Archive of Our Own

He's fucked.

In all the ways one could be that didn't include being wrapped up, twisted in bed sheets sweaty, naked, trembling and spent. Colin Bridgerton has lived this past year hopelessly, irrecoverably, pathetically, soul-shatteringly in love with Penelope Featherington. Sure she was seeing someone currently but he was willing to bide his time, that Village of the Damned extra would be out of the picture soon enough. What is a few months compared to ten years of shared history? 

Tonight all that changed. Tonight he had watched as another man slipped a lab-created, ethical, sustainable, unmined, environmentally friendly 1 Carat diamond on her finger. (One fucking Carat, what even is that when his family still holds a 3 Carat yellow diamond that was once a gift from Queen Charlotte begging for a home on her hand). The world as he had known came to a halt the moment he saw Alfred Debling drop to his knee. 

Hot water fills the tub, steam curling through the air, his gaze following the wisps and tendrils swirling around him that remind him of russet curls spilling over a porcelain shoulder. He takes a rattling breath and his navy eyes settle on the mirror in front of him, swiping his palm through the condensation, to his reflection. Who he sees is not Colin Bridgerton, the third born son of Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, but the purposeless, wandering bane of his brother Anthony's existence and the object of all his ire. “Goddamn it!” he roars, yanking his tie from his neck. “Alexa. Play Taylor Swift Christmases When You Were Mine." The lyrics soak into his soul as he softly starts singing along.

He works the buttons on his shirt, letting the crisp cool cotton slide over his shoulders and fall to the floor below. Stepping out of first one shoe and then another, kicking them to the side, taking his socks off, pausing to squish the forest green bathmat between his toes. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, as he slips off his pants and sinks into the tub.

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes to the point of pain, debates throwing his phone against the wall, the incessant message alerts and calls since he went AWOL tonight are unrelenting. He doesn’t want to hear their sympathies and condolences, doesn’t need to be told everything will be okay, that he will move on, find someone new. 

He sips at his beer, if there just so happened to be goose liver in that “vegan” foie gras earlier tonight, oops, pity. He scoffed; that milk toast ornithologist gleefully spread it over sourdough toast points, raising his glass in cheers of him and his culinary prowess. 

He wraps his arms around his knees, drawing them tight to his chest and thinks back on his life, on the man he was before he was the three star Michelin chef he is today. Before the Christmas Eve opening of a restaurant he had shed blood, sweat and tears over. Yellow. He should have known it was her sooner, he named his restaurant after her for fuck’s sake.

When he was just barely eighteen, Anthony had cut him off from his trust fund and the Bridgerton accounts when he refused to go to university, their brutal row ending with Colin leaving Bridgerton house with nothing more than a hastily packed rucksack on his back and the 500 pounds Ben slipped him in the pocket of his coat when he hugged him goodbye. His eyes had met Penelope’s over Ben’s shoulder, her hands gripped tight to his mother’s arm, lips trembling as tears fell from her aqua eyes. The sight haunted his dreams over the months that followed.

 He struggled with the odd job here and there, pulling nets on fishing barges in Crete, harvesting olives on a farm outside of Athens. Washing dishes in a small café named Bordeaux in Marseilles, where he found himself in the kitchen of Alain Beaumont. Chef Beaumont, a two time Bocuse d’Or award winning culinary genius gave up the hellish kitchens of Paris for the slower pace of his home town after his mother died and his grief soaked him in alcohol. He had recovered, but the trembling of his hands robbed him of his ability to complete the complex structural designs his dishes were renowned for. 

Beaumont felt pity for him, took him under his wing and taught him everything he now knows, he spent hours in the kitchen, lamenting when dish after dish he had put his heart into that went to shit. He scraped and saved in hopes that one day he would own a restaurant of his own. Maybe move back to London and prove to Anthony that he was wrong, that he wasn’t just a hopeless dreamer. That he could profit from his passions without sacrificing his spirit. Colin wasn’t built for corner offices and spreadsheets, he was in his element in a kitchen where full bellies meant full hearts. 

“Food for the body, mon fils is not enough, one must also feed the soul,” Alain would say at the same time he rapped the back of his hand with a wooden spoon for adding too much pepper to his Béchamel sauce. 

