Work Text:
Penelope took another sip of her tea, letting the warmth of it shake out the coldness of the last weeks. It had been a nightmare, thank goodness the Bridgerton’s served hers with some extra sugar in it, God knew she needed something to erase the sourness of it all.
Not that she needed yet another reason to love tea at Bridgerton house, but alas; they never poured her tea differently or portioned her food for less. If anything, they’d always insist she had another cup, another bite, more sugar, more cream.
How she’d missed this house.
She took a glance at Eloise, now deciding which sandwich should she pick to go with the pile of buttery biscuits on her plate. Her friend scrunched up her nose at the cucumber one, and she suppressed a laugh, not wanting to draw her attention. Everything was still sore and awkward, they had barely started talking again when… Well, when all hell broke loose.
Then Eloise shrugged as she eventually picked another roast beef sandwich and was back at the sofa. Such a small gesture, such a simple moment, and yet she was delighted to witness it again.
How she’d missed El.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m sorry, I think I missed it.”
“About printing.”
Penelope sat straighter, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Yes, about Lady Whistledown, again .
It had been Eloise’s idea, when she finally accepted the millionth apology coming from her: they would go slow and from the beginning.
“ I need to get to know you again... Let’s do it throughout tea!”
It seemed only fair, considering it was all her fault. Still, it didn’t mean she liked being interrogated every other day. Besides, this was a question she had already answered.
“I told you, El, the modist’s-”
“Boxes to delivery, yes. But that was only last year, you said. What about before that?”
“I delivered them myself.”
Eloise dropped her biscuit at once, letting ir clink on her plate, her mouth opened agast. An expression, she had to admit, looked exactly like Colin’s as he fell down his horse. But that was over, thank God, and she didn’t want to think about it right now.
“You went alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Downtown, you’ve been there!”
“ Alone ?”
“Well, if even a little ant in my house knew about it, do you think I’d really be able to go?”
El just stood there, frowning, and Penelope could almost read her mind, trying to crack out the mystery of why she was able to roam around those areas with her carriage and footman while Penelope “chose” to go alone in a hired hack.
Would she think it was “just” so she could make sure there were no witnesses? Or would she finally start seeing that not every girl was exactly like her?
But that was ok, she supposed, trying to relax again. Penelope had to give credit where credit was due: she’d been humbled by Eloise’s reaction, yes, but Eloise had been humbled by her own family. She could still remember, clear as day, the way they were all gathered in this very drawing room, the sun low in the sky accompanying how everyone’s spirits were on the floor.
Colin had just fell from his horse two days before and still laid unconscious in his bed, each one of them trying to put on some brave face for the other. Until lady Whistledown came up. Maybe it was Hyacinth, she didn’t quite remember who first brought it up. It could’ve been Eloise, snorting out some sarcastic commentary on if and how they’d read about the accident, or Francesca’s sincere concern of how to navigate this once it became public.
Penelope didn’t say anything then, she hadn’t it in her to say a single word. Colin was unconscious in a bed and it had been all her fault. It was a miracle she was able to breathe in the first place, let alone defend her honor as author.
But Daphne, always graceful, jumped in on her rescue.
“I for one am forever grateful to lady W. She saved me from marrying Berbrook.”, she’d announced, stirring her tea.
“That makes two of us. She showed us kindness enough, letting the whole Edwina wedding drama out of her column.” Kate stated.
“Mama never needed to come barking in my ear about my… Partygoing habits, let’s put it this way, on the open as they may be.” Benedict had said with a laugh.
Bless them all, she thought then. Bringing her heart some comfort in those difficult times without even realizing it.
Eloise scoffed at them.
“Well, some of us weren’t that lucky.” The words leaked from her scowl as she stared Pen straight in the eye. She remembered thinking it was unnecessarily cruel, but she wouldn’t hold anyone against anything done during those first dark days. Least of all Eloise, who actually had a reason to be hurt in the first place.
“Oh, please, you had it coming!” Anthony chuckled her way.
