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Anthony spotted her the moment he stepped into the dimly lit club, the bass thumping in his chest as he scanned the room.
He arrived with a slightly damaged heart, having broken up with Kate earlier in the day. They had both seen it coming, making everything that much easier. But as he watched Penelope sitting at the bar, nursing what appeared to be a mojito, he felt that this inconvenient and awful day might just take a turn for the better.
Penelope sat there, swirling her drink in her hand, her fiery hair cascading over her shoulders. A deep teal, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress embraced her every curve, the sweetheart neckline giving a delicious peek at the bounty of treasures hidden beneath. She looked like she owned the place and every single person in it.
Men hovered nearby, but she expertly fended them off with pointed glances and polite dismissals, her sharp wit cutting as sharply as her gaze.
For a moment, he hesitated. But then her lips quirked into a smirk at something the bartender said, and Anthony’s feet carried him forward before his brain could catch up. He felt eerily possessive of her, but found out that where he expected to feel confusion, he felt only pleasure.
What surprised him was this fear that the okay-looking bartender might take away the woman Anthony felt was his to devour tonight.
“What did my brother do now?” he asked as he slid onto the stool beside her, signaling said insufferable bartender for a drink.
Penelope's head snapped toward him, her wide eyes betraying her surprise. “Anthony?” she said, startled. Then, her expression hardened into something amused, tinged with indignation. “I thought I hid my feelings better than that.”
Anthony smirked, tilting his glass toward her. “Not from me, apparently.”
She huffed, but there was no venom behind it. “Where’s Kate?”
“Touché.” His voice was wry, the edges softened by the whiskey he’d barely sipped.
Penelope laughed, and it was like a balm against his raw nerves. They fell into easy conversation, her sharp retorts sparring with his dry humor until it felt like the rest of the club melted away.
Her hands lingered on him when he told a particularly amusing quip, as his fingers brushed the fabric of her dress covering what must be soft, generous thighs. The thought made his mouth water and his brain stutter to a halt, freeze-framing on an image that would surely haunt his dreams: His face being smothered to oblivion by her shapely legs as he pleasured her sex with his mouth. What a gorgeous way to die.
Conversation flowed as easily as it could between an utterly distracted man and a beautiful, voluptuous woman. As the night wound down, the music shifted to a sultry, slow rhythm—Usher's Nice & Slow. Penelope’s grin turned wicked. He knew she loved her 90's hits, but he had to hand it to her—this song was pretty damn sexy.
“Dance with me,” she said, standing abruptly and holding out her hand.
Anthony blinked. “I don’t even think I remember how to dance.”
“Then you don't have to.” Her eyes sparkled as she pulled him toward the floor. “I’ll dance for you.”
Anthony's mind conjured so many images in the few seconds it took for them to stand—Penelope grinding on his lap, Penelope grinding on his face... just... Penelope grinding.
She turned, pressing her back to his front, and Anthony’s brain short-circuited. Her body rolled to the music, the space between them nonexistent, and he instinctively placed his hands on her waist. She wasn’t done with him yet, and he thanked the heavens for it. Smiling seductively over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and sultry, she held his hands and lifted them, guiding them down the curve of her neck, teasing the sides of her breasts, tracing the dip of her waist, and back to her hips.
He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his head much louder than the bass.
Then she turned, her breasts brushing his abdomen, sending a shock straight to his already hard cock. “Your turn,” she teased, placing her hands on his hips to guide him into her, legs tangled together.
Anthony followed her lead, because of course he could dance. Her laugh was his reward. He watched helplessly as her hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
When her fingers skimmed the buckle of his belt and dipped just under his waistband, his breath hitched.
Their eyes locked, hers daring and his dark with desire. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, and Anthony swore he was done for.
The song ended, leaving them standing on the dance floor, chests heaving and bodies far too close.
“Come,” he said, his voice thick as he guided her back to the bar with his large hand almost covering her entire lower back. He helped her onto a stool and said, “I’ll be right back.”
As he headed toward the men’s room, he pulled his phone from his pocket.
Ant: Don't follow me to the club. I’m fine. I’m leaving anyway.
Ben: Leaving already? So soon?
Ben: Oh shit! You’re leaving with someone!
Ben: Wait! This I have to see. I’m only 20 mins away. Who is it? Is she pretty?
Anthony smirked and typed back.
Ant: Gorgeous. But your biggest mistake tonight was telling me how long it’ll take you to get here.
Ben: Yep, that was dumb. Take care. Be safe and be safe 😏
Ant: Gross.
When Anthony returned, some guy was leaning into Penelope’s space, gesturing wildly. Her laugh was strained, her smile forced. Anthony didn’t hesitate.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice low and edged with authority and an air of possessiveness, and in this moment, his effect on Penelope was obvious to him. The way her lips parted, her eyes widened, and her pupils darkened betrayed her every naughty thought. He smirked triumphantly at the dude taking up space he never deserved to occupy. “We were just leaving.”
