Archive of Our Own ^beta

Colin Bridgerton had always been known as a rather impulsive man. This, for the most part, was an unfair assessment. A person who spent most of their time traveling alone—even one with seemingly unlimited funds and a name that could quite literally get him a meeting with royalty if he liked—would eventually have to gain some practice in planning, problem solving, and even basic common sense and forethought. Colin, who had been traveling almost non-stop since his brothers threw him a twenty-first party in Ibiza and, as they said, never really came home, was rather proud of his ability to adapt and think on his feet without panic or other irrational emotions getting in the way.

However, nine years after that party, on one rather unremarkable Friday afternoon, all attempts at rational thought, reason, or planning seemed to go catapulting from the window of his newly acquired penthouse apartment.

It had started simply enough.

His oldest brother Anthony, who had somehow both softened and become more difficult to win arguments against in the years after marrying Kate, had decided that a fully furnished apartment would make the perfect thirtieth birthday present. Unfortunately, Colin didn’t even have a chance to refuse the thinly veiled attempt to force him into some form of permanence there in London because the keys had been shoved into his hand at the same time his entire family, their significant others, and several close friends, rushed forward shouting some jumbled combination of surprise, welcome home, and happy birthday all at once.

So, Colin, still in full command of his rationality at that point, decided not to cause a stir. He smiled and laughed and accepted the drink Benedict shoved into his hand. He let his family lead him around showing off all of the gifts they’d contributed to “his new home” that he never asked for in the first place. He let Hyacinth blare Taylor Swift as she showed off the stereo system she’d chosen. He nodded appreciatively to the handmade wine glasses Daphne and Simon picked out even though all he really wanted was a cold beer from the case he’d seen Gregory carry in. There was a set of floor to ceiling shelves covered in books and small succulents from Eloise and Phillip; walls of paintings and framed photographs from Benedict and Sophie; noise cancelling headphones, a weighted blanket, and far too many decorative pillows from Francesca and John; a fully stocked liquor cabinet from Michaela, an eclectic menagerie of childhood knickknacks and memorabilia placed anywhere there was space from his mother, and a fridge stocked with all of his favorite foods from his best friend, Penelope. Colin was overwhelmed by it all, in ways both good and bad.

In truth, he was surprised at how well their gifts suited him. Colin had never particularly felt like he fit in with his family. He saw himself in each of them in different ways—Anthony’s pride, Benedict’s charm, Daphne’s care, Eloise’s wit, Francesca’s introspectiveness, Gregory’s affability, Hyacinth’s mischief—but they always seemed to inhabit those traits so much better than he did. He never embodied anything that felt very worth noting.

Well, except his impulsivity, as they called it. To him, it was more of a desire to leave before they realized he had nothing substantial to offer.

And now, they were trying to take that away, too. What was worse, what made him look at each gift—the whole goddamn apartment—with some measure of disdain was that, to some extent, they were right.

Colin had turned down the opportunity to renew his latest contract with the hospitality brand he’d been traveling with and doing social media promotions for. Each day, each trip felt longer, lonelier, less fulfilling. He’d planned on spending a few weeks on Michaela’s couch as a sort of reset before deciding whether to carry on as he was or come home with his tail between his legs.

Only, his family had decided for him. And he hated it.

But, his mother seemed overjoyed at the prospect of him having a more long-term home in London, so Colin did his best to grin and bear it.

Besides, the new flat did have some perks. After all, he’d caught Penelope dancing along to Hyacinth’s playlist with a glass of wine in hand, admiring the art and the books, curling up with one of the obnoxiously push pillows on the couch, and grinning animatedly as she told Michaela the story of one hopelessly lopsided ceramic hedgehog Colin had made at a pottery class she’d roped him into going to back before he started traveling. He hadn’t had the chance to talk with her, yet, beyond the initial “there was no stopping them” she whispered when he hugged her hello, but, of all the people at the party, he was glad to see Penelope. It had been far too long since they’d spent any real time together outside of the odd family event and holiday he was in the country for.

For years, their friendship had been almost entirely virtual. Even with that, though, they had grown surprisingly close through texts, facetime calls, the rare email and postcard, but recently Colin had noticed a sort of distance between them.

At first, he thought it was simply his own preoccupation. With the end of his latest contract looming, the company had kept him busier than ever, constantly traveling from one beautiful destination to the next either to convince him to stay or make the most of his time while he was there. However, as the days passed and Colin put the finishing touches on his last few projects, he realized that she had stopped reaching out to him, too. Not completely, not true silence, not anything real enough to be alarming, but…

Well.

Colin thought it was rather convenient that this gap in his contracts would, at least, allow him to reconnect with Penelope, make sure everything was alright with her, between them, before he had to make the decision to head back abroad again or not. It was kismet, really.

At least, he had thought so. But that was before he was walking back from the balcony to finally grab that beer, before he passed by the open bathroom door, before he stopped to listen in at the sound of Penelope and Eloise arguing inside.

“…put him off twice this week,” Eloise was saying and Colin would have kept walking, would have ignored it, if not for Penelope’s response.

“I had to help Kate with the party,” Penelope replied, softer but with a firmness she only really revealed to her friends. “You know Anthony’s hopeless and the rest of you were too skeptical to try.”

Colin grimaced, the sting of how little faith his family had in him staying—he couldn’t blame them, they were right—was only heightened when Eloise scoffed.

“I would love if my brother was around more—and if you repeat that, you’re dead—but,” she paused and Colin involuntarily took half a step closer, “I’m tired of waiting, Pen. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Colin glared at the woodgrain beneath his feet, biting back the guilt and indignation—they fed each other, both ugly gnawing feelings—in his chest as he tried to hear Penelope’s response.

Whatever she said, however, must have been under her breath because the next thing Colin heard was Eloise practically shouting, “Exactly! So, just tell Colin you have an early morning or something. You can’t reschedule a date three times, Pen, I won’t let you.”

“It’s your brother’s birthday, El, I’m not going to…”

But whatever point Penelope was about to make was completely lost under the sudden hollowness ringing in Colin’s ears.

A date.

Penelope Featherington was going to leave his birthday-turned-homecoming party to go on a date.

He was—

He felt—

He had no fucking clue, if he were honest.

Colin knew Penelope dated, but it was never really serious. A drink here, an evening out there, but she spent more nights falling asleep on the phone with him than out with serious partners.

Or, she had, at least, except for the past few months when she’d been pulling away and—

Was she in a relationship?

She would have told him.

She would have told him, right?

If one of the coffees or overstepping coworkers turned into a serious partner, she would have said something. There would have been signs, at least.

Only… there were.

The distance, the missed calls, the unanswered texts, the unacknowledged postcards, were they all signs that…?

Fuck.

She was in a relationship.

Penelope Featherington was—still talking, “…need to. Besides, if he doesn’t understand, then he’s not someone I want to be with.”

There was the sound of a small scuffle like Eloise was trying to grab something away from her. “This isn’t someone you want to be with? He’s fucking gorgeous for a man.”

“You’re dating a man,” Penelope remarked dryly.

