Chapter Text
She shouldn’t have fucked him. Penelope knows that. She knows that in her brain, even if other parts of her body disagree.
Fucking Colin Bridgerton was a colossally bad idea for so many reasons. She lists them in her mind, just to punish herself. He is her best friend's brother for one, and Penelope can only imagine what Eloise would say if she ever found out. For two, she was crying and drunk, and that’s not the right moment to be fucking anyone. Thirdly, and admittedly this one should have started and ended the list, he is married.
He probably fucked around all the time, no way she was the first. His perfect jaw, his muscular arms, his smirk. He had strong fuck boi energy.
Maybe they had an open relationship. Maybe she didn’t need to feel guilty at all.
If she was being honest with herself (which she was trying very hard not to be) most of her guilt was about how she absolutely, one hundred percent, completely did not regret it for a second.
It was so incredibly hot. He was so incredibly hot. And the way he’d touched her… she felt wanted and claimed. She felt desired in a way she never had before.
What the hell fuck boi Colin Bridgerton, husband to a stunning and successful wife, was doing with Penelope Featherington in the upstairs bathroom at a Brixton house party, she will never know.
But she will forever be grateful for it.
Her night had started drinking cheap fizzy, bubbly whatever with Eloise as they got ready. They’d met friends along the way and arrived en masse at the party. Colin had been in the country for his nephew’s first birthday party earlier that week and he always made a point of joining Eloise on a night out. Eloise said it was because they were less likely to bicker if they hung out when a little tipsy. He always dropped into their friendship group with ease, despite being six years older and seemingly at a very different stage of life. He was effortlessly charming. Penelope never felt like she ever really got to know him on his infrequent visits, but he was always good company.
Laughing and dancing and drinking. The night had been a blast – until suddenly it wasn’t.
Penelope found herself alone in the crowd, with Cressida fucking Cowper zoning in on her. The stupid bitch was talking smack and generally being a succubus of the first water. Penelope wished she could fire venomous retorts at Cressida in the moment but her brain apparently needed two to three business days to come up with the best ones. No, instead she just ran away and cried.
She felt like such an infant. Almost thirty years old and crying because of something her childhood bully said to her. Pathetic.
She’d fled to the top floor and shut herself in the bathroom there until she calmed down. Fixing her makeup as best she could, she’d resolved to walk downstairs, calmly with dignity, then find her coat and leave.
Eloise had left with some guy from her firm's print department a while back. Their group of friends had pretty much dissipated anyway. Maybe she was the last one standing. Though she had passed Colin as she fled up the stairs, a familiar face in the crowd at least.
Penelope had taken a last steadying breath before opening the bathroom door. She’d started to step forwards but there was nowhere to go because Colin was standing right there, filling the space. She’d stopped abruptly and stared up at him. She was standing too close but neither of them stepped back. His eyes burned into her but he said nothing. What was he doing? She barely knew him, despite all the years she’d been close with his family. They rarely spoke one-to-one, and they never stood this close.
Then Colin lifted his hand to her face, and grazed his knuckles softly over her cheek.
Penelope didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She was transfixed by his gaze.
He swept his thumb across her cheekbone, and her breath caught.
He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen in real life, and right then he was looking at her like he wanted to take a bite.
It made her forget everything else in the world, except him. He wasn’t her friend's brother. She wasn’t drunk or crying in a bathroom. He wasn’t married.
His thumb traced the shape of her top lip and her heart beat so hard she thought surely he’d be able to see it pounding through her ribs. His eyes stayed on hers as he tilted his head slightly then dropped his gaze to her mouth.
His thumb swept over her lower lip then. She had parted her lips slightly at his touch, which he seemed to take as an invitation – though she’s not entirely sure it was intended as such – because he pressed his thumb slowly into her mouth.
She closed her lips around him.
Colin’s eyes darted up to hers, then back to her mouth. She watched him swallow, then his tongue flicked out to wet his own lips.
Despite the way her heartbeat throbbed through her body, the way it pulsed between her legs, she felt strangely calm.
Colin towered over her, a wall of muscle, but she didn’t feel intimidated by him. If anything, she felt powerful in that moment.
Lightly, she sucked his thumb, rubbing her tongue against it. And it was like she lit a fuse because a second later their calm moment exploded.
Colin stepped forwards, crowding her space further and they half stepped, half shuffled into the bathroom. He shut the door behind them, fumbling to turn the lock without removing his hand from her face or his gaze from her eyes.
Slowly, he dragged his thumb from her mouth and then his lips were on hers.
His hand threaded into her hair tugging slightly to tilt her back, accommodating his height. His body pressed so close to hers that she stumbled slightly at the force of their connection. But Colin's hand had flown to her lower back, pulling her flush against him.
His tongue was in her mouth and she’d sucked that too, eliciting a moan from him which was so sexy it made her pussy clench.
His lips were everywhere then, kissing and sucking her throat, nipping her earlobe, biting her lip.
Her hands were flush against his chest but as he’d backed her up against the sink unit he seemed to trust she was better balanced now and released his hands from their task of steadying her.
