noticing her friend’s mind was clearly elsewhere.

Startled, Penelope looked back at her. “Yes? My apologies, El. I have been feeling a little tired these days.”

“From staying at home, doing nothing?” Eloise squinted her eyes, and Penelope cringed. What was wrong with her these days? She used to be so much better at hiding things.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Eloise’s gaze softened, as if she wanted to say more but caught herself.

More than once, Penelope wished she could tell her so very much. But would El understand? Besides, she was dying to talk about what she and Colin have been doing, too. How would she go about speaking of such things about her brother?

“I know, I know. But there is nothing to tell, I promise. I have just been… preoccupied, I guess.” Realizing what she had said, Penelope tucked a curl behind her ear, flushing, and added, “You know how my family is.”

Eloise hummed thoughtfully, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she did not quite believe Penelope, causing a small unease to settle in her chest. Before she could spiral, Eloise suddenly gasped, grasping Penelope’s wrist.

“Oh, I know just what you need! Do you think your mama would allow you to sleep over tomorrow? I have something to show you—a book Colin gifted me, but I have not had a chance to look at it yet.”

Penelope’s ears perked up at the mention of Colin’s name. But more than that, she was curious, and she loved sleepovers with El. It was an unexpected suggestion, one she could hardly say did not sound tempting.

“I think she might not allow it. She keeps going on about how tired I look.” Penelope bit her lip. It was true—her mama had been pestering her, telling her she should stop reading so late. Of course, Penelope could not tell her the real reason for her tiredness as of late.

“Please, she could never say no to me. She adores me,” Eloise interrupted her thoughts, her tone incredibly serious, as if she truly believed what she had just said.

Penelope laughed at her friend’s words, recalling each of her mama’s interactions with Eloise.

“I am sorry, El, but I would not say that is why she says yes to you. I think she just finds it easier so you will leave her alone.” Penelope could barely get the words out, too amused by how Eloise so thoroughly vexed her mama.

Eloise gasped, feigning offense but clearly holding back laughter. “Oh, you find it funny, do you? I will have you know—”

But she was cut off, glancing over her shoulder and groaning. “Mama’s calling me over,” she said much too quickly, much too suspiciously.

Penelope turned around but saw no one—except Benedict, who was looking strangely suspicious and trying to avoid eye contact.

“Are you sure?” She asked, turning back to her friend with a frown.

“Yes, and I must do my best to hide. I will try to see you later, alright? And I will be talking to my dear old friend Portia about you staying over.”

And before Penelope could say anything, Eloise was gone, leaving her wide-eyed and mouth agape.

With a heavy sigh, Penelope watched El and Benedict walk away, him apparently scolding her for something as she tried to placate him.

And once again, she was all alone.

“He does not look pleased. Serves him right for pestering me.”

A familiar voice spoke from her side, and a grin immediately broke across Penelope’s face—a grin she desperately tried to hide but failed. She had to fight with all her strength not to look at him.

“I did not think you would come, but I am very happy you did. I have missed you,” Colin breathed the last words as if in relief that he was finally able to say them. The words were so low that, for a moment, Penelope wondered if they were real at all.

“I have missed you, too,” she whispered, her heart beating so fast that she feared it might fly right out of her chest.

Suddenly, she felt a touch on the tip of her little finger—so soft, so whisperingly light, yet still enough to make her breath hitch. Overcome by how it felt to be touched by him—especially so publicly—she almost lost herself in the sensation.

From where they were standing, it was easy to see them, but their hands were safely guarded from prying eyes. A little secret (another) just for them.

His finger traced silly little patterns over hers, sometimes stopping to rub up and down her skin. For a moment, it felt as if they were the only people in the room. Penelope did her best to remain calm, to hide the turmoil stirring inside her, doing everything in her power not to look at him—even though she wanted nothing more.

And then he had to say it. Those familiar little words that once sparked a fire inside her only to lead to disappointment.

But now, after all that they had shared… now, they made the inferno their first kiss had created turn into a firestorm she had no hope of ever quelling.

“Pen, come with me.”

All night, he had felt a jittery feeling inside him, as if he could sense her presence—even though he had no way of knowing if she was truly there. Truth be told, she most likely was not—it was just a product of his mind playing tricks on him once more.

But then he felt a tingle at the back of his neck—the same one he had felt all these years, as though something within him was attuned to alert him whenever Penelope was nearby. Gooseflesh spread across his arms. She was there. As soon as the thought formed in his mind, he heard the whispers and saw people glancing towards the stairs.

It would have been humorous—if not slightly pathetic—the way he almost broke his neck turning to look at her.

She truly was a vision dressed in green. She was a vision in any color, but he did love the way it brought out the shade of her hair—hair she had taken to wearing down much more frequently now. Part of him wondered if she had noticed the way he loved to play with it, to brush it from her face, and if that was the reason she wore it that way.

Colin cursed under his breath. He knew he should have worn green, but for some reason, the blue waistcoat had called to him. It reminded him of the color of her eyes. It was a pity—they would have made a striking pair in matching colors.

But hopefully, there would be time for that. Hopefully, they would have all the time in the world for matching outfits, silly talks, and dancing all night, toeing (and surpassing) the lines of propriety as they always had.

It was torture waiting for Eloise to grant him a moment with Penelope, but when she finally did, the wait had been worth it.

He had missed her so much that he could not help but yearn to touch her. But, as always with them, that little touch ignited something inside him—something that had lain dormant all these years, as if waiting for the right person. As if waiting for her.

And now, here he was, alone with her in a study at yet another ball. Just like that last time.

But unlike last time, the door was locked. He now sat in the desk chair with Penelope straddling him and leading their kisses with such confidence that it rendered him speechless.

His intentions had been somewhat innocent (except for hoping to kiss her), but by now, he should have known that nothing could ever stay quite innocent between them.

“Did you know I always hoped you would do this?” She said it between kisses, the red tint on her lips smeared, likely all over him, leaving no doubt of what they had been doing. She ran her lips over him, pressing her teasing words and little bites against the skin of his neck, marking him there—a bold red sign telling the world he belonged to her. His cravat was already discarded somewhere as he gripped her ample waist, pressing her close. “Pull me away to have your wicked way with me. There was a time I thought that was exactly what you were trying to do. I think I would have let you do anything to me that night.”

“I was a fool,” he murmured against her hair, his hips instinctively grinding against hers as she laughed delightedly. “We should have been doing this a long time ago.”

Penelope pulled away from him, and through his daze, he feared he had said something wrong—something he should not have.

“Colin, I wish to do something,” she told him breathlessly, slowly sinking to her knees before him.

“Penelope—” He moved to stop her, but his body was already reacting to her. In fact, he had been reacting ever since he saw her at the stairs, strategically trying to cover himself lest he draw attention to his predicament.

Now, as he watched her kneel before him, looking so earnest and curious, he felt the heat stir inside him at the thought of what she might want to do.

“No.” She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him before he could speak another word. “It is my turn now. I wish to bring you pleasure, just as you did to me.”

She bit her lip before continuing, her eyebrows raised slightly and lips pouted. “May I?” she asked, her voice teasing.

Tempting little thing, throwing his own words back at him.

He could only nod, too entranced, too excited, too… wanton.

Perhaps he was a rake. But only for one woman. Only for Penelope.

Colin could only watch as her delicate hands ran over his thighs before moving to unbutton his trousers. They stared at each other—Penelope with her wide-eyed gaze, a little uncertain if she was doing it right but so, so very willing—as their heavy breathing filled the silent room.

Once she managed to open the button, he shifted in the seat, helping her pull his trousers down to his ankles. His cock sprang free, and Penelope’s gaze moved to watch, gasping at the sight.

“God,” she moaned. Or was it him? He could not tell anymore. She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. “I want to, but I’m not sure how—”

“It is alright, darling. Do as you wish with me,” he interrupted, lovingly brushing her cheek with his thumb. When she looked so earnest, how could he deny her anything? Especially something he desperately wanted as well. “Men are simple creatures. There is no wrong way to do this,” he added playfully, winking at her, making her giggle. “Just… no teeth.” He had noticed her inclination to bite, so he thought it best to warn her.

“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath, a mischievous glint flashing in her eyes as she leaned over him, her décolletage dangerously close to his aching cock. He inhaled sharply, mentally counting from 1 to 100 to steady himself.

“Then I suppose you shall be at my mercy this time,” she added with a smirk, her small hand reaching for him. She stroked him just as he had taught her, her thumb brushing over his slit, smearing the bead of moisture she found there so she could glide over him more easily, just as he had shown her that night.

How Penelope could feel insecure about what she was doing was beyond Colin. He understood, of course, not knowing what to do, but she had proven to be a fast learner. Besides…

As she looked into his eyes, the blue almost completely disappearing with how much her pupils had dilated, her mouth parting slowly before her tongue peeked out, tentatively giving his tip a little lick and moaning at his taste, Colin could not imagine anyone more alluring, more capable of wringing every drop of pleasure from his body than her.

As soon as she heard his grunt, her eyes sparkled with joy at being able to make him feel good, her fingers digging into the skin of his thighs and leaving half-moon indentations that he would treasure for as long as he could, even after they disappeared.

“Am I doing it right, Mr. Bridgerton?” This time, he could not help but throw his head back with a pained groan. Oh, but she was out to kill him—there was no doubt about that. At this rate, they would not make it to church because the little minx would put him six feet under before they ever could.

Here lies Colin Bridgerton, dead by Penelope Featherington’s perfect lips, perfect hands, and perfect everything.

Her question had been more teasing than genuine curiosity, for she knew just by looking at him. And if that was not enough, he could tell from the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Reaching for her hair, tugging it into his fingers, he gently guided her along his length, her pouty mouth slowly enveloping his tip as she kept her heavy-lidded gaze on his, their expressions mirroring one another. It was incredible to think that she derived pleasure from giving it to him, just as he did.

Wrapping his free hand around his cock, the part where she still did not dare to reach, he sometimes mimicked her movements, sometimes merely squeezed as he watched her.

“That’s it, darling,” he whispered in awe, his thumb brushing her face—eyes closing in contentment as soon as she felt his touch—while he helped her bob up and down, “You are a vixen, are you not? My perfect little vixen.”

Her fingers dug further into his skin at his words, making him let out a mix of a gasp and a moan.

God, he could even see the mark of her lips, the exact color, around his cock each time she pulled back.

He loved it. He wished she would mark him like this every day for the rest of their lives.

Her hand suddenly tugged his own away from his cock, taking its place as her mouth stretched further, trying to take more of him. She gagged slightly, not quite used to it just yet, prompting Colin to gently touch her jaw and guide her gaze to his. Sliding his thumb to brush the tears from the corner of her eyes, he threaded his fingers through her hair, watching her as she stood there, obediently, with his cock stretching her pretty lips.

“Slower, darling, there is no rush,” he murmured in a tone much too sweet for what they were doing. “And do not force yourself; you are already giving me more pleasure than you could imagine.”

But being the obstinate little thing that she was, she paid him no heed. From the fiery look in her eyes, he knew she would not rest until she had swallowed him whole.

“Lord, Penelope.” The hand he had on her face trembled more the further down she went, her soft lips and clever little tongue working him in the sloppiest of manners. Her lips were swollen and glistening, some of her spit dribbling down her chin.

She was the most gorgeous sight he had ever seen.

Once he hit the back of her throat, she choked once more, stopping to take a breath before pulling back and taking what she could not reach in her hand again. She was growing confident, bobbing her head up and down quicker while her hand stroked him in time.

The sounds they were making were enough to make him blush.

“Fuck, Pen, if you do not stop—“ He whined, hips bucking slightly into her mouth.

Once again, paying him no mind, she merely moaned around him, the vibrations making his release feel closer and closer as her hand worked him faster.

Biting into his hand, he could no longer keep the grunts of pleasure to himself. When her tongue moved just the way he liked (the way he had just discovered he enjoyed), he pulled her a little further down his cock, releasing his seed into her mouth. She squealed in surprise but did not pull back—not until she had taken everything he had to give.

“Fuck.” He threw his head back, one hand (the one marked by his teeth) flexing by his side, thighs marked by her nails as his softening cock slipped from her lips, glistening with her spit and his seed.

She fluttered her lashes at him as she pulled back, looking just as much of a mess as he did.

Her hair was now tousled, the few curls she had pinned looking deliciously undone, lips swollen and glistening with him, a small string of his seed connecting her lips to his cock.

Could the sight be as adorable as it was arousing?

He brought her back into his lap, his cock smearing the fabric of her dress but neither of them paid it any mind. He kissed her hungrily, tasting himself on her lips, before moving his mouth to her chin and cleaning her up. Her hands traveled from the back of his neck to his hair, no doubt leaving it as much of a mess as hers.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her skin, his hands gripping her waist as she ground her hips against him. “Such a good fucking girl for me, Penelope.”

She let out a needy little whine at his words, still not used to hearing him curse so freely in front of her.