“Don’t remind me,” Eloise muttered. “And don’t change the subject. How long has it been since you had se—”

“I’m not answering that. You know I have Al—”

“That penguin fucker?” Eloise interrupted, not lowering her voice even as Penelope tried to shush her, “What kind of name is Alfred, anyway? It’s ridiculous, Pen, it’s—”

“I was drunk!”

Colin stumbled a step back. He should leave. He could hear their bickering get louder as Penelope and Eloise approached the bathroom door and he should really, really leave, but Penelope was dating and apparently had some bastard named Alfred on the side—his sister was right, what kind of name was that?—and Colin could barely get his lungs to keep working let alone his feet to walk like a normal human being.

And Eloise was still talking, “Yeah, yeah, I know, you were drunk, best choice you ever made, orgasms for days, I’ve heard it all, Pen, but you and I both know that Alfred isn’t going to give you what you really want.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t have what I really want,” Penelope snapped and somehow, by some miracle, her anger was sharp enough to startle Colin out of his spiral. He stepped back, turning on his heel and rushing back out towards the balcony, beerless, with the last echoes of Eloise’s apology and argument haunting him down the hall.

For the rest of the evening, Colin found himself obsessing over their conversation. He could only mumble in response to Michaela’s questions about why he returned empty handed, his entire mind consumed with what he’d learned.

Penelope.

Pen.

The girl he’d known longer than he’d known his own father was…

He didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

Was dating but also sleeping around? Was in an open relationship? In triad? Had a fuck buddy while she tried to find someone worth her time? Was being played by someone who most definitely was not?

Colin had no fucking clue what was going on.

All he knew was that she was settling.

“Yeah, well, I can’t have what I really want.” The words echoed in Colin’s head, bitter, resigned, like she’d given up, and Colin hated it. He hated her tone more than he hated the faceless person she was thinking of leaving the party for. He hated it more than he hated Alfred, the penguin fucker, whatever that meant. He hated it even more than he hated the distance that had grown between them and kept him out of the loop of everything that was apparently going on in her life.

Well, perhaps he hated that equally.

Regardless, Colin couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on with Penelope. Once he was sure enough time had passed for Eloise and Penelope to have left the bathroom—and once the crisp air of the balcony had cooled down the bright red heat that had risen to his face—Colin practically dragged Michaela back inside. He led her to the kitchen, with its clear line of sight to the main door, and somewhat effectively used her as buffer to shield himself from having to engage in any conversation that required more than a few grunts or nods. He was far too preoccupied with waiting for Penelope. Each time someone passed through for drinks for food, his heart stopped, dreading the moment she would walk in, make her excuses and leave for her date, or Alfred, or even both.

But, one hour passed then two and the only glimpse he had of her was when she wandered through the kitchen, shrugging as she poured two oversized tequila shots.

“Eloise is in a mood.” Penelope rolled her eyes when she saw him watching her.

Colin was in a mood, too, but his mood was more of a combination of anxiety, shock, guilt, and several other emotions he’d rather not name that seemed to be burning him alive from the inside out. He was half convinced he’d vomit lava at her feet if he dared to open his mouth but, in reality, all that came out was, “Oh. Are you leaving?”

“Course not.” She lifted up the two glasses and cocked her head to the side. “It’s your birthday.”

Colin nodded, unable to think of any sensible response before she turned and disappeared from the kitchen.

Michaela, who had watched the entire exchange while leaning on a nearby counter and sipping on some sort of punch Hyacinth had concocted, snorted. “Smooth.”

“Did you know she had a date tonight?” Colin asked, grabbing Michaela’s arm and all but pulling her back out onto the balcony. The rest of his family and guests were all too far in their cups to notice by that point, but he caught Francesca watching them with raised eyebrows as they passed.

Michaela nodded, amusement glittering in her eyes. “She’s not going, if that’s what you’re worried about. Eloise was trying to get us to pile on in the group chat but she didn’t bite.”

Colin groaned, equal parts relieved and…something—sickened? Grateful? Guilty?—at the confirmation. “Did you know she planned this party?”

“Is this an interrogation?” Michaela arched an eyebrow at him but answered, anyway, “She tried to talk them out of it, actually, but then Anthony tried to take over and Kate was about to make herself a widow, so Pen stepped in to keep the peace. At least, that’s what Edwina said.”

Colin chuckled in spite of himself. Penelope always had been eerily adept at keeping the peace amongst his family. The thought made that strange sharp feeling in his chest grow worse. “She could have planned the party for tomorrow, then.”

Michaela just shook her head and took a drink, not bothering to humor him with a response.

“The guy she was, uh, supposed to see,” Colin hesitated, not sure why exactly he had started asking but now entirely able to stop, “is, uh, he… her—”

“It was a first date,” Michaela interrupted before Colin found a way to put off saying the words partner or boyfriend out loud. Not that it should have been as difficult as it was. Michaela just blatantly grinned behind her drink.

Colin nodded to himself, crossing several options off of his list of things he probably shouldn’t be trying to guess about Penelope’s dating life. “Then, is Alfred—”

Michaela spluttered into her drink, coughing so hard she nearly spat bright red punch out all over them both. “You know about the penguin fucker?”

What fuck did that even mean? Colin patted her back roughly as she tried to catch her breath. “Is he some sort of furry or something?”

Michaela’s brow furrowed then her entire face cleared in understanding. She burst out laughing, handing him the rest of her drink and squeezing his shoulders as she shook her head. “Ask Penelope. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.”

“I can’t just—” Colin broke off, calling after Michaela as she left him to return inside, “She doesn’t know I know!”

“Know what?”

Colin groaned as, seemingly out of nowhere, Benedict stuck his head through the balcony door and gestured for Colin to come back inside. Colin debated, only for a second, before downing the rest of Michaela’s drink and joining him. By that point, most of the guests had started to leave. They were mostly the friends he’d not kept in touch with well, but Daphne and Simon had said goodbye back while Colin was still in the kitchen, Violet had disappeared some time ago with Hyacinth and Gregory, and he suspected Michaela had ducked inside so suddenly in part to catch a ride with Francesca and John as the three of them were waving from the front door. Michaela winked at him but Colin just rolled his eyes.

Turning back to Benedict, Colin prayed his brother would be more forthcoming as he asked, “Do you know about Alfred?”

Benedict, to his surprise, had no reaction at all. “Who?”

“Alfred.” Colin paused but Benedict only shook his head. “Apparently, he’s Pen’s new… well, I don’t know who he is. Mich told me to ask her but I don’t know how to ask without her wondering where I heard about him in the first place.”

“Ah, so this is about Penelope.” Benedict wrapped his arm around Colin’s shoulders and walked him back towards the kitchen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Colin scowled even as he let Benedict refill Michaela’s—now his—glass with punch.

“Let me understand this right,” Benedict ignored him in favor of pulling out one of the chairs from the nearby table and sitting in it backwards, his arms folded over the back. “You overheard Penelope talking about this…”

“Alfred,” Colin supplied. He could already tell he was going to hate wherever Benedict was taking the conversation.

