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so come give me a hug (if you're into getting rubbed)

Summary:

The three times Colin and Penelope were just cuddling. You know, as friends. That's all. Really.

And the one time-

Well, you know.

Notes:

*EDIT 1/25/24 - Unprivated for Elizzybeth. Thank you for being so kind and for reaching out. I appreciate you <3

Based on a prompt from StillPink, in which they're just cuddling as friends and then eventually do quite a bit more than cuddle.

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“It starts in my toes and I crinkle my nose
Wherever it goes, I always know
That you make me smile, please stay for a while now
Just take your time, wherever you go
.
Wherever, wherever, wherever you go”

Bubbly

Colbie Caillat


1

 

Don’t moan. Don’t moan. Not now. Not in front of Violet Bridgerton. Definitely not in front of Eloise. And for the love of all things beautiful and good, not in front of Colin, when he has his hand on her leg, rubbing up and down absentmindedly. 

“I’m telling you, it’s a masterpiece.”

“You’re not picking a movie again, Colin,” Eloise said, rather dryly, and a few others laughed. Colin scoffed, the pad of his thumb rubbing soothing spirals over her ankle, rendering her mind to mush.

Damn him. 

Colin Bridgerton had always been touchy, the entire family was, really. Between Anthony’s head-pats when she said something funny and Benedict slidling in against her and wiggling his arm over hers when he was emphasizing a joke or a story, between Eloise grabbing her hand and laughing at a comment and Daphne cradling her face for two cheek kisses, a habit she picked up after her honeymoon in Paris with Simon, and Violet embracing her every time she came over, she had gotten accustomed to the casual affection of the Bridgerbunch. 

But Colin?

Colin took liberties. He was indulgent. Sometimes, she wondered if it was because he spent so long away from home, away from her, that he was so brazen with his touches. They started small, his palm on her shoulder, comparing the size of their hands just before he’d grab hers, twining their fingers, impromptu thumb wrestling, and then grew until she couldn’t recall a time when they were around each other and she didn’t feel his grasp on her. And his hugs. She dreamed of his hugs. He’d squat down so he could catch her around her middle, lifting her so effortlessly and swinging her around, making her laugh and clutch him in mild fear and want, feeling like a princess in all the fairy tales. And he did it every single time. 

Every. 

Single. 

Time.

And every time, she wanted to spread her legs open and wrap them around his waist, climbing him like he were a tree. Every time, her breath hitched when he’d hold her so close and say “I missed you so much, Pen”. Every time, she felt the firm line of his body, knowing that picking her up hitched his shirt up higher so the V of his hipbones and the dusting of dark hair on his lower abdomen was exposed, and her head would spin.

Every damn time.

But she let him. She would always let him. 

“Pen, back me up, here!” Colin whined, and she shook herself out of her stupor to come back to the present, her feet wiggling in his lap. He was massaging the sore spot where the strap from her heels had rubbed raw the last few days at work and it almost made her eyes roll back into her head.

“No way, uh-uh,” Eloise said, glaring. “You’re literally giving her a foot rub. You know she’s on your side.”

“Pen’s on my side regardless of foot rubs,” he said, smugly, giving her a wink and making her color. She flashed him an unamused glance.

“For that comment alone, I now disagree with yo-” she sucked in a harsh breath, cutting herself off as he cupped her heel, digging his thumbs at the center of her foot, massaging in firm, soothing circles, easing all the pains she collected from her impractical footwear at the editing firm. 

“What was that?” he asked, looking too proud of himself. She fluttered her eyes closed, letting her head tip back and wiggling her toes. 

“Shut up,” she mumbled, everything inside of her desperately holding onto the pleased noise he was building inside her.

The world faded into the background as Benedict turned the movie on, some indie production that she should really be paying more attention to so she had something to say during the debrief afterward, but Colin kept rubbing her feet, one, then the other, and finally, when she sighed and shifted forward, barely thinking, she had her calves over his thighs, and he was all but petting her, catching the sensitive spot on the underside of her knee, and tickling down and around, catching the pit of it when he did with a gentle caress. She couldn’t even breathe. 

Don’t moan. 

Don’t. 

Moan.


2

 

“Excuse you? Scoot over,” Colin said, an eyebrow lifted and an enormous bowl of popcorn in his hands. He looked particularly stern. In the dimmed lights of the room, she could make out how his expression was expectant and a smidge mischievous. “Pen is my cuddle buddy.”

The possessiveness shivered through her. It didn’t mean anything, she had to reassure herself, but damn, it was hard when he looked as though he were about to fight his own sister for the honor of tucking her against his side. 

“Snooze you lose, don’t be a sore loser, sisters over misters, take your pick,” Eloise waved off, smiling smugly at him, only to give off an irritated squeak when he ignored her and plopped himself down between them, somehow making it that popcorn didn’t go spilling over all their laps. “ Colin-”

“Snooze you lose, don’t be a sore loser, etc, etc, take your pick,” he grinned, wiggling himself deeper between them in the lack of space. His leg was hitched over her own, in fact, and where they connected was warm and blazing and she was all too aware of how he’d hitched her skirt higher, exposing all too much skin above her knees. Eloise clucked her tongue. 

“You forget that Penelope is my best friend.”

“How could I ever forget? You monopolize all her time. You know movies are mine.”

“Says who?”

“Says the contract, now-” he waved her off, mirroring her earlier action and grinning good-naturedly. Eloise rolled her eyes so hard, Penelope wouldn’t be surprised if she saw her brain.

Fine, but I’ll get you for this. I’m going to go sit next to my favorite brother.”

“Aren’t you already?” he asked innocently, just to have Eloise discretely flip him off and flounce over to Benedict, clearly off to complain about him. Colin settled off of her leg in the space Eloise provided so he was fully on the couch once more, but it was still too close, the seam of their thighs so tight, she swore the imprint of his pants would appear by the end of the movie. “Now, where were we?” he teased, looking down at her and balancing the popcorn bowl on the side of the couch so he could throw his arm over the back, warm and weighty on her shoulders. Instinctively, she leaned forward before settling back. 

“That was rude of you,” she commented dryly, because she had no other choice. Because if she said what she really wanted, (God, that was hot. You want to be next to me that badly? You smell so fucking good, that’s my favorite cologne. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.) she’d simply turn into a puddle of goo against him and he’d have to wash the remnants of her off of his slightly too-tight band T-shirt, the one he got at a concert where he insisted she sit on his shoulders to see the stage before he started lifting and filling out the sleeves way too well. She was warm everywhere.

“Thank you,” he chirped, his large hand coming over her arm and wrapping around the soft of it. When she was younger, mama always told her she couldn’t wear sleeveless tops because of her thick arms. Now, fully grown and away from her, it was her own personal rebellion to do so. 

And, of course, it made it so she couldn’t avoid the addictive heat of him, imagining how his all-too capable hands could wreck her in all-too many ways. She shivered and he pulled her close to his side, her cheek settling against his shoulder. When she shook her head, the worn fabric of his shirt lit all her nerves to the surface, how it smoothed over her skin, and that was dangerous. He was dangerous. She had to move away-

He held her tight. “Hey, come on. I wasn’t that rude, was I? You’re gonna abandon me on movie night? You know the jump scares are hard on me,” he said, and if she looked up, she knew he’d have his pleading face on, the one where his lower lip jut out just so and his eyes blinked down, flashing in gasps of green. 

“I don’t know, if you’re just gonna use me for your comfort, I could go get you a stuffed animal, instead.” 

