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Penelope’s heart was pounding as she looked out the window once more. 'He should have been home by now ,' she told herself worriedly, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ever since Colin had left with his brothers to find Eloise, Penelope had known no peace. First of all, she was utterly shocked that her friend, who wanted nothing to do with marriage, had exchanged letters for months with a man she didn’t even know. Moreover, she had fled unescorted to his estate after he had proposed to her in a letter. It was madness on her part to do this, especially since, over time, since her debut in society, the girl had refused six marriage proposals.
Penelope tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed or upset that her best friend—the one who had been like a sister to her since childhood—had kept this secret from her, but she was. And above all, she was panicked, because she, in turn, had hidden a secret from Eloise. She had fled before Penelope’s unmasking as Whistledown, and now, Penelope wondered how she would find the courage to confess her secret. Although her alter ego was no longer truly a secret, being known by the entire ton, Penelope was deeply anxious about her friend's reaction.
When the Bridgerton family found some of the correspondence between Eloise and a certain Sir Phillip, Colin, along with his brothers, set out to find her before Lady Violet could suffer a calamity. Five days had already passed, during which she had received only one letter from him. Five days spent in her mother-in-law's company, trying to lift her spirits and watching over her closely.
She looked out the window again. The neighborhood where she now lived with her husband was full of working people, so the view from the window was different from the one she had grown up with in Mayfair. Penelope searched with her eyes among the people scurrying like ants on the streets of Bloomsbury, but she did not spot the one she was waiting for. She sighed and sat down in the armchair in the drawing room, telling herself she should have stayed at Number 5, with Lady Violet.
The commotion from downstairs made her startle. She had dozed off with her head on the back of the sofa, and an atrocious pain shot through her neck. Her heart leapt out of her chest when she realized the reason for the noise and the servants' agitation. Colin was home. She jumped out of her chair immediately, heading for the door that had just opened. Her handsome husband, with his hair and clothes disheveled by the wind, stood before her with a crooked and adorable smile on his face. He wasted no time; he stepped toward her and pulled her into an embrace, then immediately pressed his lips to hers, kissing her passionately, leaving her breathless. Penelope groaned into the kiss; she had missed him so much, so very much. They broke the kiss for a moment, and he tenderly stroked her cheek.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of the chair next to them. Her heart nearly stopped at his surprising declaration. She was still getting used to him, to his affection, after being convinced for years that he would never be hers.
“By the way, I didn’t tell her about Whistledown!”
Penelope stared at him with her mouth agape as he sat on the plush sofa, adopting a relaxed position with his knees slightly apart, as if nothing had happened.
“You didn’t tell her? Why?”
“Why should I? If I think about it, she doesn’t even deserve to know after all the trouble she put us through to find her.”
Penelope put her hand to her temples and sighed.
“So, she got married?”
“No, at least not yet. But she certainly will.”
Penelope was running a thousand scenarios in her head. She wondered how she would have the courage to tell her about Whistledown during her wedding week; such a thing was out of the question.
“Come sit down!” he said with a mischievous smile. Penelope looked at the spot on the sofa occupied entirely by him, and her cheeks flushed.
“W-where?” she asked shyly, since the only spot left was his lap.
“Right here.” He motioned toward his arms.
“Colin, we can’t. We couldn’t even if the drapes were drawn, and certainly not in the drawing room.”
Colin smiled and made to stand up while his eyes were fixed on the window.
“No!” she cried out, heated by the warm air in the salon, or perhaps by his presence, she wasn’t sure. “Not when the maid must appear any moment with the tea!” she scolded him.
“But I’ve missed you,” he said again, looking at her with love. “I miss you right now!”
Penelope looked at him with bated breath, her eyes involuntarily darting toward the front of his trousers. Colin burst out laughing.
“You are behaving improperly!” she scolded him, her cheeks red.
The drawing room door opened, and the maid stepped inside carrying a tray full of tea and biscuits. She placed them on the table, gasping from their weight. Then she withdrew from the room, but not before Colin called after her: “Close the door behind you, please!”