“Right, Alfie dearest.” Benedict grinned at whatever horrified expression Colin knew he must be making. “You hear that, and instead of stepping into the conversation like a normal friend would or even just walking away and waiting for her to mention it to you directly, you decide to interrogate me, your favorite brother, about our little sister’s friend’s mysterious man friend.”

“She was talking to Eloise in the bathroom, I couldn’t very well barge in and ask,” Colin retorted, realizing a beat too late that the context didn’t actually make it any better.

Benedict snorted. “And why, pray tell, were you listening to our sister and her dear friend in the bathroom?”

“Who even goes to the bathroom to have a conversation?” Colin countered futilely.

“Women.” Benedict shrugged.

“Well, if he was any good for her, she wouldn’t have to hide him.”

“And how many partners have you had that the family doesn’t know about?”

“That’s my point,” Colin muttered, ignoring the surprised quirk of Benedict’s brow.

But that was his point, really. He had spent so many years traveling alone it was, well, lonely. And, in spite of his desire to distance himself from his family name, Colin was still a Bridgerton. He appreciated solitude and quiet, but he could never quite grow used to the isolation of it all. So, he’d had several girlfriends and boyfriends over the years from all across the world, but they had never lasted. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to—Colin was always searching for connection, for something more permanent to keep him tethered to himself—but they had just never… clicked. Whether it was because they fell for his public persona and money, were only with him because they wanted momentary fun and expected him to leave, or had asked him to stay in a place that could never be home, none of them ever worked.

And maybe he wasn’t holding himself accountable, because he never, not once, tried to tell anyone outside of his temporary friends in whatever town he was in about his partners, never invited them back home, never shared their pictures in the sibling group chat, because he simply never expected them to work out.

“So why does it matter what Penelope does?” Benedict rested his chin on his folded arms and smirked as he added, “Or who?”

Colin groaned, struggling to find the words.

It shouldn’t matter, really. Any—all—of the Bridgerton women would murder him if he even dared suggest that there was anything wrong with a woman going out and embracing her sexuality in whatever way she saw fit. He wasn’t against the idea of women having casual sex or multiple partners or consensual flings while dating or any of that. Penelope should have been no different. Sure, he had known her back when she cried over scraped knees and believed that there were fairies living in the boughs of the willow tree at their favorite park, but she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a grown woman. A beautiful woman. One of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen, really, and she was absolutely brilliant, too. It was almost unfair, actually, how perfect she was.

Colin thought back to the conversation he’d overheard. She had sounded put out, resigned. That was exactly why it mattered.

“She deserves someone she can be proud of, not someone she feels the need to hide and whisper about,” Colin explained, lowering his voice as Sophie walked in from the main room. “Not some… penguin fucker.”

Sophie froze then spun around so fast she nearly elbowed Benedict in the face. “You know about Alfred?”

“See!” Colin tossed his full cup of punch into the sink and gestured pointedly to Sophie. “Why wouldn’t I question Penelope being with a man everyone recognizes by that?”

“Wait?” Sophie’s expression gave way to pure confusion. “What do you mean a ma—”

“Hold up, I’ve heard of a lot of weird kinks,” Benedict interrupted, sitting up straight, “but what do you mean by penguin fu—”

“Ohh!” Sophie’s expression cleared into an almost maniacal grin as she suddenly grabbed Benedict’s arm and pulled him out of the chair. Ignoring Colin’s confusion, she told Ben, “Phil had to leave early, so we’re driving your sister home. I’m pretty sure she’s had half a bottle of tequila.”

Benedict looked just as lost as Colin felt. “But what do you mean by pengu—”

“I’ll explain on the way home.”

Colin started to follow them. “But you won’t explain to me?”

“Talk to Penelope!” Sophie called out over her shoulder as she and Benedict went to wrangle Eloise from the sitting room couch to the front door.

He just scowled at her, quietly wondering if she and Michaela somehow shared a brain.

“What are you talking to me about?” Penelope’s voice made Colin jump, his face burning bright red as he turned to see her heading towards the kitchen with a stack of cups and an empty snack tray in her hands.

“Nothing.” Colin took the tray and cups from her. “You don’t have to do this.”

Penelope shrugged, letting him take the items only to turn and pick up the abandoned plate Eloise left on the coffee table as Benedict and Sophie drug her from the couch. “Anthony and Kate were going to head out, too, I think. Least I can do is help you clean up.”

“Anthony should be the one to clean up, he’s the one who bought the place,” Colin grumbled, hurrying to the kitchen to set everything down.

He and Penelope both waited by the door to say good night to Benedict, Sophie, and Eloise and, a few moments later, Anthony and Kate. It felt odd, watching Penelope thank everyone for coming and doing the same. It made sense—though it was his house, she was one of the people who organized the party—and it didn’t feel… strange, really. It was more that it felt natural, like she should be saying goodbye to his guests rather than leaving herself.

That was the strange part.

“I know it’s not what you planned,” Penelope remarked as she and Colin returned to the heart of the apartment to begin cleaning up the party in earnest, “but it is a nice place.”

He nodded, begrudgingly. “I just wish I had been the one to choose it.”

“You know Anthony can’t force you to stay,” Penelope pointed out. “You can always rent it while you’re away.”

A few years ago, he probably would have done just that. He was still tempted, but the urge came more out of spite than anything else.

“It might be nice to stick around a while.” Colin shrugged. He didn’t miss the flicker of surprise—almost apprehension—that spread across her face. “What about you? Have El and Phil sent you searching for a new place yet?”

Penelope chuckled. “She’s been spending more time at his than he does with us. I basically have the place to myself.”

“Must be great for dates, yeah?” Colin felt the words leave his mouth without any planning or forethought. He clamped his jaw shut, keeping his eyes cast down at the crumbs he was trying to sweep into a dustpan.

Penelope’s silence lasted so long he actually managed to sweep down that impossible line at the edge of the pan to nothing.

When she did speak, her voice was tight, her laugh, nervous, “Maybe someday. I’d have to actually go on dates to find out, though.”

Colin dumped the dustpan out into the bin, biting his tongue to keep from pointing out that she was apparently supposed to be on a date that night. He didn’t want her to think he was judging her for choosing his party over some first date; he was thrilled, actually, but he wasn’t sure she’d be comfortable with that, either.

“How about you?” Penelope asked when he didn’t reply. “If someone took me back to a place like this, I’d be impressed.”

He turned around just in time to see her grimace at her own comment. It was a sentiment he shared. He didn’t want to picture bringing anyone else back to this apartment. As much as he hated to admit it, his family had done an impressive job of making the space feel like his. For all of his other flings or relationships, he’d always been the one to go over and sneak out in the morning, to bring people back to a hotel room or rental house. Except for his first girlfriend before he started traveling, he’d never really been with anyone in a space that was his. He didn’t really want to, either.

But with that thought came the memory of how he’d felt earlier in the night. How for every personal touch his family had brought into the space, Penelope made it better, made it feel like home. He wondered if she was actually impressed or if it was different, easier to brush off because it was his. He wondered if she had been impressed by other men’s homes, by—

“What about Alfred’s place?” Colin asked, an overwhelming and inexplicable wave of bitterness pushing the words from between his teeth. “I heard you mention him to El earlier. Is his place… is he… nice?”