Thank God she had a lifetime of pretending to be unaffected by his stupid charm. The jerk. The asshole. The absolutely gorgeous, wonderful, tempting bastard. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and inhale so deep that the only thing in her lungs was his air. Why did he always have to smell so amazing?

“A stuffed animal? How could you think my heart would harden so?” he cried out, his free hand coming to his chest, right over his sternum in his theatrics. He narrowly missed her, and she was forced to stare at how it hitched the fabric over his pecs. She fought everything inside her not to bite her lip in the utter need it sparked in her. “I want you .”

Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit, if he kept saying things like that, she was going to jump his damn bones in front of his entire family and she wouldn’t even regret it. She took a deep breath. Deflect. Compartmentalize. He doesn’t mean it like that. He doesn’t. He never does.

“Right here? On the couch?” she managed to eke out, glad that it came across as teasing instead of wanton. He laughed and she felt him rumble against her cheek. She finally looked up at him and saw him waggling his brows at her. It made her flush all the way to her chest. If his eyes flickered down, slow and indulgent over her cheeks, where she was surely splotching in her blush, over her lips, and down, fixating on her neck and then the line of her cleavage, it was just in jest, taking part in the joke.

“In front of my family? My, my, Penelope, I never knew you to be so brazen,” he threw back, the smirk on his face too tempting and the spark in his eyes catching at the perfect moment as the screen flashed before them. “But, yes, of course- here, anywhere,” he said, “just to be clear. Everywhere. All the time.”

Why did he always know what to say to render her defenses to rubble? The sexy act she could do, she’d perfected the casual, meaningless flirty banter their conversations often dissolved into, but that? His tenderness? His sweetness? When he was so earnest? 

That, she could not do.

“Middle of a cemetery? At midnight?” she deflected, lifting a brow as the corner of her lip tipped at him.

“How very Mary Shelley of you,” he replied, laughing. And this was true beauty of them, that, regardless of what was happening, a simple quip could crack the tension, ease them with but a few words.

“I left the calcified heart somewhere around here,” she continued, falling easily into their literary references.

“Should we shift to Oz- if I only had a heart?”

She smiled, easing against him, relaxing. “Oh, why, yes, I believe I have it, right here, behind this conveniently mid-spackled wall.”

He laughed again, and she realized he was stroking over arm, his palm cradling her shoulder and then winding down to cup her elbow, thumb rubbing soothingly before making his way back up. “Is there wine?”

“Whine?” she said, distracted. She was being sucked in. She fell into his gaze, into the simplicity and flow of their conversation, at how he always knew how to make her feel so very comfortable in her own skin. She was glad she didn’t wear sleeves. “Only when you don’t have any snacks.”

“Or when I don’t have my Pen,” he assured, winking at her, making her melt into him, and then blinking in surprise when a piece of popcorn hit him on the cheek. He looked over to his siblings, scowling. “Hey-”

“Will you shut up , Colin? We’re trying to watch a movie, here,” Hyacinth said, grinning and tossing another piece, only to watch him catch it in his mouth, chewing with his mouth open and sticking his tongue out at her, speckled with half eaten popcorn as she squealed an “Ew” and the rest of the Bridgerbunch booed him. 

When had they started the movie? She felt like she’d fallen too deep, all of a sudden. Had everyone been listening? Was she transparent? She tensed and-

Colin leaned down, curling over her to whisper. “Guess you’ll have to get me that heart, later,” he said, and she felt like his partner in crime and like his security blanket and like his every desire in that moment as he tugged her so close, his hand making it’s way to her side to settle her in a not-so-subtle hint almost entirely on his lap. Absentmindedly, she draped her legs over one of his, appreciating the warmth of him. 

It was fine. This was fine. Friends could cuddle like this. And she loved cuddling. Hell, she cuddled with Eloise like this, once, when they were reading or lounging or gossiping. She couldn’t remember. 

Did she cuddle with anyone else like this, come to think of it?

God, it didn’t even matter if she did or not. No one, absolutely no one, could make her heart race like Colin Bridgerton could. 

She exhaled. She’d take the fast, greedy gulps of him that she could. Why not? She rested her cheek against his chest as his hand traveled around, finding her lower back and settling her more comfortably, soothing up and down her spine in a way that turned her insides to liquid.

“Play with my hair?” he asked, and she wiggled an arm behind him, feeling him lurch forward to make space for her, the crushing warmth of him so welcome when he pressed back, trapping her arm in a comfortable pressure, her fingertips leaving swoops in the curls at the back of his head. He’d been growing his hair out and she had a particular fondness for how it curled at the ends in beautiful, elegant loops. He hummed in contentment, resting his cheek against the top of her head as her other hand settled around and onto his side, hugging him like a koala. “Perfect, just like that.”

She flushed even deeper, rendering the moment to memory for later.

God, she hoped the movie was long.


3

 

Somehow, she’d developed a horrible Pavlovian response to the mere idea of watching a movie with Colin. It didn’t matter what it was. A horrible slasher flick that had her cringing and hiding away in his chest, a sweet rom-com that revealed the gushy, inner hopeless romantic of him, a stupid buddy-cop movie, period pieces, dramas- it had no bearing on how absolutely, utterly needy she was for his touch. 

If she knew that when she first allowed him to hold her hand, helping her up and then not letting go, sparking the touchy relationship the two of them had, she would have never allowed it to get this far. But it was too late and, even if it weren’t, she loved it. 

Because no one made her feel like Colin did, no one made her gut swoop and her throat dry and her lashes flutter and her heart beat like he could. No one held her like he did or lavished her with attentions like he did. 

Growing up, she knew she didn’t get enough physical affection. She’d always wanted for it, she realized that a long time ago, but she had her lot in life. 

Now? Now, she felt spoiled in his attentions and she couldn’t help but bask in it. Colin was the sun, his touch a beam of light that warmed her to the very bones. 

“You’re the best to hug, Pen,” he told her, his voice so close she felt right beside her ear. “So soft and warm.” Colin gave a noise of contentment, pulling her nearer to him, pressing her spine to his chest. She felt him breathing against her and slowed her own to match his. 

Watching a movie alone was foolish, maybe. No, it was. It was utter stupidity. She was a moron. She was an idiot. A complete and total goner. But he was back for the first time in months from a tour of Italy for his blog and they hadn’t stopped texting and calling and sending personal memes the whole time. How could she not fall farther for him? 

How could she not crave his body against hers when she imagined it every time they had a late night call, his voice right beside her through the phone, her entire body craving his skin? How could she not say “Yes, of course” when he told her he was coming home and would she be such a dear and let him crash at her place and that they’d watch a movie like old times? How could she not press against him, even as he asked to lay down? How could she not give in when he told her she was too far away and “It’s cold, Pen, be my blanket?” and “Look, we can both still watch this way!”?

Spooning with Colin Bridgerton on her couch was a bad idea.

So why did she want it so fucking much?

Well, she knew why.

“Oh, really?” she asked, absentminded. He smelled amazing, woodsy and clean and with just the faintest trace of smoke from when they’d been on the balcony early. His face was still in the forefront of her mind, how the cherry of his cigarette illuminated his green eyes, framed with perfectly dark, curly lashes. He was so pretty it hurt. 

“Well, of course,” he laughed, and the vibration of it pooled between her thighs. She tried to rub them together discretely, brushing back against him. One of his hands was pressed flat to her stomach, his thumb rubbing against the fabric of her shirt, hitching it against her skin, as the other roved her side, coming all the way down to her hitched knee and then back up, just to under chest, gentle and tender and too much. He was always so sweet with her. “Pretty sure you were made to be cuddled. Ten out of ten.”