One warm summer day he met Alain’s niece Adeline. 

Adeline was verbally and financially abusive, cruelly dismissive of his dreams and desires, bringing him up just to beat him down again. She used sex as a weapon and means of control, told him she loved him in one breath and then would bring him to a peak and leave his bed for days. She spent all of his money, including rent half the time, on materialistic items that gave an appearance of opulence. When they weren’t fighting about money, they would fight about his only connection to home, Penelope.  Adeline’s jealousy knew no bounds, she hated that he would drop whatever he was doing to respond immediately to her calls and letters. One night he came home to a pile of ash in the sink, the remains of what was once his journal, the leather curled and pages burned to cinders.  

It was his fault he guessed, she did warn him. Adeline loved him, right? She was just spirited. 

For the next two years Colin threw himself into his work, and when Alain died suddenly, he left Colin Bordeaux.  For six months it was just the two of them together, Adeline running the business side and Colin manning the back of house. When the bank showed up with a notice of foreclosure he just knew. Adeline had already left, taking everything with her, clearing out their small apartment (and his bank account) of everything they owned except a couple of trash bags full of his clothes and a note in the middle of the floor of what was once their bedroom. Telling him that she needed space, that she couldn’t love a man who would never amount to anything. Three days later Penelope showed up on his doorstep, Anthony in tow.  He collapsed in their arms and they brought him home. He found out months later that she hooked up with a sommelier with a huge wallet and one foot in the grave.

He can still remember the words she spoke, as they sat together late at night on her couch, a bottle of Meomi between them. “A lack of a conventional path does not mean a lack of purpose, Colin. Your purpose is tied to your authentic self. It will allow you to be who you aim to be, not what is expected to be. Your family loves you, Anthony loves you. Open another restaurant Colin, if that is truly where your heart lies.” He nodded and gathered their glasses and headed for the kitchen. “And since your heart is in the kitchen, you should whip up some of those triple-chocolate brownies you are so famous for while you are in there.” He thought he knew love, a love he so desperately sought for in the arms of a woman who never knew him at all, one that was clearly a stand-in for the one wearing a baggy Tottenham t-shirt and a messy bun. 

As he dips down further in the bath water, his thoughts travel to this week. Every waking hour was spent on final preparations of Yellow’s launch. Through it all Penelope had been at his side, taking time off from her job as a script editor for Netflix to help coordinate the valets and servers, confirm the linen delivery and finalize the place settings. She brought him fresh tea and biscuits, her fingers twirling through the curls at the nape of his neck, while he poured over the tasting menu and wine pairings with his sous chef and his restaurateur, practically purring as her nails scraped against his scalp. 

On opening morning, she accompanied him to the restaurateurs market on the docks with hot chocolate in-hand (extra whipped cream for her, a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg for him). A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, and had greyed on the dirty cement at their feet. She curled her red mittened hand around his bicep, and when her boot slipped on the curb he placed his hand over hers, to steady her misstep. Her cheeks pinked, but she left it there long after her steps were firm again. A splash of hot chocolate landed on the lapel of her bright blue pea coat and on the yellow scarf wrapped around her neck. She scrunched her reddened button nose, and she laughed full and true at herself and his heart flipped inside his chest.

They had just finished with the fish mongers and the cheese mongers and now found themselves  in front of one of the vegetable vendors. He was busy sniffing a hot house tomato and she held up an onion. She turned to him, and in her best Shrek impression said, “Ogres are like onions.” 

Without missing a step, she does Donkey’s part too. “They stink?” her brows knitted together as her lips pursed.

“Yes…No,” she said, her voice a few timbres too high to be Mike Meyer’s but cute nonetheless. 

How did he not notice that she was this witty, this charming, this incredible. The vendor laughed hard enough he started crying. Colin nodded to him, his smile widening at the sight of Penelope’s animated gesturing between characters. Colin added every type of onion the man carried to the vendor purchase sheet, along with the heirloom tomatoes and English cucumbers he needed for the greek salad on the menu that evening, handing over his black card. 

“Oh, they make you cry.”

“NOOOO,” she growled.

Colin rolled his eyes.