Penelope froze, her face turning bright red as she stared at him open-mouthed. She hardly looked like she was breathing, her eyes flitting over his face in panic.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Colin backtracked even though he desperately wanted to know. What on earth could the man be like to make her react like that? “I just… like I said, I overheard, and no one’s going to judge you—”

“What did you hear?” Penelope asked. She took a deep breath, put down the plate that was trembling in her hand, and sat heavily onto the couch.

“I know you turned down a date for me.” Colin tried his best to stifle a grin. She turned down the date for the party she helped his family throw for him. It was a very different thing, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge that. More hesitantly, he added, “And that you’re also seeing someone named Alfred.”

Penelope let out a strangled noise of embarrassment as she buried her face in her hands.

“I’m not judging, Pen, really.” Colin hurried to sit down on the couch beside her. He put his hand on her knee and squeezed but she refused to look at him. “But you didn’t… you didn’t sound happy, either. Whatever you’re waiting for, whatever you think won’t happen, that doesn’t mean you should settle.”

“Oh god.” Penelope let out a horrified laugh and shook her head.

Colin wasn’t sure how to take her response, so he just kept talking, “You should be with someone who wants to stay at your place, who wants to take you on dates and show you off, who makes you feel like you’re flying and safe all at once.”

Penelope shot to her feet, her hands hooked around the back of her neck as she paced back and forth in front of the coffee table. She refused to look at him, still laughing and muttering under her breath, “I cannot believe you’re trying to talk to me about this. You of all people. Colin fucking Bridgerton wants to talk about this.”

“Of course I do!” Colin frowned at her. He stayed sitting, fists clenched on his knees as he tried not to be offended by her reaction. Surely it couldn’t be that horrible that he wanted what was best for her. She was his friend, she was the best person he knew. She deserved the world. Unless… Colin paled, realizing belatedly what she might be worried about. “I heard what Eloise called him, the, uh, penguin thing, and, if you think any of us would judge you for whatever he’s into, we wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. I mean, you don’t know the half of what went on when Ben was at art school. He had an entire minifridge in his room full of these different kinds of melons and he would—”

“It’s my vibrator!” Penelope shouted. “Some stupid codename for my vibrator.”

Colin could have sworn his heart stopped beating. He was glad he hadn’t stood when she did else he surely would have swooned like a delicate young lady in some period drama. Distantly, he registered that Penelope had stopped pacing, as well. She was staring at the coffee table between them, her face a truly concerning shade of red as she continued to mutter something that sounded suspiciously like a string of curse words under her breath.

“Just,” she spoke louder, uprooting herself and starting towards the door, “forget I said anything.”

“Wait.” Colin jumped up and clambered over the back of the couch to follow her. She couldn’t just shout that and leave. He had so many questions and, while the majority of them were far too inappropriate to ask one’s friend—namely, will you show me?—there was one thing he just had to know. “But why did Eloise call it a penguin fucker?”

“Fucking hell,” Penelope groaned as she dug her phone out of her pocket. “I am going to murder your sister. Then myself. Then maybe you.”

Colin couldn’t help but laugh at that, the reaction instinctive even as he felt like his whole universe had been thrown off kilter. “But you’d already be dead.”

“Fine. You first,” Penelope muttered, typing so aggressively on her phone he almost worried the screen would crack. After another second, she shoved the screen into his face. “They were on sale.”

Colin leaned back, taking the phone from her so he could see the screen properly. There, on the browser, was the product page for some sort of small suction vibrator; the toy itself was shaped and colored to vaguely resemble a penguin. It even had a bowtie. A purple fucking bowtie.

“Oh.” Colin stared at the screen, heat creeping up his neck. He should give her phone back, let her leave like she so clearly wanted to, stop staring at the penguin fucker on her screen.

He should most definitely stop picturing her using it.

“Yeah.” Penelope reached out and snatched her phone back. “Oh.”

Colin’s gaze followed her hand as she shoved her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. His mouth went dry as he tried—desperately, he would tell himself, not very hard, in reality—not to imagine her skin flushed and smooth beneath the denim. Her hand drifting over, down between her thighs, the little purple bowtie pressing into her skin as she brought the toy up to her clit, and—

“I’m going to go.” Penelope’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. She looked around for her purse, her face red, her eyes downcast. “Just… forget this ever happened. Please.”

But the last thing Colin wanted was for her to leave now. Even though—or, rather, not just because—he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering what sounds she made when using the toy, Colin couldn’t stand the idea that she would leave feeling like she had to be ashamed of it.

“Wait.” He reached out and grabbed her arm to stop her rush towards the door. “Pen, wait. Please.”

She stopped but still refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, but—”

“Don’t. This is embarrassing enough as it is.” Penelope cut him off, glaring at him with—to his horror—tears in her eyes. “I don’t need some sort of reassurance that it’s fine my sex life has been reduced to a stupid fucking penguin.”

Colin bit back a chuckle. He felt awful for making her feel bad, no matter how amusing the context was. “But it is fine. If it’s what you want, it’s fine.”

Penelope just shook her head, looking away.

“It’s probably better than the bastards you’d pick up at the pub anyway.” Colin tugged on her arm. The thought of her, Penelope, being drooled over by anyone not worth her time—anyone, really—made that sharp feeling in his chest return. He hated the idea of her settling. Hated the idea of her feeling like she had to even more.

“Just stop, okay?” Penelope yanked her arm free and pressed her fists tight against her ribs. “Not everyone can just go home with a different person every night.”

Colin’s eyebrows shot up. Is that what she thought of him? True, he had tried living like that, once, but that was years go. Back when he first tried to make a name for himself out in the world. But it wasn’t him. Not anymore.

“Come with me.” Colin took two steps away from the door but she didn’t follow. He held out his hand, tilting his head back towards the hall. “Please?”

Penelope glared at him, swiped the tears from her eyes, then took his hand.

Colin grinned and squeezed her hand. He tried to ignore the nerves and warmth bubbling in his chest as he led her back to the main bedroom where Anthony had shoved his suitcases earlier. This was to reassure her. That was all. He certainly wasn’t about to start picturing Penelope in his bed, hair splayed across his golden sheets, the little bowtied toy sucking between her legs while he brought out his—

Colin let go of her hand and turned away, trying to subtly adjust his budding erection—far more than budding, but if he ignored it maybe it would go away—as he crouched down next to his luggage. Unfortunately, the familiar sight of the shoebox he pulled out from inside the extra pillowcase he always packed with him did very little to help his… situation.

Colin kept a tight grip on the box as he stood and turned and—

Fuck.

Penelope had moved, sitting perched on the edge of his bed, her arms folded under her chest and inadvertently pressing her tits together.

He was so screwed.

He should have let her go, should have shoved the conversation from his mind and locked the images of her and that damn toy away for nights when he had no chance of acting on them because this? Her?

