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The thing is, Penelope isn’t like this with anybody else. That’s how she knows it’s love, and why she believes Colin when he confesses himself right outside the restaurant where they’ve just concluded their last ever Totally Platonic Besties Dinner.
With Colin, she’s daring, and acerbic, and a little bit mad, and he eggs her on every step of the way, eyes full of mischief and smile so painfully contagious she had worried the maître d’ at the very fancy restaurant was going to kick them out before their entrees came. But they’d corralled their giggles and managed to look like halfway respectable adults until dessert, when he flicked a raspberry at her and her look of outrage had been, apparently, so adorable all Colin could do was throw his head back and bark laughter like a bloody seal.
Outside, they tried to say goodnight to each other about a thousand times, but they kept walking back and forth by the bus stop instead of actually parting or ordering Ubers. Penelope has always adored how Colin makes it easy to lose hours and days laughing and feeling bubbly. It’s the hangover the next day that usually takes her out at the knees.
Tonight, as they finally stopped gripping their stomachs and shooting each other goading looks to keep the chuckles rolling, Colin’s face got curiously…pinched. Like something hot and sharp had just poked into his belly and he hadn’t figured out yet if he needed to scream or pretend everything was all right.
“I don’t want to say goodnight,” he’d said, sounding ten years younger and a little bashful.
Penelope is convinced there is no better feeling, for her, than being the center of Colin Bridgerton’s attention. Whether it’s tucked away in the corner of an otherwise overwhelming party, or alone at a dinner at some restaurant, or sitting poolside at Aubrey Hall—when he stoops so he can flick his denim blue eyes back and forth between hers, she feels invincible.
Which is why she’d felt bold enough to reach out to fix his tie. To flirt a little.
“I don’t either,” she’d admitted.
The air between them had gotten rather charged. The same thing has happened before, but Penelope always felt she was alone in feeling the prickle of static and possibility in the air.
Tonight, Colin apparently felt it, too.
When he’d next spoke, he said her name softly. Affectionately. Full of history and knowing.
She’ll remember it until the day she dies, probably. Probably beyond. Because the next thing he’d said after her name was, “Somewhere over the Atlantic, on my way home, I realized I’m in love with you. That I’ve been in love with you for a while.”
He had looked ready to snatch the words back at the slightest hint of her alarm or rejection, mouth hanging slightly open and eyes literally shining with hope.
“How long is a while, you think?” she had asked dreamily. “Because I’ve been in love with you since, oh, the moment we met?”
She has seen Colin all mannered of flustered, embarrassed, cocky, and chuffed over the years. His response to her half-teasing confession had stunned her, though. Because for a beat his chest heaved like he didn’t quite believe her, then his eyes had gotten all huge and dark, his back straightening with a small shiver.
And then he’d kissed her.
One of them had ordered an Uber, and they’d snogged up against the side of the restaurant like a pair of horny teenagers right up until the driver beeped his horn. Then they’d snogged like horny teenagers in the backseat all the way to Colin’s hotel. Their ridiculous show had continued through the lobby, in the lift, and all the way up the hallway to his room.
Penelope cannot recall a time in her life she has ever gone back to a man’s hotel room with him. She’s strictly a three date minimum for intimacy, sometimes longer. But Colin has always been someone who exists outside of rules and sense.
And besides, she reasons when he kicks the door shut behind himself and reaches immediately to cup her face and resume sweeping his tongue into her mouth, they’ve had loads of dinner dates. Sure, as friends, but still. It’s not as if they’re rushing anything.
“I’m so fucking glad I booked this hotel,” he mumbles against her neck and pulls the sleeve of her cute little scoop-neck dress off her shoulder along with her bra strap.
She had given him shit, when he’d first told her about the booking. He had only just left London last week—it seemed ridiculous he would need a hotel.
He’d claimed something about needing at least half a day to survive jet lag and mentally prepare before dropping back into the usual family chaos.
“Am I not part of the chaos?” she’d teased.
The sound crackling through a shoddy phone connection, Colin had scoffed. “Please, Pen. You know you don’t count—I always have the energy to see you.”
So here they are, seeing each other. Penelope returns to the present with a sharp suck of air and knocks his hands from her shoulders so she can get his suede jacket off and start yanking at the buttons on his shirt. Because if she’s going to see him, she wants to see him.