“Excuse me?”
“Really, it was a miracle you didn’t make your debut on her pages before, with the way you all but shout your scandalous opinions anywhere to anyone!”
“You really don't know how to proceed with caution, sister.” Hyacinth pointed out, her brows up in mirth.
“Glad to know my own blood thinks I deserve public ruination!”
“You seem whole in one piece, to me.” Benedict tried to tickle her before she slapped his hands away.
“It did seem,” Violet soft voice echoed for the first time in two days, making everyone immediately look at her, “like she was turning the other way to all your indiscretions, until you did something serious enough that she couldn’t ignore anymore. It applies to all of us, I think.”
Penelope’d felt a single tear escaping her watery eyes. She had been able to hide her true despair from all of them, not crying even once in their presence, always maintaining composure until she reached her own bedchambers and could finally cry herself to sleep.
But somehow, in that moment, it’d been too much. Everyone was suddenly teasing and laughing, true and honest smiles appearing for the very first time in two whole days. Lady Whistledown had made it happen, somehow. And they were all defending her.
She could almost indulge in the fantasy that, had they known it was her, they’d make even more excuses to all she’d written.
Almost.
She wasn’t naïve at that point.
Besides, she knew it was all her fault. Colin had been racing towards her and Eloise when he heard them arguing.
Lady Whistledown.
Those cursed words.
The words Colin heard before he stumbled down his horse, head first.
Two damnable words that had led her to her ruin, no matter how many silver lightings it brought before or after that.
If Colin hadn’t heard them, he wouldn’t have fell from his mount.
If she and Eloise had kept their tongues, he would still remember her. As someone he would never court, not even in lord Fife’s wildest fantasies, yes. But even so, he’d still know her.
She would take that any time over him opening his eyes and asking who she was.
Or any of his family, for that matter.
Penelope thought she knew pain until she saw him on the ground, head bleeding. She was sure there were no greater pain, until his beautiful deep blue eyes finally opened, scanned her, devoid of recognition, and asked what was her name. She rather preferred the pain she knew before, the one that only made her pride sting with the knowledge that he would never court her.
Not that it had made any difference, in the end, knowing his true opinion of her. Penelope knew she would be forever at his mercy when they brought him to his bedchambers and her feet did not obey her; rushing inside, where a mere female, unmarried friend had no place to be, kneeling at his canopy and making sure he had enough pillows under his wound. Not even Violet beat her to the spot, claiming her motherly place at his other side, alongside Anthony.
She knew, she’d seen how they all eyed, even briefly, the way she would always grab his hands first thing when she arrived in the mornings. Not a single one of them said a word about it, choosing instead to softly smile at her, greeting her good morning like she lived there with them all.
More than once, Hyacinth herself got up from where she sat by Colin’s side once Pen entered the room, leaving the spot free for her to sit at a chair and hold his hand for the next hours. She only left after supper, and only because propriety shouted she did so, last she brought true scandal upon all of them.
But what she prayed for was for Eloise to have forgiven her completely, inviting her to stay the night. Then she would sneak out once her friend was asleep and get by his side again, keeping watch over his beautiful face as he laid breathing softly, his hand on hers throughout the night.
Of course, it was all too much to ask of Eloise: she too was shaken by his fall, biding Penelope good night every end of the day so she could try to get some rest amidst all the chaos. But Penelope dreamed.
As she stayed her nights awake, keeping track of every shadow on the Bridgerton House across her own, she imagined how it would be: to have her best friend’s trust back, just enough to sleep there, and spend her nights by his side. That was all she ever dreamed about during the nights when he stayed unconscious.
Sometimes, she dreamed of actually laying by his side, caressing his hair while she held him. That was the only image that could nurse her to brief naps throughout the night.
Until his eyes opened and he squeezed her hand back. Her tears rolled free with joy and the merry beating of her heart, until he looked at both her and Violet, asking for their names, who they were.