Penelope watched her husband rise from the sofa, his eyes on the curtains he intended to draw.
“I thought you wanted to eat first.” Penelope’s tone was timid, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw his strong arms pulling the heavy material of the drapes, leaving the room in a dim but pleasant light.
“I am hungry, but I’ve missed you even more,” he said, pulling her to his chest. He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face further up to his, kissing her again with a passion that left her breathless. She melted into his kiss, clinging with her fingers to his arms.
“I want to love you. Let me love you, Pen!”
She looked at him with wide eyes and only nodded, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her.
Colin turned her so that her back was to him and began untying the laces of her corset, pulling at the ribbons that held her gown tightly in place. The slightly rough embroidery brushed against her skin as the dress slowly slid down her body. His hands found her waist and pulled her flush against him, his lips already trailing along the soft curve of her neck. No matter how many times he had done this before, her reaction was always the same—her pulse thundered beneath her skin, she felt dizzy, intoxicated by him.
He loosened her corset completely with skilled fingers, pulling at each cord that held her chest and waist in place. Her breathing eased as it fell to her feet. It felt good to be like this, free and unrestrained before him.
He continued kissing her neck with ardor, his lips finding the rapid pulse there and lingering.
“I missed you, my beautiful wife.”
Penelope let out a soft moan at his hoarse words against her ear. She lifted her arm toward him, her fingers gripping the back of his neck as she leaned into him, her legs feeling weak beneath her.
His hand drifted lower, toward the soft fullness of her stomach, and she trembled in his arms. His hand gently caressed the satin skin of her abdomen, sliding further down toward her mound. He leaned down slightly as she turned her head to the side, seeking his kiss. He kissed her, and his long fingers slipped through her wet folds, making her hiss at his teasing, arousing touch.
“I missed this. I missed the wetness and warmth of this little, beautiful pussy.”
She gasped at his words, feeling another wave of wetness spread between her thighs.
“Colin, please,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as she felt herself coming undone beneath his touch in the most exquisite way. She felt shaped by him, as though he were remaking her from the very beginning. It was strange and intoxicating at once to be so completely possessed by him. Weeks had passed since their marriage, and he still left her astonished, flustered, and burning for him.
He circled her clit a few times, making her tip her head back. Her hand, which had clung to his neck, tightened its grip, anchoring herself to him. She moaned as his movements intensified. She felt his hardness pressed against her back, and she knew she would come undone from that alone.
“I like making you come,” he said, his lips pressed against her neck. “And I’ve missed this.”
His other hand, which had until then rested only at her waist, gently cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger catching her nipple, teasing it just enough to make her moans grow even more unsteady.
“You’re so soft… so warm… and damn perfect,” he murmured again, this time into her ear, sending a shiver through her and lifting the fine hairs along her arms.
Release washed over her gently, like the soft rays of the sun pouring morning light across the earth. Only then did she realize how much she had missed this—this overwhelming feeling of pleasure that could be compared to absolutely nothing else. Then, the release simply intensified, taking over every single part of her body. She melted into his arms, the hand that had been resting against his neck sliding powerlessly down her side. She felt soft, spent, as if she had run for miles and every muscle had contracted from the effort.
Colin held her against his chest for minutes on end, stroking her hair and kissing her shoulder sweetly. Then, he let her go only for a brief moment as he turned toward the small sofa in the salon. The cushions adorning the sofa and the armchair filled her husband's arms; he finally placed them on the plush rug of the room where they usually took their tea.
“What are you doing?” she asked him in a soft voice, seeing the way he was arranging the cushions like a bed.
“Come here!” he told her, his voice low, reaching out his hand. Penelope took a step toward him, taking his hand and looking into his eyes with love.
She was completely naked, and her instinct was to bring her palms to her breasts, covering them. 'Don't cover yourself!' he said immediately, as if he had read her mind.
“I want to see you,” he said softly, his gaze full of admiration.