The look Colin gives her is pure heat. He’s delighted by her hunger as much as he’s relieved by it, but as soon as his relief melts over him, it begins to sizzle at the edges like butter in a hot pan. He lets her get three of his shirt buttons open, then wrenches himself away to tug it off over his head and fling it aside, swooping down to wrap both arms around her and hoist her right out of her strappy red heels. One arm loops beneath her bum, and they both groan at the contact, which causes them to dissolve into giggles.
She’s never like this. Not with anyone else.
He puts her down next to his oversized hotel bed and spins her around to pull the zipper down, his breath hitching when it splits up the middle and she rounds her shoulders to pull it off. It bunches at her hips—it was a clingy, fitted dress she thought looked a little friendly and a little flirtatious when she’d tried it on earlier—before she reaches down to pull it to her thighs, where she lets it go so it drops into a heap on the floor.
Breath shaking, she turns around to blink up at him, sure there will be a crack at the edge of reality and she’ll come to her senses soon. But there’s no crack—there’s just Colin’s sparkling eyes as they flit back and forth between her own before taking a lazy tour over her whole body, lighting little fires all along the way.
She’s more flames than person by the time he guides her to the bed and has her sit at the edge, dropping to his knees between her spread legs and reaching around to clumsily unhook the clasps on her bra. As he struggles, he devours her neck, whimpering when she hiccups and puts her fingers in his hair.
He gives up before he gets the last hook released, yanking at the cup of her bra so he can slide his palm inside. She feels the first brush of his thumb on her nipple and they both gasp.
It’s torture to let go of him, but she does, reaching back to handle the stubborn last hook herself, flinging the bra aside just as Colin lets out a long groan of thanks and lowers his lips to the tops of her breasts. When he reaches her nipple and laps his tongue around it, Penelope tips her head back and yelps his name like it’s the only one she’s ever been able to say.
He pushes against her so hard, hands so tight on her hips, that she topples right back onto the bed, wrapping her legs around his hips so his belt buckle pinches into the soft paunch of her belly. She’s elated to discover he’s got quite the bulge in his trousers, and the moment she coos and rolls her hips against it, he starts grinding it right against the gusset of the fancy navy blue knickers she’d gambled on wearing tonight.
She sweeps a hand around the coverlet on the bed, desperate for something to grab onto, knocking a pair of hangers onto the floor. Tilting her head, she sees an array of trousers and button-downs spread on the bed.
Like he’d picked through everything he’d packed to find the perfect outfit for their Totally Platonic Besties Dinner. Like he’d put in an effort to look good for her.
Penelope rolls over the top of Colin, who only complains for a beat before he realizes her tits are now dangling right in front of his face. His hands and lips are immediately preoccupied with the apparently irresistible temptation, which frees Penelope to scratch her nails down Colin’s chest.
She’s wanted to touch him like this for so long it embarrasses her. But she gets to now, and Colin’s groans against her tits and his breathless, crooked smiles tell her she doesn’t need to be embarrassed anymore.
He’s tan. He’s always tan when he comes home from his travels, even if his most recent stop was somewhere frigid and cold. He also toned, but that is because he never stops moving, and when he’s forced to keep still for a few days, he finds a gym to go sweat his restless energy away.
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Penelope grabs his shoulders and pulls him up so she can kiss him again, sighing when he wraps his arms around her and rocks his hips so this new angle rubs against the sodden crotch of her knickers perfectly. She’s starved for more, but she cannot bear the thought of stopping this delicious tease they have going on.
So, they snog and lazily roll their hips against one another. Colin pushes her over and spends some time caging her between his arms and running his lips over her ear until she feels delirious with anticipation.
Then, even though he’s ostensibly down there to help her tug her knickers off and get rid of his trousers, he settles in with his head between her thighs and shoots her another crooked, disbelieving smirk before he’s licking his own bloody initials onto her clit and she can’t help but scream and giggle.
It’s only a few minutes, but Penelope commits every second of it to memory. His tousled mop of hair between her legs, his hands petting over her hips and occasionally dimpling into her soft, pale skin when she cries out. His dark eyes flashing up to hers now and then, imploring her to be loud.
She wants to pay him in kind, but he kisses the idea out of her head, easing his hips between her legs and letting his cock tease along her seam. She can’t help but look, which makes Colin chuckle softly, but the chuckle turns into a ragged groan when she puts her hands on him.