Penelope tried to be grateful for him solely being awake, being healthy, in one piece. But the devastated look on Violet’s eyes surely reflected her own, desperate for Colin to remember.
They all still were.
They fed him little pieces of everyday information, like the doctor had instructed: names, relations, what they usually did in a day. Even then, none seemed surprised that she was still there, not even Colin.
He would smile widely, and greet her every morning saying he was glad she came. It was so warm she believed him, and it made her heart ache for the impossible things she so desperately wanted.
A knock on the door brought her back to present day, back to El still frowning in front of her, and then Colin was on the threshold, smiling. So handsome, yet weary. So fashionably clothed, even if a little crinkled. She wondered if he would eventually come back to being more than just a semblance of his former self.
The physician had said it was only a matter of time.
So she prayed, everyday for the whole week he'd been awake.
“What, you forgot your way to the chamberpot?” Eloise snapped her head at him.
“No, I quite remember the diligent tour you gave me on the house, sister, thank you very much.”
“And what is my name again?”
“How could I have forgotten it already? You just told me last week!”
“That is too many words for a name.”
“Eloise . We go alphabetically, it is quite impossible to forget unless I hit my head again.”
“There are eight of us, how do you know you’re not confusing me with Francesca?”
“Because you told me your name was Eloise, not Francesca! Fran never teases me, on top of that.”
“How can you know that with just a week of data to-”
“You’re just proving my point!”
Penelope let her laugh fall free from her lips. It was almost as if nothing tragic had happened at all. She felt so grateful for seeing him bantering with his sister like always even if he didn’t know it yet.
If the price for him being awake and well was him never remembering her in the first place, she would pay it gladly. All her pain disappeared when she saw him smiling like that.
Maybe they could start their friendship anew. Both their mistakes forgotten and buried.
She’d like that.
“Anyway, I’m not here for you, I’m here for Penelope.”
Her laughter dropped at once. Did he remember it was all her fault?
“Have a seat.” Eloise shrugged to the place next to her on the sofa.
“I meant in private.”
Her heart stopped. What could he want?
“I’m sure you’re not implying to be alone with her in a secreted room of the house!”
“And why is that?”
“It is utterly improper!”
“Eloise, I just almost died. I am not being denied by something as silly as propriety.”
“Silly for you! It could ruin Pen’s life!”
Penelope felt the warmth spreading through her chest: she was ‘Pen’ again on El’s lips.
“Really, El, it’s no problem-”
“See? It really isn’t! And when did you become so guarded with societal rules, anyway? Ben told me you are the most scandalous one-”
“He what ?”
And just like that she was out of the room, shouting for Benedict. Colin stood laughing by the door, motioning with his hand for her to come.
“You’re really sure you haven’t remembered anything?”, her brows went up in suggestion.
“Not really, no. It’s just we are all too predictable, it seems. Only a week awake and I have already learned how to navigate us all.”
He shrugged before placing his hand on her back, guiding her out of the drawing room, making her skin burn under her brand new dress.
It was silly, but she couldn’t deny the truth: she was very glad her mama had let her buy new dresses that actually fit and had not an ink drop of Featherington colours on it. She’d been so distressed by Colin’s predicament that her mother couldn’t deny her much, if she wanted to avoid all the messy crying.
Maybe she was a terrible person after all, taking advantage of the love of her life’s tragedy to get some pretty gowns and style her own hair. But if she was going to be alone with him, risking his attentions only upon her, she was ecstatic for it to be in conditions she could deem herself presentable. Maybe almost even pretty.
But that was silly, she reminded herself, and she wouldn’t indulge in those childish fantasies.
Colin led her to a study, not his precisely (she suspected only Anthony had a study of his own), but one only he used, filled with maps and books and yellow curtains. When he closed the door, her heart skipped a beat.
Then she chided herself, reminding her silly little heart that they’d been here again, and it turned out to be nothing. This wouldn’t be any different.
He made her seat across from him at the grand mahogany desk.
“I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”
“Of course.”