The man looked between them and wisely backed off. Penelope turned in her seat, her laughter genuine this time as she met his gaze.
“Anthony…” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. He leaned into her touch, and when her hand slid to the back of his neck, she tugged him closer.
She kissed the corner of his mouth first, a teasing brush of lips, before pulling back to smile at him. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she closed the distance again, this time capturing his mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss. Anthony groaned softly, his hands finding her waist to steady them both as the world tilted on its axis. When her lips trailed to his cheek and hovered near his ear, she whispered, “Take me home.”
A guttural sound escaped his throat as he hooked an arm under her thighs and swept her onto his shoulder. Penelope shrieked, laughing uncontrollably as he carried her through the club, ignoring the looks they received.
In Anthony's most definitely not humble opinion, tonight, forgetting their pasts seemed like the very best idea.
When they got to his car, Anthony finally put Penelope down. Slowly, she slid from his shoulders, their bodies brushing together as she made her way to solid ground. She was breathless from all the laughing, as was he. Anthony couldn't pull from his mind one time in recent memory where he'd felt so light and carefree.
He stood there, smiling like a fool at this tiny woman who had him dancing, laughing, and acting like a possessive caveman all in one night, all in the span of maybe two hours.
He watched as Penelope looked his car over. He was used to people being impressed by what he drove, so he was confused when a look of disappointment washed over her face so swiftly that he almost didn't catch it.
"What's wrong?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her shoulder before letting his hand fall to her waist.
"You don't have a backseat."
Anthony felt a delicious lick of heat spread throughout his body with her words and how she said them—so low, so breathy. He leaned in, his ears brushing her ear, his breath reflecting back to him against her skin. "Penelope..."
She pulled back to look up at him. "What? I don't think I can wait any longer. Can you?"
Sliding her hands up his chest, she teased him. "I may pretend to be a passenger princess at times, but I am definitely a backseat goddess."
She stood on her toes to give him a deep, yet fleeting kiss on the mouth. She licked his lower lip, before whispering against his skin. "My car is out back."
His protectiveness really did rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. "You drove? You're drinking and driving?!"
Penelope rolled her eyes. "I am not! I know the club owner and—"
Anthony felt a tiny kick of jealousy straight to his groin. "Who is he?" he interrupted, almost embarrassingly menacingly.
Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his middle. "She is my dear friend Gen. She lets me park behind the club, calls me a cab out if I've been drinking, and I come back for my car the next day. Daddy, chill."
He winced. "Don't call me Daddy. At least not yet."
"It's a meme, Anthony," she laughed.
"What's a meme?"
She placed kisses along the column of buttons on his torso she could reach, her arms still locked around him. "We are getting way off-track here, Anthony. Do you want to come with me to my car or not?"
He cleared his throat and nodded, and immediately, Penelope pulled him back to the club.
"Back so soon? After that caveman stunt you pulled?" the guard at the door asked.
"Just passing through, Mike. Mind ya business," Penelope teased, making the guard laugh. "Tell Marie and the kids I say hey."
Anthony weaved through the entrance with Penelope pulling him expertly along, making their way to the back exit. The remnants of the night's crowd were scattered about and some piling out. His heart stopped for a second as he spied Benedict from the corner of his eye, chatting it up with a tall, dark-haired woman.
"Run. Run. Now, Pen," he said urgently, and she listened, but not before giggling first. He laughed again, feeling every bit of tension he'd collected throughout the day just melt away from his body.
Finally, they were outside. Penelope's sedan was the lone car at the back of the building. She unlocked it, opened the backdoor, and pushed Anthony in. Once he was seated at the center of the backseat, Penelope followed.
"Excuse me," she whispered. She shifted her body to hover over his lap, facing away from him. She bent forward to turn her key in the ignition, her ass right in Anthony's face.
His hands slid upward from her calves, to her thighs, to her hips, finally landing on the curves of her buttocks. She squirmed when he squeezed gently and he smirked at her reaction.
"I saw that," she said.
Anthony flicked his eyes up and huffed a laugh when he met her gaze in the rear view mirror. "I couldn't help myself. You looked so cute when you squirmed." His hands moved up and down her thighs, squeezing and kneading gently as he did.
"You're so soft," he whispered.
Once she turned the air-conditioning on, she situated herself to sit on top of him, her back flush against his chest.
"I know," she said with a little laugh before tilting her face upward for a heated kiss.
Anthony kissed her back with fervor, his hand wrapping around her waist by reflex. He kept his eyes open and trained on hers as they kissed, and she did the same. She looked feral for him, her pupils blown wide, and he knew he also looked exactly like that—hungry, hot, frantic. She stared him down as her one hand landed on his arm, while the other reached up to grab the hair at the back of his head.
He groaned at the pain and pleasure. Slowly, his hand roamed up the side of her body. He grabbed at her breast and she whimpered into his mouth. He slid his tongue in, deepening the kiss, shifting his body as he did so to massage her left breast.
"Are you attached to this dress?" he asked against her mouth.