“Please, Colin, touch me,” she pleaded, her words coming out as desperate as he felt. “I need you.”

Her hands were already on his, guiding them under her dress and through her layers, making the fabric ride up as they moved together. He could see her stockings, the way they framed her thick thighs so prettily (the delicate little bows on top of them tempting him further), and he was suddenly overcome with the thought of his head between them, her wearing nothing else but those.

“Did you enjoy taking me in your mouth that much, my love?” He asked lovingly—proudly—as he brushed his knuckles over her cunt, knowing very well the answer. He could feel how she was dripping for him, and if he had been wearing his trousers, she would have made a mess of them.

She nodded frantically, making him smile in smug satisfaction. “I loved it,” she paused, nuzzling her nose against his throat and inhaling his scent deeply. “I enjoy it—seeing you surrendering yourself to me.”

And she said it so simply, as if she had not just uttered one of the most alluring things Colin had ever heard.

Once again, before he could stop himself, before he could think it through—completely taken with how good she had just made him feel, how much he loved her, and how pretty she looked on his lap, mouth covered in him—the words tumbled from his lips.

“I wish to show you something. Will you come with me to Bloomsbury, Pen?”

Chapter Text

In retrospect, they had not thought it through, this little encounter of theirs in the study.

Though, to be fair, that could be said for much of what they were doing lately.

It had taken them an embarrassingly long time to make themselves somewhat presentable, both collapsing into laughter as they attempted to fix each other’s hair and wipe their faces (and his neck) free of the red stains she had spread all over them.

(And her dress. He had blushed furiously when he saw the mess he had made. Good lord, when was the last time anyone had made him blush? If ever? He was supposed to be the charmer, the one that caused the blushing, not the other way around.)

Colin had enjoyed it—threading his fingers through her curls, trying to pin some of them back, and brushing the rest over her shoulders. He had some experience, a result of having so many sisters. After all, how many accidents had there been in their childhood where Colin took upon himself to help?

He vividly remembered one time when Fran was sobbing because her hair had gotten hopelessly tangled. She had allowed no one but him to go near her. He had spent what felt like hours patiently talking to her and gently untangling the mess. In the end, he had never felt prouder of himself—proud of the way he had been able to comfort his little sister and make her feel better. That he was the one she had trusted to do so.

Perhaps he could learn to do it a little better, just for Penelope. He liked the thought of being able to care for her like this when they were married. He would never be as skilled as Rae, but maybe he could manage well enough for those quiet days when they stayed home. It was so easy to picture them in bed, her soft, sleepy form nestled between his legs as he tended to her.

After they appeared slightly more put together (but in his opinion, it was painfully obvious what they had been doing; at times, he even thought he could feel eyes on his back), leaving undetected proved a little trickier.

Penelope was a natural, slipping out quickly and waiting for him outside, just as they had agreed. For him, it was a little more difficult. He was unaccustomed to leaving without letting his family know, but tonight was different. If he stopped to excuse himself, they would surely try to talk him out of it.

He had to go.

He had to show Penelope their home.

Of course, he would not call it that, not yet. But still, he wished to see what she thought of it. If she thought it was perfect, just as he did.

A tension-filled carriage ride later—where they had tried their best to behave and keep a somewhat respectable distance, but still ended up with Penelope perched on his lap, exchanging languid kisses, with their curious hands wandering over each other’s bodies—they were finally home.

Colin anxiously watched as she took in her surroundings, her mouth agape as she paid meticulous attention to every detail.

He had not done much to the house yet, he did not even have servants. But, considering how much he had to fend for himself during his travels, he was quite adept at managing on his own. Still, he had tidied up enough to make it livable for now; the rest, he wanted to wait for her so they could make it their own together.

Suddenly, she turned to him, a wide grin spreading across her lips.

“I love it! It is so… comfortable,” she said distractedly, already making her way upstairs.

“You truly think so?” Colin could not help the foolish smile that spread across his face as he quickly followed her towards what was meant to be their bedchamber.

(And if he skipped every other step just to stand a little closer to her and surround himself with her scent once more, who could blame him?)

“Of course I do,” came her earnest reply, her little feet moving swiftly from one side to the other, as if she wanted to take everything in at once, so full of excitement. “You know, whenever Eloise and I talked about living together as spinsters, I always imagined a place like this.”

She paused by his—no, their—desk as she spoke, a faraway look in her eyes. Her fingers traced over the scattered books, papers, and his journal; her touch gentle and her gaze almost dreamlike.

He exhaled sharply at both her words and the sight she made.

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had made a good choice, thankfully. Oh, he could hardly wait to see the expression on her face when he told her they would live here.

That is… if she accepted him.

Colin was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed the way she was lightly swaying in place, her lovely feet—now barefoot, since he knew they always hurt after wearing heels for too long—padding softly across the floor.

Suddenly a thought crept into his mind. There was something they had always done, ever since she debuted, but they had not yet had the chance to do this season.

Did she notice it? Did she miss it?

Stretching a hand towards her, Colin gently cleared his throat to catch her attention. Penelope turned to him, her mouth parting slightly in surprise when she noticed his extended hand, waiting for hers.

“I think you owe me a dance or two this season. It is a crime that I have yet to dance with my favorite partner, you see,” he teased, a charming smile spreading across his face. It widened even further when she placed her fingers in his palm, her teeth catching her lip in that endearing way he loved.

“A crime, is it?” She replied, a quiet laugh escaping despite herself. Her round cheeks flushed in that delightful way that always made his heart race. In fact, he had been purposefully teasing her more often lately, all with the singular goal of seeing her blush just for him.

“Oh, yes,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Whatever shall you do to make it up to me, Miss Featherington?”

She pretended to think for a moment, gnawing at her bottom lip in thought, but he knew sharp words were already on the tip of her tongue.

“Should I buy you flowers?” She began, her voice light and teasing, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have noticed that gentlemen often bring ladies flowers when they wish to apologize.”

She tilted her head slightly, as if now considering something else entirely. “Or perhaps something better suited to your tastes—a new journal, since yours is nearly full?”

Her tone softened as if she were truly considering it before she leaned in just a little closer, her words dropping to a teasing whisper. 

He leaned further as if to hear her better, too entranced by her, almost as if he were under a spell. “Or should I sink to my knees and beg for your forgiveness? Would that please you, Mr. Bridgerton?”

Colin choked on his own spit, his smirk and confident posture faltering as her words hung between them, still entirely unaccustomed to this new flirtatious banter between them. The little minx only giggled, all too happy with the power she held over him.

His gaze flickered to her lips and then back to her amused eyes before he caught himself, bringing her body flush to his and making her gasp in the process.

“I must say I did enjoy the sight of you on your knees very much,” he murmured, rougher than he intended.

Penelope blushed and stammered, clearly not expecting him to answer, which made him think she was just as unaccustomed to this new side of their relationship as he was.

But as things were with them, in the blink of an eye the moment was over, the old Colin and Penelope back in their place.

As they glided across the floor, giggling at the silliness of dancing without music, it was almost like they were children again, laughing at Aubrey Hall. It reminded him of those rare times they danced before her debut—when Daphne was learning the steps, and his mother insisted that Pen should join them as well. Benedict would partner with his sister, leaving Colin to take Penelope’s hand.

(Now that he thought about it, she had been his partner for longer than he remembered.)

But now, although some things remained the same, some were different. His arm rested firmly and possessively around her waist, her chest occasionally brushed against his, and his warm breath tickled her ear, making her tremble in his hold.

Now, there was an unspoken tension between them, a heady pull that grew stronger with every shared glance, with every flicker of their gazes between eyes and lips. Sometimes he would give in, stealing a kiss when he could. Each time, it made her smile and her eyes shine in a way he was certain he had never seen before.

And now, when he spun her into his arms, he pulled her closer than it was allowed—her back pressed tightly to his chest. Every time she squeaked in surprise, her body shifted against his, her arse deliberately pressing against his hardening cock, igniting a fire between them that neither could ignore anymore.

Unable to bear the temptation any longer, Colin finally gave in. As soon as she turned to face him again, he reached for her chin with careful, quivering fingers—as though she were made of glass, as though one wrong move might shatter the moment and take her away from him.

Slowly, he brought Penelope closer, claiming her lips in a languid, hungry kiss that made the world around them fade away.

For a moment, sunny afternoons filled with laughter and stumbling through steps turned into something else. This was not a clandestine meeting between friends in a place that did not yet belong to them in the way he wished to. For a moment, he was a husband stealing a moment with his wife, their kids quietly tucked in bed for one precious night, and no other duty requiring their attention.

Guiding her backwards with one hand firmly holding her waist, his other slid from her chin to her jaw, then to her neck (the cold kiss of his signet ring making her tremble slightly), his fingers pressing gently against the back of it. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles along the soft skin in the front, and when he pulled back, he could not help but marvel at how captivating she looked with his sun-kissed hand resting against her pale throat.

(When Colin saw the corners of her lips tugging into a satisfied smile, he pressed his thumb just a little harder. Her eyes almost closed entirely with pleasure as she let out a needy whimper.)

Her hands clung to the back of his suit as their lips met again, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure. She pulled him closer and closer, as if even being pressed as tightly against her as possible would never be enough.

It struck him as humorous, in a distant corner of his mind, to think about how he had once gone so long without this kind of intimacy and had not been particularly bothered by it. He had always been fine with waiting for his wife to share these moments with her—more than fine, in truth.

But with Penelope… he could not seem to get enough. He could spend every single day kissing her (and, if he were honest with himself, tupping her, though they had not reached that point just yet) and still, it would not satisfy him. The very idea of having to give this up—of having to stop if she ever decided she wanted to—was unthinkable. He might as well throw himself from a moving carriage, as he had once half-jokingly considered.

Suddenly, her arse hit the edge of the desk, and a startled cry—muffled by his lips—escaped her as he effortlessly lifted her by the thighs, settling her on top of it without parting from her.

“You know, I think I enjoy this better than dancing in a ballroom,” he whispered against her lips, his tongue peeking out just to give her a teasing lick.

Penelope playfully scrunched her nose before replying in a breathy voice that sent a jolt straight to his cock, “I cannot imagine why.”

She barely gave him time to respond, yanking him closer by the lapels and crashing their lips together again. His hands instinctively found the dip of her waist, pulling her towards him so she could grind against his cock, her body precariously perched on the edge of his desk.

But before he knew it, her small hands pressed against his chest, and he pulled back in a daze, still overcome by their kisses, to fully grasp what was happening.

“I almost forgot! I have something for you.”

Her voice was breathless from their kisses, her cheeks flushed from both their heated exchange and a twinge of embarrassment.

Colin flushed as he watched her reach into her bosom to retrieve something, his mind racing with both desire and curiosity about what she might wish to give him.

She stretched out her arms, presenting him with a small package. It was wrapped in a piece of silk that smelled deliciously sweet—just like she did—and tied with a blue ribbon, a little sprig of lavender tucked into the knot. The fabric was slightly creased from where she had tucked it away, and Colin tried not to dwell too much on that particular fact, lest he end up devouring her where she stood. The mere thought of Penelope spending all night with a gift nestled inside her bodice, just for him, was enough to drive him to madness.

He smiled as he took it from her hands, inspecting her handiwork. A part of him did not even want to open it—it was lovely as it was, and he could feel the thoughtfulness she had put into it. He was afraid that he would ruin it just by touching it.

But she was looking at him expectantly, and he could never disappoint her.

When he finally unwrapped it, he found a handkerchief embroidered with small shells that were delicately crafted in thread. He ran his fingers over the intricate patterns, his expression softening as he admired the care and detail she put into it.

“It is beautiful,” he said quietly, the words more to himself than to her, before looking up at her in absolute awe.

“You ruined your old one, so I thought perhaps you might enjoy a new one,” she said shyly, tucking a curl behind her ear as she avoided his gaze, her cheeks flushing a delightful pink.

“It is from the description in your letters. For some reason, out of everything you wrote to me about the places you visited, this was the detail that stuck with me the most. And you seemed to enjoy them,” she added, glancing towards the little wall he had decorated with them. “I think I made the right choice.” Her voice wavered slightly, the statement sounding more like a question.

When he did not say anything right away, she continued, her nervousness growing with every passing second.

“It is not—” she licked her lips, her hands fidgeting in her lap, “it is not particularly pretty, because I am not very good at it, but—”

“It is perfect,” Colin interrupted, his voice choked up with emotion and his eyes slightly teary. He looked up at her, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that reached his eyes. “It is the best gift I have ever received, Pen.”

He could not help it. No one had ever spent so much time and care on a gift meant solely for him. He had, of course, received many presents from his family over the years—though he was much more accustomed to being on the giving end than the receiving. But this was different. There was always a certain smugness in the gifts from his siblings, born of knowing him well enough to be confident he would enjoy whatever they chose.

(And Penelope did know him well enough—better than anyone, in fact. So he could not understand why she would be unsure of his reaction.)

