Chapter Text
Even the highest quality whisky here is shit, but Colin knows he’s a bit of a snob about that anyway given his brother’s expensive (cough, pretentious) scotch collection.
He sips it anyway, his date for the evening long gone.
He notices the turnover, the six and six thirty dinner reservations giving way to the eight, eight thirty, nine o’clock crowd. The clientele are young and beautiful, and just as suddenly, he feels out of place. Colin’s never been very insecure about his looks or his standing in the world, but as soon as he turned the corner of his recent fortieth birthday, he knows there are some places he just doesn’t belong anymore. Late night, youthful, posh dining crowds being one of them.
This restaurant is too trendy for him. Funky, yet slightly too dim lighting fixtures, loud music, abstract floral arrangements and art lining the walls. It’s time to call it in. He flags down the bartender to try to close out his tab. After his meal, he’d migrated over to the bar area to drown his sorrows in a glass of terrible new age whisky, unsure if he’s relieved or disappointed to be ending the night alone yet again.
While he’s turned away, the stool on his right is taken by a young woman who slumps over and puts her face in her hands. The bartender goes to her first and Colin scoffs at being overlooked. At least at first. She is rather beautiful, after all, and looks like she could use a drink.
“Sorry,” she mumbles regretfully to the bartender. “I need a moment.”
“Take your time, darling.” He disappears to the other side of the bar, ignoring Colin’s raised hand.
“Sorry,” she says in Colin’s direction. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.” He waves her off.
She sighs and stares down at the empty place setting in front of her.
“I promise, the food here’s not that terrible,” Colin jokes, trying to cheer her up.
She tuts. “I didn’t even make it to the food, actually.”
He furrows his brow at her. “Do you have a reservation?” The restaurant is new and popular, there’s no way you could get in without one.
She rests her chin on her hand and rolls her eyes. “My genius date who brought me here tonight didn’t make one. The idiot thought he could just stroll on up and ask for a table.”
“A walk-in? In this economy?”
A musical laugh escapes her lips and Colin pivots to get a good look at her finally. The first thing he notices is her striking light blue eyes, juxtaposed against a mane of silky, curly red hair, and a low cut black dress, though he tries not to let his eyes linger there for too long. She can’t be older than twenty five.
“It was supposed to be a first date. I shouldn’t have even accepted it.” She shifts uncomfortably, crossing her legs. “I just felt like I should try something different, I guess.”
Against his will, his gaze rakes down to her chest again and he has to shift to quell the stirring in his trousers. It’s been such a long time since he’s experienced a reaction like this, but he’s not a green lad anymore. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the soothing sound of her voice that tickles his brain.
Colin clears his throat and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You and me both.” He sips the last of his whisky, setting down the empty tumbler.
Eyeing him carefully, she asks, “first date?”
He nods. “A set up,” he says through grit teeth.
The woman smirks at him, but not mockingly. “Oh no. Not exactly a love match?”
He returns her smile. Why does this young twenty-something speak like she’s from another time entirely?
“Hardly. She was nice enough, but the date was…”
She raises her eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue.
“Brief.”
Her cheeks are smooth and plump, tinged peachy pink just at the apples, more prominently so when she smiles at him, making her look even younger. Cherubic. Angelic.
“How devastating. At least you got to eat.”
When the bartender passes this time, Colin grabs his attention loudly.
“The lady would like to order,” he says, gesturing his head towards her. “Bring her the whipped ricotta and the lamb meatballs. Oh,” he says, turning back towards her stunned expression, enjoying his theatrics. “And what would you like to drink?”
“Dirty martini,” she says, her brows furrowed. “But—”
“You heard her. Dirty martini. Olives?” He looks back at her and she nods. “And I’ll take another,” he finishes, gesturing at his empty whisky glass. Maybe it’ll taste less terrible this time around with better company.
The bartender retreats.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, but her eyes convey something different. Something more… interested.
He shrugs. “I’m not ready to go home just yet anyway.”
With a small flip of her curls over her shoulder, she leans her elbow on the bartop in front of them, angling towards him a bit. “And you’d like to stay and keep me company?” Her eyes sharpen as she speaks and he twitches in his trousers.