Fuck, he wanted her.

The thought, as obvious as it may have been, hit him like a truck. It wasn’t that he had never thought about Penelope like that. His teenage years were filled with far too many wet dreams fueled by red hair and freckles, but this was different. It had always been distant, purely fantasy. He’d never had anything practical, anything tangible to fill in the vague haze of lust and her, but now…

That damn penguin fucker.

“Col?” Penelope was staring at the box, cardboard bending in his grip, still sniffling slightly. “I can just go if you—”

“It’s not embarrassing,” Colin cut her off. He moved to sit next to her, placing the box on the bed between them. “I don’t… I can’t do one-night stands, never was very good with them, and I’ve been moving too much for relationships this past year, so…”

Colin trailed off with a shrug. His heart was in his throat, his cock straining against his jeans, as he watched Penelope lift the lid off of the box.

Her brow furrowed for a moment as she took in the variety of cords and objects inside. Colin did his best not to look away, to prove to her it wasn’t embarrassing—though he felt more like he was about to crawl out of his skin with each passing second—as she picked out one of the objects and turned it over in her hand.

To his horror—deep, perverse, delight—she held up the silicon rectangle with rings on either end and asked, “What is it?”

Colin swallowed, twice, before he managed to choke out, “I haven’t used that one in a while.”

She looked like she was going to ask again, so he took it from her and grabbed the cylindrical bottle of lube still sitting in the box. He strapped the two rings around the bottle, pressed one of the buttons on the main silicon sleeve, and watched Penelope’s eyes widen as the rings started to vibrate.

“Haven’t had anyone to use it with,” Colin mumbled as he set it, still vibrating, on the bed between them.

Which was a mistake. Penelope just left it there, buzzing and shivering on top of the sheets as she turned her attention back to the remaining toys in the box.

“This?” Penelope lifted out an object that almost—amusingly, disturbingly now that he thought about it—looked like a bullet blender.

Colin didn’t even answer her, half sure she was being intentionally obtuse just to tease him and entirely certain he wouldn’t be able to form the words to answer if he tried.

The little twitch at the corners of Penelope’s frown had him sure his first instinct was correct.

With a deceptively innocent hum, Penelope pressed two of her fingers into the opening on the one end of the uncreatively named blowjob simulator and spread apart the malleable material there.

“Pen,” Colin spoke her name, aiming for exasperation and landing somewhere closer to pleading as Penelope looked up and met his gaze, still prodding gently at the walls of the toy.

She smirked, her face still blushing red, as she watched him shift on the bed. He leaned back, trying not to groan as the stretch of his clothes shifted the pressure on his erection. There was no hiding it now. No amount of denim or hunched posture could protect him from the quick glance Penelope slid down to his lap.

She set down the simulator and clicked off the still-vibrating cock sleeve beside it. The tips of her nails scraped over the side of Colin’s thigh sending a full-body shiver coursing through him before she pulled her hand back.

“I have something like this,” Penelope said, confused, as she lifted another item out of the box. Her eyes went wide, her hand freezing around the open-ended wand as if she realized a second too late what she was admitting. “Well, n-not quite like this. I don’t know what this—”

She ran her pointer finger over the wings at the end of the vibrator, her voice faltering before she all but dropped it and shoved the box between them.

“Sorry, I…” Penelope stumbled over her words, untucking her hair from behind her ears as if to create a buffer between them. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“I’m the one who handed you the box, Pen.” Colin winced at how rough his voice was, but at least he could talk. He had half expected his brain to turn to mush at the sight of her touching the very things he’d used to touch himself while—if he stopped trying to lie about it—he was thinking about her. “There’s no shame in finding pleasure on your own. Waiting is just another way of depriving yourself.”

Penelope looked up at him and Colin couldn’t help but reach out and tuck her hair back behind her ear. It was like everything in his body was pulling him to her, the sensation both familiar and so, so new.

But when she met his gaze he was surprised to find something aching under the awkwardness and lust. Something resigned, like how he’d heard her sound at the party.

“Can I ask you something?” Colin kept his hand up, brushing his thumb over the curve of her cheek. There was a warmth—protective, tender—in his chest that spread when she didn’t move away. “If it makes you uncomfortable you don’t have to answer.”

“I’m pretty sure nothing could be more uncomfortable than having you ask about my vibrator.” She chuckled, breaking free from his touch to look down and gesture to the box and toys between them. “Besides, I think we’re past that now.”

“When I overheard you with Eloise, it sounded like you were waiting for something. Someone.” Colin hesitated as she went totally still, all the color draining from her face. “If Alfred isn’t some jerk stringing you along, then…?”

“Just how long did you stand there listening to us?” Penelope asked with a nervous laugh.

Colin winced but aimed for honesty. It was only fair. “Long enough to make sure you weren’t going to go on that date.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her lips parting ever so slightly. “Why would it matter if I did?”

“Of course it matters, Pen.” Colin felt like his heart physically cracked in his chest. How could she ever think it wouldn’t matter? How could he have ever thought that? “You’re the only thing that matters.”

“I was never going to go on that date,” Penelope admitted. Her chest was flushed, rising and falling in rapid shallow breaths. “Not when I heard you were moving back to London.”

“I was always going to come home.” He had heard the surprise in her voice and the crack in his chest deepened. “You never had time to travel.”

Again, Penelope’s eyes filled with tears but this time it was different. This time she smiled. “I was always going to wait.”

Colin stood and immediately turned to lean over her, his knees bent, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of her hips, their noses near to touching.

Her breath shivered against his skin and he fisted his hands in the golden sheets.

His gaze fell to her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded, but leaned back before he could. His gaze snapped up to meet her eyes. She reached up and ran her fingertips over his jaw as she added, “Only if you promise to stay.”

“Anywhere you are,” Colin leaned forward and kissed her, just a soft touch of the lips, before he pulled back and grinned, “that’s where I’ll stay.”

He could feel the smile on Penelope’s lips as they both came back together, their second kiss firmer, more sure.

It was like everything fell into place. Coming home for good when she started to pull away, only feeling comfortable with the ridiculous apartment of a birthday gift when he saw how well she settled into each of the rooms, completely unraveling at the idea that someone else might get more of her than him.

Of course it was Penelope.

It had always been Penelope.

“You know,” Colin mumbled against her skin as he slowly urged her back onto the bed, crawling over her as he followed, “I’m dying to see that penguin fucker.”

“Colin,” Penelope half laughed, half moaned as he licked his way down her neck. One of her hands slid under the back of his shirt, the other tugging and twisting in his hair.

Colin sucked at her collar bone, placing and light kiss there once he was sure it would leave a mark. “Would you use it for me, Pen? Show me how you make yourself fall apart?”

He leaned back only enough to see her face. He was momentarily blinded as she pulled his shirt off, forcing him to sit up so she could remove it completely.

“I don’t have it here.” Penelope giggled and tried to slide up towards the headboard. She kicked her feet to help him as Colin grabbed the waistband of her jeans and yanked them down. “We’d have to stop.”