But nothing had ever meant quite as much or gotten him so choked up as hers. Perhaps it was because of how imperfectly perfect it looked—how much of herself she had poured into it, all for him.

His parents had always done their best, and he had never wanted for anything in his life. Yet, having seven siblings, he could not recall ever having something that felt entirely his in quite this way.

(And maybe, just maybe, he did not mean only the handkerchief.)

“Oh,” she croaked out, seeming teary-eyed herself, her eyes widening as if she could not quite believe he truly appreciated something she had made. “That—I am very happy to hear that.”

“I promise I will not ruin this one,” he said with a teasing wink, drawing a watery giggle from her lips.

Colin walked around the desk, carefully placing the little package inside his drawer—the special one where he kept all the letters she had sent him over the years—as if that was the safest place for them.

Returning to her, he slid his hands around her hips; her legs still parted, much to his delight, allowing him to step between them once more.

“Did you bring me here just to show me your new home?” She asked playfully, encircling his neck with her arms, bringing him closer.

But there was something strange in her tone, especially when she said your new home, that he could not quite identify.

“Or did you perhaps have other intentions?” Her eyes flashed mischievously as she spoke. “You do seem to enjoy making sure that we are alone.”

Something she was very guilty of doing as well, he thought.

Colin pursed his lips, trying and failing to suppress a smile. This side of Penelope was utterly enchanting, and he was the luckiest man in the world to be the one she allowed to see it.

“Would it displease you if I did have other intentions?” He rasped, tilting his head to the side to study her—his treacherous hands gripping the edge of the desk and trapping her in place.

Penelope looked down, humming thoughtfully.

“It should, should it not?” She asked in mock contemplation. But then she lifted her head, her gaze locking onto his, and a sinful smirk curled on her pouty red lips. “Perhaps I should leave,” she teased as though she was challenging him. Wanting to see what he would do.

Sliding down from the desk, she gently pushed him away and walked to the door with a deliberate sway in her step, his eyes following the movement as if hypnotized. Reaching for the door, she stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder, that tempting, teasing smirk still in place.

“Before your other intentions make themselves known,” she added.

Colin chuckled, a dark, rough sound that was unlike his usual demeanor. Perhaps he had a side that only she got to see too. Crossing the room in determined strides, he caught her with ease, drawing a surprised squeal from her lips as he hugged her from behind, pressing her body firmly to his, making sure she felt the evidence of what she was doing to him.

“I do not think you can escape my intentions any more than I can escape yours, Pen,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke.

A shiver ran through her body, making her turn her head slightly, her gaze meeting his as their noses and lips came achingly close. Colin wasted no time, brushing his lips against hers in hungry, insistent kisses, their mouths meeting again and again like perfect pieces of a puzzle.

He moved one hand to her waist while the other remained splayed over her belly, her smaller hands pressing over his, fingers interlaced with his own.

When he felt her pull back, he kept his eyes closed and furrowed his brows, still reeling from their closeness, from what her kiss stirred within him, from doing this—sharing a side of her that no one else had ever seen, a side that belonged to him alone.

Good Lord, this was all for him, was it not? No one else ever saw her this way, not even Eloise.

“I think you should take my dress off now, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said softly.

Colin’s eyes flew open, meeting her amused ones.

The other night, he had been so close to breaking his rules. And that was when they were not even entirely alone, as they were now.

Besides, now Penelope knew there was more to what they had been doing, more to what they shared so far. He did not know why he had revealed so much, but if Portia had not appeared that night, if they had had just a little more time… he did not trust that he would have stopped himself.

And truthfully, he was tired of holding back.

His trembling hands moved to the tiny buttons at the back of her dress, slowly undoing them one by one. With each button undone and each sliver of skin he uncovered, the stifling heat in the room seemed to intensify.

Sliding the sleeves from her shoulders, she shrugged one arm free, then the other, the fabric slipping down and catching on her waist.

His hands glided smoothly over her skin, as if he had memorized every inch of her, so familiar with her body now that he moved as though she were his entirely. He pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, ears, and hair, her head instinctively tilting sideways, as if this intimacy were second nature to them, despite it being only the fourth time they had shared such a moment.

Carefully, he helped her out of her dress, letting it pool on the floor before pulling back to offer her a steady hand so she could step away from it.

He had seen her naked before, but somehow, seeing her in just her chemise and stays felt entirely different—more intimate. Perhaps it was because this was the first time he was undressing her. He could see how heavily she was breathing with anticipation, the rapid rise and fall of her bosom catching his eyes, making him dangerously close to losing himself in the movements. His only saving grace was a gentle hand touching his cheek, pulling him back to her with knowing eyes, so they could continue.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she swept her hair over her shoulder, exposing the delicate line of her neck as his long fingers unlaced her stays with care.

When it was finally loose, he eased it down and quickly slid the straps of her chemise off, letting it join the growing pile of fabric on the floor.

His hands skimmed over the soft expanse of her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns along the delicate freckles scattered there, committing each one of them to his memory.

His adoring touch drew a shaky breath from her lips, and Colin could not help but feel a tug at his heartstrings at how she responded to him—starved and entirely unaccustomed to it. It was as if she was not quite used to receiving even the most basic of loving touches. He endeavored then and there that by the time they had to part, she would not only be used to it—she would expect it.

As she turned to face him, Colin stood frozen, his breath hitching and his mouth slightly agape.

Her gaze was coy, her lashes casting pretty shadows over her flushed cheeks as she peered up at him. She stood completely bare save for her stockings, the delicate bows at the top practically begging for his fingers to tease and tug them away while the band of fabric pressed into her skin, accentuating the soft fullness above it.

Penelope looked lovely. Exquisite. She was like a painting brought to life, her curves bathed in the dim light of their bedchamber, making her skin glow.

Perhaps he should take on a new pastime. Surely Benedict could do something useful for once and teach him the ropes of painting, just so he could immortalize her like this. Penelope, in her silk stockings, flushed and wanting, her lips parted and her eyes dark pools of desire.

He could already see it: the portrait hung in their private study, a space no one else would be allowed to enter. A place where only he could admire her in all her glory, over and over again, just as she was at this moment.

When she began to lower herself to remove them, Colin reached out, gently taking her wrists in his hands to stop her.

“Leave them,” he said.

He stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers, and began unbuttoning his suit with far more urgency than the careful pace he had taken in her bedchamber that other night.

His words came out low, a murmur laced with promise. “I will be the one to take them off. Later.”

Colin stripped off his suit, waistcoat and shirt, tossing them aside without a second thought. His belt and boots followed, each piece discarded carelessly in his haste.

Penelope, who had been in a daze until now—watching him undress with wide, wonder-filled eyes while discreetly rubbing her thighs together (as though he would not notice every small detail about her), suddenly stepped closer. Her hands, trembling but determined, pressed against his, halting him before he could go further.

One tentative thumb brushed over his nipple, drawing a gasp from his lips at how sensitive it felt. The sound startled her, prompting her to look up at him with uncertain eyes. “Does—does it feel good?”

He could only nod, not trusting his voice at the moment.

She let out a relieved sigh, smiling to herself, before she continued exploring the planes of his body. Leaning over, she closed her eyes and wrapped her lips around one nipple, keeping her thumb circling the other. Colin could not help but cradle the back of her head, his thumb brushing her hair gently, a sharp exhale leaving his lips.

He had no idea this could feel so good to him as well.

Sooner than he would have liked, she left his nipples, peppering kisses all over his chest (he briefly wondered if she could still leave stains behind) as her hands wandered lower in whispery light touches.

“Let me,” she whispered, her quick fingers already moving with sudden confidence to unbutton his trousers.

Her heavy-lidded gaze traveled downwards, lingering on the tented fabric (which had been in such a state since their carriage ride) before finally locking onto his eyes. And when she looked at him like that, so filled with longing, how could he resist her? He was but her faithful servant. Always.

But then, as Penelope Featherington so often did, she surprised him. Dropping to her knees before him, she tugged at his trousers, sliding them down his legs with unspoken reverence. Colin stepped out of them swiftly, kicking them aside to join the rest of his discarded clothing.

The sight of her kneeling before him, her hands running over his thighs in soft, lingering caresses, nearly undid him. His chest heaved as he tried to control himself, every fiber of his being urging him to lift her into his arms and carry her to bed, to make good on every sinful promise he had made the other night.

But not quite yet. She had plans, and he was all too eager to allow her to do as she wished.

Wrapping one hand around his cock, Penelope brushed her thumb over the head, smearing the wetness she found there along his length. Both of them stilled, their eyes glued to the sight of her small hand wrapped around him, her tentative fingers a stark contrast to the demanding dark red stains she had left behind.

“I marked you,” she said in awe, her fingers loosening around him as she traced the vivid marks she had left. “I like it.”

Her gaze lifted to his, her pupils dilated and a mischievous smirk appearing on her lips.

Colin blinked in surprise, caught off guard by her words.

“I enjoy it when you leave your marks on me,” he rasped, his voice choked up with need and the weight of the secret he just shared, one almost too close to the truth.

I enjoy being yours.

She flushed—all the way down to her chest—and Colin felt the familiar rush of heat in his veins. He knew her body well enough now to expect it, but the sight of it still left him dizzy.

As if drawn by the same invisible pull that always seemed to tether them together, she leaned closer. Her pink tongue darted out, delivering playful little licks before peppering kisses along his length, stopping only to lick his balls and cradle them carefully in her hands, making him grunt—torn between the urge to bury his fingers in her curls and the desire to let her explore at her own pace.

“If I had known,” she murmured between kisses, her lashes fluttering as she pressed the words directly to his heated skin, “I would have brought it with me so I could retouch and mark you more.”

“We can—” Colin’s words were cut off by a ragged moan as Penelope took him into her mouth. She glanced up at him, her mouth stretched around his length and her eyes twinkling with amusement at his reaction.

“We can do it another day. Any day you wish to,” he managed to say, though his voice was tight, his release edging closer at the mere thought of her marking him this way again.

Penelope hummed, the vibrations rippling through him and drawing a string of moans from his lips. Not able to control himself any longer, his hand found its way to her hair, his fingers curling gently as he pulled her away just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Darling,” he groaned, his tone a mix of blissful and pained. Shutting his eyes for a moment, he tried to steady himself.

“This shall be over too soon if you continue.” Their gazes locked, and he spoke slowly, “And tonight, I intend to take my time.”

He tugged her upwards, his lips brushing along her jawline as he breathed her in. Her scent—comforting, sweet, and utterly Penelope—flooded his senses, making him realize, for a moment, that this was what home smelled like.

It was a scent that reminded him of the smell of the freshly baked shortbread from his years of youth—a scent that seemed to permeate the house, signaling that soon enough they would stop their dancing lessons to eat. He would share his plate with her, much to his siblings’ shock, to which he would always say that he could not allow sweet Pen to fend for herself among their savagery.

And he could just picture that same smell permeating so many other memories: in her drawing room as they publicly courted, in their home after they were finally married and in bed with their children, who would certainly inherit his appetite.

Her arms encircled his waist instinctively, as though that was where they belonged.

“You look so pretty like this, Pen,” he murmured in adoration. His hands gripped her hips, his thumbs stroking the bare skin there, tender and possessive. “My pretty girl.”

“Colin,” she whimpered, pulling back just enough to cup his face. Her lips sought his, urgent and desperate, as they both moaned into the kiss.

It was unexpected, but he loved the moments when she took control—when she showed him just how much more confident she was becoming each passing day. His body responded instantly, his hands guiding her as he walked her backwards towards the bed.

When her knees hit the edge of the bed, Penelope fell back with a surprised squeak, her curls splaying across the sheets as she bounced on the mattress. Colin followed her with a low chuckle, bracing himself on his forearms to avoid crushing her.

She whined softly beneath him, a sound that made heat spread through his body. It was not surprising—he was learning just how delightfully improper his Penelope could be, a mirror to his own depraved desires.

Tentatively, he allowed some of his weight to press against her, and she moaned in response, her nails digging deep into his back, enough to make him hiss and leave marks. Her stocking-clad legs wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed over his lower back, feet pressing against his arse, pulling him closer as his cock settled against her soft skin.

The sight of the two of them together struck him: his larger, more imposing frame pinning her small, delicate form into the mattress. Both were naked, save for those bloody stockings that made her look even softer—a stark contrast to the power she held over him.

Lowering his head, Colin buried his face between her breasts, his lips brushing over every inch of skin he could reach. He pressed kisses along the curve of her chest before drawing back to capture one of her pebbled nipples in his mouth. Supporting himself on one arm, his other hand cupped her breast, kneading and squeezing as his thumb grazed the taut peak while his lips worshiped the other.

He alternated between them, his mouth and fingers leaving her nipples red, swollen, and glistening with his devotion. The sounds she made—breathless moans and whimpers—as she gripped the back of his head were enough to drive him mad, enough to make him give her anything she wished for. He did not stop until he was certain he had given her all the attention she deserved.