It’s not easy, but he keeps a straight face. He’s practiced at this now. “No, no. Merely trying to decide if the couple sitting at the table over there,” he says, gesturing his hand over her shoulder to a table where a heated conversation is taking place, “is about to break up or drag each other to shag in the loo.”
The corners of her lips curve up in amusement as she subtly spins her head to eye them behind her, chuckling as she faces him again. “Shag. Definitely.”
“Only one way to find out. Guess I’ll have to stick around,” Colin jokes, just as the bartender appears with their drinks. “Cheers,” he says, placing the martini in her hand and holding his tumbler to tap the rim of her glass.
“Cheers,” she replies, almost in a whisper, before sipping her martini. He watches her lips, plush and soft-looking as they latch to the thin rim of the glass. She hums as the liquid touches her tongue. Colin holds his breath to maintain his decency.
The redhead is sharp, that much is for certain. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she scans around the room. Her observations and quips regarding the rest of the patrons in the restaurant leave him either scandalized or clutching at a stitch in his side as he lets out a bark of laughter.
When the appetizer arrives, she’s relaxed into their rhythm a bit and digs in gracefully.
“That’s his mother,” Colin insists as she scoops up some of the ricotta on a crusty piece of bread and pops it into her mouth.
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“It’s gotta be! He looks barely sixteen.”
“Twenty at least. Cougars are still a thing, lest you forget.”
He scoffs. “Don’t remind me.”
She flashes her eyes at him in mischief. “Thinking back to your date? How old was she anyway, like fifty?”
Colin rolls his eyes. “Forty five. My brother thought it would be a good fit.”
“Do you typically date much older?”
He shrugs. “Not really.”
She pauses, a light pink polished fingernail trailing the rim of her martini glass. “Do you date younger?”
Shifting in his chair, his eyes flit to her face, but she’s looking down at her drink, avoiding his gaze. “I haven’t dated that much at all, to be honest. Not in a while.”
“I see. So you prefer to be alone?”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
She sips her martini and waits.
“Bad breakup. Years ago at this point. But I guess you could say I’ve been a bit stuck since then.”
Sighing lightly, she drums her nails on the edge of her glass, sending a tingle down his spine. “I can relate. The being stuck bit, not really the breakup part. You’d have to have an actual relationship for that.” She laughs humorlessly. “Fraid I’ve not had much traction there.”
A million questions rattle through Colin’s brain. “Is that what tonight was supposed to be?” He attributes his frankness to the whisky and the fact that she’s not shied away from prying into his business either.
Another scoff. “God. I tried to put myself out there, be a normal twenty three year old, as my mother likes to say, go on a date with a guy who’s fit and sweet enough. Turns out he can barely wipe his own arse, let alone pick me up on time or make a sodding dinner reservation. Not sure I’ll have much luck there anytime soon if this is what I’ve got to choose from.”
“Pity,” Colin says, fighting the smile trying to break across his face. “Can’t say I was much better at that age, though.”
She bites her lip and shrugs, downing the remainder of her martini, gesturing to the bartender for another. Colin holds up his glass as well and nods. “Things can change, though. Can’t they?”
“Certainly. For instance…” he drops his voice and picks up his refilled drink. “I always make a reservation. And I’d never let a lady go hungry.”
As though the gods are on his side, the server appears at that moment with her meatballs, placing the mouthwatering plate in front of her, just as the bartender replenishes her martini.
Colin grins smugly. “Enjoy.”
Watching her eat is tantamount to torture, and he has to bite his tongue to subdue the sounds threatening to break free and embarrass him. Surely, this twenty three year old woman who could have any man in the world has much better things to do than let him watch her eat like a creep. He tells himself she’s flirting for the free drinks and food, her kindness coming from a place of naivete as opposed to actual interest. He reminds himself of who he is, how old he is, how ridiculous it is for him to even be there with her, a woman seventeen years his junior.
And yet, the way her eyes flash towards him render him speechless, wiping clean the responsible thoughts from his brain each time. A bit of sauce gets on her thumb and she licks it off slowly. His face goes numb.
He clears his throat as she finishes, ready to close out his tab and wish her a pleasant rest of the evening, and then, for whatever reason… she asks about his family.
“Seven siblings. Dad died when I was twelve.”