He’s big. Not outlandishly so, but Penelope knows immediately there will be some stretching and sighing and getting used to him. Her pussy flutters in dark curiosity, which makes her bite her lip and guide Colin right up to her opening.
“We’re not drunk,” Colin says suddenly.
Penelope pauses, her eyebrows jumping up. “Erm, no?”
“We’re two sober, consenting adults, and this is not just us falling into bed.” Colin’s face gets adorably serious. “I love you, Pen. Promise me it won’t be all wonky in the morning.”
She scoffs outright. “Us, wonky? Never. I may walk funny, but—“
Colin laughs, but he also lets his hips sink forward, and it’s Penelope’s turn to let out a ragged moan. She grips onto him, halfway startled at how good it feels—how good he feels. Colin nods just once, kisses her, and looks down between them. He sinks down the rest of the way and that tight, stretching sensation pulls taut through her entire body.
Colin’s eyes flutter shut. “Fuck, you feel incredible, Pen.”
She hooks her hands around the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss that’s perhaps more sloppy than sexy, but Colin hums appreciatively into her lips and starts to move.
Penelope is lost. They’ve left all the lights on and she’s pretty sure the curtains are open, but nothing matters except the fact Colin loves her and they have finally made it here. Trading heated kisses, catching one another’s eye to smile in total astonishment. Colin stumbling across a tempo that she’s able to match with little arches of her back so their bodies start to slap together and her tits get to bouncing in perfect concert.
She cups his cheek so he looks into her eyes. She wants him to stay here, grinning and gasping just for her. But at once it’s too much, her muscles starting to clench and her breaths squeezing out tightly.
“Will you be mine, love?”
She laughs because it’s a ridiculous question. She has been his forever.
But when the giggle dies away, she chants I’m yours, I’m yours until she has to stick her nose in his neck and pinch her legs around his hips just to keep from flying apart at the seams. Colin gasps, releases a low, rumbly groan, and gives her one last, sharp thrust before she feels it.
He’s coming in her.
She kisses him frantically, thinking the more they are connected during this moment, the more it will carve itself in her brain. Colin sighs into the kiss, melting over her.
They still, sticky and breathing hard, tilting at the same time to look at the mess they’ve made of one another.
“Just to be absolutely crystal clear,” Colin pauses to catch his breath a bit, beaming at her through it, “I was asking if you’d like to be my girlfriend. The steady, exclusive kind. The kind who might help me find a flat and let me take her out to dinner regularly.”
Penelope plays with a curl that’s fallen over his forehead. “Doesn’t sound terribly different from before, if I’m being honest.”
Colin’s smile burns impossibly brighter. “Good. Because I liked it the way it was. Just,” he looks down briefly, “well, adding in shagging isn’t going to make things worse.”
“Oh, so you want to do that again, do you?” she further teases.
He nods with all the solemnity of a man under oath. “Again and again. All over the world. In every position.” His eyes go dreamy. “With you.”
Penelope laughs hard enough she snorts, her eyes stinging with emotion anyway. He’s ridiculous, and silly, and he doesn’t know how to do anything subtly, but he’s hers now. That’s her favorite part, at least for now.
Colin sits up, looking her over, still dreamy, still smiling. “I’ll go run us a bath.”
Her eyes pop open. “A bath? Like, a proper one?”
He starts across the room to the attached loo, wagging his eyebrows as he does. “It’s one of those giant jobs with jets and floaty pillows, all the fancy oils and bubbly stuff included. Ring down to the front desk for some wine or champagne—we’re celebrating.”
She calls down and orders something Spanish and red, which she recalls being one of Colin’s favorites. He would probably have ordered a rosé because those tend to be her favorites, but he had Penelope place the order so she takes the chance to dote on him.
The tub takes an absurd amount of time to fill. The arrives nearly fifteen minutes before it’s full enough Colin helps her into it, but once she’s submerged up to her chin with bubbles and the smell of jasmine surrounding her, she has no complaints at all.
Colin sinks in behind her to start, but they’re splashing and kissing and spilling drops of wine in the water, so he eventually slides to the small built-in seat across from her, looking flushed and altogether pleased with himself. He toasts their brand new relationship, the tips of his ears going pink when she calls loudly into the empty suite, Hey, hear that? Colin’s my BOYFRIEND!
