Work Text:
Dead Girl Walking
tonight i'm yours, i'm your dead girl walking
get on all fours, kiss this dead girl walking
bow down to the will of a dead girl walking
The demon queen of Mayfair had decreed it.
Come Monday morning, she would be ruined.
Penelope had grown careless, used to blending in corners of the room, hiding among the shadows, using her wallflower status to sneak out of the balls and fetes to deliver her Whistledown, that she had not realized as she crept out of the ballroom and into the study to pen a quick retraction she had been followed.
It had been a trap, of course. Penelope had foolishly asserted loudly for all the ton to hear that someone like Cressida Twombley could not possibly be Lady Whistledown.
Cressida had claimed that she was Lady Whistledown in front of the members of the ton , even going as far as writing and printing her own devious column, but she had not been interested in the fame or renown of being Lady Whistledown; she only wished to expose the real writer. And Penelope, not wishing to see her name, her years of hard work, be claimed by someone as vapid and horrid as her tormentor, got caught in the spider’s web; she fled to the study where she began writing her own column, one that would easily prove that she was the true Lady Whistledown and denouncing the imposterous black widow, unbeknownst to her that Cressida had trailed after her.
Triumph had turned to ashes in her mouth when she heard the door shut and beheld Cressida standing there grinning devilishly at her.
“Oh my,” She sneered. “I would have suspected Eloise Bridgerton, even, before I suspected the spinster wallflower.”
“What do you want, Cressida?” Penelope spat, trying to retain some sense of control and power.
“What, indeed?” Cressida tapped her chin maliciously with her sharpened claws.
The venomous spider was toying with her prey. Penelope could not think, her entire world crumbling beneath her. The harder the butterfly struggled, the more tangled it became. “If it is money you want–”
“Perhaps.” she slithered across the room until she was standing on the opposite side of the desk, peering down at the unfinished column. “Perhaps I wish to see an annoying weed plucked from the ground, roots and all.” Penelope’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. Cressida had always been cruel, but could she be this sadistic? She continued her assault, “How might the ton react when they find out it was Penelope Featherington all along?”
Penelope knew how the ton would react. Knew what they would say.
They would not say she was brave or clever or witty, only that she was cruel and heartless and spiteful. A serpent among them, striking out with her venomous words.
They would hunt her down, pitchforks held high, demanding retribution. Demanding retractions. Demanding her head. And her demise would not be sufficient, would not satiate their hurt and anger. It would be her family who bore the consequences of her actions. The Featherington name marred and ruined. Her older sisters were already married so they would only face the scrutiny of the ton , but Felicity’s prospects would diminish, no gentleman would wish to associate themselves with the Featherington name. All invites to society events would cease, the Queen herself would ensure that Penelope and her family were no longer welcome.
And as far as the Queen was concerned, that outcome would be generous indeed.
Penelope could very well be arrested for her words against the King and Queen.
And Cressida knew all of this as well, by the way her smirk turned sinister.
There would be no sum high enough, no pleading words pathetic enough, to appease her.
Cressida Twombley had left Penelope in the study, to sit in pernicious turmoil.
Quietly, Penelope slipped back in unnoticed, resuming her status as wallflower once more, observing the couples dancing, her mother and Felicity conversing by the lemonade table, Lady Danbury whacking some poor soul with her cane. The irony was not lost on Penelope that even though the people in attendance did not regard her–she was not important enough to know if she was missing or not–these same people would be the ones cursing her name, casting her out.
Colin Bridgerton, unsurprisingly, stood by the sweets table, eying a delectable looking eclair. Not even he had noticed her absence.
Penelope wondered how Colin would react when he learned she was the infamous author who wrote about him so frequently. Would he be flattered, especially after their kiss? Or embarrassed that someone like pitiful Penelope Featherington, who had to beg him to kiss her, would write such things about him for all the ton to read.
She wished they could have shared one more kiss before her ultimate demise.
She wished they could have shared a lot more than just a kiss…
Cressida fluttered about the room, stopping to whisper in Lord Basil Grimston’s ear. Her heart raced, breathing coming out panicked, as the two chuckled; Penelope had often been the target of those sinister snickers, and she did not wish to remain for one second longer to give Cressida the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. With twelve hours left before her ultimate demise, she refused to spend them here.