His fingers, instead, squeezed into her flesh, pressing so hard in places that she wondered if they would bruise her. Even in the midst of his attentions, the idea of finding evidence of him on her body the next day made her feel slightly feral. She followed that feeling, letting the desire take over. Her hands gently traced over his body, hard lines against her soft curves. She wanted to unbutton his shirt to get a proper look at him but first she slid her hand down to his crotch and palmed over the considerable bulge she felt there.
A needy whimper escaped her lips as she felt him, thick and long and hard for her.
Colin moaned against her skin and then spun her around so her back pressed against his erection.
She watched, in the mirror in front of them, as his arms snaked around her, drawing her into him possessively. Bending over her to bring his lips close enough to continue sucking at her neck, he thrust against her, rolling his hips and pressing her into the counter before them.
Colin pressed his knee between her thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs. When she complied he reached down and pulled her skirt up over the swell of her hips. With an urgency that felt like his very being depended on it, he pulled her underwear to one side and slid his fingers through her wetness. He practically growled at the feel of her, already so wet for him, pulling her in tighter with the arm across her body.
Penelope moaned in response and grabbed onto the counter in front of her, trying to steady herself. She felt him tugging at his trousers to unfasten them. Her breathing quickened in anticipation and then she felt his cock slide against her – not pushing inside but between her thighs and along her slick seam.
She gasped at the sensation. He felt so big, and she was desperate to feel him thrust into her, so she leaned forwards, lifting her arse and tilting her hips to give him greater access to enter her.
Watching him in the mirror she saw his brow furrow with desire, his gaze hot as it raked over her reflection then further down to where he had firmly placed his hand on her arse. He squeezed her there, fingertips digging in, and she heard him half hum, half whine in need as he took his cock in hand and pressed it to her entrance. His jaw was slack as he stared down at where they were about to join. Then his gaze snapped up to meet hers in the mirror.
She was transfixed by his eyes. The way he looked at her with such desire made her drip with want for him.
Slowly, eyes never leaving hers, he eased into her. The stretch of his cock inside her felt divine. Penelope had moaned and tried not to completely lose her ability to stand.
The noises Colin made were full of such animal need that she could hardly believe he was able to control himself and slide into her so slowly. She was desperate for more of him. She wanted him to slam his hips forwards and fill her completely, but he felt so big and stretched her so wide that she knew he was doing her a kindness with his self control.
When he was finally fully seated within her, he rolled his hips experimentally, gripping her waist and pulling her closer. Each low moan and whimper which escaped her lips caused him to squeeze his fingers deeper into her soft flesh, tugging her closer.
His movements increased, little by little, and the sounds they made must surely have been heard by half the remaining party guests, but Penelope could not bring herself to care. Not about that. Not about anything other than the feel of him fucking into her. The feel of his hard cock dragging slowly out of her wet cunt and then thrusting hard back into her.
She felt her release building and she stuffed her fingers inside her underwear, pressing frantic circles to her clit as Colin continued to fuck her. She watched his reflection, saw his gaze moving from her face to her body to her arse, until finally it settled on her eyes. The intensity in the look they shared was enough to send her tumbling over the edge, coming so hard she almost wanted to cry again. And Colin, lips parted, brow furrowed, watched her and only fucked her harder until he too was tumbling, following her and catching his own fulfilment as he came deep inside her.
Seconds passed as they rode out the aftershocks of their pleasure, until Colin pulled out of her and she felt him tuck himself away and fasten his trousers behind her. Penelope just stood there, gasping for breath, mourning the loss of him, hot and hard inside her. She watched him in the mirror as he pulled her up to fully standing again. He sank his head to her neck, kissing and sucking her there. He traced her lips with his fingertips before reaching down between her legs again. Then he pressed his fingers to where his cum was leaking out of her and drew them through their combined spend, scooping it up and bringing it to her lips.
His hand paused there, and she listened to their ragged breaths for a moment before parting her lips for Colin to slide his wet fingers into her mouth. She sucked them clean.
His head rested against hers and he dropped his lips to her ear. When he finally spoke his voice was a low rumble. She could practically feel it vibrating through her whole body.
“You’re such a good girl, Pen.”
And fuck, she knew in that second she was done for. There was no returning to normal after this.
He kissed her ear and pulled his fingers from her lips. Reached down to right her underwear and straighten her skirt.
Then he turned and left.
And now having spent the last three days thinking (overthinking?) about what happened with Colin, Penelope decides that it was just a really hot, one-off fuck. She doesn’t need to dwell or spiral. He started it. He’s the married one. So, any guilt lies with him and not her (it still gnaws at the edges of her thoughts but she is working hard on ignoring it).
She may have replayed the memory countless times but that’s nothing to feel guilty about. Her thoughts are nobody’s business but her own. And if she chooses to spend her evenings (and a couple of mornings) taking care of the inevitable ache between her legs at the thought of his fingers in her mouth, his grasp on her hips (he had left one small bruise, she’d coveted it until it faded), and his cock thrusting into her… well that’s her prerogative.