“Really honest. This is serious.”
“Yes, I promise.”
He sat up straighter, locking his fingers on top of the desk.
“Very well. Are we engaged?”
What?
Penelope had to refrain the urge to laugh. Did he hit his head again?
“Of course not, Colin.”
“Are you sure?”
Sure?
This time a tiny hysterical giggle did escape.
“Yes, I am sure.” And yet his face was the utmost serious, staring at her. “Are you feverish?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Let me see.”
She made her way to stand next to him, but before she could touch the back of her hand on his forehead, he dismissed her with a waving hand of his own.
“I’m fine, what makes you think otherwise?”
“You might have hit your head again if you’re under such impressions!”
“That is where we must disagree. Look at what I’ve found.”
He opened one of his drawers, and a thick bundle of papers were on display, loosely tied with some ribbon. Penelope took it on her hands and an airy gasp flowed through her mouth: those were her letters. Dozens of them, maybe even from more than a year ago.
“You kept my letters?” her whisper was the midway between shock and delight.
“All of them, apparently. Those are only the ones in here. I have more in my bedchamber.”
“What?”
“Why, you didn’t keep mine?” his brows furrowed as an anxious flash passed through his eyes.
“Of course I did.”
Imagine, not holding onto a single piece of him!
“That is precisely my point.”
Penelope leaned on the desk, suddenly feeling a little worn down by this discussion.
“I don’t understand.”
“Look, here, for instance.” He unwrapped one of the letters and read some passages aloud to her, tracking them with his fingers. She tried to ignore how much she loved the image of them running above her words. “These are so intimate!”
“There’s nothing untoward in there, I was merely telling you how mama lifted the ban on butter after Lady Danbury-”
“No, I don’t mean they are improper in any way, though I have to confess it is my impression unmarried lady and gentleman should not be corresponding.”
“Colin, we’ve always been friends.”
“Yes, so you’ve said. And yet these letters are intimate, trustworthy, like the chat we would have late at night, laying together before sleep, telling how our days went about.”
She lost her breath with the image he was painting. With a clench in her heart, she realized she’d done just that, sometimes: she would lay in bed, reading his latest missive imagining he was holding her as he told her about his last adventure in Greece.
Has she been this obvious all along? The prospect was mortifying.
“I can only imagine my letters, what they must say! Nothing obscene, I hope, I wouldn’t want to scare you away!”
She inevitably blushed at the implications.
“Colin, I know all of this must be very confusing-”
“It is. And it doesn’t help that you are not telling me the truth.”
“But I am! We are friends, we always have been!”
He pierced her eyes with his, she felt weak under the force of his gaze.
“Penelope, are we not engaged?”
She felt it, then. The greed. The desperation. The hunger.
If she informed him right now of a pretense betrothal, he would commit to it on the spot. He’d feel guilty about forgetting, and honour the commitment until the end.
She could trap him into marriage.
Just like that.
And what happens when he remembers?
There was this nervous part of her that suspected he never would. Sometimes, she convinced herself that he would slowly grow to remember everyone and everything except for her. She could keep him then.
But what happens if he remembers?
Then he would resent her and spend the rest of their lives hating her. With every reason to.
Maybe he would grow to resent her even if he never remembered. How could he be happy in a marriage with someone he didn’t love?
Someone he wouldn’t even dream to court, she corrected herself.
She took a deep breath.
“Colin, I assure you: we are not engaged.”
“Why?”
Such a simple, tiny word. And yet it washed away every rational thought on her mind. For a few moments, all her heart could do was bleed in pain, accompanying his question, beating on the rhythm of why why why why ?
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, leaning more of her hips onto the desk.
“We are childhood friends-”
“I’m beginning to think you’ve hit your head, because that is all you keep repeating!”
“Because it’s the truth! It’s all we ever were!”
“So you mean I haven’t asked?”
“What?”
“The reason we are not engaged is that I just haven’t asked?”