It filled her heart in a way she didn’t expect, flashing hot against a particularly soft spot. She thought back to all the moments she wanted a hand to hold, arms around her, all the moments she did not receive. 

Maybe this was why she fell so hard for Colin. Not just his kindness, not just his jokes and quips, not just the way he looked in a T-shirt that stretched over his biceps in the perfect way, but because he was so giving. Colin was always there with a hand outstretched, always pulling her toward him, always encouraging her orbit around his gravity. 

He’d leave again. He always does. But tonight, he was hers. 

She decided long ago that she’d take the gasps of him that she could. Every breath. 

She eased back against him, releasing a sigh. She didn’t realize she’d been sucking in until that moment, and his hand filled with the curve of her belly. He hummed in approval, giving her a gentle caress that swooped through her, sparking from her bellybutton to her heart and back down in a feedback loop that had her pulsing heavy between her knees. 

“In terms of ratings, I’d give you an. . .eight out of ten,” she said, basking in his attentions. 

“An eight? Unacceptable!” he cried out, the joke in his voice not lost on her. He pinched her side, finding the narrowest dip of her waist, curving down from where her ample hip was raised, running over one of the rolls that formed on her side. She squirmed against him, giggling. 

“Eight and a half?” she offered, grinning.

“I don’t need your charity,” he grumbled, and if she turned her head, surely, he’d be pouting. “I gave you a 10.”

“Eh, you’re a softie, that’s why.”

“Well, yeah- just for you, though.”

God, why did he have to say things like that? How was she ever meant to claw her way out of the pit of her love for him when he was so damn good? Good even through his fuck ups. Good even when he got on her last nerves. She couldn’t even be mad at him anymore for his comment years ago about how he’d never date her. She’d take this any day.

She sighed again and maybe it was a bit too lovesick, but the movie was forgotten before her and she was against him like she was meant to fit against his body. His knees were bent and her own legs curled around them, her hips cradled against his. For all the short jokes she endured at his expense, she had to admit, fitting just under his chin in such a position was ideal- not only so they could both still watch, but because he would settle his cheek against the crown of her head, and each exhale tousled her curls in warm puffs of his breath.

The silence settled comfortably over them as though a warm blanket, and the courage welled inside her as she fluttered her hand atop his. His chin bumped the top of her head, a sure sign of his grin.

“I like it when you hold my hand,” he said, and her heart throbbed.

“Well, your hand is otherwise occupied right now. Gotta settle for a back-hand caress.”

“Ah, I enjoy those way more than back handed compliments.”

She snorted. “You’ve never gotten a back-handed compliment in your life.”

“Why does that feel vaguely like one, then?” he teased, and she found her fingers settling in the spaces his left behind. Her shirt was bunched up and raised. When she felt his knuckles skim against the bare skin exposed on her hip, she jolted. He paused, voice changing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered immediately, a little breathless. “Just didn’t- expect it, I guess.”

“Want me to stop?” 

“No,” she said, and it was so fast, she didn’t even think about it. He was giving her an out, and she was so damn slick she really should have said yes. Yes, Colin, you should stop, because I have been afflicted with The Horny (™) and if you keep stroking my side like that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions or bodily response. 

But this was Colin. Colin. Gorgeous, witty, loving Colin. Colin with his stupidly long fingers that she’d fixated on for too long holding onto the balcony railing as he smoked and they spoke of dreams and hopes and plans. Colin and his full pout that he’d worry between his teeth when he looked at her, thinking. Colin, and the divot of his throat, right where his collarbones met, that she wanted to put her mouth against as he spoke to taste and feel his voice in new ways. 

Colin who knew just how to turn her into a wet mess, and didn’t even do it intentionally. 

He made a contemplative sound, the hand she was holding pressing a bit firmer against her belly as he shifted forward, holding her so close she could feel his heart beating against her shoulder. The movie faded away, all her existence narrowing to the points where they connected. Which was unfortunate because they were connected almost everywhere and she desperately wanted him to be connected in her all the way. She flushed, the image of it flashing before her eyes- Colin, buried all the way inside her, filling her so well.

She shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, and his voice was raspy. For as many times as she’d lectured him for his smoking habits, much to his sheepish grin, the effect it had on his voice wrecked her. And now, it was even more gravely than usual. She bit her lip. 

“A little,” -her voice a wisp of breath. 

“Let me warm you up, then?”

She nodded, fluttering her eyes closed as his knuckles continued skimming over her side, hitching her shirt higher and higher. Slowly, he moved his other hand, along with hers, over her stomach, roving in gentle circles. 

No one had ever touched her there before. Not like that. She liked it. 

She liked it too much. 

Colin was warm and attentive, and with her eyes closed, he was the only thing running through her mind. In that moment, she was his. Each inhale filled her lungs with his air, each press of his fingers into her skin brought her nerves to the surface, played in his gentle touch, each shiver called his name: Colin, Colin, Colin. 

“God, Pen, you were made to be touched,” he whispered, and it was as though it wasn’t meant for her. It pulled a small moan from her throat, spun her out. 

“By you, maybe,” she managed to say, and the way his breath hitched- it spilled all her arousal loose. His knuckles stopped stroking her side momentarily and she didn’t even have the time to panic before his palm was against her side, firm and hot, blazing a trail beneath her shirt. He lifted their joined hands from her stomach so he could push the fabric fully out of the way before laying it back, slightly higher, this time, just beneath her bra, right between her ribs. His heat against her was almost too much and she whimpered in his attentions. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he said, and she felt his lips ghost against her temple. Why was he always so tender? She’d never been treated so gently, before. She sunk back against him, drowned down, so deep in the moment. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, “just stay with me.”

“Yes,” she agreed, the word whisping from her, arching into his touch as he cradled her. “I’m with you.”

“Good,” he replied, and she surrendered to his ease, to the sweetness of how he held her. 

She’d never been so fucking wet before. She felt it, the slickness that settled, her cunt throbbing. Oh, she’d had fantasies of him before, definitely. Plenty when he touched her, of him lifting her onto the kitchen table and eating her out, her fingers in his hair. She’d thought of him taking her against the railing of her balcony, hips snapping incessant and punishing, a brutal, crushing pace that left her gasping. She’d rubbed herself off to images of him bouncing her on his lap in his backseat, or tying her to her bed facedown and teasing her open until she was a dripping mess, but this? 

His tenderness was more than she could have ever imagined, and she felt it pulse through her in a way the filth of him never did, before. His hand over her stomach stroked down to her bellybutton, roving over the stretch marks that traveled around to her hips, gentle worship. She gasped, feeling him do it again. Her exhale came out serrated.

“Keep going,” he said, so quiet, so incessant, so- needy? When had she started guiding his hand? Her lips closed in a hum as she had him skimming beneath her bralette. She would usually wear something more full coverage, but lounging on the couch and underwire was never a combination that would win out. She felt exposed and too warm. “This feels so nice. I love your stomach. So soft and bouncy.” His lips were at her temple once more and her own fingertips felt at the lacey elastic of her top. 

Her heart swelled. Had she ever heard anyone say that about her, before? Hell, had she said it about herself? It was like a part of her was coming into place at his admission. And suddenly, it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough. She wanted all of him, endlessly. She arched once more. “Colin-” she started, cutting herself off, trying to reconcile the part of her telling her to be grateful she got even this and the part of her that was pleading to be greedy, selfish, to take fistfuls of him and not let go.