“Mine when I was fifteen. Two older sisters. Can’t stand em.”
He laughs. “I quite like mine, I’m afraid.”
“Even the one who set you up with the older woman?”
Another laugh, this one heartier. “Sometimes.”
When she crosses her legs towards him, he can’t help himself but let his eyes roam. She clocks it and smiles, leaning in towards him.
“You do that a lot, you know.”
Colin clears his throat. “Pardon?”
“Watch me, that is.” The breathy sound of her voice strikes him between his ribs. “You keep watching.”
He swallows uncomfortably, wondering briefly if the restaurant has gotten hotter or if it’s just him. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her electric blue eyes remain fixed on his. “I like it.”
The restaurant continues buzzing loudly around them, but Colin faces forward, sipping from his glass, his jaw tense. “You’re too young for me.”
“Am I?”
“Twenty three, right?”
She shrugs. “I’ve heard of crazier things.”
“I could be your father.”
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
Colin scoffs at that, taking another swig of whisky, letting it burn his throat. “You don’t want this. Trust me.”
For a moment, he can see the pink of her tongue, before her mouth curves into a cat’s smile. “You don’t know what I want.”
Before he can open his mouth to offer a retort, the bartender appears, asking if they want anything for dessert.
“Yes,” the woman says, cutting in. “But he’s done such a good job ordering for me, I’ll have to let him decide.”
Colin knows he should close out his tab and leave. He knows he should extract himself from this situation, from continuing to spend time with a woman who is just a few years older than his oldest nephew. Christ, just the thought that she could be dating Edmund makes his stomach churn. Instead of doing any of those things, he says, “tiramisu,” to which the woman adds “two spoons, please,” and he knows he’s fucked.
When his phone buzzes with a message from Anthony, inquiring about his date, he rolls his eyes and tucks his phone back into his pocket, message ignored.
“Do you have to go?” Her facade falters, glimpses of uncertainty poking through.
It occurs to him, he has an out. He could say yes and remove himself from this sticky situation. But the earnestness of her eyes, slope of her nose, pout of her lips, and curve of her breasts keep him right where he is. It’s been such a long time, anyway.
“Nowhere else to be.”
When the dessert arrives, she hands him a spoon, eyebrows raised in challenge. He smiles and takes a spoonful, exhaling slowly as it melts on his tongue. “That’s good.”
The way she takes a bite should be criminalized. Every movement is slow, deliberate, painstaking. The way she presses up onto her elbows to reach the plate between them, emphasizing the soft lines of her cleavage, the way her wrist dangles as she conducts the spoon, the way the tip of her tongue darts out to lick the cocoa powder first, before slowly inserting the spoon into her mouth, closing her lips around the metal, eyes fluttering shut, and moaning.
Colin’s half-erection becomes more and more difficult to subdue, twitching in discomfort.
When she opens her eyes, she smirks at him, wiping the side of her mouth as she swallows. “Delicious.”
It feels as though the walls are closing in, the din of the restaurant growing more and more distant. They’re the only two people in the room, in the world. His clothes feel too tight.
“You’re playing with fire.” He tries to narrow his eyes in warning, but it only seems to egg her on.
“I’m eating dessert.”
Colin shakes his head and downs the remainder of his whisky. When the bartender reappears, Colin whips out his credit card, not giving the poor man a chance to even ask the question. He needs to pay the bill and exit the restaurant soon, one way or another.
“I like Soho, I guess,” she muses as they finish dessert. “Don’t come here too often, but I can see the appeal.”
“My brother’s art gallery is right up the road, so I’m afraid I’m here all too often.”
“Not a huge art fan, I take it?”
He shrugs. “Art’s fine.”
“Well, what is it that you do for a living?”
“Do you really want to know?”
She sets down her spoon. “Maybe.”
Suddenly, he realizes he can read her. The question is cloaked. “Why don’t you just go ahead and ask me what you really want.”
At his urging, she pivots to face him full on. He’s shameless this time as he looks her over. Her shapely thighs, pushed together under her short dress where her legs are crossed. The skin there is smooth and unblemished, pale and soft looking. She sucks her bottom lip in, tucking it under her teeth, as his gaze returns to her face, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink.