Her jaw dropped from her head, it would have fallen to the ground if it weren't attached by flesh. What was he talking about?
“Colin, I cannot even begin to understand where you draw all these conclusions from!”
At that, he seemed ready, correcting his posture on the chair and using his fingers to count.
“First of all, when I woke up, only you and my mother remained in the dark room. Sure I didn’t know any of you; but by the age of her, I could easily assume she was my mother. As you looked nothing like her, I assumed you were my wife.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I liked the way you were holding my hand.”
“I could’ve easily been your sister.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘easily’, as you do stand out amongst us, but I do confess that was a fear of mine when I learned I had seven siblings.”
“Fear? Why would you fear I was your sister?” There was a tinge of offense in her tone. Prudence and Philippa couldn’t complain of a thing, she was a good sister!
“Because the first thing I thought when I laid eyes on you was that you were the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I would rather lose my tongue than say this about any of my sisters.”
Her heart picked up speed, making her breathing also faster. What was happening? Since when did Colin find her beautiful? She didn’t even count as a woman before!
“So, I’m going to ask it again: the reason we are not engaged is that I haven’t asked?”
This could not be happening. He was certainly feverish. She made to feel his forehead again, but Colin just captured her hands on his, standing on his feet and towering over her.
“Your touch brings me so much comfort.” He closed his eyes as he brought their joining hands near his mouth, and she thought she would have a heart attack. “Can I propose to you now? Or is my feeling unrequited?”
Unrequited.
That was it, that was her breaking point.
The absurdity of it all boiled her nerves and she felt them spilling, bubbling out of her in a hysterical laugh indeed.
Colin Bridgerton implying she was the one that didn’t love him. Maybe he’d completely lost his mind.
Maybe she did.
The only certainty was that all this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
“What’s so funny? If you’re rejecting me, you don’t need to be rude!”
He didn’t let go of her hands, though.
“Rejecting you, do you hear yourself? Colin, you're not even attracted to me!”
“Oh, but I am.”
She shook her head.
“I know you’re confused now, but when your memories come back-”
“I’ll remember how I spent days wanting to pull you into my arms so you could lay in bed with me.”
His eyes were so focused on hers he might have not realized he took a step closer. Her heart felt like leaping out of her mouth.
What was happening?
“When my memory comes back, I’ll still remember how much I dreaded Hyacinth's kisses on my head because the only lips I wanted to feel were yours.”
She stood perfectly still as his gaze dropped to her mouth and his palm caught her jaw, his fingers grazing her cheeks and making her skin hum with the gentle touch.
She loved this man.
“When my memory comes back, I’ll finally understand why was I so blind and stupid for not securing your hand in marriage before.”
“Colin-”
Her mind tried to convey something, but his other hand cupped her other cheek and she lost the capacity to speak.
“Unless it’s because you don’t want to.” he was very close now, enough so that low whispers sounded clear and bright.
“It’s not me, it’s complicated, I-”
“You don’t love me, Penelope?”
“I do..”
The truth escaped, at last. All her efforts were on staying perfectly still so she wouldn’t pull him down by his cravat and crush his lips to hers, like she’d been dreaming for years. So naturally, there wasn't any strength left to think of something to say other than the plain, raw truth.
But Penelope failed her mission anyhow: Colin’s lips were on hers and her mind was empty of everything else.
His mouth was so soft, exactly like she dreamed of. Better, actually, she realized when he did something with it: a kind of pressure, a kind of caress, she didn’t know, she only knew she loved it. Somehow, his right hand got through and under all her pins, taking them out of place or letting them fall to the desk below them. In no time his fingers were closing on the back of her head at the same time his other hand moved down to her waist, squeezing it again and again on his palm.
It made her sigh in delight, her hands tentatively roaming his chest. Penelope had no idea whatsoever what she was doing, if she was meant to do something in the first place, but she felt like her hands on his chest were proper. Safe.
And yet she wanted to bury them inside his luscious, thick chestnut hair. Maybe a little more kissing would work up her nerves.