Portia and Felicity would have to forgive her for taking the Featherington carriage, they would have to find another way home; knowing the Bridgertons, they would extend a courtesy and offer them one of their spare carriages. And besides, a borrowed carriage would be much easier to forgive than Penelope being Lady Whistledown.
One final time, as quiet and transparent as a phantom, Penelope slipped from the ballroom.
The carriage was waiting for her and she stepped inside, instructing the coachman to take her home. Thankfully, he did not question her melancholy demeanor or why she was returning home alone without her mother and sister.
A thought had occurred to her to write a new column, lambasting Cressida and discrediting her word, so that even if she did reveal Penelope’s identity, no one would believe her. But that could only stave off Cressida’s appetite for so long, and Penelope could not risk publishing as often now, knowing that Cressida would be lurking in the shadows (if her mind hadn’t been in complete upheaval, Penelope might have laughed at the sardonicism).
The carriage began to move, then abruptly halted; Penelope opened her mouth to ask why they stopped, but froze when the door opened and Colin Bridgerton stood before her, out of breath.
“Are you leaving?” He asked.
Penelope’s mouth remained open, confusion written all over her face. “I–yes, I am retiring for the evening.”
“Is anything the matter?”
Several things, actually, but all she replied was, “No, I am just tired is all.”
Colin glanced over his shoulder at the estate, then down the street, before his eyes settled on her once more. “Would you like an escort home? It is hardly proper for you to be out here alone.”
“Colin, I am hardly alone with the coachman just outside.” And after everything that had occurred between them, did he truly think he was the best option to be her escort?
“Well then,” he hopped into the carriage, closing the door behind him and taking the seat across from her, “if it isn’t too much trouble, would you mind dropping me off at Bridgerton House? I am quite worn out from the evening myself.”
Penelope sat there, flabbergasted. He was persistent–and wholly stubborn–she had to give him that. “Fine.” She relented with a heavy sigh.
For several minutes, the carriage ride was silent. Penelope stared out the window, hands folded neatly in her lap, but she could feel Colin’s eyes trained on her, burning a hole right through her. Perhaps she was wholly stubborn as well, because she refused to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze.
“I know something is bothering you, Pen.” He said, breaking the silence. “Perhaps I can help…”
“I am a dead girl walking.” She muttered. “You cannot help me.”
Colin’s brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”
“You will, come tomorrow.” Her chest ached, tears threatening to spill over. “Tonight, I just wish for you to see me as Penelope Featherington.”
“Of course I see you as Penelope Featherington. Who else would you be?”
She shook her head. “If I tell you, you will hate me.”
Colin rose from his seat, crouching so as not to hit his head on the ceiling of the carriage, and he maneuvered himself so that he was sitting next to her. Penelope’s eyes rounded at their sudden closeness, their hands nearly brushing on the seat between them.
“I could never hate you, Penelope. Please, tell me.”
He was so sweet, so caring. Sitting here, he was the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago.
He frowned, his lips etched with worry, and Penelope could not help but stare at them. Even laced with melancholy, they were still so pink and full and tantalizing. Penelope’s own lips still tingled at the memory of that day in the sitting room. Her cheeks warmed remembering how his hands had roamed her body, down her back, along her hips, coming to rest on her backside; she had asked him to kiss her, but she had not asked him to squeeze her bottom. To press his body firmly against hers, her breasts flush against his chest. And her stomach fluttered recalling the way he murmured her name.
Penelope had asked Colin if he would kiss her, and he obliged her, but she had never considered before that he had wanted to kiss her. And when she thanked him, he had seemed so irate, so cold—the complete opposite of how he’d been just mere moments earlier–that Penelope assumed he had been embarrassed. But perhaps, she had hurt his feelings by thanking him.
Come tomorrow morning, she would be mounted on the figurative wall of the ton.
Penelope knew what made her happy, what made her feel good.
And she wished to feel that–and more.
“I do not wish to talk.” She finally said, eyes still trained on his mouth.
Colin swallowed, and damn it all, licked his lips.
“Penelope, what–”
She leaned forward, touching his lips with hers.
It was a ghost of their first kiss, over as soon as it began. Penelope pulled back slightly, eyes opening to see if Colin would pull away, if he was disturbed or shocked by her boldness, but to Penelope’s surprise, his eyes were still closed, his lips still open as if he expected her to kiss him again. Penelope reached up, tracing her fingers along his lips, across his cheek, taking in every single plane of his beautiful face, and when his eyes fluttered open, soft and vulnerable and pleading, Penelope was more than happy to oblige his silent request.