“Do you live nearby?”
Fuck.
“Bloomsbury.”
She raises her eyebrows, suppressing her glee. “That’s nearby.”
“How about you?” He signs for the bill, looking away as though they’d only been making casual conversation. When he closes the bill cover, he tries to be subtle about wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.
“Across the river. Nowhere near here.”
“Sounds like a pain.”
“Mhmmm.”
And then he feels it. Her hand on his thigh, her tiny fingers digging into his muscle. It sends a spark through each of his limbs. She leans closer and speaks in a near whisper. “I’m not too young for you.”
“I’m forty.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Is that supposed to scare me off?”
“You’re—”
“I’ve never truly felt my age.” She exhales slowly. “I don’t relate to other people in their twenties.”
He rolls his eyes. “Loads of people in their twenties think that.”
Her hand is still on his thigh. She slides it inwards. His posture stiffens.
“Do you feel your age?”
Perhaps, he should lie. He should say yes I feel forty because I am fucking forty and sometimes my back hurts and I can’t eat as much dairy as I used to without getting heartburn. But she doesn’t want to know that.
“No. I guess not.”
It’s the truth. He’s always been a bit behind in some ways. Immature, Anthony used to nag. Time to act your age, he’d say. Even his younger sister has been married for almost two decades. Colin never felt quite ready for the plunge.
When she removes her hand from him and hops down from her stool, he groans audibly. She’s barely over five feet tall, even in high heels. For some reason, her tiny stature excites him even further.
“You wanna show me what a real grown up’s flat looks like?” she asks cheekily, a glimmer in her eye.
Colin stands, towering over her. Her breath catches in her throat, her smile giving way to something darker, hungrier. He watches the way her lips part slightly, her chest rising and falling with her breathing.
“I didn’t buy you dinner so you would—”
“I know.”
He hadn’t felt so much as a flutter of arousal with his date earlier this evening. She was objectively attractive. Nice enough, intelligent, mildly funny, accomplished. And yet, it felt like chatting to one of his siblings’ friends. Pleasant. Cordial. Boring.
This woman, all five feet of her, brash, fiery, surprising, she’s had him on the hook from the moment she sat down next to him. And she seems to know it.
“Shall we?” Colin asks, his arm gesturing towards the door. She smiles triumphantly, her small purse dangling on the crook of her elbow, as she slides her hand into his. His skin sizzles from where they make contact.
“Lead the way.”
There’s a chill in the air and she doesn’t have a coat, but Colin thought ahead to call for an Uber. He might have walked home if he were on his own, but figured it would be better this way. He opens the door for her, and before crouching inside, she pauses, and glances up at him, a sultry expression on her face.
“Can I at least know the name of the man taking me home tonight?”
A laugh rumbles from his chest. How they’d spent the whole evening talking and flirting, but still had yet to exchange names boggles his mind.
“Colin,” he says.
“Colin,” she repeats. He likes the sweet sound of his name rolling off of her lips.
Leaning closer, he lowers his voice, his eyes locked on hers. “And the name of the beautiful woman who I’m taking home tonight?”
She bites her lip. “Penelope.”
He leans in further, his lips just a breath away from hers. She swallows slowly. “Get in the car, Penelope,” he whispers. The shift occurs in real time, her playfulness replaced by heat, desperation, desire. He can practically smell it.
She slides in and he follows, slamming the door behind them.
The drive is mostly silent. When Penelope shifts in her seat, uncrossing her legs, Colin holds his breath. She’s testing him and he’s failing.
It’s not just that he hasn’t been with anyone in a while, (which he hasn’t) but he also used to date in a world in which he was the guy and every woman wanted him. Things have changed with time and age and now, it’s not quite as easy. Earning his attraction, true attraction, doesn’t come easily. Connection. Chemistry. Rare birds, in his opinion.
Then again, he’s not sure this technically qualifies as a date.
It’s a… whatever the kids call it these days. Does hookup still work?
The car rolls to a stop outside of his townhouse. Penelope chuckles breathlessly. “Of course. You would live in a place like this.”
Colin presses a gentle palm to the small of her back and guides her inside. He flicks on the light in the foyer as the ornate wood door closes with a pronounced thud behind them.