“Tell me, I’m listening,” he assured, and she was lulled by his hand at her side, his nails ghosting over her and making her shiver, her skin goosefleshing. She never liked her stomach very much, avoiding touching it too often, but the way he was stroking over her- how could she have known she was this sensitive?

“I just-” she bit her lip, then took a deep breath. “I’m still cold.”

“Where?”

She didn’t answer him, just roved his touch up, higher, higher- then gasped as he brushed over her breasts, a fresh drip of arousal hooking in her stomach as he palmed her, a hissed “ Fuck” leaving his lips as he did. 

“Here,” she managed to bite out, tensing momentarily and worried she’d gone on too far. The air sucked out of her lungs and she was about to-

He squeezed her, his thumb rubbing a smooth, sweet line over the exposed skin of her cleavage from where the bralette couldn’t cover. “Is this helping?” he asked. “Tell me, Pen. Let me make you comfortable. Will you show me how?”

It was exactly what she needed to hear. She nodded, moaning again. Her hand guided his, barely noticing how his breath got more shallow, how he’d tipped his hips back and away from her. Then, she curled herself hard into his touch as she spiraled their fingers around her nipple, feeling at the pile of velvet, her legs shifting to cant her back against him. 

The hard line of him against her ass made something in her mind switch off and turn on all at the same time, even as he moved away. “Oh, God,” she choked out, her free hand finally coming back and blindly reaching for anywhere she could touch him, grabbing his ass and pushing her own against his lap, connecting in a sinful grind that shivered all the way up her spine. 

Pen ,” she heard, “Oh, Pen, that felt- that felt so good.”

“Please don’t move away,” she asked, mustering up all her courage and leaning her shoulders back against his chest so she could twist and look at him. When she looked up, she realized he was looking at her, too, his eyes glittering in their perfect emerald gleam, pupils blown wide. The corner of his lower lip was between his teeth, and she took the moment, just looking at him. 

There wasn’t a part of his face that didn’t make her heart race. From the thick arch of his eyebrows, so expressive, to the way the light of the TV highlighted his cheekbones. The stubble on his jaw tilted his boyish charm in the best way. She wanted to run her fingers through it, cradle his cheek in her palm. He blinked at her, and she swore she could count every single lash, the shadow of them fluttering. She loved the swoop of his nose, the barely perceptible divot of his cupid’s bow, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. 

It was unfair, how beautiful he was. 

“I won’t,” he said, and looking at him as he spoke unwound her, turned her insides into loose thread and tangle. There was a new expression on his face, one she’d seen before only in glimpses. It made her shudder, rocking herself against him. “Don’t look away.”

If she were in a better state, she’d tell him that, really, they should be watching the movie. But, frankly, she didn’t give a fuck about the movie. How often did she get to study him, to note how his throat bobbed when he swallowed, how his hair licked onto his forehead, framing his face so well? How many times had she wanted just to look at him, unhindered, unashamed?

And now she got to do it as he lavished her with his touch. His warm hands and his long fingers that she felt beneath her considerably smaller hand. Gently, he squeezed her breast in his palm once more, caressing and massaging, watching her the way she watched him. She let loose a pleased sound, and his eyes flashed.

“I love cuddling with you,” he said, and it jolted her back to the reality. Cuddling. Yes, just cuddling. That’s all they ever did. Friends could hold their friends’ breasts. She nodded, swallowing as his other hand grasped at her bust, as well, squeezing her tits in his hold so indulgently. He leaned forward, so very close, and her breath stuttered as his lips connected, warm and gentle and too too much on her forehead, before he eased back. 

“Still cold?” he asked, cradling her against him. She was rubbing her ass back against him, she realized, slow, winding circles. 

“No,” she said, breathless as he smiled at her. “No, it’s perfect, now.”

It wasn’t. She wanted more. She always wanted more with him. But they were just cuddling. And a snuggle was not sex and it was not love. 

But it was enough.

She’d take what she would get with him, turning herself to look back at the movie, forgetting what it was they even decided to watch. And if she leaned in to how he played with her breasts, his fingers circling her nipple, forming a V and rubbing around, pinching just slightly, dripping hot need to the jointure between her thighs- if he kept roving over her bralette and she’d breathe a moan each time he cupped her, felt at her weight, each time he went back to caressing her belly, each time he nosed at her curls, kissed her temple- When his kisses traveled over her face, he hesitated, looking down at her for a long while. She popped her mouth open, praying the prayer of the godless- please please please- and then he dipped his head, lightly brushing their lips against each other. 

But then, he pulled away, smiling and lit up from within, and he didn’t stop. 

And he didn’t say anything.

So she didn’t, either.


1

 

He was staying. Colin was staying. Her brain had felt like it would ooze out of her ears with the casual way he’d said it, grinning at her in his stupidly infatuating way. “Well, would you want to come to my apartment? It needs to be Christened, you know. Who better than with you?”

She knew he meant with their movie traditions. She knew. Yet she couldn’t help but imagine he wanted to Christen his new apartment with her in a different way. 

Everything inside her had said it was a bad idea. 

No. It was one thing for them to be so touchy with each other and then him leaving in a few weeks. She could forget him and then fill the hole in her heart with his text messages and the pictures he sent her of his travels, all his behind the scenes and remind herself that they were just friends and it didn’t mean anything that he was an affectionate person. She could ease herself by reading and editing the blurbs he’d put up on his Instagram, knowing he was so far away and she couldn’t embarrass herself with how absolutely desperate she was to press against him and grab his hair and buck against him, so close he would slide under her skin and live between her ribs and-

She’d said yes. Of course she did. She was Penelope and he was Colin. 

She’d always say yes. 

Damn her. 

And, of course, when he’d asked her to bring all her pillows over, she didn’t realize it was because he wasn’t in possession of a couch. 

Her hold on the cushions was slack. “Home sweet home!” he said, having helped her carry everything from her car. She looked around his flat as he disappeared behind a door off to the left, carrying all the bedding she brought. It was beautiful, though bare. He hadn’t moved in for long, and there were still boxes in the living room. Even still, his personality came through. A bookshelf was already set up, full of books and trinkets, all dark wood. There was a globe on a table in the corner, a vase of flowers, a beautiful artwork on the walls- surely a gift from Benny. “Do you wanna drink?” he called. 

She rolled her shoulders, her hands coming to clasp in front other as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “Uh, what do you have?”

He popped his head out of the doorframe dramatically, all but sideways as he regarded her, raising a brow. “Really, Pen?”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Yeah, I wanna drink.”

“Perfect! Me, too. I bought that shaker you recommended!” 

She meandered her way to his kitchen as he went back into the room, his, most likely, and took a deep breath. She could do this. She could be in his apartment and make them their favorite shared shots and watch a movie and- and- well, it was late, so she could stay the night, probably, especially because she was going to have a drink or two or four because oh god, what if she couldn’t do this-

“It’s in the drawer on the left,” he said, his voice carrying. She heard the rustle of something, likely sheets as he prepared where they’d be sitting. Penelope was going to chew the inside of her cheek to gum, and decided it was damn time she focused on a task. She pulled out the shaker, opening a few more cabinets before she found the vodka, sidled up against a dark bottle of what she knew to be simple syrup, homemade, naturally. The lemons were already on the counter, ready to be juiced. 