“Oh, you leave them out in the sun and they get all brown and start sprouting little white hairs.” She wiggled her fingers in her mittens.

“NOOO, LAYERS ONIONS HAVE LAYERS, OGRES HAVE LAYERS, ONIONS HAVE LAYERS YOU GET IT WE BOTH HAVE LAYERS.” 

The vendors around them clapped their hands and laughed at her impromptu one woman show, and she dramatically dipped in a curtsey. Her smile was bright as the sun that had just started to rise over the sails of the docked ships. 

Penelope tossed the onion in the air, catching it in her mittened hand, pulling at the top of it with her teeth as she scrambled for her phone. “Make a memory with me, Col,” she said softly as she raised her phone, He dipped low, his cheek pressed against hers, the onion held up between them and when she was satisfied with the fifth selfie she posted it to Instagram

 Like this onion our friendship has layers, @InthekitchenwithCol thank you for being the Shrek to my Donkey.

 Her smile made the awful caption to their awkward picture worth it. He started to feel hopeful again, watching the blush creep up her cheek as she tucked her phone away. 

“ ‘Old up you two,” the vendor said, his lips cocked in a half smile. He pointed to the canopy above. Colin’s eyes snapped skyward, mistletoe, of course. “‘Y’a don’t get outta here without payin’ the tax. Ya don’t want back luck foll’on ya do ya? Breakin’ a tradition an such.” 

Penelope giggled. “It's tradition, Col,” she whispered. “For luck.” 

He swallowed, nodding. “For luck,” he whispered back, and he brought his lips to hers, brushing them for merely a second, but it caused his heart to skip a beat. Tingles shot to the tips of his fingers. There you are, his mind screamed. He watched as her lashes fell to her cheeks and she cleared her throat and quickly turned from him. She handed the onion back to the vendor, giving him a wink. “Not everybody likes onions,” she said as Donkey. She turned, whipping her yellow scarf around her neck. He was frozen as he watched her weave her way through the crowd toward the car, the vendor gave Colin a look. “I’d put a ring on that on the morrow if y’a had half a brain in that head o’yers. Happy Christmas son.” He handed his card back to Colin. Colin nodded. 

Colin stopped by Penelope’s flat to go over their final rundown for the evening, making sure they were on the same page when it came to the restaurant going live, He had been let down before so he didn't want to take any chances. Didn't want to muck up the entire thing and disappoint Anthony again. Anthony had softened over the years since Kate and the birth of his sons and was adamant about making amends for their rift and threw his support fully behind his brother’s dream. What are few phone calls if it garnered traction for the Yellow launch. Daphne had already secured confirmed attendances by David and Victoria Beckham and influencers like Jonathan Cheban. Penelope’s Netlfix connections made it possible for her to lure both Paul Hollywood and Prue Leith out from the tent with the promise of Colin’s strawberry and rhubarb trifle. Tonight was make or break for him. 

Twitching his fingers nervously against the thigh of his grey Givenchy suit, he waited for Penelope to open her door and was met with nothing but a bare-backed and braless Penelope Featherington in yellow silk. 

“I’m glad you are here! Come zip me into this nightmare!” she said, leaving him standing dumfounded in her entryway as she turned to walk further into the flat. A thousand fantasies he had for the past year started out this way, usually he was taking that dress off her rather than helping her into it, but beggars can’t be choosers. He tried his best not to stare, but her skin looked like fresh cream and his mind wandered to what it would feel like to run his lips from the dimples on her lower back up the length of her spine. Would she shiver as he bit into the skin on her shoulder, sigh when he soothed it with his tongue. He ran his thumb across his lower lip as he stepped forward, closing the door behind him. 

She gave a little wiggle that did nothing to help the thickening of his cock. “You know when they told me this dress was half-off I didn’t think it meant I’d be walking around 50% naked.” She smirked, flashing him a wink before stopping in front of the couch to pick up her silver high heels. He caught a glimpse of the pale yellow lace underwear she was wearing where it hugged the curve of her hip, his fingers ached to slide over the trim, hooking them around his thumb as he slid them down her thighs. He imagined her moan as his lips followed. But then he shook his head. These thoughts are not allowed, he reminded himself, she is with someone, but he does allow the stray thought of Debling buried under the penguin exhibit at the London Zoo to remain. His hands make quick work at the zipper and the tiny bead-like buttons on the back of the dress.