And she isn’t sure if doing that this morning is a good or bad idea, because she’ll see him later today at Violet’s. They’re having a family dinner to mark Violet’s birthday and also to say goodbye to Colin, who goes home to his life and his wife tomorrow.
Is it better to arrive horny and unsated or to arrive having wanked over thoughts of him?
Neither sounds like the actions of a sensible grown woman to be honest.
Penelope arrives on time, greets Violet with a warm hug and some flowers. She also presents her with a little crotchet doll of her latest grandson. Penelope has made one of each of Violet’s grandchildren for her when they turned one. It had become a bit of a tradition, and she’d gifted them for her birthday or Christmas for the last 9 years whenever a new grandchild joined the family.
“Oh, Penelope, isn’t he darling? You are clever. Thank you. I’ll add him to the display with his siblings and cousins.” Violet smiles warmly at Penelope, walking arm-in-arm with her into the living room. “Let me show Sophie first.”
As Violet heads off to find Sophie, Penelope takes the flowers into the kitchen, pulling a vase from the shelf, and starts arranging them for Violet.
Violet has always been so welcoming to Penelope. This house was like a second home to her growing up, and Violet had always included her in family gatherings such as this. She feels wholly safe and loved here.
So the chills she feels, when Colin wanders into the kitchen, are unusual and unsettling. She feels both hot and cold. As if she’s managing to blush whilst all the colour simultaneously drains from her face.
He looks so casually sexy, with an extra shirt button open to reveal a little more chest hair than seems strictly necessary for a family dinner. His gold chain nestles in the hair there. She tries not to stare.
He’s holding a bottle of wine and a crystal cut wine glass.
“Good evening, my name is Colin. I’ll be your sommelier this evening. Can I interest madam in a glass of Syrah? It’s selected to perfectly complement the lamb on tonight’s menu.”
His tone is so light and playful. There is a smirk on his lips but not a hint of the lust or desire she’d felt on their last encounter. No one would know that he’d grunted in feral need as he’s fucked her four days ago. No one would know she’d sucked his cum from his fingers.
“I… err…”
No one will know if she can keep her shit together.
“If you prefer something lighter I can rustle up a bottle of Pinot Noir or Malbec. We have an excellent Chardonnay too, if you don’t wish to partake in the red.”
“No.” She wills her lips to form words. “I’ll take what you have.”
He nods and pours a glass for her, setting it down on the counter by the flowers.
She is saved from the indignity of trying to make small talk with the man she has been fantasising about all week by the appearance of three of his nephews and one of his nieces.
They greet Penelope, who pulls a flower from the bouquet and threads it into the little girl's hair. Delighted, she skips over to her uncle to proudly show him. Colin scoops her up and smells the flower in her hair, before being dragged from the room by his nephews demanding he join their games before dinner.
Penelope takes a large gulp of her wine. It’s going to be a long night.
Though the one good thing about the Bridgertons being a ridiculously large family is that it’s quite easy to avoid someone in the room, if you so desire.
And Penelope spends the rest of the night avoiding Colin. She didn’t trust herself to speak to him. Barely trusted herself to look at him.
Though she noted with a fizz of satisfaction that he did look at her more than once. It made the too-tight-for-a-cosy-family-meal dress and practically-too-high-to-walk-in heels worth it.
But they didn’t speak again, aside from him refilling her glass whenever she was close to emptying it.
He was a very attentive sommelier and she had perhaps drunk a little more than she should have.
When it was time to leave she swayed slightly though her goodbyes. Eloise kissed her cheek and checked if she’d be alright on the bus in those shoes (she’d have to be, any shoes she might borrow from Eloise would swamp her), before she raced off to help wrangle the over-tired children who had been refusing to go to bed for some time.
Penelope stands in the hallway, regretting her choice of shoes, reaching her coat from the hook, when Colin appears. He takes her coat from her hands without speaking, and holds it out for her to put on.
“It’s late. You should get a cab,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket.
“I’ll be fine. The night bus stops at the end of my street.”
“No.” The way he said it was so definite. So final. It made her skin tingle. He has spoken, and that was that.
He holds out his phone, midway through booking a cab for her.
“Put your address in.”
She hesitates for a second but he tilts his phone towards her again, so she takes it and types in her address before handing it back to her.
No one ever worried about her getting the night bus. No one ever worried about her much at all. She likes that he is though. It makes her feel important. Seen. It makes her feel all kinds of things actually, that he was taking care of her in this small way.
The cab isn’t far away and when it arrives he opens the front door and walks with her to the car, his hand pressed flat against the small of her back. She can feel the warmth of him by her side and wants to be enveloped in that feeling. He reaches forward and opens the car door for her.
Penelope wants to drag him into the back seat with her. But it is clearly not his intention to join her.
He does dip his head to look at her through the open car door though.
“Goodnight,” he says, his voice a low rumble as his eyes drag across her. Then he shuts the door and her cab drives away.