She leaned into him, capturing his bottom lip in another chaste kiss.
Last time, he had been the one in control. Partly because she had been so terrified that he would change his mind about kissing her, and mostly because she had no idea what she was doing. But tonight, she would be the one to take command. A fire burned through her, and she longed to let it rage and roar and consume. She still did not know what she was doing, so she relied on what felt right. Penelope liked when their lips moved together, like a first dance between a debutante and suitor, and she had liked when their bodies were flush against one another. So, without breaking the kiss, Penelope surged forward, contorting her body around so that she was straddling Colin’s lap, her hands wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair.
Colin groaned, his lips parting wider, inviting more of her in.
And when Penelope tugged, gently, on his hair, he responded in earnest.
His hands started on her waist, holding her in place as they kissed, but with every nip and peck, he travelled lower and lower until he was cupping her bottom. Squeezing and kneading her, pulling her closer to him. Penelope followed his movements, rocking into him, tugging him impossibly closer, the skin of her cheeks and chin smoldering from where his facial hair rubbed. It was a delightful, arousing burn.
And there, demanding entrance to her mouth, Colin’s tongue. He licked at her lower lip, before capturing it between his own and giving it a light tug. Penelope gasped, accepting him gladly. Mouths were for tasting, and she wanted to taste Colin Bridgerton.
To her amusement, he tasted like a pastry.
Colin explored her mouth, expertly coaxing her tongue to meet his own, lap for lap, lick for lick. It was wet, the sounds obscene coupled with their mutual panting and groaning.
His hands fisted into her skirts, bunching the fabric up higher and higher, exposing her stocking clad legs. Using him for support, Penelope leaned to one side then to the other so he could free her knees from the confinements of her dress. Bracketing his thighs once more, Penelope sank back down on him, flushing as his torso came dangerously close to her most intimate of areas.
Colin claimed her mouth once more while he ran his hands along her legs, starting at her calves, pressing the silk of her stocking into her skin, sensitive and tingling, tickling the backs of her knees and up her thighs. No one had ever touched her there before. It was treacherous. It was thrilling.
And when his strong, warm hands grabbed her bare bottom, Penelope squeaked out, “Colin!”
It was a pause they needed, taking the time to catch their breath. Their foreheads pressed together, their eyes, glazed over and hooded with lust, boring into each other. Penelope smiled down at him and Colin smiled up at her.
“You want this?” He asked her.
Which Penelope thought was a rather silly time to ask such a question with his hands on her ass and her legs around his waist. .
But she nodded anyway. “I want this.” She assured him, running her fingers through his hair, delighting in the way he shivered in her grasp. “I want you.”
“Penelope.” He whispered, closing his eyes.
“Do you want this?” She asked.
“Yes, more than I can put into words.” And knowing his way with words, being the only person to have ever read his beautiful, poetic words, that was quite an assertion. “I do not understand why I wasted so many years not kissing you.” Colin laughed.
Penelope pulled him in for another kiss. “Shall we make up for lost time, then?”
His answer came in the form of his own kiss. A peck to her lips. Then her cheek. Along the underside of her chin. On her neck. He kissed and licked and sucked at her pulse point, and he fondled her bottom, his fingers digging mercilessly into her flesh, dragging her down against his hips, and oh , she felt him then, felt his arousal through his breeches. He repeated the action, licking a long stripe up her throat, rolling her hips down atop him, the friction–in time with the jostling of the carriage–working Penelope into a frenzy. There was an ache between her legs, at the very center, begging to be released.
“ Ah, Colin…” She whimpered, tossing her head back to give him more access to her neck.
He was as ravenous as a vampire, nibbling and sucking, leaving love bites in his wake, groaning her name Penelope Penelope Penelope over and over and over into her skin.
The Featherington coachman no doubt could hear their lecherous debauchery, but Penelope found she did not care as Colin kissed the tops of her breasts. She practically whined when he let go of her bottom, pulled his hands out from under her skirts, but when she looked at him, there was a glint in his eye, a tad mischievous, that matched his smirk.
“Keep rocking your hips.” He instructed. “Just like that.”
Penelope obeyed, setting her own pace.
Colin brushed his fingers along her collarbone.
And then he cupped her breast.
“You must tell me if you wish for me to stop.” He said, his voice low, gravelly.