"N-no," she shakily replied.
"What about your bra?"
A wickedness took over her demeanor and she smirked. "What bra?"
He grunted as he abruptly pulled down on her neckline, hearing a tear in the fabric and a moan escape Penelope's lips at the same time. The gesture released her breasts. Looking, leering down at her chest, he finally could stop guessing how they looked like. How they'd feel. How they'd taste.
"Beautiful," he said as he pinched and rolled her nipple, before diving back in to kiss her, his tongue thrusting its way into her panting mouth.
He pulled back from the kiss and shifted her slightly so she was now almost across his lap. Without hesitation, he bent forward to latch onto her breast with his mouth. The sound she made was incredible, breathy, and delicious. She moaned and writhed in his lap, gasping at the sensations he elicited with his tongue, his lips, and his teeth.
"Fuck, so good," she breathed, pulling him closer by his hair.
He lavished her breasts with a rabid attention, animalistic in his movements. He was hungry. He was thirsty. He was devouring.
Penelope pulled him to face her once more, plundering his mouth with her tongue. She then hurried and shifted her body so she was sitting beside him. A rumble from deep in his chest escaped him at his frustration.
"Patience, Anthony."
She slid her hands under her dress by the sides and pulled off her lacey panties, letting it fall to the floor. Anthony felt his mouth run dry as his eyes traveled up and down her body. Something about keeping clothes on, the urgency of it all, the desperation, the need, had always turned him the fuck on.
He watched as Penelope straddled his thighs, deftly unbuckling his belt and undoing his trousers.
"Pants off, Bridgerton," she said. She stood on her knees to make room for him to move, and he pulled off his trousers and boxer briefs faster than he could say trousers.
Once free from the damned clothes that separated him from her warmth, her skin, he slid his hands up her thighs to lift the hem of her dress all the way to the soft curve of her lower belly, revealing her wet sex.
"Gorgeous."
Penelope smiled. "Eyes on me, please," she said as she held him by his chin with one hand. He looked nowhere else but at her heated gaze. Her blue eyes pulled him into her depths, saw inside his very soul. He felt vulnerable. He felt—oddly—whole. There was nothing else but the heat emanating from their bodies, slowly fogging up the windows. Nothing but the sound of their mingled ragged breathing.
She pulled him down the seat to angle him better, before grabbing him by his cock with her other hand. She moved to position it at her slick entrance, wet heat waiting to welcome him. Her mouth fell open, her brows furrowed, as she slowly made her descent on him. Once he was fully sheathed, and once her body had adjusted, she moved up and down, lightly bouncing on his lap.
"Shit," he said against the flesh of her neck. He breathed her in, willingly clouding his mind with her heady, heavenly scent. "Fuck, Penelope. This is happening. This is h-happening—fuck!"
"Yeah, y-yes, Anthony. Fuck, you feel good. I feel so full," she said before kissing him again, never faltering once with the movements of her hips, her legs. Her hands held onto his shoulders for dear life as she moved with abandon. The lewd noises from where they were joined, the gasps and heady sighs from her soft lips—everything was everything.
Anthony pulled back to feast at her breasts once more. She keened, a sinful noise that was almost his undoing.
"I need—please, Anthony."
He released her breast with a soft pop. "I've got you."
He snuck his hand between them, finding her clit easily. He rubbed slow, tight circles on and around her clit, causing her to jerk and moan, speeding up her movements.
"You're so pretty bouncing on my cock, Penelope."
She shuddered, a fresh gush of wetness coating his shaft.
"You're perfect, Pen. You're doing so well fucking yourself with my cock."
His words, his hands, and her frantic movements finally unraveled her. Her eyes still trained on his, she moaned through her release. "Yes, fuck! Y-yes—"
She came with a force that pulled Anthony closer to his own completion.
"Pen, baby, where do I—"
"Inside me. Pill."
"Thank fuck," he yelled before he grunted and spilled, his orgasm almost causing him to black the fuck out.
She made no attempt to pull herself off him, continuing to warm his now half-hard cock. Her chest heaved and she threw her head back in complete satisfaction.
As his hips calmed from his release, his mouth found her throat and placed sloppy kisses on her skin. She smelled divine, of perfume and sweat. She tasted heavenly still, sweet and salty, the very flavors of the goddess she was.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, using this as leverage to pull herself closer. Finally, she closed her eyes, and he followed suit. Their breaths met, just as their foreheads did, finding their bliss together.
He nudged her to face him and kissed her so gently, a kiss of softness and promises.
"You alright?" he asked, opening his eyes to scan her face, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her hips.
"I'm perfect, Anthony," she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled at him—a cute smile that completely contradicted their fiery passion mere moments ago. "That was perfect."
Something about her sincerity, her genuine satisfaction, her calmness in his presence, caused him to say something he'd never thought he'd say this evening.
"I'm never letting you go, I hope you don't mind."
Penelope laughed before she kissed him, this time heated, filled with desire and plenty of words unspoken.
"I don't mind at all."