“Feel free to have a look around,” he says as he crouches to start the fireplace. There’s a fresh log ready to go and some kindling, so he strikes a match, and with a quick prod, flames take hold and the room fills with warmth.
She lingers, watching him start the fire, until he stands and moves towards her.
“You’re quite short,” he says. “And you’ve got heels on.”
“Well, you’re a giant.” The blue of her eyes shines brighter in the firelight, appearing almost turquoise now. She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair, and Colin can’t help it, he goes numb, his face melting like candlewax, lips falling open at her touch. “It’s sexy, though.”
“It’s sexy that I’m tall?” He can’t feel his tongue.
“Mhmm.”
He slips a hand around her waist and pulls her closer. The scent of vanilla and Grey Goose fills his nostrils. “Did you want some tea?”
She shakes her head.
“Water?” he croaks.
Again.
She lifts her face. He can feel the tip of her nose trail across his jaw, and then she replaces it with her lips. His breath hitches at the feel of her, soft and wet, warm and welcoming. He’s forgotten what it feels like.
When she pulls back, he mourns the loss, but then she asks, “do you want to kiss me?”
And in that moment, he remembers how young she is. He looks down into her eyes, and sees the uncertainty. The bravado, confidence, it teeters on a knife's edge, a balancing act of substantial proportions. She needs him to take over.
The first brush of their lips together sends a shiver down his spine. It’s soft, sweet, tentative, and when she moans against his mouth, something inside of him snaps. He grabs her face between his hands, holding it steady while he devours her. Their tongues become embroiled with one another, and the sounds she’s making—god—he wants to eat her alive, all of a sudden. When he feels her body pressed into his, her soft breasts rubbing against his torso, his arousal spikes. But this isn’t his first rodeo. He’s not twenty three.
They come up for air, panting, chests heaving. Colin takes a step back. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?” he asks.
She seems intrigued. There’s still fire in her eyes. “Some of it.”
He runs his thumb along his bottom lip. Lips swollen from her kisses. Her mouth looks the same. He wants to take her upstairs, wants to undress her, make her chant his name, come apart on his tongue, his hands, his cock. He wants to watch her crazed and out of control, wants to see the curated exterior drop while it dawns on her that no one else could bring her pleasure like this.
Instead, he smiles slowly and outstretches a hand for her. He knows what she needs. He knows how to do this. He knows how to make it worth the wait.
“Why don’t we start in the library?”
It turns out, Penelope does in fact love books. There’s more there, beneath the surface, and he endeavors to find out while she peruses his shelves, fingers grazing the spines the way he hopes she’ll soon graze his, and the thoughts are ripped clean from his mind when she squeals at a first edition Jane Austen novel.
“Are you bloody joking? How do you have this?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “I work in publishing.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not why he has it. She can figure out from his townhome alone that he’s wealthy, but she doesn’t know how wealthy and how long the Bridgerton fortune goes back just yet. “To be honest, I always preferred Sense and Sensibility, but I haven’t found that one just yet.”
Something flashes in her eyes. “Me too. But Pride and Prejudice does have its merits as well.”
“So you’re a reader?” He asks, crossing his arms, watching her scan the remainder of his shelves, likely looking for other jewels. “Do you… write?”
It’s a loaded question. He knew the answer immediately upon their entry into the library.
“Something like that,” she says, keeping her back to him, her hair swaying like fiery curtains down the length of her back. Colin swallows as a vision of gathering it into a ponytail as he presses up against her from behind projects across his brain. He shakes it off.
The next room is the kitchen. Fully redone, double gas range, American sized refrigerator with French doors. Appliances for everything under the sun.
“So you cook?” she asks, drawing a perfect finger across the smooth veined marble island.
“Something like that.” His eyes crinkle at the edges as he repeats her words back to her. She picks up on it and her shoulders rise and fall with a stifled laugh.
“I cook as a means to an end, but I’m not as shit as I could be, thank you very much,” she says, pausing in front of the brick archway framing the range. She looks like a painting, golden and backlit from the dim kitchen lighting. “But I can do a pretty banging cheese toastie.”
Colin chuckles at that. “Kind of all you need in your arsenal, I’d say.” He can make a few more things, but decides to not add further context.