She plays some music through her phone and chews her lip while Colin kneads at the arches of her feet under the water, explaining how he’d been minding his own bloody business flying to New York after his last trip home when it hit him.
He loves her.
Which explained why he was in London now. No one was expecting him for at least three more weeks—his travel plans extended at least that far, and he often tacked on side trips at the last minute.
But Penelope had seen him five days ago, at his mum’s house. He’d been himself in every way—charming, affable, quick to make a joke, and kind. Asking after Penelope’s sisters (both pregnant, both insufferable), her job (getting staler by the moment), and her orchid (only houseplant she hadn’t managed to kill, and it was because Colin had given it to her).
When he’d hugged her goodbye, she’d accidentally lingered a little longer than she normally did. Whispered that she’d miss him with just a bit more feeling than she usually let show. Smiled up at him, wishing him happiness and freedom and whatever it was he was looking for out there.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses in the tub, upending his wine glass for the last sip. “Then I realized I didn’t want to.”
Penelope raises one foot from the water as she scrolls her various playlists on Spotify and puts it delicately against his chest. “Lucky me.”
Colin flashes her a wolfish grin. “Taking my picture, are you?”
Snorting, she plays along, holding her phone up to him. “Just to brag to my whole dozen Insta followers that I’m not destined to be a crazy cat lady after all.”
He plucks up the wine bottle. “Take one,” he urges, surprising her. “Just for us—no Instagram. But I wouldn’t mind having a picture to commemorate the occasion.”
Penelope is buzzy. There’s wine and euphoria, plus the room smells floral and muggy, and Colin is naked in a bloody bathtub with her. He keeps touching her.
He’s hers.
She thumbs over to her camera app, holds it up so her leg is stretched in the foreground, tiny foot resting between his pecs. He grins at her, then reaches across to put the wine bottle down, and just as his arm covers his face, she snaps the picture.
She snaps a few more afterward, but then Colin takes her phone and the pictures he takes of her are decidedly not coy or teasing. Some love song from the ‘70s starts to play and he puts the phone down on the edge of the tub, pulling her onto his lap and moving the claw clip she’s using to keep her curls dry so he can sigh in her ear and put his hands everywhere.
Penelope’s pretty sure she’s about to combust when her phone suddenly chirps, and loudly. It’s an alert she only has set for one person.
“Eloise,” she mutters and Colin reaches out of the water to clamp his hand over her mouth.
“The absolute last thing I want to think about right now is anyone from my bloody family.” Colin chews on her neck a moment before adding, “Anthony and Ben have teased me mercilessly for years about you. They’re going to be bloody horrendous when they find out they were right all along.”
Penelope wants to know more about that, actually. Because she’s heard them ribbing him here and there, but after he once famously bellowed I AM NOT GOING TO FUCKING DATE PENELOPE, ALL RIGHT? they’d dropped it.
At least she thought they had. Maybe they’d just dropped it when she was within five hundred square feet of them.
Still, she gropes for her phone, knowing if she doesn’t answer this text in a timely fashion, then Eloise will start calling, and if Penelope has to ignore those calls because she’s got Colin’s dick inside her, Eloise will video-call.
“She just wants to know if I found her precious second edition Jane Eyre.”
Colin takes her phone and holds it high up. “Look at me, Pen.”
She does. She needs no cajoling—she’s happy to look at him any time, any day.
He bends close, letting his nose brush over hers. “I don’t care.”
Giggling, Penelope slings her arms around his neck. They’ve just gotten back the part where Colin’s hands are everywhere when it chirps again.
It’s Eloise again, asking if there’s been any luck on the hunt, which seems repetitive and a little rude, but Penelope wants it to go away already, so she scoops up her phone despite Colin’s warning hum against her left tit and thumbs over to a picture she took yesterday of a bookshop on the east side of the city with a table heaped with copies of Jane Eyre, none of which had been second editions.
She sends it, hoping to at least convince Eloise she tried (she didn’t, at least not today), only as she’s thumbing and swiping and trying to make it so she doesn’t have to think about any Bridgerton except for the one currently poking his cock into her inner thigh, Colin tries to take her phone and set it aside again.
She hears the whoosh of her message hurtling out into the ether. Feels Colin’s chest swell as he clutches her tighter and runs a sudsy hand up and down her back before cupping her arse and giving it a firm squeeze. Is well and truly lost again, tasting red wine on his tongue and swearing their hearts are beating in time with one another before her phone chirps.