“I have to ask,” Penelope giggled as she scrolled through her phone. “You didn’t happen to put up any mistletoe at the restaurant did you?” she teased. “Cause Ryan Gosling RSVP’d and I've been an awfully good girl this year.”

“Does Gosling have any food allergies?” 

Penelope laughed. “No, why?” 

“Shame,” he whispered, glad her back was still turned and she was unable to see his face. “What’s got you thinking about mistletoe all the sudden? Did our little kiss this morning unlock some dark, secret yearning lying dormant in your heart?” He tried his best to come off cool and detached and not hopeful, praying she felt that same stirring he did deep inside. Feelings that he tries to push back down where they belong. She's not his. 

She laughed again, punctuating her next words with a dismissive wave of her hand. “No, you git. Of the eight times we have kissed, I'd rank that one seventh.” She sighed. “You’ve been a little weird this afternoon—you good?” 

“I got a lot riding on this opening, Pen.” 

“Of course.” She cleared her throat, "I'm sorry.”, she turned, her fingers making work at straightening his tie, his eyes traced a path along the line of her jaw settling on her lips and back to her aqua eyes. He wanted to kiss her again, do it right, the way she deserved, he wanted more than just that awkward peck. He wanted to drown in her lips, slide his tongue between them. Feel her go weak at the knees, wrap his arms around her. For a minute he saw the same thing or he hoped he had. 

Then it passed the second Alfred walked in. 

Colin steps out of the bath. “Alexa. Play Joni Mitchell River.” He slides on a pair of grey sleep pants, pulls a long sleeved white t-shirt over his head, and wanders to the living room. He grabs another beer from the fridge and walks over to the bank of windows, his eyes on the London skyline. 

He tries desperately not to think about what is happening in a flat in Bloomsbury tonight, about Pen tangled up in her lavender sheets with a man who is not him, wearing a ring that should have been his. He blinks away the tears, and watches the snowflakes gather on the corners of the window pane. 

Light from the hallway spilled into the darkened room; his eyes followed the reflection of her silhouette in the window as she slipped in the front door closing it quietly, the lock sliding into place with a soft click. He watched her slip off her heels, hooking the strap through the pinkie of her right hand.

“You left,” she said softly. “I looked everywhere for you, I wanted to talk to you.” She hesitated a moment before continuing, “Rae told me you slipped out the back.”

He sighed deeply, placing his beer on the window ledge before turning to face her. “I was a bit overwhelmed,” he said, carding a hand through his damp curls.

She took a few steps forward. “It was your big night.”

He cleared his throat and faced the window again. “It was a big night for you too, I hear.” 

“Col.”

“Pen,” he swiped his palm down his face. “I would like to be alone tonight if you don’t mind. I’m tired, you know, all that burning the candle at both ends and shit.” He waved his hand through the air. “I’m fine, just a little social anxiety.”

“Look at me Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, tossing her shoes on the couch.

A bitter laugh pushed past the lump in his throat. “You should probably go, I am sure Debling’s Prius is double parked.” 

Penelope snorted. “I Uber Black’d a Hummer here.”

Colin shook his head, a pained smile spread over his lips. “I wish only for your happiness-”

“I could not marry him-” she interrupts.

Colin’s breath hitches. “What?”

Penelope steps forward, shaking fingers reach towards him. She cards them  through the curls on his temple as her palm connects with his cheek. Colin leans into them, his eyes closing, jaw going slack. “ I could not marry him,” she whispers. 

Colin exhales.

“I could not marry him Colin.” She took his hand, placing it over her heart, slowly sliding her hand down his neck to rest over his. “There is something I have been meaning to tell you for a very long time.” 

Colin swallowed roughly. “Pen,” his fingers flexed.

“I have loved you since the moment we met.” She blushed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she lowered her head. “An embarrassingly long time, really.”

“Me?” he whispered, awestruck as he tilted her chin so their eyes would meet.

She nodded, suddenly shy. “Even the years I pretended to be your friend.” She watched as his brow furrowed. She reached down, taking his hand from her chin, pinning a kiss to his palm. “I was, but I loved you in secret.” She shook her head in disbelief, how could this be real, this moment, this waking dream. “I have always loved you, Colin.” 