“Not happening.” Colin tossed her jeans over his shoulder then pinched his chin as he stared down at her.

It was hard to keep even the faux serious expression on his face as he looked down at the picture she made. Her shirt was askew and hiked up to reveal the thinnest sliver of her stomach over her high waisted panties; they were pink and nearly the same color as the flush that somehow, miraculously, spread down the tops of her thighs. His mouth practically started watering as she rubbed her legs together under his gaze.

“Until then…” Colin moved to hover over her, kissing her slowly at first.

He traced the seam of her lips, humming gratefully when she opened her mouth to him. Their kiss grew more fervent, sloppier as Colin slid his hand from her neck, down her shoulder, until he found her hand. She let him guide her, her fingers trailing over her own skin as he moved her hand to the waistband of her underwear. She squeaked when he let her go to pull at her clothes, the elastic snapping back against her skin. He didn’t want to stop kissing her to speak, but she seemed to understand what he wanted.

Sitting forward and effectively pushing him back, Penelope adjusted her position so she could reach easily under her panties, her fingers disappearing down between her legs. Colin groaned as he watched her fingers move beneath the pink fabric, a soft squelching sound belying how obscenely wet she was underneath. Penelope’s smirk at his reaction faltered as she found her rhythm, her breaths coming shallower, her head falling back against the headboard even while she looked down her nose to watch him.

Colin used all of his restraint to just sit there and watch. His mouth hanging open, his own hand drifting down to press against the bulge in his pants, Colin watched as Penelope started to moan and whimper and squirm under her own hand.

“Is this—” Penelope broke off in a gasp, her hand pausing as if trying to pace herself, “is this what you want?”

Colin nodded, practically cursing when his eyes raked over her body to see her shirt still mostly in place. “Touch yourself for me.”

“I am.” Her brow furrowed, the movement of her fingers picking up even faster.

Colin shook his head, his gaze fixed on the way her nipples stood out through her clothes as she arched her back, loosing herself in her own touch. “Pen.”

And fuck she really was perfect because there was only a moment’s pause, a soft chuckle, before her other hand was pulling at the hem of her own shirt to bunch it up under her arms and expose her pink lace bra. He could see her nipples—hard, just a shade darker than the lace—chafing against the thread-woven roses.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, loosening it enough to fit her hand underneath. The noise she made—low, throaty, unguarded—when she rolled one of her nipples between her fingers was enough to make Colin fall forward, his hands on the headboard bracketing her in, his mouth hovering over hers.

From that angle he could see straight down her loosened bra, see the pink harden under her touch, see the way her skin spilled out between her fingers.

He tore his eyes away from her chest just long enough to lock eyes with her and say, “You are so beautiful.”

Penelope cried out as if he had touched her and Colin couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Not bothering to move her bra or shirt out of the way, Colin cupped and squeezed the breast she wasn’t fondling and bent his head towards the other. He wrapped his lips over the lace covering her nipple—still pinched between her fingers underneath—and flicked his tongue against the rough fabric. Penelope arched her back, slipping her hand out from under her bra and tangling her spit-damp fingers in his hair as she held him to her. Colin felt her start to buck underneath him, her knees digging into his waist as she tried to close her legs though he was cradled between them. He pinched her other nipple between his fingers, sucking hard on the one between his lips as Penelope’s breath caught in her chest, her entire body taut and tense. Just for a moment, one single moment, all Colin heard was the pounding of his own heart, the scrape of his hand and tongue over lace, the rhythmic strumming of her fingers against her clit more frantic than a humming bird’s heart.

And then she broke.

Chanting his name, her hand clinging to the back of his neck, Penelope yanked him up towards her mouth as her entire body shook and came back to life beneath him. Colin kissed her as best he could—sucking her bottom lip between his, tracing her mouth with his tongue—while she inhaled deep gasping breaths. He felt mere seconds from his own release. She hadn’t even touched him, he’d hardly touched himself, and yet Colin found himself dropping his grip to the bed and clenching his fists so hard his nails dug into his skin just to keep from coming in his pants.

Once she finally managed to catch her breath—mostly, at least—Penelope pushed on his shoulder, nudging him back just enough for her to free her hand from where it was trapped between her legs and his body. Colin watched, slack-jawed and panting like some sort of animal, as she brought two glistening fingers up to her mouth and sucked.

“Fuck,” Colin groaned, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss the second she moved her hand. He could taste her, barely, faintly, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Grabbing her hips as hard as he dared—her skin was so fair he didn’t want to press bruises between her freckles; that was a lie, he wanted his fingerprints dug into her skin, he wanted her to think of him every time that fucking bowtie skimmed over her thighs—Colin pulled her to the side, sliding down the bed and catching the fabric of her underwear momentarily between his teeth.

He let the elastic snap back against her as he unzipped his jeans and rolled onto his back to kick them off. Nodding towards Penelope’s underwear, he muttered, “Off. Now.”

“Impatient,” Penelope mumbled, grinning, as she pulled her underwear off then straddled him.

She was in the middle of unbunching her shirt from under her arms when Colin wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees and pulled her forward. In her surprise, she pitched forward, catching herself on the headboard as her bra swung loose in his face.

“Sorry.” Colin laughed as Penelope glared at him playfully. She righted herself, pulling off her shirt and bra and tossing them somewhere in the room. He stared up at her with wide eyes, his hands inching up her waist towards her chest as her tits hung over her face. “Fuck, they’re so much better than I imagined.”

“You’ve imagined my tits?” Penelope’s chest jiggled slightly as she laughed, trying to slide back down his abdomen towards the erection straining in his boxers.

“Since I was fifteen.” Colin held tight to her thighs, keeping her in place. “Now come here.”

“What?” Penelope’s voice shot up in pitch, her hands flying to the headboard even as she let him shuffle her up until her thighs were bracketing his face.

“I need taste you, Pen.” Colin tried to tug her down towards his face but she stayed still. “Please.”

She leaned back to look down at him. “That’s not what I meant. What do you mean, you—”

“You started wearing bras at twelve,” Colin interrupted her, his grip on her legs loosening. That same old shame he had felt from back when he was of age and she wasn’t, back when Benedict smacked the back of his head and Anthony would lecture him for staring anytime Penelope joined them for pool parties or wore her sisters’ too tight hand-me-down clothes, creeping back in. “Sorry. Is that too much?”

Penelope shook her head, reaching down to brush his hair back from his forehead. It was such a tender gesture in spite of their utterly lewd positioning, but Colin still felt his chest fill with warmth.

“I wanted you to look,” Penelope whispered, biting her bottom lip as if her words were the most embarrassing thing about where they found themselves. “I always wanted you to look.”

“Come here,” Colin groaned, finally—finally—pulling her down onto him so he could smell and taste and breathe in the purest essence of her.

Penelope was everywhere. Her thighs cradled his head, muffling his hearing so he wasn’t sure if the pounding in his ears was his pulse or hers. The hair covering her mound tickled the bridge of his nose and would have made him smile, would have made him grin joy against her had he not been too turned on to react. Her pussy was warm and wet, dripping into his mouth and down his chin and he didn’t know whether she was just turned on or if she had made herself come so hard earlier that her release still lingered. She had one hand bracing herself on his thigh, the other moving from his hair first to the headboard then to tease lazily at her tits.