And chirps.
And chirps about twenty more times in a row—the vibrations are stacking over one another now, the different tones she uses to differentiate between different contacts overlapping. It’s like sitting at the dining room table at a Bridgerton Brunch, really, and—
“Oh, fuck!” Penelope cries, shoving herself off Colin’s lap so violently he yelps and falls back briefly into the water.
Flinging herself over the lip of the tub, Penelope shrieks and slides into a soapy heap right on the bathmat, clawing at the screen to see which thread she’d been in, and which picture she’d sent.
This is it, Penelope thinks, looking at Colin, her stomach turning itself inside out and squeezing into a dense lump. Together for two hours and the best sex of your life, then dumped for sending a naughty picture to the family group chat.
“What’s that look on your face for?” Colin asks, still oblivious.
Her mouth suddenly bone dry, she blinks up at him, naked and covered in bubble bath, claw clip askew and heart pounding a hole in her chest. “I may have sent one of our bath pictures instead of, erm, the picture of Jane Eyre I was trying to send?”
Colin sloshes urgently to the side of the tub. “To Eloise?”
Her phone continues chirping in her hand. She can’t bring herself to speak, but she doesn’t seem to need to because she watches the flush of delight that’s been on Colin’s cheeks since they snogged outside the restaurant fades straight off his beautiful face.
“Pen,” Colin whispers, his forehead knitting. “Not the one…with my mum?”
Her eyes widen. There are a few different Bridgerton group chats, many of which do not involve Violet for one reason or another.
Judging from Anthony’s replies, Violet will indeed receive a copy of the picture. And that picture is of her son, freshly fucked, naked in a fancy hotel spa bath with Penelope.
There’s also the small matter of Sophie apparently recognizing her bloody leg, and Hyacinth adding a vote of confidence. She may have stood a chance passing it off as some picture that had been sent to her on Instagram since she was occasionally tagged in Colin’s travels, but she didn’t even have that flimsy excuse now.
“I think I might throw up,” she says while Colin nods in total agreement.
“I was really hoping for at least a few days in the bubble before any of them had to find out,” Colin murmurs, dropping his head back as a fresh wave of chirps sound on her phone.
Penelope stands, slipping once more on the tile floor, but Colin lunges and catches her elbow, climbing out of the tub and yanking his discarded bathrobe around her.
“Okay, we need a plan, now.” She starts pacing while Colin wraps a towel around his waist and rushes after her.
“Right,” he agrees immediately, putting his hands on his hips with a tilt of his head. “A plan for what, exactly?”
“How to get out of this!” she cries, glancing down at her phone. With a groan, she spins it around to show him the latest update.
His cheeks pink, but he pushes her phone out of the way. “Oh, good, Mum’s seen it.” He clears his throat and offers a thin smile. “Just don’t answer. Ignore them.”
She goggles at him. “You’re fucking joking, Colin. I sent the picture that started all this.”
“We can go pitch your phone in the toilet and play ignorant tomorrow, but they’ll probably be confused when I tell them our good news.” He pops his eyebrows meaningfully. “Do I love that my siblings have access to a photo of me in the bath after the age of four? No. Hate it, actually.”
Penelope groans and throws herself on the bed face down.
“But,” Colin says, louder now. “It doesn’t mean we have to try to get out of it. We’re together now—hell of an announcement, I’d say.”
She groans again and Colin sighs, sitting at the edge of the bed by her shins. “Right, well, they don’t know I’m in London, just like Simon said. So, I dunno, say it’s an old picture, that we’re wearing our swimsuits.”
She knows she’s desperate because it sounds like they might get away with it. Buy themselves those few days to be outside all the chaos of Bridgertons when they scent love on one of their own. Coach Penelope so she can look any of them in the eye again the next time they invite her around for brunch.
Give her time to go break the news to Eloise. God, Eloise.
Feeling particularly masochistic, she peeks at her phone again.
She doesn’t know if it’s a good sign or not that Eloise hasn’t responded to anything yet. It’s late enough in the evening she shouldn’t be up to anything. She’d just been texting Penelope about that bloody book—she must have seen the picture by now, and all the chaos that followed.
Colin picks up his discarded trousers and fishes his own phone from the pocket. “Look, I’ll just remind them all I’m in New York right now, okay? Give you some breathing room for tonight, love.” He smiles at her encouragingly, but she can see he’s just a little confused.