Colin groaned, grasping her neck and pulling her into a bruising kiss; when they pulled away they were both gasping for air. “Fuck Pen.”

“Yes please.”

His hands mapped the expanse of silk that covered her full hips, fingers digging into the back of her thighs as he lifted her to wrap her legs around him. 

“This is a really nice view,” she said laughing, her fingers weaving through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

He leaned forward, his lips curving into a smile as he nipped his way across her collarbone, his nose brushing against the swell of her breast. “Yeah it is.” He arched his brow, a half hitched smirk greeted her as she brought his lips to hers again.

They stumbled towards his bedroom, his elbow knocking over a stack of books on the hall table as he pinned her against the wall. She pulled at his shirt, giggling once more as it got caught on his elven ear. 

“Are you really fond of this?” 

“Well El got it for me for Christmas last year.” 

“Pity.” She winked as it ripped at the collar, a wooden button pinging off the wall, landing on the floor between them. “Oops.” Her nails scraped down the planes of his chest, her pinkie finger scraping over his nipple, her hand slipping past the waistband of his pajama pants to wrap around his cock. 

“You little minx,” he growled.

Her hand curled around him, pumping from base to tip. With just a few slow strokes, his knees buckled. His want tore through him, white heat shot through his veins. This was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He lowered her to the floor, his palm slammed against the wall next to her head. “Bedroom. Now.” 

She hiked the skirt of her dress, and took off in a sprint, “Yes sir!” she squeaked , bare feet padding against the hardwood floors. He couldn’t help but for a moment think of other tiny little feet he hoped, no dreamed, no wished, no knew would someday follow. He brushed his thumb over his lower lip, his cock twitched at the thought of being buried deep in her, filling her up. But first he had to catch her—for someone so small she was surprisingly quick. 

Hoping to find her waiting on his bed, he was a bit chuffed to find it surprisingly empty. 

“Marco,” she whisper-yelled, hiding behind his bedroom door.

“Polo!” he grinned, turning towards her, grabbing her arm and pulling her tight against him so that she collided against his chest with an oof and giggle. 

“You found me.” 

“No, Pen. You found me.”

“You can’t find something that was never lost,” she said, rising to her tiptoes to kiss him soft and sweet. Her eyes pinned him in place as she reached behind her neck to the ties of her buttery yellow gown. 

He gripped her hips, turning her, pulling her roughly against him. “Let me,” he growled, nipping at the skin of her shoulder. “I have been dreaming of taking this off you since I saw those pretty little lace knickers earlier.” Her breath hitched, blushing as she looked to the floor. He lifted her chin with his fingers, directing her gaze to his full length mirror they were standing in front of. “Look how fucking beautiful we look together Pen. How fucking sexy you are, how we just fit. Like we are meant to be. It is just us. It has always been just us.”

With trembling hands, buttons were released, kisses following every inch of creamy skin until he got to the zipper. He sank to his knees, a tiny nip on the rise of her hip, taking the zipper between his teeth as he pulled it down slowly until the dress gave way, sliding down over her hips and pooling on the bedroom floor. He stayed there, on his knees before her, in his rightful place when one is brought before an actual goddess.  

His gaze began to follow the line of her legs to the yellow lace that covered her mound. His eyes lingered there for a moment before he leaned forward. “May I?” he asked, holding his breath, head cocked to the side expectantly waiting for her nod of consent. When she does so, he reached out; his fingertips brushing softly up her thighs, his thumbs hooking at the sides of her knickers as he slid them down her legs. “You have freckles on your knees,” he said, his voice wrecked, placing a tender kiss on her kneecap. Shocked how he hadn’t known this before, those endless summers at Aubrey Hall they shared. 

She laughed, “I have freckles everywhere Col.”

He smirked. “Everywhere you say?” 

“Come with me Colin,” she said softly, taking his hand and leading him to his bed. She pushed him gently down, straddling his lap. He groaned and she stilled, suddenly rising. "I'm sorry. I…I'm too heavy.” Her voice broke.