Penelope did not understand. Why on Earth would she want him to stop?
Her mind was a muddled mess so all she could do was nod.
And she thanked all the stars above and the moon and the sun and even her lady’s maid that she wore one of her more simple, thinner , gowns, for Colin gave her breast a gentle squeeze, one she would not have enjoyed near as much if she had chosen one of her gowns with a sturdier bodice.
Colin squeezed and Penelope ground her hips down, the two sensations electrifying. While his hands worked one breast, his lips tended to the other, kissing what was exposed to him, and Penelope’s cries of ecstasy grew louder and louder. Beneath her gown, Penelope could feel her nipples hardening against the soft fabric with each brush of Colin’s hand, beneath her skirts, she could feel his hardness straining against his trousers with each sweep of her hips. Curious and aroused, Penelope reached down between their bodies and placed her hand on him. Colin hissed, bucking his hips up into her hand.
“Oh God, Pen… ” He breathed heavily.
She rubbed up and down slowly, delighted in the reaction she could pull from him.
They worked in tandem stroking each other, their lips soon following in another passionate kiss.
Penelope had never experienced a euphoria such as this, her entire body aflame, her heart soaring. It wasn’t just the fact that her body was being pleasured beyond anything she could have ever imagined, it was who was pleasuring her that mattered the most. Colin Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, was kissing her, Penelope Featherington, touching her, moaning intoxicatingly in her ear. Colin Bridgerton wanted her, desired her, as a man desires a woman.
If she was to be ruined, let it be tonight, in the arms of the man she loved.
Penelope gasped into Colin’s mouth when he slipped his hand inside her bodice, palming her bare breast. His fingers brushed across her nipple.
Her hand and her hips rutting against him, Penelope screwed her eyes shut, lost in the sensation.
So lost, in fact, she did not realize the carriage had come to a stop until the footman knocked on the door, alerting her of their arrival.
Penelope and Colin froze, staring at the door, hoping, praying that the Featherington footman would not open the door and see them, Penelope in a state of undress and Colin with his hand in her bodice. The seconds ticked by and they had not been discovered, so Penelope quickly scrambled off Colin’s lap, readjusting her gown and her hair, and then went to work at finding her discarded slippers on the floor. Colin fixed his jacket and then did an odd shimmying move with his legs and hips.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“You have me quite disheveled, Miss Featherington.” He smiled at her, cheeks flushed, hair mussed. “What shall the neighbors think?”
“I find I care very little what they think.” She answered, smoothing out her skirts.
The footman knocked again, and this time Penelope answered, indicating he could open the door. If he knew what had occurred between her and Colin Bridgerton, he was not letting on, although he quickly diverted his eyes and stepped to the side when Colin exited first, offering his hand to help Penelope down . Ever the gentleman, he escorted Penelope up the steps to the front door.
“Here we are.” He said.
“Thank you.”
Colin tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Technically, I should be the one thanking you for bringing me home.”
Penelope glanced across the street. “As I recall, you no longer live at Bridgerton House.”
“No, I suppose I don’t.” Colin smiled. “I’m sure Anthony, or rather, Kate, would not mind if I slept in one of the spare rooms.”
Penelope tightened her grip on his arm; she was not ready to see him leave just yet. “My mama and Felicity are not home, you could…come inside to keep me company.”
His brow quirked. “I am not sure that would be proper.”
“You would leave me to die of boredom?”
“That would be churlish of me.”
Penelope stood on her tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then whispered in his ear, “Why not join me in the sitting room, Mister Bridgerton?”
Colin gave her one of his infamous devil-may-care smiles. “After you, Miss Featherington.”
Hand in hand, they walked into the foyer. Thankfully, and perhaps not by chance or luck, no servants were waiting to greet them. Even Briarly seemed to have retired for the evening.
They made it to the stairs, barely, before they could take it no longer, a strong magnetic force pulling them together, and they were kissing and running their hands all over one another. Climbing those stairs proved to be an arduous task as neither wished to cease their kissing long enough to take careful steps, so they tripped and stumbled and fell into one another, laughing and kissing and using each other as support. Penelope had a fleeting memory of her father returning home late one evening, stumbling up the stairs, loudly crashing into the walls (certainly not laughing), completely foxed, and while Penelope had not had a drop of champagne at the ball–Colin likely had, but he still had his senses about him–she did feel drunk; drunk on this feeling, drunk on Colin Bridgerton.