She sighed once more with the feeling of being held like this, by him, out of all people. And that somehow meant a clear way for his tongue inside her mouth.
Penelope melted with the taste, the feeling. Once more she leaned into the desk to support her weight, her hands finally reaching the back of his head to not simply drop down from ecstasy, if anything else.
Colin seemed to catch up to that, as his left arm closed in around her back, clutching her to him with the firmness of a rock.
How on earth did Prudence declare she didn’t enjoy it? This was the most exquisite feeling she had ever dared to dream, was her sister doing it wrong?
She’d thought her mind was already incapable of acknowledging anything that wasn’t him, but when his lips reached her neck, she discovered yet again another level of surrender. The feeling made her shiver, her hairs going up from his kisses tracking her pulse.
Right before he reached her collarbone, he whispered again.
“Then how the hell are we not engaged?”
A tiny, airy groan of frustration left the back of his throat, and the sheer sound of it made her legs tremble. His lips were now skimming just the trim of her decolletage.
Something was burning inside her, desperate for him to be even closer if only there was a way to it. A fire that seemed to rage to all the tips of her body, but the original furnace was easy enough to identify, what with his knee so close to it, pressing ever slightly, almost as if begging her to part her legs.
“Marry me.”
As if she needed another reason to propel her thighs away from each other. Upon feeling it, Colin took her up only by the arm he was embracing her with, and she now sat at the desk with him between her legs. She was sure this was heaven, the feeling of him pressed against her, the way he was all but tearing the fabric of her dress up with his teeth, his tongue searching for more of her skin.
No wonder so many people risked ruin for it. She would’ve done it a lot sooner if he’d asked before.
“Penelope, please marry me.”
This second time, something rang inside her. Some semblance of a rational thought emerged through all this chaos of desire: she wouldn’t trap him into marriage. She risked it all to set him free of it once, she had the duty to do it again, even if she was the one now heartbroken by it.
“You don’t mean it, really. You said you would never even court me!”
“I would never say such nonsense!” His teeth were grazing the swell of her bosom and she almost felt convinced by it.
“You even said to them-” she gasped when his hand closed around one of her breasts, the fitting of his palm somehow perfect. She’d been born to this man. But she wouldn’t condemn him to a life with someone he wasn’t born to. “You said ‘not even in your wildest fantasies’!”
Colin started kneading her breast and the tiniest moan came from her.
“That’s only because Fife was talking about your breasts and I wanted them out of his filthy mouth.”
They both gasped, Colin taking a step back but still remaining close, resting his hands on either side of her on the desk. Her own were covering her mouth, a mixture of shock and relieve forming inside her chest.
He remembered!
His eyes found hers and for the very first time in a week, recognition delved into them, so much so that he looked like seeing to her very soul.
He knew her.
And then panic set in. He knew who she was, he remembered. At any time now, he would recall what made him fall from his horse. Would he hate her forever? Would he wipe his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust?
Penelope braced herself for the worst punishment imaginable so far: she now knew how he tasted, how he felt embracing her. She now knew exactly how his fingers undid her hair and made her moan while pressing her breast. And now she would never feel it again.
“You’re lady whistledown.”
She nodded, eyes shut, tears rolling, brows furrowed in pain. Any time now, he’d bid her to get up and leave. Could her legs do it? They felt so weak.
“You. Her.”
She couldn’t open her eyes. Coward as she was, she could not. She tried to speak, to apologize, to say something, anything, but the lump in her throat only permitted tears to come out of her.
“Lady Whistledown. You .” He chuckled. “My shock and my delight. My blessing and my curse. You, Penelope. My foe. The love of my life.”
She opened her eyes in confusion, only to shut them again after seeing him stride forward, his mouth landing on her again.
Again.
She’d have wager she’d never feel it again.
What was happening?