Colin scowled, forcing her onto his lap, growling, the grip on her hips, possessive, brusing, “Never fucking say that again.” He thrust his still clothed hard cock against her wet core, delighting in the yelp she let out. “I groaned because I can’t wait to fuck you, to feel you surround me in that tight wet pussy of yours, not because you are heavy.” He spat the word angrily. “I don't think you know how badly I want you to sit on my face and smother me between these soft, lush thighs. To feel you come on my face, my fingers, my tongue.” 

“You are not too heavy, too much, too big,” he said flipping her over on her back gripping her thigh tight enough to leave fingerprint bruises, he settled between her legs. “Fuck anyone who has ever made you feel less. You are perfect Penelope. I aim to show you every day how weak I am for you, how you have me on my knees in worship of you.” 

“Colin,” she said softly as she swallowed, her eyes glistening with tears, her lower lip trembling.

“Penelope.”

“Get those pants off and fuck me right now.” 

“I thought you would never ask.” He laughed as they both fought to tug his pants down his legs, He kicked at them and if he were with any other person in any other messy drunk one night stand he would have been embarrassed by the lack of finesse, but this is Pen and she is smiling and they are giggling and trading messy toothy kisses and everything was perfect, perfect, perfect. His body is screaming more. More. More. 

His weeping cock bumped against her clit, the both hissed at the feeling of warm wet skin on skin. He rises to his knees, his thumbs sliding over her folds, spreading them apart unable to tear his eyes from her glistening pink center. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, “I cant wait to taste you.” 

She pulled him down to bring his lips to hers, “Later.” 

He nipped at her lower lip, her chin, down the line of her jaw. “One minute, don’t move.” He said reaching over to his night stand, when she grabbed his hand.  

“Where are you going?” She said wide-eyed.

“I am just getting a condom baby.” he considered her frantic face, “There is nothing in the world short of a heart attack that is going to stop me from fucking you into this mattress until you scream my name. I plan on getting a warning from the building supervisor for a noise complaint. I am going to make you come so hard.”

“No condoms.” Penelope said, squeezing his wrist.

“But. What about, Penguin fucker.” 

Penelope snorted, her brow shooting to her hairline, as she propped herself up on her elbows, blowing a curl from her forehead, “Penguin fucker?” 

“I am not saying that man's name.” He pouted petulantly. “I sure as hell don't want to think about-” he trailed off. 

“Well I can assure it wasn’t much,” she frowned, “He was a two pump chump on his best days, and I always insisted on condoms with him, it was never worth the risk. I am clean, Colin.  I have an IUD.” She sat up raking her nails down his chest, “I don’t want anything between us, this is it for me, YOU are it for me. There will never be another now that I have you, if you will have me too.” 

He moaned, “Pen. Yes. Yes I will have you. You are everything I am, everything I hope to be. I love you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I love you Pen, first as my girl.” He placed a kiss on her collarbone. “I will love you as my fiancé,” his hand cupped the swell of her breast, his lips enclosed her nipple pulling away with gasp. A string of saliva where his tongue met skin. “I will love you as my wife,” he positioned himself between her thighs, his fingers sliding through her wet slit. “God,” he groaned. “You are so fucking wet, is this all for me?”  

She nodded.

“Fucking incredible,” he said, spellbound as lined himself up at her entrance. “Then one beautiful day I will get to love you as the mother of my children.” They both cried out as he slid in slowly until he was finally home. 

His dreams paled in comparison to what it felt like to be cradled in her flesh. A groan rattled his chest as he pressed himself in deep. It was warm and wet, her silken walls molded to the shape of his cock. Slowly he backed out of her almost to the tip. He wanted her to feel every ridge, every vein. His first few strokes were tentative as he leaned into his thrusts and found a rhythm that was their very own. Pleasure burned through him low and tingled down his spine. “God baby you take me so well. You feel so good, so wet, so tight. You are so beautiful.” 

“Oh yes. Fuck Colin, you are so big. So deep.” Penelope groaned as he rolled into his next thrust, grunting in her ear with every push. “Fuck, yes. Right there baby. Make me yours.” 