He watched her, only able to see the soft swell of her stomach, her hand, and nipples as she leaned back and rode his face. He let her take her pleasure, flinching and grinding as if she wasn’t sure if her clit was too sensitive from her first orgasm or if she needed the pressure to feel it rough to keep herself riding that high. And Colin—

Colin had never felt so overwhelmed, so lost in bliss and lust, in his entire life.

He couldn’t get enough of her—her touch, her heat, her smell, her taste, fuck, her taste. It was like every other person he’d ever touched, tasted, fucked was just a blip, a penance on his way to her.

He was so lost in the rhythm she’d struck, rocking against his face as he switched back and forth between lapping at her clit and fucking her with his tongue, that he hardly registered when she shifted her weight to lean back until he felt her hand reach into the fly of his boxers and pull his cock free. Colin bucked his hips into her hold involuntarily, moaning against her cunt and causing her thighs to tighten around her ears.

Her touch was maddening. Light and teasing, her grip tightening anytime he sucked on her clit or pressed against her inner walls with his tongue. The weight of her against his body—so reassuring, so enticing, so right—was just enough to keep him from losing himself and thrusting up into her hand, but he still whimpered, still protested with his lips against her body, when her touch disappeared entirely.

But didn’t have time to pull back and whine or plead or make some sort of joke, before something cold and slick dropped down directly onto his cock.

Colin flinched, the sensation more startling than unpleasant, and wriggled just a bit higher on the bed so he could see Penelope more clearly.

“Sorry,” Penelope murmured—breathless, wrecked—as she glanced down at him and tossed the bottle of lube, still strapped with the cock sleeve, back to the other side of the bed.

Colin shook his head and kissed the inside of her thigh. He threw his head back with a groan as she grabbed his cock again and spread the lube over it, cool and warm, firm and slick. It was only because she leaned back over, not yet settling back on his face, that he was free to hear the faint sound of buzzing filling the air. The sleeve still sat discarded, the simulator was far louder, but the wand—

Colin let out a guttural moan as Penelope fitted the curved wings of the vibrator around his cock. Even just the lowest setting shot straight through his veins as she slowly, so fucking slowly, rubbed the wand from the base of his cock to his tip. She was holding the vibrator near the wings, her grip positioned so she could press two fingers against the head of his cock, the vibrator lingering, before sliding back down just as slowly.

“Fuck, Pen.” Colin hardly recognized his own voice—he’d never felt so fucking wrecked—as he moved his trembling hands to her lower back and tried to urge her forward towards his face once more. “Please. Fuck, that… that feels so good. So fucking good. You’re so fucking good, Pen, I need you. Need to feel you come on my face. Fuck, Pen, please.”

The shift, the break from his ministrations, must have given her time to at least partially compose herself, because she just moved the wand faster, teasing, “Then I wouldn’t get to hear you ask so nicely.”

Colin could only whimper in response as she clicked the wand up to the next speed. He pressed harder on her back, pleading silently for her to come back to him, to let him distract himself with making her fall apart. Thankfully, blessedly, she obliged, shuffling forward so she could settle on his face while she stretched back to keep the wings of the wand thrumming up and down his cock.

Unfortunately, the taste of her, the sounds she made, the way her strokes with the wand became erratic and more fervent, only served to drive him closer to the edge. Colin grew more insistent, sucking on her clit and flicking it with his tongue. Whether she was still on edge from before or was simply turned on by the jerking, whining mess she’d turned him into, Penelope quickly started to come undone. Her legs clamped around his ears, her hand on his thigh tensed, digging her nails until his skin until he was sure he’d have marks. Through the pounding of her pulse—or his, it didn’t matter, he couldn’t tell—Colin could just make out the sound of her crying out as she gushed onto his face. He desperately tried to lap up every bit of her release even as the wand she had pressed hard against the base of his cock, driving him absolutely mad. Blindly, still licking at her cunt as her body stopped shaking, Colin reached out and tried to pull the wand from her hand lest he spill out over them both before he even got to know what it was like to be inside her.

Fuck.

He hadn’t even been inside her yet.

He hoped she wanted him inside her, he felt like he might die if she didn’t.

But, then again, there couldn’t be very many better ways to die than cradled between Penelope Featherington’s thighs, completely done in by his need for her.

Thankfully, Penelope came back to herself before he perished. She lifted the wand away and clicked it off as she rolled off of him, falling with a small sound of bliss onto her back on the mattress. “Fuck, that was…”

Penelope trailed off with a shake of her head, catching her breath while Colin stripped himself of his boxers and moved to hover over top of her again.

“Was it alright?” Colin smirked even though he was only partially teasing.

“It was perfect.” Penelope grinned, cupping his cheek as she guided him down for a kiss. The kiss was so slow and achingly sweet that Colin kept his eyes shut until he heard her say, “Fuck, I love you.”

Colin’s eyes flew open instantly, his vision filling with red hair, pink cheeks, blue eyes. His entire body—all the heat and sweat and lust and desire—faded in the wake of her words.

That was it.

That feeling that had him so comfortable in her presence, so desperate to see her smile, so on edge at the thought of anyone else being with her in such an intimate way.

Of course that was it.

Love.

He loved her.

And for some reason she was staring up at him, eyes wide and anxious and she—

“You love me?” Colin asked not because he hadn’t heard her, not because he didn’t believe her, but simply because he wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear her say it again and again every day for the rest of their lives. But she turned away and caught her bottom lip between her teeth and for one single awful moment he wondered if maybe she was about to take it back, so he joked, “Better orgasm than the penguin fucker, then?”

“No comparison,” Penelope snorted, turning back to look at him, the tension in her shoulders melting as she reached up and ran her hand through his hair. “Not that it would have made a difference. I’ve loved you since the day we met. An embarrassingly long time rea—”

Colin cut her off by grabbing her chin and tilting her face towards him. He couldn’t help it—he knew there was so much to say, so many moments to apologize for, so many memories to look at anew, but—he had to kiss her. His heart felt like it was about to burst through his ribs, shatter his insides, and leave him bleeding out in his brand new apartment if he didn’t press his lips to hers that very second.

Penelope met his kiss hesitantly, as if surprised to feel him savoring her taste or nipping at her lip. And, well, that wouldn’t do.

“Nothing embarrassing about that.” Colin murmured against her cheek before letting go of her chin and leaning back to meet her gaze fully. “I love you too, Pen. Have for longer than I even know, I think.”

Penelope’s eyes glistened with tears and he saw her open her mouth twice before she managed to say, “That doesn’t make sense. How would you know it’s been longer than you know?”

Colin grinned. Of course she would focus on the semantics of it all while his own brain was going absolutely haywire rewriting the way every memory with her felt like sunlight and full saturation, the way every moment without her had left him wanting. Then again, she also wasn’t the one who was positively aching for release with an erection bumping every now and then into someone’s thigh.