Next, he gestures towards the stairs. She follows him up.
He shows her his study. She bites her lip as she looks around, but doesn’t ask many questions. She must want to keep this moving.
And the guest rooms, of which there are several. Colin lives alone and can only find so many uses for a five bedroom townhouse. He’s turned one into a gym, and tries not to blush when she comments that she can tell he gets a lot of use out of it. (He does.)
When they reach his bedroom, he flicks on the light switch all the way on the left, which illuminates the chandelier hanging above the large king bed. The tiered crystals cast sparkles of light scattering across the walls, dancing between the shadows.
“Beautiful,” she whispers, looking up.
Colin reaches out to cup her face and her gaze lowers, landing on him instead.
“This is my room,” he says, his voice quiet. “In case you couldn’t tell.”
“I’m simply shocked,” she deadpans. “You could have been sleeping in the room with the twin beds, for all I know.”
When he laughs, his breath skitters across her lips. “We could keep going with the tour, if you’d like. I’ve got a wine cellar downstairs and the garden is quite—”
Her lips crash into his and his sentence remains all but forgotten as Penelope pushes onto her toes and weaves her fingers into his hair. “I actually do want to see the garden at some point,” she muses as he drags his lips down her neck. “Later, though.”
“Later’s good,” he mumbles into her skin. He sucks on her pulse point, watching it bloom under his touch. She whines as he pulls away, but not for long, as his lips find hers again. His hands skim her curves, winding their way down to her bottom, pulling her into him, gripping the flesh as it spills out over his fingers. God, he wants to hold her here while she rides him.
The room begins to close in on him as she reaches for the buckle of his belt.
“Wait.” He stills her hands. “Not yet.”
She pouts at him. “I’ve been waiting patiently.”
“You don’t know a thing about patience.” His voice comes out commanding, and he sees what it does to her as her eyes darken. “We’re doing this my way.”
Penelope grabs his neck and pulls him in for another bruising kiss. Her tongue is soft and warm in his mouth. He loves her taste, her touch, the sound of her desire spilling forth from the back of her throat. It’s everything he’s been missing.
“Tell me what you want,” she croons. “Do you want me to suck you off?” Each word is punctuated by a soft hand dragging up and down the bulge in his trousers, and suddenly he’s sixteen again, getting his first hand job, ready to come before it’s time.
Except he’s not sixteen. The hard won control he’d learned over the decades only proved to serve him well as he got older. He briefly wondered what kind of men Penelope was used to. Did they rush her? Did they come in her hand before she’d even fully undressed? Were they able to make her come? Did she have to do it herself? Did they show her the true depths of pleasure she would be capable of in the right hands?
His hands.
He wanted to show her.
“Get on the bed.” He steps back, just out of reach, to watch her, peeling off his jacket as she moves over.
“Yes?” she asks, sitting at the edge, crossing her legs. Her dress rides up and Colin gets another glorious glimpse of her upper thighs. For a moment, he forgets himself, fantasizing about having them wrapped around his head. She’s still wearing those black pumps with dainty straps at the ankles.
“Touch yourself for me.”
Penelope’s eyes go wide. The air between them crackles with heat and intensity, so thick he can almost taste it.
“You’re not gonna come, though. Not until I say so.”
Her lips part slightly and she swallows. “You want to watch?”
Colin nods, remaining rooted to the spot.
She uncrosses her legs, but keeps her thighs together. As her eyes remain locked on his, she trails her fingertips to the hem of her dress and begins to slowly, painstakingly drag it up her body. The reveal of a small triangle of black lace covering her pussy causes Colin’s heart to slam repeatedly against his ribcage.
“I wore these for someone else, you know,” she rasps out. The date that never was. “Do you wanna take them off of me?”
Stepping closer, he reaches out to let his finger skim the lace at the edge. He breathes her in, his face hovering just above hers as he digs in and tugs, the material giving way, as he slides it down her legs. He’s greeted with a patch of fiery red hair at the top of her cunt, perfectly manicured, and a drenched black thong dangling from the crook of his fingers. He tosses it aside, stepping back, preparing to watch.
Penelope smirks at him, her cheeks flushed, as she leans back on her elbows.
“Ready when you are.”