Her body, though, didn’t feel confused in the slightest: her hands were roaming his hair at once, undoing his cravat, pulling him by his neck. His left hand was back at her hair, his right one slipping under her skirts, a violent shiver taking hold of her spine as he reached her inner thigh, so close to that burning in the middle of her.
His lips were back to her neck and she was ready to melt completely out of this existence.
What was happening?
She was panting now.
“I don’t understand. Aren’t you mad?”
“Yes.” His face searched for her, locking her eyes on his in an unbreakable spell. She couldn’t look away for the life of her as his fingers languidly, painstakingly slow, finally touched her, roaming through the wet flesh. She gasped, unable to keep still. Unable to look away. Then his fingertips were drawing circles on that throbbing, aching top part. She didn’t know her voice was capable of such a wanton moan.
“Colin?” Her plea was for an answer and also for him to never stop.
“I am in love with you far much more than I am mad.”
Again, her moan was loud and high pitched as his fingers slipped in, thrusting in and curling inside her. Penelope was lost.
Her eyes finally shut as his mouth was back at her bosom, his pace picking up with every noise she let out.
Colin remembered and he knew and still his fingers were shoved inside her, his kisses never ending. This was so sublime, so divine, it seemed too good to be true.
Then he made it even wilder to believe:
“Marry me, Pen.”
Pen.
She was Pen again on his lips. The very ones that roamed now every bit of exposed skin as she surrendered her very being to him.
As she looked for more of him. To being closer.
The waves of pleasure his hands were building inside her didn’t let her think, plan, or even take an educated guess. Her palms acted of their own accord, and if the moan he let out when they met the bulge in his breeches indicated any success, it was sheer luck indeed. How come she had any of that left?
He chuckled.
“What are you doing, Pen?”
“Hum, compensating you?”
They laughed together, bright and loud, his mouth breaking it by joining hers in a tangle of relief and affection. His fingers, thank goodness, never left their spot inside her.
“What do you want to do, Pen?”
“The same thing you’re doing to me.”
She saw how his breath caught before he tried to hide his excitement with a smirk.
“If I teach you how to do it, will you marry me?”
Her eyes grew big, wide open, new kinds of tears escaping them. She nodded.
“Good, ‘cause I’d hate for this knowledge to go wasted.”
She giggled, up until he undid just a couple of his buttons and slipped her hand inside, the shaft she felt hard and leaking a bit at the tip of it. It made her shiver again, clenching somehow around his fingers.
Once he showed her how to close her fingers around it not too tightly (it would be hard to learn this gentle pressure, all she wanted to do was cling to it with all her might), her hands moved naturally up and down and his face was buried in her neck, groaning in pleasure. Penelope loved that sound.
“Did you hear anyone talking about this, Lady Whistledown?”
“Maybe.” She confessed as she kissed his exposed cheek.
“And what precisely did you do with that information?”
“I kept it in my heart for the nights I would dream of it being with you.”
“Pen.”
Her name on his tongue was a lyric, he was humming a tune of pleasure as his fingers resumed their exploration. Then she was utterly gone, every spasm of ecstasy on her walls translated to the increase of her hand’s pace on him.
She had him.
And as it always has been, he had her.
“Colin!”
His name was a loud moan in prayer, this last wave of pleasure so intense it shook her to her core, making her knees tremble and her walls drench his hand in pure, liquid bliss.
“Pen.” Her name was a whispered moan, as he throbbed on her palm and drenched her wrist with his pleasure.
She didn’t have to know what any of that meant. It all just felt so right. Everything with Colin was perfect.
But he did reach for her hand, giggling a little as he brought it out of his breeches.
“You need to stop moving, it’s too sensitive now that it has reached the peak.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She would have never guessed, she felt fine for more even right now!
“I feel fine to keep going, though, is that normal?”
His eyes darkened a little, a blaze of fire passing on them as he closed the distance between them again, his fingers burying themselves on her waist.
“I’m marrying you, all right.”
And then his mouth was back to hers and she melted again under him, for what she only prayed would be just the second time for the countless more to come for the rest of their life.