It was simple work. She could barely cook, the meager number of recipes in her repertoire truly a shame, though good enough to get by. But she could make a hell of a cocktail and she knew how to balance shots just right so the burn was a pleasant tingle and the sweetness coated all over her tongue. 

Of course Colin, sweet tooth extraordinaire, only ever drank a cocktail if she was the one to mix it. They would both suck liquid Jolly Ranchers through a straw. Eloise once told her that she was the personification of a cavity waiting to happen. She measured out a few ounces of everything she needed, not bothering with the lemons yet, and jumped when she felt heat against her back. 

“Lemon drop shots? Truly a woman after my own heart,” he said, hooking his chin over her shoulder and watching her work. She loved and hated their height difference all at once. Maybe it was time to invest in platform boots, after all. 

“Really? You’re going to sneak up on the person with a weapon in her hands?” she asked, gesturing to the heavy bottom of the shaker she was currently filling with sugar water and liquor.

“Ah, but anything is a weapon if you’re creative enough,” he replied, cheerfully, wrapping his arms around her middle and hugging her close. Everything inside of her deflated at his pleased sigh, the way he melted and draped himself over her. “There we go, just what I needed.”

“What? Vodka?” she asked, breathless. 

He hummed in reply. “No, you. Love your hugs. Missed it. Missed you.

Her heart was dripping into her stomach, she was sure of it. There was a sick and giddy feeling inside of her, so close to him. 

He didn’t mean it. Not like that. She needed to assure herself, bring her defenses back up. And this time, she couldn’t even comfort herself with the understanding that he’d be leaving. Getting his own apartment, signing a lease, was a sure sign he was settling down some roots. She’d have to watch him make a life here in London and it wouldn’t be with her and she needed to just get the fuck over it. 

She wasn’t strong enough not to lean back against him, closing her eyes and feeling his hands splay over her stomach, one of his absolute favorite places to touch her. Countless self-help videos, following the right influencers, reading stories with representation of women like her- all of that helped bring her confidence up. She could stand in front of her mirror naked and hold herself and say kind things about her body and everything. The gentleness with which she treated herself was much more now, more than ever before. 

But none of those things taught her to love her stomach like Colin did, the unashamed way he’d rest his head against it when they were on picnics, even in front of other people, praising what a perfect pillow she was for him. How he would tickle her and grin and grin, pinching, so happy. Even how he’d given her a raspberry when they went to his family’s beach house, making her cackle with the noise and sensation, right over her bellybutton, nuzzling afterward.

She let herself have that moment, just a flash, and then broke her expectations. “Well, are you going to help me, or what?” 

He laughed, turning his head and kissing her cheek before he dislodged, only to reach for the lemons in front of her and force her forward, pressing her to the counter in a desperately hot motion that ignited everything inside her as though made of kindling and he were flint crashing upon her. 

“You’re going to trust me with a weapon, now?” he asked, pulling away to settle behind her as he pulled out a cutting board and knife, twirling the damn thing between his fingers in a motion she knew he’d perfected on one of his travels to Spain. She’d edited the caption for his video herself. 

It didn’t make it any less hot, though. 

“You’re right,” she said, dryly, “I've watched how many times you’ve dropped a knife. If you lose your fingers, I’m gonna laugh at you.”

“No you won’t, you like my fingers,” he said, brazen and flirty, giving her a conspiratory look from the corners of his eyes, slicing the lemon clean in half. He cupped the exposed, bright end of it, catching the seeds as he squeezed with his other hand, wringing it of all it’s juice into a separate glass. She watched, transfixed, as his palm glistened, liquid dripping between his fingers. 

She needed a glass of water. Really, it was improper to look. 

She couldn’t help herself. 

Times like then reminded her that he had learned to play the piano the same as Daphne had, and the elegant line of his hands had done something to her even when she was a teenager coming over to Eloise’s house for hangouts. She’d sit on the couch, silently reading when El would gather snacks or go to the bathroom, and delight in the way he would practice, unashamed and rather quite good, in fact. The best was when he’d sing along to whatever piece he was trying out. 

The memory of it was dear, hazy and sepia in her mind, but no less in focus. She’d watch his back, the way his spine was so straight, even as his head bent, peering at the sheet music. His shoulders were a smooth, clean, imposing line, even back then, leading into wiry arms and jagged elbows, to the delicate, graceful curve of his wrists, and then, when he’d lift his hand in the air, adding flair whenever the sounds overtook him, she’d stare at how his fingers curled, so elegant and effortless, perfect down to the short-clipped nails.

He’d been scrappy as a teenager, all wiry muscle and frame. She blinked and the reality of him now was before her, once more, how he’d filled out, grown up, gotten devastatingly handsome. 

And he fucking knew it.

“See?” he said, clearly noticing how she was fixated on the motions of his hand, lifting it up and bringing it before his face. Her gaze followed, flicking to his eyes and realizing he was looking at her, just as he licked, grinning. The pink peak of his tongue was too much. The noise that threatened to come out of her would have been way too embarrassing and she just could not allow that. 

Then, he grimaced as the sour notes hit his tongue and the spell was broken, thank God. 

She laughed. “Oh, yeah, I’m swooning as we speak. See? I’m about to faint,” she teased, wrinkling her nose as he stuck his tongue out fully, shaking his head and going to squeeze the other half of the lemon. 

“How you turn stuff like this into magic, I’ll never know.”

“Well, all things are possible with sugar, so jot that down.”

“Oh, hang on, I need to get my journal if I’m gonna be in class-” he said, putting down everything in his hands and faking to walk out of the kitchen. She giggled at his antics and grasped his elbow with one hand before she hooked her arm in his, yanking him back. 

“No you don’t, you still haven’t finished helping me, sneak. Now get back to work.”

He grinned at her and his eyes were so soft . He didn’t move away. 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

She wasn’t going to make it. It was only when he passed her a glass of lemon juice a few minutes later that she realized she hadn’t dislodged from him.

Colin was the touchy one. When did she start being just as touchy with him? She really needed to get a grip. 

“Thanks,” she said, moving away from his side so she could properly measure out the last of the ingredients, cracking some ice and knocking the top of the shaker into place, starting on mixing the drink together until it was chilled in her hands. 

“Wow- that’s hot,” he said, and when she looked at him, she realized he was staring at her. 

Rather, staring at a particular part of her. She was almost taken aback at it, how he was licking his lips, looking at the exposed puff of her breasts over her shirt, and she realized the motion she was making was causing her to jiggle, bouncing. When he connected with her eyes again, there was a look in his eyes- a look she’d seen in fragments. She had to look away.

“It’s cold, actually,” she quipped, occupying herself with popping the top off and pouring them two shots into the glasses he’d magicked up in front of her. The deep breath she took bubbled in her chest when she finally handed him his drink. 

He was smiling. “Ice, ice, baby,” then he hummed, and she giggled at how cheesy it was. 

“I’d say it’s ice to meet you, but ehhh.”

“I think we’ve met once or ice, before, actually.”

“Really? Without hail, I’m sure I would have remembered that.”

“No, no, see, I only had ice for you, but your eyes were focused elsewhere.”

“Must have been on the buy one, get one freeze sale. They’re everywhere, now-a-days.”

“No, I think it’s because you’re too cool for me.”

“You-” she paused, watching as he grinned, clearly trying to one up him. “See, I’d have another ice pun, but I guess it. . .slipped my mind.”

“Ah, Classic Pen, made of sugar, spice, and all things ice.”