And perhaps tomorrow ‘hair of the dog’ would help cure her of her Colin Bridgerton hangover.
Giggling, mouths still waltzing, they reached the second floor, and as the Featherington estate was familiar to both of them, they did not need to see or walk in a straight path to know where the sitting room was. The door opened easily, closed just as quickly, and Penelope took control, guiding Colin to the far end of the room where a chaise sat in front of a large window.
Year after year, Penelope had sat on this chaise, staring out the window, hoping for a glimpse of the boy with the green eyes and chestnut hair, now there was nothing she wanted more than for that same boy–now man–to do very very wicked things to her on this very chaise.
“We can keep an eye out…for when…my mama…returns home…” She said in between kisses.
With only a few candles lit, they were shielded by the shadows; not even a passerby glancing up at the window would be able to bear witness to their salacious activities.
Colin left a trail of wet kisses from her lips down the length of her neck and along her breasts before turning her around and guiding her to kneel on the chaise, so she was looking out the window. He stood behind her and resumed kissing her neck, his hands wrapping around her and cupping her breasts. Penelope’s head fell back onto his shoulder, sighing softly. Colin worked her thoroughly, lifting and massaging and squeezing, his fingers rubbing rubbing rubbing until her nipples were hard once more, the ache between her legs throbbing…weeping.
Of their own volition, her hips rocked backwards, seeking any kind of friction, and she could feel him, hard and powerful and demanding against her bottom. He thrusted lightly, eliciting moans out of the both of them.
“Colin…” she whispered. “Colin, Colin…”
“Penelope,” he answered, “I need you to keep watch for me.”
She was not sure what he meant, but she did not have time to ponder it too long, for Colin began lifting her skirts; as he raised them up, he sank lower and lower until he was on his knees. Penelope held onto her skirts, bunched at her waist, her entire body flushing as her bare bottom was revealed to Colin. Oh, she never could have imagined this.
He started slowly, simply, first removing her slippers one at a time and then her stockings, slipping them down her legs, his nails scraping along her skin. His touches were gentle, sensual, as he caressed her calves, her thighs.
“Ever since our first kiss in this very room,” he breathed against her skin. “I have been dreaming of tasting other parts of you.”
Then he planted a tender kiss. And then another. And another.
“ Mmm …oh!”
And then he was nuzzling at her center, his breath hot and heavy. Penelope dropped her head to the window sill, fists clenched tightly in her skirts, legs trembling in anticipation. Teasing, tormenting, Colin licked the junction where her thighs met her backside, then bit softly into the swell of her cheek. He repeated this action over and over until she was panting, whining, wanting , until her guard was lowered and her legs spread a bit wider, and he put his mouth on her quim.
His tongue moved slowly, gingerly. Exploring. Tasting.
His hands squeezed her buttocks, spreading her even farther apart to give himself more access.
And Penelope was completely at his mercy.
With each swipe of his tongue, a strange fluttering began to swirl within her. Sweeping her higher and higher, propelling her towards a grand peak of pleasure, Penelope chased that bliss, rolling her hips in time with Colin’s ministrations. And when his tongue found her most sensitive spot and he licked and licked and licked, Penelope completely collapsed on the chaise.
Colin reached up and lightly tugged on her hair, forcing her head back up.
“You are to be keeping watch, remember?”
Penelope could only whimper in response as he dove back in, deeper than before, devouring her.
Through blurred vision, Penelope stared out the window, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, her breath, hot and heavy, fogging the window pane. The chaise rocked and shifted beneath her as Colin adjusted his grip, clutching onto her hips and dragging her back into him, practically burying his face between her legs. Penelope shrieked as he found her pearl once more, closed his lips around it and sucked.
“ Hah…hah…oh God!” She wailed.
The fluttering intensified, shooting her well past the peak, higher and higher and higher until Penelope saw stars exploding behind her eyes. Her body trembled with ferocity, quaking in his grasp, and still Colin did not stop, lapping up every bit of her juices. It was wet and obscene and erotic.
Her body buzzed with euphoria, and when he finally relented, pulling away from her, Penelope could have cried at the loss of him. She released her gown, letting it fall back down her legs, a slick wetness still pooling between them, and then sank on to the chaise with a contented sigh watching Colin stand back to his full height, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.
“I have never experienced anything in my life like that.”