He whimpered and on the next thrust he slammed in to the hilt, and Penelope let out a wail. His whole body trembled with exertion as his speed increased and he started to fuck her into the mattress. His large body collapsed into hers as he caged her in his arms, head buried in her shoulder. 

He could feel her walls fluttering against his cock. His hips rammed forward as he buried himself deep within her. He lifted his head to watch her deep in the throws of pleasure, her glassy hooded eyes met his, as she smiled sweetly. Her breasts bounced with the force of every powerful thrust, his hand slid from the side of her cheek to wrap lightly around her throat. Penelope gasped, her breath catching. “Come for me Pen, let me feel you choke my cock, I want you to come on me.” 

Her body arched beneath him, her pussy rippled as silk wrapped steel. “COLIN!” she screamed as she came on his command. He relentlessly fucked her through her orgasam. “You have one more in you don’t you, Pen I can feel it.”  The sound of skin slapping against skin and the obscene squelch of their joined bodies filled the room. ”I’m not going to stop fucking you baby, not until you are a good girl and give me another. I won’t cum even if it takes me all night, all night to fuck your beautiful pussy.” 

“Oh fuck,” she gasped her body trembling as he pulled back his large hands grasping the sides of her hips as he rose to his knees changing the angle of his thrust. He licked his thumb, pressing it to her clit, her eyes rolled back in her head. “Oh, right there.” 

He smirked, slowing his thrusts against the same spot, gently fucking into her, lulling her until she became pliant in surrender to her pleasure. He moved his hand across the swell of her stomach and pushed down, pulling out until the head of his cock was barely at her entrance before snapping his hips until he could feel himself buried deep inside her under his palm. 

“God I want to fuck a baby in you so bad Penelope,” he groaned. “You want that?” His hips were flat against hers as he ground against her clit with each deepening thrust.

She shivered, the moan she let out was unholy.

“Yeah, you want that don’t you? Little curly haired babies with my eyes and your sweet smile.” His pace quickened, he released her hips, pressing her thighs apart, bending her knee and wrapping his arm around it to press in deep. “I’ll give you babies Pen, I'll give you anything. You will never want for a thing, you will only know my love.” He trembled above her, his rhythm faltering. “I am so fucking weak for you. God Pen. Those fucking freckles.”  He kissed her knee again and she giggled. “God I'm not gonna last much longer, I’m gonna cum in this hot pussy of yours. Come for me love. Come on.” 

“God you are a yapper.” She moaned between thrusts. She laughed, her pussy clenching tight around him, making her shudder when he hit that spot deep inside her, toes curling. “Second thought, keep talking.”

This is the best, to be able to laugh and make love to your best friend. “You are my best friend.” He breathed into her open mouth and with those words, she came again hard. “That’s it my love, there it is. Good girl.” 

He dropped her knee, her back arching, pressing her breasts into his chest. “Godgodgod so good so good to me.” Her thighs locked around his hips. “Love you love you love you.” 

Her second orgasm catapulted him into his, stars exploded behind his eyes as he drove deep into her, thick ropes painting her walls. He whimpered and trembled with every throb and pulse. “Mine” he roared as the last spurt of his cum left him, he collapsed breathless at Penelope’s side, clutching her against his body with shaking hands.

“Yours,” she whispered, running her fingers up and down his chest, fingers swirling though his chest hair. “Only yours. You are the dragon to my Donkey.”  She smiled, pressing a kiss into his chest above his heart. 

He giggled, honest to God Colin Bridgerton giggled. “How many times have you watched Shrek?”

“1,473 times.”

His eyes widened.

She grinned. “I babysat Edmund and Miles for a week.” 

“That tracks. Ant went through a Princess Diary phase, though I am sure he will carry that to his deathbed.”

They sighed as the bells of Westminster Abbey pealed through the air, signaling the midnight mass. They both watched the snow softly falling, breaths calming trading gentle kisses as Colin pulled a blanket over their cooling bodies. 

“Colin, it’s Christmas,” she whispered, as she rested her chin on her fist, looking up at him from her place tucked tight in his arms. She smiled bright and clear, eyes sparkling like stars. 

“Happy Christmas Pen,” he whispered, his fingertips ghosting the skin of her hip. “I love you.”

She wrapped her arms tight around him, holding him closer. “You are alright. I guess.”