Her porcelain-white skin flushed across her entire body, but not from the cold. It was the particular way he often turned her into someone needy and longing. Or, better yet, he made a total mess of her. He carefully laid her down on the plush rug, among the soft pillows. He took such care of her every single time, as if she were something sacred, something precious.
Penelope watched, mesmerized, as he removed his waistcoat and then his shirt. She gasped when she saw his bare chest, so perfectly sculpted, standing before her. Her eyes dropped lower to his fingers, which were now undoing the buttons of his trousers, and she swallowed hard when she saw his hardened member ready for her.
He leaned over her, delicately tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear and caressing her cheek.
“You are so beautiful!” he said, looking her straight in the eye, and then he pressed his lips to hers with hunger. His large palms wandered along her body, mapping every curve and every hollow. He then kissed her neck and each breast in turn. He kissed every inch of her skin, as if he were worshiping her. He kissed her until she began to writhe with desire, seeking the slightest friction against his hips.
"Please, Colin!” she begged when he wouldn't give her the contact she needed, leaving her to plead for it.
“I love it when you beg me for it,” he told her, his voice hoarse, leaning in once more to catch her lips in a messy kiss.
“Do it again!” he commanded with a growl against her lips. “Beg me, you naughty wife, so I can give you what you want.”
Penelope groaned loudly, begging again with a broken voice. “I beg you.”
He gave her one last kiss, lingering and heavy, right over her heart that was galloping wildly. “My good girl,” he murmured, and his voice was a mixture of possession and gratitude.
He positioned himself between her thighs, and Penelope felt his welcome weight. She surprised herself for the second time that day, because she hadn’t realized how deep her longing for him truly was. It wasn't just a simple longing; it wasn't the feeling she had carried before, when he was far away from home. What she felt now was like a total surrender, as if a piece of her body had been missing and he were putting it back in place.
As he pushed into her, slowly, letting her get used to his size, Penelope tightened her fingers around his shoulders, her nails leaving fine marks on his heated skin. It wasn't just pleasure; it was the joy of being with him, of feeling his own heartbeat thrumming against her skin. It was release and reunion, as if every tiny part of her knew she belonged to him. Every move of his seemed to tell her that he had finally come home.
His eyes never left her face for a single moment, searching her gaze for confirmation that they were one and the same being. "Look at me," he pleaded when her eyes closed for a second, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving her. -"I want to see you lose yourself in me". His voice trembled with the effort of not finishing too soon; she knew how much he wanted to make her feel good, to always put her first. Always her and never him, as if she were all that mattered to him in this world—and perhaps she was.
She listened to him immediately and opened her eyes, and that was when she lost herself. Penelope lost herself completely in him, in the rough sensation of his chest pressed against her soft breasts and in the way he filled her so completely. She lost herself in his eyes, dark as a stormy ocean, and surrendered to him entirely. She was no longer Penelope, no longer the writer who had stirred intrigue among the nobility. She was only her body, merged with his, bonded to him forever, just as the sky and the sea merge at the horizon line, where no one can tell where one ends and the other begins.
His thrusts were steady, as if he were savoring every movement inside her, as if he never wanted it to end. Then he paused for a moment and rose on his arms above her, pulling away from her skin, and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth. He rose slightly on his knees, one of his hands sliding under her thigh, lifting her higher toward him and settling her around his waist.
Then everything became fast and frantic. His movements grew wild, turning her into a pool of pleasure beneath him. Release seized her once more, making her close her eyes involuntarily as she saw colors and bright fireworks like stars behind her eyelids. This time, Colin joined her with a guttural sound, burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder. They merged in an explosion of sensations that left them both trembling, collapsed on the pile of cushions on the rug, while the dim light of the drawing room bathed them in shades of amber.
Penelope smiled happily, enveloped in his large arms that held her from all sides, pressing her tight to his chest. She was dizzy from his scent—a hint of sweat mixed with the fragrance of roses from her own skin. She had let him love her, and indeed, she had been happy to do so. Because on that sweet afternoon, in their perfect home in Bloomsbury, among the cushions on the floor, Penelope Bridgerton had felt, indeed, very loved.