She laughed, clinking her drink against his, finally. “Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” she said, knocking the bottom against the table and watching him mirror her to toss the shot back. Even here, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, how he had his head tipped back and she could see how his beard highlighted his jaw, the sharp line of it, teased her. Colin looked at her when he was done, his lips shining. 

“One more?”

&

 

Two shots later, they were both silly and loose and more than ready to relax. He gave her a tour, quipping that, because he was but a third son, perpetually light in the pockets, it wasn’t much, and walked her around his living room a good 3 times, pointing out the same features, highlighting a crack in the paint and having them look out the window. He’d gestured over to the bathroom, and she ooohed and aaahed over soap and hand towels good-naturedly, stretching out the moment. The whole time, every brush of his hand over her lower back made her skin ignite. The whole time, when he tucked her hand against his arm, it was as though she would turn to dust, float out the window and over his carpet. And then, he brought her to his room and opened the door. 

It took her breath away, for a moment. The main light was off, but he had shimmering fairy lights wrapped around the perimeter of the floor and the crowning. One wall was entirely covered in mirror tiles, floor to ceiling, reflecting the warm haze of the room. 

He actually had a bedframe. Fuck, it was official. He was staying. He was staying for longer than a few weeks and she was most likely staying, too, for the night, in his room. Her friend's room. Her touchy, sexy, oh-fuck-I-love-you friend's room. The room that was so Colin. The headboard, plain thing though it was, contrasted well with the tapestry behind it, a giant map with marks where he’d visited. All her pillows were propped alongside his, clearly creating something for them to lean against as they'd watch the enormous TV he had mounted on the opposite wall. Somehow, all the colors worked together, even in the mix. There were dark green sheets on the mattress, a comforter folded at the end.

She memorized all the little details. His desk tucked in the corner, covered in papers and journals and photographs, a corkboard above it with some of her letters to him from when she was in Uni and wanted a Pen Pall. A floating shelf that had his favorite books, a camera, ticket stubs and shells and souvenirs.

It even smelled like him. Everywhere she looked was a portion of his internal self come outside. There was something so lovely about it, that she felt she were enveloped in a room that fit him so, especially after he’d lived out of a carry-on for years.

“It’s. . .it’s beautiful in here,” she said, and he made a noise of agreement. But when she glanced at him, he was just looking at her. It was a foolish thought, that he was thinking of her when she mentioned beauty. She squashed it immediately. “So, what movie are we watching?” and the moment passed. 

&

She didn’t realize how much in withdrawal of him she was in until he scooted himself onto the bed, sitting back against the enormous cushion of pillows, looking over at her. To the side of him, the mirrors showed the parts of him that were hidden from her gaze and it was almost too much, watching him like that. 

Watching them. Watching him as she climbed onto the bed, as well, shooting him a look when she realized the frame had raisers under the legs, forcing her to hop in order to make her way atop the mattress. 

He didn’t laugh. Much. 

“Should I get a stepstool, next time?” he asked, and she snorted. 

“Just because you’re a giraffe and have never had to struggle for anything vertical in your life does not give you the credentials to mock me,” she shot back, primly fixing her hair and sitting against the cushions, as well, keeping a respectable distance between them. 

Colin was smiling at her instead of replying, the way he did whenever he was particularly charmed by one of her replies, and then, one of his hands came to her knee and the other to her elbow, grasping her and dragging her across the sheets so she was right next to him. 

It was effortless . He made her feel like she weighed absolutely nothing at all.

“Yes, well, I don’t intend to struggle for anything horizontally, either,” he responded, finally, “which means you can’t be that far away.”

She would struggle, maybe, put up a bit of a fight, just for the jest of it. But she couldn’t. She wanted nothing more than to be beside him, wrapped up in him, so safe. He made her feel cared for, wanted. 

Surrender, at least, was sweet. 

Colin was endlessly giving, she’d known it about him when she was just a kid who barely knew what attraction was, and she knew it now, as a grown woman desperately turned on with her head on his chest, one leg draped over him, his arm around her and stroking the back of her neck, down and across her shoulder, and back. Colin rubbed spirals into her skin everywhere her tank top didn’t cover and swirled little drawings into her flesh. He coaxed out shivers and nearness with his nails, laughed with her as they quoted Princess Bride at each other. 

“What character would you be?” he asked, realizing then that he should dim down his lights, doing so with a flick of the second remote. 

“Hmm? I don’t know,” she said, nuzzling against his side as he smoothed over her arm. “But I know what character you are.”

“And which would that be?”

She snorted at his faux confusion. “Please, you’re him! Farm Boy. Dread Captain Roberts. Westley.”

“I never considered that,” he responded, clearly preening at being compared to the main character. “Why, what could we possibly have in common?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “You’re just fishing for compliments.”

“Are you gonna bite?”

The response was on the tip of her tongue, and she swallowed it down. She didn’t want the easy, fake sexual banter, at the moment. Something was warming in her chest, seeing how he looked at her, feeling how he was holding her. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. 

“Well. . .you’re funny, like he is. You always make me laugh, no matter what’s happening. And you’d go to the ends of the earth for people you care about.” Realizing she was getting too close to the truth of why she’d fallen for him, she changed course. “Besides, you’re both utterly ridiculous, I think you may have that exact outfit, honestly.”

He looked all too pleased. “Awww, you think I’m funny?”

“Shut up,” she said, burying herself deeper into his embrace. He laughed, kissing the top of her head, humming pleasantly. 

“Thank you, that was nice of you to admit.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late!” he informed, sunny as always. “Now it’s my turn. You are obviously Buttercup.”

She paused, then pulled away to give him a flat look. “The princess? Princess Buttercup? Her?”

“Yeah! Think about it, you’re both persistent and you never give up. You don’t let people go, you’re loyal. You don’t let anyone get away with anything- you know that’s true. And you’re spunky.” 

She snorted. “Spunky?”

“Spunky! Besides, if I’m Westley, you have to be Buttercup. You say something and I always tell you ‘as you wish’.”

“That’s because you’re quoting the movie,” she said, refusing to let the hope well up. 

“Yeah, and you quote Buttercup. See? Perfect!”

She shook her head and eased herself back onto him. “Yeah, yeah, fine- now hush and let me use you as a pillow.”

“As you wish,” he said, clearly feeling as though he’d won, placing another kiss at the top of her head. Her heart stuttered. Colin. Fuck, he’d always be who she gravitated toward in a room, pulling her to his center. It was so easy, too easy, to tuck against him, to turn when he nudged her so he could stroke her side, once more, bringing her shirt up and up and up until she was just in her bra, and his hands were on her, caressing her breasts, the movie lost on her once more.

She fluttered her eyes closed, both her legs now over his, her body twisted at the waist so her shoulders were still on the bed, chest heaving up and into his touch. 

“You feel so nice,” he said, cheek pressing against her, his fingers, that she’d never been able to forget about for a single fucking moment, so tortuous, so good, skittering around and around, spiraling, until he finally palmed her fully, and she moaned.

The sound broke the spell he’d brought her under, made her eyes snap open once more, having been hypnotized by the way he touched her. But when she looked at him, he had that expression on his face-

And she finally realized what it was.

He looked at her like he wanted to eat her. He licked his lips.

“That was too good a sound,” he told her. Colin, Colin, Colin. He was going to kill her and she’d welcome that kind of death with arms wide open. Her cuddle buddy, her best friend, her heart’s greatest desire. It almost brought tears to her eyes, how badly she wanted him. 

“Make me do it again, then,” she told him, and she couldn’t even blame it on the shots. She was terribly in control of herself, terribly wanting, terrible yearning, and the challenge echoed.