Colin leaned down to kiss her, and she tasted herself on him, a foreign, unusual taste, but not unpleasant. “I shall take that as a compliment.” Penelope pinched his cheek, and he laughed. “Have you ever tried to pleasure yourself before? With your fingers?”
If his face had not been buried in her cunt just mere minutes ago, Penelope might have been embarrassed at such a question. Now there were no barriers between them.
“No, never. I did not realize women could experience such enjoyment when it came to our bodies. What very little my mama did teach us was that it was a woman’s–a wife’s–duty to lie back and let the man take his fill. His pleasure was all that mattered.”
“And now what do you think?”
Penelope stood on wobbly legs, her bud still pulsing, throbbing, a beacon calling her sailor home. “I think my father did not know how to pleasure my mother.” She giggled.
Colin cringed, visibly shuddering. “I do not need that image in my head.”
“I also think,” Penelope wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another searing kiss, “there is more left to be explored.”
Colin’s arms snaked around her waist, holding her close. “So much more.”
They embraced once more, mouths in perfect sync.
If Penelope was honest, her mama and Felicity could have arrived and she would have been none the wiser, even though she had been staring out the window. Her mind had been completely taken by the pleasure. And yet, Penelope had a sneaking suspicion if they had arrived home, the staff would have quickly diverted them to their bedrooms.
But a quick glance out the window told her that they had not yet come home.
And she was not finished with Colin Bridgerton.
He had tasted her, now she wished to taste him.
Penelope took control, sliding her hands inside his tailcoat and slipping it down his shoulders, his arms, her fingers ghosting along his strong, powerful muscles. With a flair of drama, she tossed the jacket across the room, then quickly went to work unbuttoning his vest. When Colin tried to assist her, she playfully swatted his hands away, shooting him a look that let him know she did not require, nor did she want, his help for this.
Off came his vest, and then his cravat.
She untucked his shirt from his breeches and began unbuttoning it with careful precision, eyes lighting up and a hint of a smile on her face when his rugged, well-fortified torso was revealed. In a matter of seconds, Colin’s shirt joined the other discarded garments on the floor.
And Lord above, he was so beautiful.
Penelope ran her hands over his chest, his solid, sturdy muscles a great juxtaposition to the soft, springy hair there. When she switched to using her fingernails, Colin shuddered and inhaled deeply, and feeling a tad mischievous herself, Penelope scratched along his nipple, seeing if they were as sensitive as hers had been.
They were, if Colin’s groan and clenched eyes were any indication.
While his defenses were lowered, Penelope spun them around and, not so gently, pushed Colin down onto the settee and climbed atop him. She attacked his mouth, all-encompassing, claiming. Their moans rang out like the bells at Sunday service, though the only thing to be worshipped in this room tonight were their bodies. One could only expect such sacrilege from a dead girl walking.
Once the initial shock wore off, Colin’s hands found her hips, digging into her flesh as he tugged her closer, his desire evident, pressing against her leg. Penelope rolled her hips for good measure, sending him over the edge. She kissed his lips, his cheek, working her way to his ear to nibble on the lobe. Colin liked that, squeezing her waist once more. She licked the shell of his ear, down the line of his jaw to delve of his neck, latching onto his pulsepoint. Colin really liked that, this time squeezing her bottom.
Penelope liked that.
If she was not careful, she would become lost in the sensation and wind up on her knees once more.
She alternated between kissing and licking, noting the way he tasted like bergamot and the ocean air.
But Penelope’s craving went beyond the superficial, she sought the very essence of him.
So she moved lower, kissing the planes of his chest, his nipples, swirling her tongue around them once, twice, for good measure. Coating them with her saliva and then biting them ever so softly. Colin groaned, his hands flying to her head, fingers twisting into her curls, unsure if he should push her away or hold her in place. There was an exquisite eroticism being the one giving the pleasure, a different ardor altogether than when receiving. Every breathy pant Colin made, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, spurred Penelope on, emboldened her.
As she continued to kiss down his stomach–smiling against his skin as he flinched from her touch; ticklish, she realized–she scooted off his lap, sinking to her knees in between his legs. She started to unfasten his breeches when he covered her hands with his own, halting her.
“Pen,” he breathed. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, as he took her in. “You do not have to do this…”
“I want to do this.” She answered, confident and unwavering.
Colin nodded, moving his hands away and Penelope resumed her task. It took several seconds to shimmy his trousers down his hips and thighs, Colin needing to lift his hips up off the settee to assist her, and once he had been freed from the clothing, Penelope suddenly understood why he’d made such odd movements to readjust himself in the carriage.