He kissed the tip of her nose and answered, “Because saying so feels right. Because I never had to realize how I felt, because it already was.”

Penelope opened her mouth—he suspected to try and poke holes in his statement—but then shook her head, her expression falling into a soft, hopeful smile. “I knew it.”

Colin ducked his head and kissed a tear from the corner of her eye. He leaned back and playfully quirked an eyebrow. “Then you could have told me. We could have been doing this for years. Years, Pen. You wouldn’t have had to buy that fucking penguin.”

“I thought you wanted to see me use that ‘fucking penguin,’” she countered, making Colin groan and lean into her, his cock sliding, still slick with lube, against her thigh. Penelope hummed, shifting her legs open further so he could fit better between them. She ran her hand over his shoulder, down his ribs, adding, “But that’s not what I meant.”

Colin kissed her, more to distract himself from the whole-body shivers her touch sent coursing through him. “Then what did you mean?”

“I always knew that if you ever loved me,” Penelope paused to return his kiss, “it would be worth the wait.”

“Fuck, Pen,” Colin choked out, pressing his lips to her—not really a kiss, just presence, just holding—as his own eyes burned with emotion. It had never felt like this. Nothing in his life had ever felt like this and he knew, deep in his bones nothing else ever could. This was love. And he was going to hold on with both hands. “I love you so much. So fucking much, Pen.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured against his lips, pressing her entire body closer.

Colin bit back a moan, his hands drifting down to hold her hips in place before her movements did him entirely. “Fuck, Pen, do you want to… can I… fuck, I don’t have any condoms, but—”

Penelope startled him by laughing, loud and victorious, before she wriggled her way out from under him to reach towards the bedside table. Colin sat back, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips as she dug around, then sat back with a triumphant grin. “Anthony insisted.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Colin laughed, taking the box of condoms from her hands and plucking one out.

Before he could open it, Penelope grabbed the condom, tore it open, and slid it over him, the slip of latex over lube making him shudder.

“Come here.” Penelope slid her hands around his hips and pulled him forward so he was back over her, the tip of his cock bumping against her mound.

Colin captured her lips with his, slowly working his mouth over hers as he reached down and lined himself up with her entrance. He gave a shallow experimental thrust, unsure if their conversation had been too much of a pause that he’d need to work her up again to take him.

Penelope, however, let out a whine of protest, nipping at his bottom lip as she lifted her hips up to meet him.

“Fuck,” Colin groaned, furrowing his brow as he tried to keep his eyes open, to keep watching her.

She felt divine. Warm and slick and all-encompassing. Her hands slid up his back into his hair, holding him close. Her feet came up to hike over his hips, changing the angle as his thrusts picked up to match her rhythm. He reached around her back, pausing his thrusts just a moment to life her up so she was practically sitting on his cock as he leaned back on his knees. Shuffling forward—hoping the movement didn’t look as awkward as it felt, though the little whimpers Penelope made while he moved was worth it either way—Colin brought them both up towards the top of the bed, until Penelope’s back was against the headboard.

He put one hand against the wood behind her head, the other reaching down to support one of the thighs she had wrapped around him. She let go of his shoulder, keeping one hand on the back of his neck, reaching the other over her head to hold onto the top of the headboard. The solid frame, the way she was entirely suspended against his body, giving him full control, let him push in deeper, changing the angle of his thrusts until he had her crying out and shaking each time he bottomed out inside her.

Each sound, each moment her body clenched around his drove him closer and closer to his own release, but he was desperate to feel her come apart around him. Loosening his hold on her thigh, Colin slid his hand between them—it was difficult and slick with sweat, they were so close—as he trailed sloppy kisses down her neck, all tongue and teeth. He pressed tight circles onto her clit in time with his thrusts, kissing murmured praises and pleas against her skin.

“You’re so good. Doing so good for me, Pen.”

“So beautiful. Perfect. Bet you’re going to soak me aren’t you.”

“Need to feel you come, Pen. Please, fuck, I need to feel it.”

“Colin,” Penelope cried out, a desperate whine as her hand in his hair tugged him up to look at her. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and hazy, her breath fast and frantic. The sight of her, cock-drunk and gasping his name, drove him over the edge.

Colin’s hips jerked forward hard as he pounded into her, his release filling the condom as he babbled, “Fuck, fuck, Pen. Love you, love you so fucking much. Loved you forever, will love you forever, Pen.”

Either his words or the erratic snap of his hips was, thankfully, enough to drive her over the edge, after him. Her pussy clenched and gushed around him, the sensation nearly too much to bear as he held her shaking against his body. He could feel her release dripping down onto his lap, onto the mattress beneath them, and if he wasn’t so utterly lost in the feel of her, a small part of him would have been disappointed he hadn’t made her squirt like that with his mouth.

After a moment, Penelope’s body relaxed, both of her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders, her legs falling limp from around his sides. Colin kissed her—softly, gently—until she returned to herself to enough to kiss him back. Moving to wrap his arms around her and hold her to his chest, Colin shifted them over to the side of the bed. They stayed there a moment, her draped over his chest, his softening cock still partially inside her, until he began to worry about the condom—slick with lube and cum—sliding off.

“Give me one second,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Penelope’s temple as he rolled them over, pinching the base of the condom as he climbed out of bed.

Penelope made an unintelligible noise of protest but moved, regardless, stretching her arms over her head and pushing her hair back from her face. Colin paused to appreciate her—glistening, rosy, his—before rushing to the bathroom to toss out the condom and bring back a damp towel to clean them both up.

When he returned, Penelope had pushed herself up against the headboard, blushing furiously as she glanced between him and the wet spot next to her on the bed. “That’s never happened before. It’s so—”

“Hot,” Colin finished for her, letting a self-satisfied grin take over his face as he gently wiped the damp towel between her legs. “So fucking hot.”

Penelope snorted but he saw her eyes track his hand hungrily as he used the towel to then clean himself off. “Not for sleeping.”

Colin shrugged. He tossed the towel back towards the open bathroom door and slid onto the bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist so he could hold her close. “I’m pretty sure this place has a guest bedroom for that.”

Penelope hummed and nodded, kissing his chest before her eyes caught on something over his shoulder. She stretched out over him, her breasts practically pressing against his face. He couldn’t help but kiss her there, earning him a laugh and a swat on the shoulder as she settled back into place.

“What?” Colin huffed defensively, “You can’t just do that and expect me not to react.”

“Alright. Then,” Penelope rolled her eyes and smirked as she unstrapped the cock sleeve from the bottle of lube that had somehow wedged itself between the bed and headboard, “you can’t just show me this and expect me not to want to try it.”

Colin felt his face burn bright red even as his cock made a valiant attempt to stir. “Give me five minutes.”

Penelope grinned, dropping the toy back on the bed as he rolled her over to kiss her.

He dropped his head down to trace the lines of sweat on her chest with his tongue, realizing belatedly that he hadn’t spent nearly as much time playing with her tits as he would’ve liked. Resting his chin on her chest so he could meet her eyes, he added, “Maybe ten.”

The End