She should have known that Colin Bridgerton, of all people, never backed down from a dare, especially one with a reward he wanted at the end. She expected him to palm at her once more, perhaps more roughly, but instead, she gasped when she felt his fingertips come to the elastic of her skirt, playing beneath it and then over her legs, running over the dimples on her thighs. He was so slow , watching her.

Studying her. 

She felt flayed bare. 

When he made his ascension back up, his eyes were attentive and sharp on her face as he came beneath the flutter of her hem, stopping when she gasped and giving her a questioning look. 

“Is this alright?” he asked, completely motionless. She bit her lip. Her cuddle buddy. Just her cuddle buddy. 

This could be another form of cuddling, right? If it didn’t mean anything. And it never meant anything. And that was okay. It was. It was.

“Yes,” she said, licking her lips and hitching her leg higher on his body. “Yes, it’s alright. You can keep going.”

“How far?” he asked, and she realized she was still the one in control. Colin, perfect, beautiful, lovely Colin, wouldn’t ever do anything she didn’t ask for or approve of to her. It was his hand moving, his eyes upon her, his attentions and affections. But it was her choice. 

“As far as you want,” she said, finally, and the heat that she saw in his gaze, then, undid her. He trailed up slow, so slow, too fucking slow, until his fingertips played with the lacey edge of her panties. As he did, he yanked down her bralette, his other hand cupping her breast and swiping his thumb over her hardened nipple. “Yeah,” she breathed, then huffed when he made his way back down to her knee again, catching the front of her legs this time, spiraling over her, again and again. 

Each time she thought he’d get close to where she wanted him, coming between her thighs as she shifted to open her legs wider, he’d retreat, teasing her. 

No, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t teasing her at all. He was learning her. 

“Always loved your legs so much,” he said, grabbing a handful of her inner thigh where she was particularly soft and thick. He groaned, rubbing with two of his fingers, making her gasp when the back of his hand whispered over her, frankly, embarrassingly soaked panties. “So lush. So curvy.”

Lush. Oh, that was a new one, for her. The way it sounded was so lovely. She moaned, partly at the feeling and partly at the words. 

“Colin, please- please just touch me.”

“I am,” he assured her. 

“Not where I want,” she huffed, and his smirk was too purposeful. 

“Oh? My apologies. Where should I touch you, instead?”

She whined, wiggled her hips. “Come on, you know.”

“Mmmm, ‘fraid not. I’m touching you, aren’t I? Don’t you like me touching your legs?”

Yes. But I’d like if you touched between them, too.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say?” he teased, and then she felt his hand flip around and stroke her lips, making her buck as he pressed her damp underwear tight against her pussy. “Oh my god, Penelope, you’re so wet.”

She whimpered as she tossed her head back, unable to keep looking at him, but noting the wonder in his voice. Well, of course she was wet. He’d been playing with her tits and caressing her everywhere for ages . She just had to look at him and she'd be wet. She was wet when they were mixing shots, even. If she weren’t wet, she’d be astonished. “Of course I am,” she said, rocking against him, wanting more. “I’m with you.”

There was a moment of silence where they just breathed with each other, and the weight of her words caught up with her. She almost snapped her eyes open, almost said “Sorry, we can forget it, I didn’t mean that I’m always turned on around you, haha, that would be weird? Right?”, but before she could, Colin flattened his palm against her and rubbed the entirety of her cunt with his hand, turning her into one massive knot of need. 

“I want these off,” he told her, deep and rough and pooling more arousal into the crux of her.

“Go ahead,” she said, and he tucked his thumb against the side, snapping them once before dragging her panties down her legs, aided with her lifting herself up, just barely. They clung to her lips, soaked through, and she kicked them off and to the side, goodness even knowing where they landed. 

He went back up from her knee, again, tenderly tracing higher- higher-

“You want me?” he breathed, playing with the seam of her lips, petting over her thighs. She nodded, but he didn’t go any farther, not even at her pleading whimper. “Look at me, Penelope.”

Her eyes opened, realizing he was on his side, now, and she caught his expression, earnest and open. She felt his fingers slipping so easily over her, dipping between her folds with how slick she was. How could he not know the answer already? She could have laughed. Of course she did. She suspected that he knew but needed to hear it. She couldn’t help how she gave in to every desire she had. He was leaning over her, playing with her pussy, and he kept rocking forward only to stop, looking over her, leaning back just barely, and then repeating the motion, his eyes on her lips. 

Friends could kiss friends, couldn’t they? It was just very, very intimate cuddling, but it was still cuddling. They'd kissed before, too. It was fine.

But even if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be able to resist how she kissed him. How it was everything she ever wanted, everything she’d ever dreamed of. He tasted of sugar and lemonade on her mouth and she couldn’t get enough, sweeping her tongue over his cupid’s bow, nibbling and sucking at his lower lip, slipping inside when he popped his mouth open to slide against her in an indulgent trace. He wasn’t pulling away, either. He was meeting her right at the middle, groaning her name.

“I always want you,” she murmured, finally, against his lips, rolling her hips into his touch. “Always want you to touch me, always want you next to me, always want you-  can’t you feel it?”

“I feel it,” he said, circling her clit now that he had her permission, slow, learning her as she arched her back, deep. She could do little more than clutch at his shoulders, her nails digging in. “I feel how soaked you are. You feel amazing- you always feel so good, but this? So wet, so warm, so ready for me.” He slid a finger into her and it made her gasp against his mouth until he pulled away to kiss over her face, curling his touch inside her, sweet and coaxing and tender. “Just like that, perfect- you’re perfect, Pen.”

She breathed out a pleased sigh, unable to look away from him, even as he adjusted himself up on one forearm, sliding in and out of her languidly. “More- please, I need more,” she said, and he didn’t deny her, adding a second finger, teasing her entrance and rubbing her with his thumb as he did. In the haze of pleasure, she realized that he’d never actually denied her anything. He gave in every single time, to everything she asked for, like he didn’t want to say no to her. 

Her heart swelled between her ribs, watching him. He asked her to look at him and it was one of her favorite things to do, now especially. Her world narrowed down to his face, to the concentrated, kind look, awe-struck and studious, the way his jaw twitched, teeth clenching each time she squeezed down on him, the gentle curve of his lips, swollen pink in their kissing, and the soft arc under his eyes, so affectionate. He dipped his head, kissing her cheek once more before he- 

He licked her. 

She laughed. Colin-” she said, squirming as he dropped down to the dip of her neck, nuzzling, knowing she was so damn ticklish. She gasped out another giggle, mixing it with her moan, feeling his tongue flatten and lave over her, up and down, blowing against the slick lines to make her shiver.

“Yep, that’s my name,” he said, smug and cocky and hers, if just for then. He punctuated it with another press against the soft spot within her, pulling almost all the way out and then back in again, petting her from the inside out. 

If touching someone was a talent, if it could be an Olympic Sport, Colin would earn a gold medal.

The way she bucked, called his name, broke into- “Yes, yes, that’s so good, keep going,”- still grinning, that was all him, and he always responded so well to positive feedback. He listened. He always listened to her, and he was panting in his efforts to please her, even as he smiled, even as he rendered her to a wailing mess, her head thrown side to side as her stomach clenched and his fingers dragged over the front of her walls. He pressed relentless at the tenderness within her, and then she felt it- a gush of liquid, all too good leaving her. She whimpered, looking at how his brows went up and his eyes widened, clearly not knowing where to look. Either at her face, as she approached the perfect bliss of an orgasm he was whipping up in her, or to where she was soaking what was once his immaculately made bed. 