It was not that Penelope had never seen a cock before, several estates and art museums were filled with statues of naked gods and men, on full display. Her and Eloise often giggled about the appendages, as young, naive ladies who held no knowledge of what such a body part would be used for, would. But as she took in every glorious inch of Colin Bridgerton, either the artists had a gross misunderstanding of what a cock truly looked liked, or Colin was well endowed. Penelope was surprised he could tuck himself so expertly inside his breeches without being on full display in front of the ton.
Her face gave her away, mouth dropping open, eyes rounding in surprise, and she did not need to meet his gaze to know that Colin was grinning down at her. Perfectly pleased with himself. She had never been intimate with a man, she had never seen a real, twitching one before, and it stood proudly from between his legs, dark, coarse hair blanketing the shaft at the base. The tip was glistening, leaking.
Penelope leaned forward and kissed it.
Colin hissed, jerking towards her. “Ah, Pen!”
She smiled up at him. “Lie back and let me take my fill.”
And she wrapped her lips around him.
Her tongue skirted out, licking along the slit.
It did not taste like bergamot.
But much like when she tasted herself earlier, it was not an unpleasant taste.
Penelope held him in her mouth for a few seconds before pulling off him, licking her lips and glancing up at Colin. He was utterly mesmerized.
She reached out and took him in her hands, running her tongue up and down the length of his shaft. Colin’s cock twitched in her grasp, so she repeated the action, licking a long stripe up to the tip before wrapping her lips around him once more. This time, taking him in a bit deeper.
“ Hah…hah…hah…Pen…hah…” Colin’s moans spurred her on, setting a rhythm for her as she bobbed up and down on his cock, her saliva mixed with his seed making the slide in and out easier for her.
Her hands and mouth performed a carnal duet. What part of him that could not fit in her mouth was tended to by her hands, stroking and rubbing. When Penelope hollowed out her cheeks, sucking him long and slow, Colin’s fingers fisted into her hair, guiding her up and down. And soon his hips were thrusting forward, forcing more of himself into her mouth.
Penelope slackened her jaw to accommodate him, tears stinging at her eyes, but she did not wish to stop.
And something strange began to happen.
The more she took his cock, the wet sounds of her mouth combined with Colin’s groans, had her center aching once more, begging for a release.
Penelope peeked up at Colin through her lashes as she let go of him and snaked her hand down her body, up under her skirts, already finding herself soaking wet. She skimmed her fingers along her slickened folds, creating the friction she desired. It did not take long until she found her glorious pearl, rubbing rubbing rubbing in circles, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, and a heady moan reverberating in the back of her throat. The vibrations around Colin’s cock sent him reeling, his hips driving at a faster pace, plunging him deeper into the mouth, to the back of her throat, and Penelope’s nose was flush with the coarse hair at the junction of his legs.
Even though her knees ached and her throat burned and she could hardly breathe, the immense pleasure surging through her continued to build and build overriding any and all pain. Penelope bobbed up and down on his cock, swallowing him down whole each and every time, stimulating her clit unabashedly, her fingers drenched, drool and spittle leaking from the corners of her lips.
“ Mmph …” She groaned around him once more.
Colin gripped her hair harder, his thighs beginning to tremble. “Penelope, I’m going to…ah..ahh….wait!”
He yanked her off his member with a ‘pop’, and Penelope took the respite to gulp down breathfuls of air, but Colin did not give her much time to rest as he clambered down on the floor with her, pushing her backwards until she was lying flat on her back, and he settled himself between her legs, his cock, hard, and demanding entrance to her center.
Sweaty and panting, eyes completely glazed over with lust, Colin leaned down, capturing her mouth in a harsh kiss, and he thrusted forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful move. Penelope cried out into his mouth, circling her arms around him, legs wrapping around his waist. He had stuffed her to the brim, stretching her walls as he began to move at a rapid pace; the initial sting already ebbing away. The room was filled with the sound of their slapping skin, their moans and cries of pleasure; Penelope moved her hands to Colin’s ass, gripping the solid flesh, keeping him close as he rocked into her, and Colin tugged her bodice down, revealing her breasts fully to him, his mouth quickly latching onto her nipple.
“Colin! Oh!” She squealed.
His hips snapped roughly into hers. “Fuck! Penelope, I won’t last much longer.”