Finally, he sat back on his heels, her legs still locked around him. The sight before him stole his breath: her fiery curls fanned across the sheets, her chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath, her breasts bearing the evidence of his mouth and teeth. His gaze traveled lower, to her plush thighs littered with marks of his fingers that were sure to accompany her for days, and then, at last, her pink, glistening cunt, plump and drooling for him.

Oh, he would most assuredly paint her someday. If she allowed it, of course.

(But something told him she would. That she would enjoy being so exposed and that someone could see at any moment.)

Draping his body over hers, Colin pressed his lips to her neck, trailing kisses along the slope of her collarbone before brushing over the tops of her breasts. Each touch drew a soft, contented purr from her, a sound that made his pulse quicken. As he pulled back, his thumb tenderly stroked her cheek, his gaze locking onto hers. Her hand rose to cover his, and her legs tightened around him, keeping him close.

“Colin,” she panted, her voice trembling as though she had already surrendered herself to him, even though they had barely begun. “You said there was more. Will you…”

She hesitated, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, before meeting his gaze with a determination that sent his blood ablaze. Always so curious, always so delightfully wanton for him.

His eyes darkened in response, knowing where this was inevitably headed since they had set foot in the house (since he had asked her to come with him), no matter how much he tried to deny it to himself.

“Will you show me?”

Colin inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

Do not do this, he chanted to himself one last time. She does not understand what she is asking. She does not know the full consequences. This is not only a matter of being ruined.

But then that little devil on his shoulder, that little wicked voice that accompanied him much more than he cared to admit lately, whispered: There are ways to avoid that. Ways too intoxicating, too pleasurable for a man on the brink of giving in.

“Pen,” he began, his voice rasping, almost scratching his throat. He swallowed thickly, trying to hang on to any shred of restraint he still had. “You do not know what you are asking of me; what could happen—”

“I do know,” her tone was a mix of pleading and impatient, her heavy-lidded gaze locking with his as her pouty lips formed words that unraveled him. “I know that I want you and that I wish for it to be with you. Do you think I would bare myself before any man, Colin? It is only because it is you. Because I feel safe with you to finally be myself.”

Her voice broke sightly at the end (and once again he could feel a tug at his heartstrings), but she held firm as she added, “This is the one part of my life where I feel I have any control at the moment.”

Each word she spoke chipped away at his resolve, the honesty in her voice making him want to grant anything she desired, even if it was him. Especially if it was him.

And then she said it. That one little word that always undid him.

“Please.”

He had tried, had he not? He had done his best to hold himself back, but surrender came so easily to him when it came to her.

Lowering his lips to her body once more, he kissed her breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth and lavishing them with attention. He sucked and nipped harder when her moans became those sweet little squeals he loved so much—when her pleasure teetered on the edge of pain, a hand reaching for the back of his head to encourage him.

He could not help himself; he could not stop the muttered praises that spilled from his lips against her skin: ‘pretty girl, perfect for me, made for me in all ways.’

Colin could spend hours tending to her breasts if she would let him.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, caressing gently as his mouth wandered lower.

“Oh, yes,” she panted, her breath catching as his lips traced over the gentle swell of her belly, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. 

When he reached her mound, he groaned at the sight of her red curls glistening with arousal, allowing her slickness to smear against his face.

Could he make her release inside his mouth this time?

He pulled back slightly, his voice hoarse with need as he asked, “Will you gush for me, darling? Will you cover my face in your release, so your scent lingers on me for days? Even when I wash, I want to know you are still there.”

Her whine was half embarrassed, half aroused, and it sent a dark chuckle rumbling through him.

“Are you shy now, Miss Featherington?” He teased. “What happened to my little harlot who welcomed me undressed in her bedchambers?”

Part of him, a very distant one, knew he should not refer to her as such. He meant for it to come out loving, for he adored this side of her, but would she know it, feel it in his voice? Or would she kick him in the face, regretting ever asking him—

His thoughts were cut off by her breathless giggles. Her hand trailed down her body, teasingly slow, tracing the same path he had—from her breast to her belly, then to her quim. When her fingers pressed against her folds and spread herself open, he froze, utterly entranced.

As if pulled by an invisible leash, he leaned closer, flattening his tongue to lick a broad stripe along her.

Her hips jerked involuntarily at the sudden contact, her breath hitching. Despite the overwhelming sensation, she kept herself spread open for him, though he could see the effort it took. Her hands trembled, aching to grip the linens, and her thighs quivered with the urge to wrap them around his head and pull him closer.

“If you show me where my rake has been,” she managed after a moment, attempting amusement but coming out entirely breathless, “perhaps I can show you your little harlot again.”

As soon as the words left her lips, her cheeks flushed, she stared at him wide-eyed, as though they had slipped out involuntarily—surprising her as much as his own had surprised him.

Any lingering doubts dissolved as desire roared to life within him.

Not giving her any time to doubt herself, Colin pressed a kiss to her inner thigh before he dove into her cunt with such eagerness that his nose bumped into her nub, making Penelope arch off the bed with a mewl.

His hands encircled her thighs, pulling her closer to his mouth with ease, drawing a startled yelp from her lips, and making her hands instinctively dart to brace herself against the mattress.

Colin chuckled against her, the vibrations making her gasp, her fingers threading through his hair as her legs wrapped around his head, pulling him closer, wordlessly begging for more.

(He vowed to himself that whenever they could spare the time, he would spend an entire day with his head between her thighs.)

He kissed her cunt just as he had kissed her lips—slow, hungry, and deliberate—drawing desperate, breathless sounds from her. His lips traveled languidly, exploring her folds as he plunged the tip of his tongue inside her, tasting her slick with an intensity that made her toes curl.

“You are soft all over, Penelope,” he muttered against her as if possessed, closing his eyes as he savored her taste. “How can you be so soft?” He nipped at each of her lips. “So warm, so perfect.”

“Colin!” She cried out, her hips moving in time with his, desperate to be filled. “Please, I need more.”

Releasing one of her thighs, his hand began its descent, dexterous fingers trailing down her soft skin. His thumb traced lazy circles over her inner thigh, the light pressure teasing her but never quite where she craved.

Each time she whined for more, he would draw a little closer as he stroked her sensitive flesh, lapping up hungrily at her pretty pink folds. His movements were unhurried, relishing in each little sound he plucked from her and the fact that he could have her like this and finally not have to worry about being disturbed.

When she let out an impatient little huff, Colin bit his lip in amusement, deciding he had made her wait long enough.

He brushed his fingers over her wet folds, spreading her slickness around; his touch was so barely there it bordered on torment. Her quiet whimper of need sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock, and he could not resist dipping the tip of one finger into her entrance, teasing with the promise of what was soon to follow.

But of course, Penelope was proving herself more and more tired of waiting, shifting her hips so he would finally slip inside.

“Patience, darling,” came the muffled warning against her inner thigh. He tried to sound stern, but there was so much affection in his voice that turned the command into something far more tender.

This time, when he finally pushed his finger in, she had not been surprised. No doubt she had practiced by herself—and the thought alone had him grinding against the mattress, his cock throbbing painfully in need of release as his mind filled with the image of her pleasuring herself for him that night.

He entered her with ease, her tight, velvety walls gripping him immediately, as though made just for him. Penelope let out a soft sigh, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like ‘finally.’

As his lips closed around her sensitive nub, licking and sucking and losing himself to the taste and feel of her, he began a slow thrusting motion, doing his best to keep the smirk that was threatening to form on his lips to himself. He knew it would not be enough.

And just as he had expected, not a minute later, her desperate whispers of “more” spurred him on, and one finger became two, thrusting deeper and faster to match her growing need.

Her breath hitched.

“Yes, oh, oh, please,” she gasped, gripping his hair so tightly it was almost painful, her thighs almost suffocating him as they held him captive—and he was more than happy to remain her most willing prisoner.

He could feel himself growing harder at her desire for him, at how she had completely lost control of her body, the only thing on her mind being her pleasure. 

“More, Colin, please,” the words barely came out of her lips in between her increasingly louder moans, hips bucking into him as he curled his fingers slightly, hitting that spot he knew she favored. The one that would certainly make her release all over him.

Colin pulled away and looked into her half-closed eyes, propped on one elbow while the other remained tangled in his hair, her neck adorably craned to watch what he was doing to her.

A wicked glint shone in his own. “Not until you give me what I want, Penelope.”

She threw her head back, hitting the pillow with a soft thud and a desperate groan.

“Little vixen,” he huffed a laugh, gazing lovingly at her pouting face.

Returning to his work, he latched his lips onto her sensitive bundle of nerves once again, sucking harder as he decided to give her what she wanted. Two fingers suddenly turned three, and she planted her feet flat against his back as he pumped in and out of her faster, making her cry out and grind wantonly against his face.

It did not take long for her to surrender to him. Lifting her lower half from the bed with him and gripping her backside tightly—a surprised squeal of ‘Colin!’ immediately leaving her lips—her breaths came in short, frantic bursts, one hand still gripping his hair painfully tight, the other, now stretched, buried in his linens.

She shattered in his arms with a scream, her feet trying to pull him closer to her. Colin opened his mouth wider, determined to drink in every drop, letting her coat his lips, cheeks and chin. Even the tip of his nose was delightfully wet from how she had used him.

“Yes, sweet girl, just like that,” he murmured lovingly as he cleaned her up, tongue gliding all over her folds.

The room was filled with wet, sucking sounds that made her groan, her hips pressing into him, as if she wanted to hear more.

With one parting kiss to her sensitive core—making her squeal, her hand that had been in his hair promptly covering herself to push him away, much to his amusement—he lowered her back to bed before making his way up, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her head.

He took her in, and the sight made his breath hitch.

Tousled hair framed her flushed cheeks so prettily that it stole his breath away, her half-lidded eyes glinting with satisfaction, and the corners of her mouth tugged up into a blissful smile. She was…

“Gorgeous,” he praised, unable to stop himself, his voice dripping with awe.

Not bothering to clean his face, he slanted his lips over hers. Penelope responded eagerly, parting her mouth to meet his as he smeared her wetness all over them. Her moans vibrated against him as she tasted herself on his tongue, pressing harder against him, as if wanting more.

When Colin pulled back, he studied her for a moment, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

She looked at him, a little dazed but no less certain of what she wanted. A soft sigh escaped him as he reached between them, taking himself in hand and gliding the head of his cock over her folds, letting her wetness coat him.

Perhaps they could go just a little further—just enough to feel each other. She could have her release around his cockhead, and then he would withdraw. Yes, that could work. It would give them both what they desperately craved, and no consequences would come of it.

Pressing the tip to her entrance, he pushed inside, her walls gripping him tighter than they ever had his fingers. His eyes fluttered shut as the sheer pleasure of finally being inside her washed over him, even if it was barely enough.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, the sound unlike anything he had ever heard from her. It was rougher, rawer, and completely untamed. Her lips parted, and he could see a faint glimmer of spit dribble out of the corners of her mouth.

Her quim seemed to try to draw him in deeper, clenching around him with such insistence that it left him at the edge of surrender. But then, the sound of her cursing broke through his haze, and a surprised chuckle escaped him.

“Oh? Where did you learn such improper words, darling?” He asked (knowing very well where she had learned them), gripping the base of himself firmly, lest the sound of Penelope cursing make him push all the way.

But she did not relent, her body squirming, trying to get him to fill her completely.

“Stop doing that, Pen,” his amusement quickly left him, the words coming out as a pained whine as he struggled to remain steady. “You are going to—”

Penelope ignored him, her own whine cutting through the air.

“Why are you not moving?” She demanded, her brows furrowed, her voice both impatient and needy. “This is not all there is to it. I have seen you. I have had you in my mouth—”

Colin sucked in a sharp breath, not expecting her words.

“Penelope,” he said, his voice strained. The sternness he intended all night finally appeared, but it was softened by a pleading note. It was as if he were saying ‘please… I am already at the brink of my restraint.’

“You said,” she began, taking a deep breath.

Though he was not filling her as completely as she desired, he could see the effect he had on her, and it filled him with pride.

She licked her lips and continued, her tone firmer now.

“You once said the night would not end until we were both ruined.” She paused, her gaze lifting to meet his as her arched brows challenged him. “Well? I do not yet feel ruined, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Was he dead? Was this hell? Had all the things he had done to her condemned him, and now this was his eternal torment?

(No. This was his own personal brand of heaven.)

He was only a man.

With a groan, he braced himself on one hand as the other moved to cup her cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“It may hurt,” he said softly. “I am sorry, but it shall only be this once. I promise I cannot help it.”

She nodded, her eyes wide as a flicker of fear crossed her face at his warning. Still, her resolve did not waver.

“And please,” he panted, almost breaking with desperation, closing his eyes momentarily to center himself before meeting her gaze once again. “Not Mr. Bridgerton, not now. Now we are only Colin and Pen.”

Understanding dawned on her as she shyly nodded, a stark contrast to the little minx she had been all night.