“You know I’m not embarrassed about you, right, Colin?” Penelope asks suddenly, rolling over so she can climb up onto her knees and grab his arm.
“Sure,” he says right away, but it’s in that slightly high, tight voice he uses when he’s pretending everything is cool as a cucumber, love.
She scowls and picks up her phone, eyes widening at once.
Colin looks at his own phone and makes a face, groaning softly as he scrunches his nose. “If that gif is for one of us, it’s for me. Don’t worry.”
“Are you worried, though?” she asks curiously.
He snorts. “Fuck no. I’m not easily scared off. Eloise will just have to share you—really, if she thinks about it, sharing you with me would be a lot easier than sharing with some outsider.”
Penelope’s head tilts at that. “What, like not a Bridgerton?”
He blushes but holds her eye. “Just, anyone…not me?”
For a moment, Penelope wants to toss her phone aside and climb right back on his lap. But can feel the weight of seemingly every single Bridgerton watching and waiting to see which of the two of them would speak first.
It would have to be her, wouldn’t it? She’d started it all with that bloody bathtub snap. She couldn’t just turn off her phone now, could she? She had to either deny or jump in.
As brave and beautiful as she feels, Penelope hasn’t yet broken all of her bad habits. She clings to denial and assuages herself with promises that it will be more responsible and adult to have one-on-one conversations later. She’s doing a good thing not admitting at precisely this moment that she and Colin have recently decided to become 1) an official couple, and 2) sexually active. Almost simultaneously, in fact.
She starts typing.
Colin sits up very straight. “Whoa, what are you writing, Pen?” He sounds nervous, like she’s just picked up a loaded gun.
Colin lets out a rattling huff of relief. “Good chap, Simon.”
The next part happens quickly.
When Fran’s name popped up, Colin had immediately gasped and started typing on his one phone, leaping to his feet.
“Let me guess—Franny knows you’re in London?” she had asked as Anthony started getting shouty.
Her meme looks woefully underprepared to deal with Bridgerton antics.
He shoots her a tortured look. “She got my drunk phone call from New York the night before I bought my ticket home.”
It’s sweet for three seconds before Penelope remembers that that Bridgertons love each other, but they never pass up an opportunity to roast one another. She can’t decide whether to be more touched that Colin had presumably made himself look like a lovesick idiot, or amused that sweet, quiet Francesca had him shaking in his boots this badly.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
When he becomes obvious he isn’t going to help her add anything to her frantic meme to beg everyone to calm down, Penelope grits her teeth and pulls something out of her arse.
“We’re fucked,” she whispers.
Colin pats her thigh affectionately. “We did our best, love. Nothing for it but confessing and hope they choose leniency.”
She gives him her most withering stare. She can’t picture anyone A-H who would give her leniency for hard launching her brand new relationship with their beloved son and brother by sending them a picture of him goddamn naked in a tub with her.
“It’s mental,” she whispers.
Colin laughs brightly. “It was an accident. That’s the lovely thing about the truth, Pen. It sets you free and sometimes even makes the story a bit funnier.”
Lost for a moment in his ocean blue eyes, Penelope sighs, shuts her eyes, and nods firmly.
Okay, well, barf was better than her phone immediately ringing with a phone call, or little red angry faces, or Eloise dramatically leaving the group chat altogether. It was…tolerable. Mendable. Begrudging, almost.
She and Colin smile tentatively at each other, still perched at the side of the bed.
Colin sets his phone down and pulls at the belt on her robe. “There. We can cook eggs with our faces, but at least we’re a matched pair, right?”
She lets out a breathless laugh and thinks yeah I can probably survive anything if you’re there in the trenches with me.
“Nothing from your mum,” she mutters. “Should we be worried?”
“I’ll call her first thing in the morning,” he says into her neck. “Now, please stop talking about, thinking about, and worrying about my family. They love you, Pen. All will be well, I promise.”
There are loose ends, of course, but there likely always will be. It feels more fun to deal with them with Colin at her side.
She’s never like this with anybody else, after all.
Sighing, Penelope eases back onto the bed and lets him finally untie the belt, giggling as he parts the terry cloth contraption and immediately drops his face between her tits.
She rattles off one last message and drops her phone to the mattress just as he kisses his way to her belly button.