And his teeth clamped onto her rosy bud, sending her careening over the precipice, plunging into the heavenly depths, her cunt gushing, light exploding behind her eyes, at her core, warm and beautiful and branching out inside of her chest. With a deep groan, a final thrust, Colin stilled atop her, shooting load after load of his seed into her. They floated together in the rapturous abyss, Penelope running her hands along his body, tracing circles on his back, and Colin still pumping into her lazily, his body overstimulated, working itself through completion.
Afterglow shined like a brand new day upon them.
Colin laid his entire weight on her, head resting on her breasts, pressing gentle kisses against her skin. Adrenaline waning, Penelope’s tired legs fell away from his body and carded her fingers through his dampened hair. And the two of them stayed like that for quite some time.
When Penelope opened her eyes, the candles in the room had dimmed considerably.
Colin had shifted off of her– out of her–lying on his side, cradling her to him. A blanket covered them, pillows had been stacked around them.
“I believe your mama and sister arrived home some time ago.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Penelope smiled lazily at him. “And seeing as how you are still here, naked as ever, they did not discover us.”
“No. The staff expertly diverted them.”
Penelope pressed her body closer to him, tangling their legs together, feeling his now softened cock between them. There was a soreness between her own legs. A good soreness, though, like a badge of honor of a job well done.
“I suppose we could sneak up to my bedroom.” She said, “My bed will be far more comfortable than the floor.”
Colin smiled, but there was a flicker of sadness behind his eyes. “You deserved better than your first time being on the floor.”
She sat up, blanket pooling around her waist. “Nonsense. I know what I deserve, Colin. I do not regret my actions or what happened between us.” There was nothing more he could have given her, except perhaps a third orgasm, and there was still time yet before her demise.
“And if you would really like to make it up to me,” she continued, leaning over and kissing him, “my second, third, fourth time can be in bed.”
Colin relaxed beneath her, wrapping his arms around her—if they were not careful, her second time would end up being right here. “Or in the bath. Or on your writing desk.”
Penelope hummed against his lips. “Oh, a bath sounds wonderful!”
“You don’t think—?”
She gave him a devil-may-care grin.
They quickly, sloppily, redressed, Colin did not even bother fastening his breeches or buttoning his shirt, Penelope’s hair mussed, her gown crooked, and hastily made their way to her bedroom. Sneaking around to not alert her mother was thrilling and exciting, and Penelope worried their giggling would give them away, but they made it safely behind closed doors. And Penelope could not hold back her laugh as a tray sat on her desk, a teapot, two tea cups and a plate of biscuits placed on top. She would have to thank the Featherington staff tomorrow morning for their discretion and their thoughtfulness and care.
Colin beelined for the biscuits, his foot creaking on the loose floorboard in the middle of her room.
A lump formed in her throat, her heart dropped into her stomach.
The Lady Whistledown secret literally rested between them
Colin worried over what she deserved, but now Penelope worried that he had deserved to know the truth about her secret before being intimate with him. He had asked her what had upset her in the carriage and she diverted the conversation away from herself. Would he have kissed her so passionately in the carriage, licked her so sensually in the sitting room, made love to her so fervidly, if he had known the truth about her?
Their bodies were now forever entwined.
Was it fair of Penelope to have kept such a secret?
She could not go back and change the past, and what she said to Colin before still rang true, she did not regret being intimate with him. But perhaps she owed it to him, to herself, to be honest with him.
He should not have to hear it from Cressida, or his family, or read about it in some poorly written gossip column.
“Colin?” She began, her voice timid, meek. The first her wallflower persona appeared all evening.
He turned towards her, holding up a cup. “Would you like some tea?”
“Perhaps, in just a moment. There’s…There’s something I wish to tell you.”
And he immediately sensed the urgency, the seriousness, of her words. “Pen, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“In the carriage, you had asked me something similar, and I had not wished to talk about it. I did not want to speak it into existence, hoping it might just go away…but it will not simply vanish just because I wish it to. I must own up to it, own up to myself, and I do not wish to lie to you, Colin. Not anymore, not about this.”
Penelope could tell Colin did not understand, but he nodded his head, urging her to continue.
Penelope exhaled.
Even if he hated her, never wished to speak to her again. Even if she was forever tainted and ruined.
The dead girl walking stepped across the room and pulled up the floorboard, revealing the truth within.
End