Taking a deep breath, he returned his hand to his cock, never breaking eye contact with her. He intended to push in slowly—though doubt gnawed at him. Would it be better to go slow or fast? He did not know. But the warmth of her, the way her trusting gaze held his, made him lose the last shred of control he had. In one smooth thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her.

Penelope hissed, her back arching sharply off the bed as her eyes squeezed shut. Both of them breathed heavily as he stayed still, waiting, watching her intently for any sign that he should pull back while her walls stretched to accommodate him. When she finally opened her eyes, they were wide, and he saw the flicker of wonder gradually replacing the discomfort.

(He would most likely have this sight engraved on his heart for eternity.)

“Alright?” He asked, barely above a whisper, terrified she might say no, that they would have to stop. Now that he knew what it felt like to be inside her, to feel her warmth enveloping him, he was not sure that he could ever let this go.

He would if she asked, but it would kill him.

“I am perfect,” she promised, her lips curling into a soft, reassuring smile before she bit her bottom lip.

The sight of it was too much.

Supporting himself on his forearms, he leaned down to kiss her, unable to resist. As their lips met, she clenched around his length, drawing a deep, guttural moan from him. His hips rolled into hers involuntarily, his body surrendering to instinct.

He pulled back, his gaze locked onto hers as he set a languid pace. Each slow thrust dragged his thick length against her walls, forcing her to feel every ridge, every pulsing vein as he filled her, stretching her perfectly. Her shameless moans only spurred him on, driving him to see what new little sound he could draw from her that he had not yet heard—another to add to his collection.

He hovered over her lips, teasing her as if diving in for another kiss, only to pull back with a taunting smile. She tried to follow, a frustrated whimper escaping her each time, and with a determined little growl, she grabbed him by the arse, urging him to move faster.

He was all too happy to oblige.

“Yes, that’s it, Colin,” she whimpered, her lips parted, her brows furrowed.

Her hand moved from his arms to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging sharply. The sting of it made him slam into her harder, his balls slapping her skin as her own hips rolled against his. Her cries of pleasure, the tight grip she had on him, and the rhythmic slap of their bodies meeting filled the room, leaving them both intoxicated.

“So eager to take me,” he teased, the words barely registering in his mind as he lost himself to the sensation. “Practically begging me for my cock.”

Penelope, who was already utterly drenched, seemed to gush even more at his words, her wetness coating him as he drove into her. Colin’s gaze dropped to where they were joined, a smug grin spreading across his lips as he watched the way he slid in and out of her with ease, how she gripped him, and how she tried with all her might to not let him go.

The bed linens would surely be ruined by the time they were done, and the thought thrilled him.

As her nails raked down his back, the sharp sensation pulled a hiss from his lips, but he relished it—a delicious reminder of this night he would carry with him beneath his suit, no one the wiser to how rough Penelope Featherington could be in the throes of passion.

And one he hoped she would want to repeat. It was only right, was it not? He may have taught her all that he knew so far, but that did not mean they could not learn more together.

“Oh, oh, oh, yes, yes, please,” she babbled, and he could feel a pressure at his balls with each unabashed moan.

Bringing one hand to her folds, he drew tight circles around her sensitive nub, her moans rising in pitch as his movements became relentless.

“Let go for me, Pen,” he whispered heatedly against her skin, needing to feel her release around him. “You can do it for me, can you not?”

It did not take long before a string of broken cries spilled from her lips, her body tensing as wetness splashed against his cock. Her walls pulsed and gripped him so intensely that he felt his breath catch in his throat. He had never experienced anything like it—never seen anything like it, either.

He tried to hold on for as long as he could, wanting to prolong the moment so it would never end, but it was almost as if Penelope could sense it.

“Yes, Col. Always so good to me, so good,” she chanted, entirely unaware of what she was speaking, completely consumed by euphoria.

Col. Col. Col.

With one final, rough thrust, his release overtook him, stealing his breath and catching him completely unprepared. His hips faltered as he spilled his seed deep inside her. He fought to keep his eyes open, desperate to keep watching her, but the overwhelming pleasure forced them shut as he surrendered entirely to her.

“Oh, yes, finally,” she moaned, a mix of contentment and relief as she felt him filling her. Her nails dug into his shoulders, a slow, satisfied smile stretching across her lips.

Colin could not stop the smile that spread across his face, utterly besotted with the woman beneath him.

Their foreheads pressed together as they tried to calm down the uneven rise and fall of their chests, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Her foot traced gentle, soothing strokes along the back of his leg, anchoring him in the moment with her.

“Was it alright?” He asked softly after a few minutes, hoping he managed to make it good for her and that he had made it everything she hoped it to be.

Her eyes sparkled with joy, and a disbelieving chuckle her lips, as though she could not quite believe what had just happened.

“It was perfect,” she breathed. Then, after a beat, her expression turned hopeful as she fluttered her lashes. “Can we do it again?”

Colin let out a full, belly-deep laugh, a joy, and a sense of completeness he had not felt in years (if ever) bubbling to the surface. It was the kind of laughter that felt impossible to contain, one that left him grinning so wide it almost hurt.

“Yes, darling. We can do this as many times as we wish,” he replied, his words a perfect echo of the promise he had made to her that first night when everything began.

She let out a satisfied little hum, her fingers gently tracing over his back, soothing the sting of the scratches she had left behind.

As he pulled out of her, both of them sighed at the loss of connection, already yearning to be joined once more. Shifting on the bed, they both lay on their sides, facing each other, as Colin took his time admiring her.

Her button nose, swollen lips from his kisses, and freckles—freckles he could not see under normal circumstances, as Portia must have insisted they be concealed— that left him enchanted. He mapped every tiny detail, keeping them close to his heart, silently cursing Portia for robbing him of such a beautiful sight.

“Do I have something on my face?” Her amused voice brought him back from his thoughts.

He laughed, loving that they could switch back and forth from the earth-shattering release they had shared to this teasing he had been all too used to over the years.

“No, I—” He stuttered, suddenly feeling shy under her gaze, as if she could see inside his mind. “You have… freckles,” he added awkwardly, wincing at how he sounded.

Penelope raised an eyebrow in surprise, seeming completely unaffected by his newfound embarrassment.

“Yes,” she replied, drawing out the word, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “I have always had them.”

Colin furrowed his brows, one hand reaching for her cheek before he could think better of it and tracing the freckles scattered across her skin.

“I never noticed them,” he muttered in disbelief, more to himself than as a proper answer.

How many things had he missed over the years? Was it truly Portia’s fault, or was it his own blindness?

“Perhaps you were not close enough to do so,” she replied cheekily, biting her lips as if she were saying the words merely to taunt him. Well, if that was her intention, she succeeded.

“Please, Penelope,” he replied in an offended tone, the crease between his brows deepening. “I have been plenty close to you. I would have noticed it,” he said firmly, only realizing the implication of his words a moment too late.

This time, she was not so unaffected. A flush spread across her cheeks as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her gaze darting away from his. “I-I suppose you have been plenty close…”

As she hesitantly scooted closer to him, he welcomed her immediately, his hand moving to the dip of her waist and then her hips, his large hands tracing a gentle up-and-down motion that made her shiver.

“Mama says they are unbecoming, so I must conceal them and avoid the sun,” she murmured.

Colin scoffed. He knew this had Portia’s fingers all over it.

“Well, I wish you would not have to. They are very lovely,” he said, already grazing them again with his fingertips.

“Maybe one day I will not have to,” she said with a small smile.

Colin gnawed at his lip, the words that had been circling his mind since their lessons began, finally rising to the surface.

“You seem different when we are alone now,” he murmured, moving his hand to lazily trail his fingers along her spine.

At his words, she gave him the most beautiful smile he had seen from her that entire evening.

Her eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep, and for a moment, he thought she might drift off before she replied softly, “Perhaps I am not different. Perhaps I am simply more myself than I have ever been.”

The sentiment left him half-stunned, half-proud. Self-satisfaction coiled tightly in his chest, warming him as he tucked his chin and smiled, bashful yet undeniably pleased by her words.

Noticing she was nearly asleep, Colin rose from the bed. She let out a soft whine at the loss of his warmth, making him chuckle and whisper, “I will be only a moment, darling.”

Grabbing a clean cloth, he dampened it in the water basin before returning to her.

Sitting on the bed, he gently tapped her thigh, encouraging her to lie on her back.

“What are you doing?” She asked with a small, curious smile, as though the thought of someone tending to her this way was beyond comprehension—something no one had ever done for her before.

“Taking care of you,” he replied softly.

With careful movements, he began cleaning her inner thighs, his hand trembling slightly as he moved to tend to her swollen, glistening folds, noticing how some of his seed was leaking from her.

A lump formed in his throat, the intimacy of the moment overwhelming him. He fought to maintain control, trying not to linger or let his thoughts stray, before quickly finishing and turning to clean himself as well.

Feeling the weight of her gaze, Colin turned towards her, only for Penelope to turn her head away in embarrassment, trying to hide the fact that she had been staring.

“You can look, you know,” he teased. “It will not bite, Penelope.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink at being caught.

“I wish it would,” she muttered under her breath.

Colin furrowed his brows as he set the cloth aside. “What was that?”

Clearing her throat, she waved her hand dismissively, pasting an innocent smile on her face. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Before he could press further, she let out an adorable yawn, her arms stretching languidly as she resembled a contented kitten. The sight made his heart ache in the best of ways.

Returning to her side, Colin drew her close, their bodies fitting together like perfect little pieces, as though they were made for each other.

One arm wrapped protectively around her waist as his hand rested over her belly, completely splayed over it.

“My cock may not bite,” he murmured in her ear, his voice a playful drawl, “but I most certainly do.”

He punctuated the statement by trailing kisses down her neck before biting lightly at her skin, just enough to leave a faint reminder of him.

“Colin!” Penelope whined, squirming against his body, making him laugh delightedly before pressing a kiss to the spot where he had bitten her.

“But if you bite me,” she continued after a few moments, her voice growing breathless all of a sudden, “be prepared, for I shall bite back.”

He shivered, the thought far too appealing to him.

“I think I would like that very much,” he confessed, placing one last lingering kiss on the side of her head before they finally settled.

Soon, her breathing evened out, and her body relaxed fully into sleep as he gently caressed her belly.

That nagging thought, which had been lingering in the back of his mind, came back with a vengeance now in the quiet of their room.

One time could not be enough, could it?

Anthony and Kate had been married for some time now and still had no news of a child. Surely, it would not happen to them after one single time.

If it did, he would be delighted, of course. He had dreamed of having a family of his own for as long as he could remember. And now that he had finally come to terms with his feelings, he wanted nothing more than to build a life—and a family—with Penelope.

(And he could not deny that the thought of her rounded with his child, knowing that he had made her that way—stirred something primal in him.)

But if it happened before they were married, it would be a scandal. It was not that he feared it for his sake, but he did not wish for her to go through it, especially when she had just barely gotten out of one.

As his eyes grew heavy and the pull of sleep became impossible to resist, his last thoughts lingered on what their child might look like—freckles on their cheeks, perhaps? A mischievous grin like his? Oh, he hoped they would have her hair—and how he might broach the subject of their future without risking rejection.

He woke up startled, the bedroom darker than before, the candles flickering low and nearly extinguished. For a moment, panic gripped him as he desperately looked towards the window, fearing that morning had come and that he had ruined Penelope even more than he already had.

With a sigh of relief, he realized it was still night. But the relief was short-lived when he noticed the empty space beside him.

Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes before quickly rising from the bed, pausing only to put on his trousers before heading towards the door as quietly as he could.

It turned out he did not have to search far to find her.

She was a vision, standing there in his shirt, looking around the room as if she belonged there (she did).

Taking a moment to admire her—grateful she had not yet noticed his presence—he drank in the lovely sight she made.

He was torn between the urge to chuckle and the overwhelming desire to drop to his knees in front of her and worship the ground she walked upon.

His shirt swallowed her small frame, the hem falling to the middle of her thighs (stockings still in place, a detail he could not help but notice). Her curls tumbled loose around her shoulders, a sight he was still unaccustomed to but was quickly becoming addicted to.

She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for one of the shells he kept on the wall, her fingers straining towards the highest one. He could not, for the life of him, understand why she was so determined to reach it.

Could she not reach for one of the lower ones?

“And here I was, worried you had left,” he teased, his voice breaking the silence of the room and startling her.

Penelope turned to him with wide eyes, like a child caught doing something forbidden. The sight made him chuckle lightly as he made his way towards her.

“Instead, I have been replaced by pretty shells.”

As she shifted, his breath hitched. His eyes immediately dropped to the collar of his shirt, which hung much more open on her than it ever did on him. One wrong move, and her breasts would once again be exposed to his gaze.

Clearing his throat and glancing away, he reached for the shell she had been trying to touch, plucking it easily from the wall. When her eyes sparkled with excitement and her hands moved eagerly to take it, he held it above their heads, just out of reach.

A playful smile tugged at his lips as he teased, “Some habits are hard to break, I see. I remember you and Eloise sneaking into Anthony’s study—thick as thieves.”

“Colin!” she whined, giving tiny, determined jumps to snatch the shell, though she failed spectacularly. “I thought you would help me!”

Colin laughed, utterly charmed by the sight of her like this. What was it about them lately that made them behave so much like they used to all those years ago? Almost like they were freer somehow.

It was so easy to picture this as their life. It was so easy to let the word wife slip from his lips if he was not careful. The moment was entirely domestic—dangerously easy to get lost in.

“I will give it to you in exchange for a kiss,” he murmured, licking his lips as he stared at her pout. “Really, it is the least you can do after—”

He did not get to finish. She cut him off, pulling him down and kissing him hungrily. One devious hand reached for his, deftly snatching the shell from his grasp, but she did not break their kiss. Her other hand gripped his waist, bringing him closer to her.

Now with his hands free, he let them slide to her shapely bottom, pulling her closer as his back hit the wall.

The force with which she had pushed him against the surface made him gasp, their kiss breaking as he stared at her through a hooded gaze, his breath unsteady.

Penelope blinked slowly, seeming just as affected—and surprised by her actions—as he was. As if remembering herself, she turned her attention to the shell in her hands, her fingers grazing its surface carefully, as though afraid she might break it.

“I wish I could see it all for myself one day,” she said, her voice carrying a note of longing that sent a flutter through him.

She would—if he had any say in the matter. They would explore every little corner and hidden cranny of the world she wished to see. And perhaps, one day, they would do so with their children.

“Well, I think you will, Pen,” he said softly, reaching for the shell in her hands and setting it aside where it would not be damaged. “And this one shall be yours, the very first one of your own collection. But first…”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. Holding her close, they moved together—slightly awkwardly—towards the desk, Penelope giggling as they walked.

Once there, Colin settled into the chair, patting his thigh as an invitation for her to sit. She did not hesitate, giggling at his antics and settling herself into his lap.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, she sank back into his body, her head turning slightly as she mumbled, “Am I not hurting you?”

“Pen, you’re a tiny little person. It wounds me that you would even think so,” he teased, tickling her sides playfully.

Her reaction was immediate—she squirmed against him, giggling (he did not think he would ever tire of the sound)—and he quickly realized his mistake as his cock twitched in interest.

Grunting, he froze, stopping his movements and shifting subtly in his seat to keep her from noticing the effect she had on him.

Distracted by his internal struggle, he did not notice her gaze drifting curiously to the papers and books scattered across his desk. Before he could stop her, she reached for a small journal he had carelessly left there.

He stiffened, his heart racing. Was that the one where he wrote about her? A silent prayer rose within him that it was any other one.

“Colin, may I read it? You promised you would let me,” she said, her tone soft but insistent.

He groaned internally. She was right—he had promised. He disliked breaking promises, especially one that he made to her.

Glancing at the journal, he studied it carefully. It did not look like the one he kept specifically for writing about her. With a heavy sigh, he relented.

“Very well,” he said, his voice resigned. “I did promise you.”

Colin watched nervously as she took her time reading. His fingers flexed anxiously on her waist, and he gnawed at his lips until he felt a sting and the faint metallic taste of blood on his tongue. The worst part was that he could not seem to stop hovering over her shoulder, peering at her from the corner of his eye, trying to guess if she hated it or if it perhaps was not all bad.

But Penelope, completely entranced by his journal, leaned on her elbow with her nose practically buried in it, paying him no mind.

Usually, he would think that was a good thing. But he knew Penelope was a voracious reader, so why in the blazes was it taking her so long?

Oh, no. Had she read one of those passages? Was she disgusted? But she did not seem to be that first time—

“Colin!” she exclaimed, half-admonishing, though her laugh softened the words as she sank into his arms again. “You make it very hard to concentrate, you know.”

“Well, you were taking too long,” he mumbled into her neck.

She let out a guilty sort of chuckle, turning slightly to the side. Now that she was closer to him, it was easier to meet his gaze.

“I might have read some parts twice,” she admitted shyly, biting her bottom lip.

Colin shifted in his seat, interest sparking in his eyes. The movement made her let out a soft gasp of surprise as she moved with him.

Burying his face in her neck, he murmured an apology before a smile tugged at his lips. The thought of her enjoying his writing sent a thrill through his body. Penelope read a great deal, after all—if she enjoyed his work, perhaps it truly was not so bad.

“Which…” He hesitated, licking his lips as a flicker of self-consciousness surfaced. He was blatantly fishing for compliments, and he knew it. “Which part did you enjoy most?”

She shifted further in his lap, turning sideways so she could face him properly. His hand slid instinctively to her thigh as his shirt rode up, and he had to swallow down a groan as she settled against him.

If she kept moving like that, they were going to have a very particular problem soon.

But Penelope did not notice what she was stirring within him, her excitement already bubbling over as she launched into her answer.

“There were several parts,” she began excitedly, her eyes sparkling in that way he only ever saw whenever she and Eloise were animatedly discussing their favorite books during Sunday tea. “I do so love the way you describe the sightings and the people. I feel… connected, as if I can see it all through your eyes.”

He could only stare at her, completely stunned, but she must not have noticed as she continued her praises.

“That is a very admirable quality for a writer to have, Colin. I think that is what most of us—them strive for,” she stammered, licking her lips nervously and catching his attention. He filed away this little detail for later.

“I am not sure if it is the same for everyone, but I read to feel that connection. Knowing that so many people could read the same passage as you but have a different array of reactions, thoughts, and feelings… it is all so very exciting, is it not?”

She looked at him dreamily. “And to be the one to cause it? That is exhilarating just to think about.”

Colin felt his breath catch in his throat.

If he did not know the depth of his feelings by now, then this surely would be it. Nothing could ever make him love this woman more than watching and hearing her speak about something she was passionate about. He could stay just like that for the rest of his life and be happy.

And the fact that she thought that about him?

It was more than he could ever hope for.

But he did not have time to pinch himself and make sure it was real, for she had already continued speaking.

“And I especially loved the part about the couple you met in Paris,” she said, her cheeks flushing. His own grew warm at the memory of that particular encounter—and the knowledge that Penelope had enjoyed it. “Will you tell me more?”

He laughed, unable to help himself, his hands playing with the little bow atop her stockings. She was always so adorably curious.

No matter how much their relationship evolved, some things remained the same.

“There is not much more to tell, Pen,” he replied, his hand brushing over her thigh, lingering on that sliver of flesh between his shirt and the fabric of her stockings. Goosebumps rose beneath his touch, and he idly traced them, feeling a distinct sense of possessiveness and satisfaction at the effect he had on her. “You read just about all of it.”

It was true—he had met the couple one night by chance. They were overly friendly, inviting him to drink with them and chatting until the early hours of the morning. Their openness was a welcome contrast to how things could be in Mayfair.

They had also been remarkably… candid about their married life. Colin had blushed furiously at some of their confessions, yet he had been unable to resist jotting it all down in his journal later.

(And he had been curious too, wondering if there was something they could tell him that would explain what had always felt missing in intimacy. Why he felt that emptiness inside him. He never imagined the answer had been waiting at home all along.)

Penelope pouted, clearly disappointed.

“But is it all true, then?” She asked, her eyes shining with curiosity. Then her voice lowered to a whisper, despite the fact that they were alone. “Is it… all done?”

He nodded, biting his lip to stifle a grin at how serious she looked (adorable, enchanting, utterly charming, a perfect little siren, his brain helpfully supplied).

“As far as I know, yes. They had no reason to lie.”

Her eyes widened, once again alight with curiosity, but now there was a flicker of nervousness as well, as though she was not entirely sure that she wanted to hear his answer to whatever it was she was about to ask. “What do you mean, ‘as far as you know’?”

He could feel himself growing self-conscious yet again. Would she look at him any differently? People did seem to like him better now. Although… Pen was not like the others; she never was. She was the one person who always appreciated him for who he was.

“I am not…” He paused, about to impart a secret that no one knew (except her now). “I am not as experienced as you might think. People just assumed, and I… I let them.”

Something flickered in her eyes, something he could not quite decipher. The silence that followed—barely a few seconds, but it felt like hours—made his stomach twist with anxiety.

“So… whatever we do from now on,” she began slowly, her voice tinged with something that sounded almost… happy, “it would be your first time too?”

He nodded, his throat feeling entirely too dry.

“Although we have already done something I never did before too,” he said, feeling a little ashamed about his loss of control. “I never filled anyone with my seed.”

Her eyes widened, and her breath picked up as she processed his words.

“Penelope,” he called gently, one hand cradling her cheek as he made sure she would look at him, his thumb brushing her cheek in soothing little movements. “You do understand that there could be consequences, do you not?”

She may have been in the dark about much of this particular subject, but after everything they had done, his implications were obvious.

“And I want you to know that if—” he was cut off by her finger pressing on his lips.

She was silent for a few moments, as if thinking carefully about what to say before the words finally came out.

“It shall not come to it. Your brother is married, and it has not yet happened to him; why would it happen to us? We shall only have to be careful from now on.”

“Yes, that was what I thought of as well!” His voice came out almost excited, not at the fact that Pen might not be with child, that one did fill him with a twinge of sadness, but at the fact that she had agreed with him and had the same thought as him.

It felt strange to speak of such matters with Penelope. Not because he was embarrassed—he was not—but because he had never thought he could be open about such matters with her. Young ladies were not supposed to know about such things. He did not agree with it, but he knew how dangerous it could be for her if anyone overheard.

Besides, Penelope has always seemed innocent to him.

How very glad he was to know he had been wrong.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, frowning as the meaning of her words finally sank in. His voice rose in pitch slightly, and he was not sure if it was from shock or excitement. “What do you mean, whatever we do? Are you saying you want to do the things they spoke of?”

“Yes,” she admitted, goosebumps appearing in her arms as soon as the word left her lips.

His breath hitched, and fire coursed through his veins. The very idea left him almost dizzy, excitement thrumming through his body as he fought to keep his composure.

He flexed his hand on her thigh, the other sliding up to her back, fingers playing gently with her curls.

“And what exactly do you wish to do?” He asked, his voice low, his interest as clear as day.

Penelope hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps we could make a list?” She suggested, her tone a little uncertain. Then, with a sudden boldness that surprised them both, she added, “But there is something I wish to try now.”

“What is it?” The question came out too eager, but he did not bother trying to disguise it, knowing full well she must feel his arousal pressing against her.

“Could I sit on your cock, Colin?” She asked, pouting slightly as her hand innocently toyed with the hair on his chest.

A shiver went down his spine at her words, and with a low growl, he helped her rise from his lap. He made quick work of his trousers, tossing them aside, his cock springing free and bobbing against him.

Her eyes widened before her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, but he stopped her with a quiet tut.

“The shirt stays on,” he smirked, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You may unbutton it so I can see your pretty tits, but I want you wearing it, Pen.”

She let out a shaky breath, doing exactly as he commanded. He took his seat again, offering her his hand, which she immediately took before straddling his lap.

Cradling the back of her neck, he pulled her into a bruising kiss, fingers biting into her skin and his hunger leaving them both breathless.

When he finally pulled back, he brushed his thumb over her swollen lower lip, a smirk tugging at his mouth at how debauched she looked—at how he must look as well—knowing it was all them, a result of their hunger for one another.

One look at them, and even the most rakish, open-minded person of the ton would be scandalized.

“Open up for me, darling,” he murmured, enunciating each word slowly, his tone leaving room for no argument.

She gasped softly, gripping his shoulder firmly and pulling back just enough to still keep her balance before letting her other hand trail over her body. Her fingers lingered on her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh and allowing it to spill enticingly over her fingers, while his intense gaze followed her every move.

Continuing her path, her hand moved lower, trailing over her belly until she reached her core. She spread herself open for him, exposing her glistening, pink flesh for him.

“That’s it, Pen,” he breathed, his fingers swiping over her nub and drawing a gasp from her lips as her hips bucked instinctively. “Such a pretty little cunt.”

He took himself in hand, teasing her with the tip as he glided it over her folds, letting her wetness coat him and pausing only to give her pearl gentle little taps with his cock. Her soft whimpers only fueled his desire.

“You asked, did you not? If it would fit,” he said suddenly, recalling her words from the other night. The question slipped from his lips carelessly, his mind completely fogged with thoughts of her.

“You are so tight, I sometimes fear I might not. But we will make sure, will we not, darling? We will just have to do this over and over again until you take me just as you were meant to.”

If he had a little more presence of mind, he would have been appalled by the eager words that left him.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps that would have been the Colin of one or two years ago—not the man he was now, the one who finally understood what love truly was and how deeply intimacy was entwined with it.

He had never spoken to anyone in such a way. He had never even thought of such things.

What was it about her that left him a captive to his most primal and deranged desires?

Or perhaps it was not so much that, as it was the fact that she finally allowed him to be himself—just as she said—free of judgments. And this was just another piece of it—so fragile that even a wrong whisper could shatter it into a million shards. It was a piece he lay carefully at her feet, one she cradled in her loving hands. A part of him he could entrust to no one else but her.

Once he was satisfied with how much she drenched him, he lined himself up at her entrance. His gaze remained fixed, mesmerized, as his swollen head stretched her before he slowly pushed inside, inch by torturous inch.

Between loving whispers of ‘you can take it, darling,’ and her little whimpers as she welcomed him into her heat, he moved carefully, until he was fully sheathed within her.

Her hands moved from her core to encircle his neck, and she buried her face against his shoulder. Both of them let out matching sighs of relief.

“So fucking tight, Penelope.” He closed his eyes, the words escaping him, almost like a prayer.

“Does it feel good?” She asked quietly, innocently, her arms still looped around his neck. She pulled back to look at him, as if they were stealing a moment in the corner of a ballroom as they were so used to doing, wanting no one but him to hear.

“Yes,” his voice was hoarse as he raised his head to meet her eyes, pulling her closer for a kiss.

It was languid, unhurried, and Penelope was quick to capture his top lip between her lips (and occasionally teeth), something he had learned she loved to do. Their mouths moved instinctively, their connection so seamless it felt as though every part of them had always been meant to fit together.

His hands slid under her shirt, from her waist to her back, his large palms spreading as far as they could go, wanting to cover as much of her as possible. Her skin was soft and warm, and he could not help but push her shirt higher with every stroke.

It did not feel good purely because of the physical closeness—though that part was undeniably intoxicating. But the truth was a little deeper than that. It felt good because it was her, because she trusted him, because she was what had been missing all along.

“You feel perfect, Pen,” he murmured instead, rubbing his nose against hers.

She let out a soft sigh of relief at his words, her breath ghosting against his lips.

“And now?” She asked, her voice trembling with need.

Colin felt very much at the end of his composure as well, but it was humorous to him that she had been the one to suggest it, and already she seemed ready for him to pound into her.

“Now we stay just like this,” he said, his hand cradling her jaw as his thumb brushed over her cheek. “And,” he lowered his voice, lips pressing into her neck in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “You shall tell me each and every single one of the things you wish me to do to you.”

Penelope clenched around him, letting out a breathy moan as he pressed his forehead on her shoulder, a groan of his own slipping out.

“I do not think we have the patience for this, you know,” she said amused as she lifted her head, rocking her hips slightly as if wanting to feel more of him.

His hands slid down to her hips so he could still her.

“You must be speaking for yourself; I am a very patient man when it comes to the things I want,” he said distractedly as he nuzzled her collarbone.

“Colin, I once saw you devour an entire plate of biscuits in under a minute because you claimed Hyacinth was about to enter the room and steal them all,” she said between giggles, her hips shifting involuntarily despite his hold as her fingers caressed the hair at his temples. “You cannot pretend with me. I know you far too well for that.”

“Penelope!” He scolded—or at least tried to—as his words, as always, lacked any real bite, laughter spilling between them. “For the love of all things, please, no mentions of family members while we are naked—or worse, when I am inside you.”

(But it was true—he could never pretend with her.)

She ignored him, already launching into another tirade.

“Oh, do you remember the time—”

“I understand your point,” he interrupted with fond exasperation, a smile already tugging at his lips as his hands drifted to her thighs, teasing the tops of her stockings. “But you forget—I know you just as well. And you are trying to stall.”

He squeezed her flesh, losing himself in the way she was so malleable, how she spilled over his fingers, and how soft and warm she was. Holding her securely, he lifted her sightly, making her squeal in the process, which turned into a moan when he thrust into her. Just once, too slow and shallow to give them what they both wanted, but enough to make her flutter around him, both of them losing their breath.

“Tell me,” he demanded firmly, eagerly, hungrily.

She looked at him through hooded eyes, her gaze flickering to his lips before meeting his eyes again as the most delightful words were about to spill from her mouth.

“I wish,” she began, her cheeks flushing—not from embarrassment but arousal. “I wish to be used. That whenever I least expect it, whenever you have the desire, you just take me, wherever it is that we are.”

Colin could only stare at her, grinding his hips slowly as the tension between them grew thicker with every word she uttered. Every word that would be deliciously interrupted by a whine whenever he moved.

“Should I tup you in front of the entire ton, then?” He asked, in what was meant to be a charming quip, though he was betrayed by how honest and eager he sounded—as if he very much would. Not only that, but he would relish it.

“Perhaps,” she replied coyly, a smirk playing at her lips.

He was very tempted to wipe it from her pretty mouth with a kiss, but he resisted, for she looked as if there was more she wished to say.

“And,” she paused, her fingers tightening around him as she rolled her lips against his. She leaned in to speak in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. Her voice lowered, a seductive rasp that sent a shiver down his spine. “Ever since I had you in my mouth, I have been wondering if there were other… possibilities.”

Her gaze was meaningful as she pulled back, her lips curling into the faintest of smirks.

“This one was all me. I have been thinking about it for a while now. I do not know if it is done, but…” She licked her lips before continuing. “I would very much like to try.”

As if to punctuate her confession, she ran her tongue along the shell of his ear before nipping it lightly.

Colin groaned, a deep and primal sound, the urge to take her completely overwhelming him. With everything he had come to know about her ever since they started this, perhaps he should not have been surprised that she was not shy about her desires anymore.

“But there is one thing I think I would enjoy the most,” she added, her voice softer now, her gaze lowering as though this particular confession embarrassed her. Yet the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips betrayed her shyness. She glanced up at him through her lashes as her words pierced his heart. “I think what I would enjoy the most is having you surrender to me. Letting me use you.”

Oh, he would enjoy that very much.

He let out a shuddering breath, and she bit her lip as if only now realizing the weight of her words. “Is that… terribly wicked of me?”

(It occurred to him that her trust ran deeper than he had first thought, and perhaps deeper than she realized as well. She was entrusting him with the beginning of her discovery, and the wrong person could very well make her wilt before she had the chance to bloom. But Colin would honor the faith she put on him; he would do anything in his power to see her flourish.)

“No,” he said immediately, his voice firm and his brows drawing together in dismay at the thought that anyone could make her feel ashamed of her desires.

“There is nothing wrong with you, darling,” he murmured, cradling her face in his hands as though she were the most precious thing in the world. “Nothing that feels right to you could ever be bad.”

His gaze softened, overflowing with emotion that she would trust him so much to share this part of her with him, wanting to guide her through it all just as she would guide him.

“If there is one thing I have tried to keep in mind since I was old enough to understand what happened to my father, it is this: life is far too short. You should embrace what brings you joy and pleasure while you still can.” He paused, wondering how they could have such a tender conversation (that began in a very much not tender manner) while she kept his cock warm.

“And do you follow that advice?” She asked, smiling knowingly at him.

He smirked, shaking his head. “This is not about me. This is about you.”

The look she gave him was one that made it clear that this conversation was not over, but she would let it go for now.

“I just…” Her voice wavered with uncertainty. “You make me feel wanted. I have never felt this way before. The thought of you wanting me so much that you would lose every shred of composure, that you would not be able to control yourself because of me, or wanting me so much that you would surrender yourself to me… it is very…”

She searched for the right word before that small, mischievous smile appeared again. “…tempting.”

Colin swallowed hard, his composure fraying. She had no earthly idea just how much she tempted his control.

“And is there anything you wish to try?” She asked, her voice tentative but curious.

“There is,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a husky tone. She was so honest and so, so brave for him. It was the very least he could give her. “Climbing into your room and taking you as you sleep. The idea that you would trust me enough to allow me to do that to you is very…”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and he watched as her lips parted, her breath quickening at his confession.

“Tempting,” she finished for him, her tone as eager as his, as if she desired to make that particular fantasy a reality just as much as he did.

His gaze flickered from her darkened eyes to her parted lips and then lower still, trailing up and down her form dressed only in his open shirt—and their joined bodies.

Unable to resist any longer, Colin rose from the chair with a grunt, lifting her into his arms, his cock never leaving her warmth. She squealed in surprise, her arms instinctively tightening around his neck as he carried her to the desk.

Blinded to anything that was not her, he swept everything off the desk in one swift motion, sending papers and books crashing to the floor, no care to what might be broken or destroyed in the process. In his haste, the pot of ink had been knocked down, spreading across the wood in an inky blot, but he did not care. He merely tossed it far away to ensure it would not hurt her.

Penelope gasped, her breath hitching at his display. She had never seen him like this before—but in truth, neither had he. Everything they knew about one another was slowly evolving and transforming into something new.

His hands gripped her waist tightly, hard enough to leave marks, before sliding down her thighs to help her wrap her legs around him, one hand remaining possessively splayed over her thigh. Their lips met again in a frantic, messy kiss, their breaths mingling as if they wanted to consume each other completely.

Without meaning to, Colin thrust into her, his body feeling almost as if beyond his control. They moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation, and one of her arms slipped from his neck to grip the edge of the desk for balance.

When their kiss broke, a thin string of spit connected their lips. They both glanced down where their bodies joined, watching as her cunt swallowed him over and over, his cock glistening in the candlelight each time he pulled back.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, her voice shaking as her other arm tightened around his neck. The sound of her cursing sent a thrill through him, driving him to move faster, the squelching sounds growing louder.

“That is… that is—” she panted, unable to finish, her words lost in the overwhelming sensations, her ears turning red with the obscene sounds coming from both their lips and bodies.

“Yes,” he grunted. He understood perfectly. “Say it again, Pen,” he pleaded, hoping she would know what he meant.

“Fuck!” She all but screamed when he continued pounding into her with unrelenting force, making the desk creak.

At the same time, her hand accidentally hit the ink spot, and the splashing sound drew their attention. With each thrust, her palm moved across the desk, leaving black handprints in its wake.

Colin smirked, pleased beyond reason. He would not clean it. He would leave it as it was, a not-so-secret reminder for her to blush over every time they had visitors. Already he could imagine catching her eye, raising his brows in amusement, and watching her squirm at the memory.

Or she would not even be ashamed. She would merely smirk, reminiscing along with him, maddening woman that she was.

“Fuck, Penelope,” he groaned, his hand moving to her pearl, circling it furiously as he drove into her. He could feel his release building (and his thoughts certainly did not help), but he held back, determined to have her fall apart first. “Are you going to come apart for me, darling?”

“Yes… yes, just like that, Colin,” she chanted, her voice barely coherent.

Suddenly, her body stiffened, her cry filling the room as her release overtook her. Her walls clenched around him, her wetness spilling onto his fingers and cock as she trembled in his arms. Her hand slid to his shoulder before dropping lower, slapping his arse accidentally in an attempt to grab something to hold onto.

Colin let out a strangled moan at the unexpected sting, the sensation unraveling the last of his control.

Pulling out (and for a moment he thought he heard a faint whisper of ‘do not go’ but it must have been his muddled mind playing tricks on him), he fisted himself, stroking furiously until his release painted her belly in hot, thick white streaks, making her gasp at the feeling.

He rested his forehead on her shoulder, taking a moment to recover as her hand moved soothingly along his back.

After a while, he heard a soft humming sound and opened his eyes, only to find his breath catching at the sight before him.

Penelope, bracing herself with one ink-smudged hand on the desk, ran a finger through the mess on her belly. She brought it to her lips, sucking it clean with another delighted hum, her eyes closing as she savored the taste. The sound she made was so enticing that if he had not been completely spent, she would have had him ready for her again in an instant.

“You—” he croaked, clearing his throat to steady his voice. “You are—” He broke off, unable to finish as she looked up at him with a playful, knowing smile.

“I am,” she said lightly, pulling it from her lips with a loud pop.

Running her fingers over her belly again, she brought them to his lips.

“I missed your taste,” she teased. “Would you like some?”

Leaning in towards her, he quickly enclosed his lips around them, hollowing his cheeks as his tongue swirled around each digit, never once breaking his gaze from hers.

Her amusement was replaced by flushed cheeks—more prominent now than they had been moments ago—and hooded eyes. Her lips parted, her tongue flicking slightly, as though yearning for a taste of him as well.

And who was he to deny her?

In one smooth motion, he cupped the back of her head, drawing her lips to his. Her hands instinctively found his waist, clutching at him, neither willing to part until they were both breathless.

“You just tasted me, you know,” he teased her, sliding one thumb to her belly and scooping his seed before bringing it to her nipples, circling it gently and watching the way it glistened, the white barely covering the pink. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

Penelope pretended to consider. “I think you shall just have to find a way to keep me full.”

His question had been a rhetorical one, but he could not deny that her response pleased him and made several thoughts race through his mind.

Some were certainly sinful and entirely related to keeping her full, yes, but most of them consisted of simple moments: dancing with her too many times to be proper, because now he would be allowed; perhaps even stealing a kiss and scandalizing the entire ton. Devouring biscuits as they read their favorite passages from a book to each other. Having her lie close to him as he cradled her rounded belly, talking to their unborn child so they could know the voice of their papa before they arrived into the world, while she watched him fondly, lovingly.

His lips encircled her pebbled nipple, suckling and licking his seed from one, before doing the same to the other. Colin could hear her adorable little whimpers, smirking against her skin before pulling back.

Once again, he ran a finger over her belly, this time bringing it to her lips, covering them carefully and completely before bringing her into another kiss. They tasted him together as they licked and nipped, sounds of pleasure once again filling the room.

“That was—” she began dreamily as they pulled away, before her gaze landed on his shoulder. Her eyes widened comically as she covered her mouth to muffle her giggles.

“Colin! Oh, what have I done to you?” Her voice was muffled behind her hand, giggles barely contained as she reached out to his shoulder, halting mid-air upon seeing her ink-stained fingers.

“What?” He asked with a chuckle, turning his head to the side. He finally noticed the small, smudged handprint on his shoulder.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said, though her infectious laughter made it difficult to take her apologies seriously. Her hand remained clamped over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

But if his shoulder was in such a state, did that mean…?

He craned his neck, attempting to peer over his shoulder to inspect his backside. Wanting to see as well, she abandoned her place at the desk and rounded him, her laughter bubbling anew as she discovered another small handprint adorning his arse.

Her delighted expression was too much for him to bear. He stared at her, slack-jawed, as his own laugh threatened to escape.

“Does this mean your bottom is mine?” She teased, her eyes twinkling with joy.

He pretended to ponder her question, though the answer was already clear. “I believe it does.”

Her giggles erupted once more, pure delight etched across her face.

“This is amusing to you, is it?” He asked, feigning sternness as he studied her, one thumb brushing his lower lip in thought.

Suddenly, he splayed his hand across the ink on the desk (the smacking sound was incredibly prominent in the room, enough to make anyone shake in fear—except his sweet girl, of course.) before advancing towards her.

Realizing his intent, she bolted, giggling uncontrollably as she cried, “No, no, no!”

It took him little effort to catch her, his arm wrapping firmly around her waist and bringing her to him. She squirmed, laughing the entire time, until his ink-smeared hand came down on her backside with a resounding smack.

Colin expected a protest or a whine. Instead, her laughter intensified, her body wriggling in his grip.

Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, “I believe your arse is now mine as well.”

She shuddered, her voice breathy as she replied, “Yes. I suppose it is. Or it will be, if you play your cards right.”

He pursed his lips to keep the smirk at bay at the mere thought of what she implied, taking her hand and gently pulling her towards the water basin.

“Come now, darling,” he said, sinking to his knees as they reached the basin.

His clean hand encircled her thighs, pausing to admire the sight before him. Her thick, dimpled legs covered by the soft, shimmering fabric of her stockings, and he knew the image would be burned into his eyelids.

Carefully, he rolled one side of the fabric down, pressing kisses to the newly uncovered skin. When he finished with one leg, he repeated the gesture on the other, savoring every hitch of her breath and every tug of her hand in his hair.

With a teasing kiss to her folds, he rose, licking his lips as he took in her dazed expression.

He dampened a clean cloth and began to gently clean her, wiping away both of their releases from her skin. As he reached her backside, where his ink-stained hand had left its mark, he hesitated, his touch tender as worry flickered across his features. Had he been too rough?

Sensing his concern, she pressed her back against his chest, her head turning so she could meet his eyes. Her hand cupped his cheek.

“I am fine, Colin,” she assured him, her tone soft but firm. A playful smile broke across her face. “I will not break if you breathe too hard on me.”

Relief washed over him, and he exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding.

“Here, let me,” she said, taking the cloth from him.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she cleaned his shoulder, her gaze flicking shyly to his face every so often. He watched her intently, his heart nearly bursting with the sheer force of his love for her. He could not remember the last time someone had cared for him with such tenderness.

“Turn around,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He obeyed, chuckling softly as she giggled at the sight of her handiwork.

“This shall be my masterpiece,” she declared, her tone feigning seriousness, “forever treasured in my mind.”

With evident reluctance, she wiped the ink from his skin.

When she finished, Colin turned back to her, cradling her cheeks in his hands. He pressed a slow, sweet kiss to her lips.

“You shall have many others,” he promised, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “I will see to it.”

Taking her hand once more, he led her towards the bed.

“Come, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice filled with warmth. “You must rest a little.”

Colin was all too happy to have a little more time to spend wrapped around her soft body, trying not to think when the time came where they would have to part.

They did not, in fact, go to sleep.

Despite their tiredness, they were still far too excited to succumb to sleep—a giddy thrill at doing something they should not, at being alone (which, despite everything, still felt very new), still reeling from what they had done to one another.

But there was also a simpler, more innocent excitement: the joy of spending the night with his dearest friend, talking about anything and everything under the sun without a care for propriety (not that they ever had much) or fear of someone overhearing.

For one blessed night, they could be themselves with no fear of consequences. It almost felt like a sleepover—the kind she had with Eloise over the years but would never be allowed to have with him. Almost, he thought with a smirk.

They lay on their sides, facing each other. Her arm stretched toward him, his hand gripping hers tightly, as though he needed to maintain the connection—to touch her in any way he could, or he would vanish into thin air.

Penelope laughed to herself suddenly, as if something had just come to mind, making Colin look at her with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“What?” He asked, in between a huffed laugh.

“Eloise and I wanted to know how one came to be with child. No one would tell us, of course. The best response we received was… cake.”

Oh, he remembered that. Eloise had been pestering them, as she was wont to do when something would not leave her mind. He almost told her, too, had their mother not interrupted them.

“Cake?” He was half curious and half puzzled; this part he had not known.

Penelope nodded happily, not offering any explanation, and if he did not know better, he would have said she had imbibed spirits with how intoxicated she looked.

He preened himself a little at that.

“Oh, she would have my head if she knew I found out and did not tell her,” she added in between giggles, which came to a halt as she seemed to consider something. “But then again, I am not so sure if she would want to know.” She looked at him meaningfully.

Yes, well. While he did think young ladies should be more informed, he was not too keen on his little sister knowing about him in such a way.

They stayed quiet for a few moments, lost in one another, before he could no longer keep to himself the words he longed to say.

“I have missed you, you know,” he said, his voice soft in the silence of the room.

She furrowed her brows, not quite understanding what he meant, so he added, “When I was on tour, I missed your letters. They were like little pieces of home I could carry with me. Almost like you were there, keeping me company.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed, and her gaze dropped, but a small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips. “I did not realize you enjoyed my letters that much. I had hoped, but…”

“I do,” he said eagerly, his voice warm and sincere. “You write the very best letters.” He hesitated for a moment, then added with a self-deprecating smile, “Although, to be fair, not many people write to me at all.”

She frowned at his words, as though the idea that no one would write to him was a personal affront to her.

“Have you ever considered writing a book, Pen?” He finally asked in a gentle tone so as not to interrupt the sleepy, calm atmosphere that surrounded them. The question had been on his mind ever since her little slip of the tongue.

She still had her brows knitted together before a pretty blush spread across her face. She scooted closer, suddenly animated.

“I have never told anyone this,” she confessed, her eyes sparkling with excitement—a sparkle he found utterly infectious.

Lord, he loved learning anything new about her. He was voracious for every little tidbit she shared with him—and only him.

Gently, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I have always wanted to write a romance novel.”

“Romance?” He echoed, his voice filled with awe. “What would it be about? Have you written any of it yet? Can I read it?”

The questions tumbled out of him before he could stop himself, making her laugh. She leaned in, so close now that her nose nearly brushed his.

“Not yet,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. “But I have found myself inspired recently.”

She bit her lip, and he could not help but wonder what—or who—had inspired her.

He hoped it was him. It had to be, right?

“I shall be the first to buy it,” he promised, his smile wide and genuine, making her giggle and look down shyly.

“You would not have to—I would give it to you,” she whispered, her fingers brushing his cheek before she continued, her voice soft. “What about you? Have you ever thought about publishing your journals?”

“I—” He hesitated, suddenly nervous. “I do not think…” He trailed off, unsure how to explain.

In truth, he had thought about it, but the idea that people might care more about his name than his writing unsettled him. Besides, if he did not believe he was good enough, how could he expect anyone else to?

Finally, he admitted, “I do not want my name to be all people see.”

(He had never shared this with another living soul, feeling foolish for complaining about something that many would consider a blessing—something others might kill for.)

Penelope did not even have to think about her reply.

“They will not,” she said with unwavering confidence. “Your name might catch their attention at first, but do you think that is enough to hold it, Colin? It is your writing that will keep them. And if you decide to publish more, it will be your words—not your name—that they will come back for.”

Penelope gnawed at her lip, as if contemplating whether to share something of her own—something she had never told another soul, just like him. He could not help but perk up a little at the thought.

“I think I might understand it better than you think,” she confessed in a quiet voice. “Perhaps not quite in the same way, but I know what it is like to want to be seen beyond what people assume of you.”

He let out a shuddering breath at her words. Even if he did not yet share the confidence she had in him, the fact that she saw him that way gave him hope that one day he could too. Besides, it felt good to be seen—to have someone understand and share the burden he carried.

I see you was at the tip of his tongue.

“I will consider it,” he finally said, smiling. “But if I do, I want to be the first to read your novel. Fair compromise, do you not think?”

“I suppose we have a deal,” she replied, her voice teasing.

Their hands met, almost like the first time they had shaken hands to seal a promise. But this time, his hand fully encompassed hers, his touch deliberate. This time, his thumb brushed over her knuckles, and he pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but he kept his slightly open, watching as her lashes kissed her cheeks and a faint blush bloomed on her skin.

“I have heard promises should always be sealed with a kiss,” he murmured against her lips, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

When they pulled away, she was biting her lip as her hooded gaze shifted to his chin, and her thumb brushed over the faint scar there.

“A little souvenir you left me from our first meeting,” he joked, his voice light.

“Should I apologize for that as well?” She asked, amused as she remembered their earlier conversation.

“I think you should,” he replied, his arms tightening around her waist. “Back then, you were too busy teasing me mercilessly to worry about me splayed on the ground, were you not?”

He feigned offense, but the mischief in his eyes betrayed him. Before she could respond, his fingers darted to her sides, and suddenly he was tickling her.

“Colin! Stop it!” She squealed, her laughter echoing through the room as she twisted and squirmed in his grasp.

Breathless and giggling, she made half-hearted attempts to push him away, though it was clear she did not truly want him to stop.

“Say you are sorry,” he demanded, grinning as she dissolved into another fit of laughter.

“I will not!” She managed to cry, her voice wobbling with giggles.

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “You are tempting me, Penelope Anne. You do know what happens when you do that, do you not?”

Her laughter faltered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan as his words hung in the air. He noticed the way her breath hitched and the way her lips parted as though she might say something but could not quite find the words.

Once he relented, she collapsed back into his arms, her cheeks flushed from laughter—and something else entirely.

His hands lingered at her waist, warm and steady, his thumbs tracing slow, careful patterns along her skin. Once again, the air between them shifted—from the easy comfort he always felt around her to a thick, charged tension that crackled with electricity.

Colin brushed a stray curl from her face, his fingers grazing her temple, and she tilted her head ever so slightly into his touch. Her sparkling eyes softened, her gaze dropping briefly to his mouth before flicking back to his eyes.

He wondered briefly if they had been heard from the streets below. What would people think of them? Would they guess the truth? Or would they assume they were a happy husband and wife, basking in the bliss of married life?

He found he rather liked the latter.

But before they could have that, they needed to talk.

“Penelope,” he said suddenly, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. She felt the change in him, and he saw it mirrored in her as her eyes filled with a flicker of apprehension. “We should talk—”

“I know, but…” She bit her lip, her gaze pleading. He felt a pang in his chest at the sight. “Can we just… enjoy this a little longer? I promise we will talk. Just… not now.”

He sighed, feeling torn. He wanted to talk now, to make everything clear so they could marry and start their lives together. But when she asked him like that, how could he say no? He had to find a way to learn how to say no to Penelope’s pleading eyes and words; otherwise, he would truly be in trouble.

And besides, there was a small, nagging part of him that wondered if this was all they would ever be. That he might never be worthy of her. A part that was all too happy to delay their conversation. Delaying it for a little while could not hurt, could it?

“Alright,” he relented softly.

She breathed a sigh of relief, burying her face in his chest. He trailed his fingers up and down her spine in soothing strokes, feeling the tension slowly leave her body as her breathing evened out. Soon, she was fast asleep.

As he gazed down at her peaceful face, a contented smile softened her features, and he felt his own heart swell.

The words bubbled up in his chest, threatening to spill over—the words he had been carrying with him ever since he first realized them.

I love you.

It would be so easy to say it. They were already at the tip of his tongue, ready to be whispered into the stillness of the room, just to see how they felt on his tongue.

But no. Not yet. The first time he said it, she would be awake to hear it—and he would make sure she never doubted the truth of it.

Instead, he tightened his arms around her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“Soon,” he whispered, though she could not hear him. “Very soon.”