“Wow,” he breathed, still tapping within her, his palm rubbing over her cunt, right against her clit and digging into the spot beneath the hood that always made her go particularly crazy, “wow, you’re amazing.”

She milked his fingers as he praised her, kissing over any part of him she could reach. Usually, Colin was the one initiating contact, but she wanted to feel him. “Colin- shirt- off, please-” she managed to choke out, and he stopped, making her whine, pulling out of her and sitting up so he could do as she said, revealing his torso to her. 

Her mouth all but watered. One of her hands came to his chest, playing with the soft, wiry hair, running down and over his firm stomach, watching as he goosefleshed at her attentions. “That’s good,” he said, “that’s really good. Don’t stop.”

She had no choice, no desire, no need but to do as he said. She stroked over his sides, how his ribs dipped in at each muscle, how his waist indented, how his body was so different from her own. She kissed over his shoulders and when she ran her palms back up, having knocked her thumbs at the waist of his low-slung joggers, she caught over his nipples, watching him shiver in his sensitivity. 

“Holy hell, Pen,” he said, tossing his head back against the cushions as she explored him. 

She loved being touched by him, but nothing compared to touching him, too. 

“I want you, Colin,” she said, pawing at his hips, his muscular thighs, grabbing a handful of his ass before she went back over his firm abdomen, resting her palm over his stomach and feeling him breathe. “I want you.”

“I want you, too,” he said, looking back at her, smiling hopefully. “Can I still hold you?”

She melted at the question, nodding. It was like her entire heart liquified and pooled down to her cunt. God, he’d be in her soon. He was going to-

Penelope shrieked when he wrapped his arms around her middle and flipped her, rerouting her brain and making her laugh at the whirl. “Colin Bridgerton!” she said between giggles, finding herself on her side with him shuffling away from her. But when her eyes opened, her voice died in her throat. 

He’d brought her around so she was facing his mirrors, looking at her through the reflection. Slowly, she propped herself up on an elbow, taking note of what she looked like. Her skirt was flipped up, revealing the Valentine of hair between her legs, glistening with how wet she was, from when he’d rubbed her slick all over her. She followed higher, catching the way her stomach was folding in, creating rolls on her sides and emphasizing the heavy curve of her belly. The rest of her torso disappeared beneath the skirt, her skin only revealing itself once more at the ribs, her breasts free from when he pulled her bralette down, nipples hardened, flushed all over her chest. 

Then, she caught sight of him, watching her watch herself, settled on his knees and leaning over. “Just look at you,” he said, biting his lip. “You’re so hot.”

She looked from his face to his lap, his erection prominent in the light gray of his sweatpants. 

“Can I look at you, too?”

“Want me to put on a show?” he asked back, hooking his thumbs in the waistband and smiling. “You deserve one.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she muttered, focused on the motion of his hands as he shimmied and rocked, making due on his promise. He laughed, smoothing his hands over his belly, his chest, his neck, running through his hair, then back down. 

“You’re gonna have a good time. It’s not a threat, beautiful, it’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said, watching as he finally pulled his pants down, catching his boxer-briefs as he did so, maneuvering himself so he could fully take them off. 

“You’ll hold more than that,” he said, and she almost didn’t hear it, staring at what he’d revealed to her. Fuck. He was big. She had a feeling he was, she’d felt his hard-on before, certainly imagined it plenty of times. Yet, somehow, it couldn’t compare to the reality of it. “Don’t stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” she said, shifting and curling herself back, arching and rubbing her thighs together. 

“Like you want to swallow me whole,” he said, and then shuffled forward. “I want to look at you, too.”

“Like you’re going to swallow me whole?” 

“I always look at you like I want to swallow you whole,” he corrected, and then he had her leg up, lifting as he settled behind her in the familiar spooning position they often found themselves in. She was too high up to sink down on him, but the angle- she could see everything . The inside of her thighs were almost as pink as her pussy was, flushed and wet, droplets of her previous squirt gleaming in her curls in the ambiance of the soft lights. She flushed and- fuck, if anything, she blushed between her legs, too. “How could I not?” he started, mouth open and all but salivating at the sight of her. 

She didn’t know where to look. His cock was perfect, thick and curved, so close, so touchable. His face, expressive, warm, needy, so fucking turned on. Herself- she’d never herself like this, before. 

“I wanna watch you squirt when I fuck you,” he said, shifting and rubbing his cockhead between her folds, and she gasped, grabbing at her skirt to try to ground her. Watching it and feeling it at the same time- it was overwhelming in the best way. “Can I fuck you, Pen?”

Yes , god, please, ” she said, now following his motions, and when he lined himself up, they both stilled, taking in the moment. They’d been so close, before. She’d imagined it a different ways. How fitting she was seeing it, now, too. He held her, suspended in that moment, and then she was the one who bore down, splitting herself open on him with a deep moan that came from the very center of her chest. “ Fuck.”

He did the same, then choked when she didn’t stop, taking him in almost to the hilt in one go, so fucking ready for him. “Oh- fuck, fuck- Pen, holy shit, you have to give me a second,” he pleaded, and she stilled, wanting him deeper, wanting him under her skin and between her ribs and in her very veins. He had his forehead lowered against her shoulder, pleased shudders passing through him. She felt them against her, saw how he trembled. Slowly, after a few moments, she rocked against him, watching him nod as she took the last few inches of him inside her.

When his hips met her ass, she gushed, rubbing herself back against him.

“Please- please can you move?” she asked, “please?” He lifted his head, connected their eyes in the mirror, and kissed her, so sweet, on the cheek.

He moaned when he finally rolled his hips back, and when he pushed back in, she felt the entire length of him against the front of her walls, turning her entire body into a tender spot. The guttural groan it pulled from her was animal, shattering the relative quiet. She’d heard men during sex before, but not like that, not so wanting, not so open, not so loud. And she’d never been so loud in response, either.

“Oh, god, do that for me again, gorgeous,” he said, and her hands scrabbled, trying to find leverage. Eventually, she realized that he had his forearm around the band of her skirt, and she grasped it, eyes squeezed shut as he repeated the motion, slow and indulgent. The curve of him was so perfect inside her, rubbing against her right where she wanted him. The stretch was incredible, how she fluttered around him, nearly feeling him in her gut as he eased back and pushed all the way into her, wiggling her hips at each motion to fully close the gap between them. She did as he asked, the sound pulled from her surely as a breath. 

Colin ,” his name was so delicious in her mouth, “you feel amazing. I’m so full.”

“Yeah? Wanna know how you feel, Penelope?” he asked, kissing over the side of her face to punctuate her name. She nodded, clenching around him, throbbing. She felt his pulse inside her as he stilled once more, changing the beat of her body to match him. Penelope breathed in time with the throbs, squeezing down on him in time. “Oh- fuck. Pen, you feel perfect . So wet around me. I can feel you dripping over my cock. I want you so bad- want to fuck you like this every day until I die.”

It caught the breath in her throat like a bubble, the needy noise it pulled from her too earnest. Her legs trembled, everything inside of her pulling tight and then releasing, her whole body on edge. “Yes- I want that. I want that so much.”

“Yeah? You like that? Like how I feel inside you?”

She whimpered as he began a slow, languid pace. She went to hitch her leg up even higher, opening herself to him, to them, but he pressed her knees completely together, making her gasp.

“Not yet, baby girl, not yet. I wanna feel you like this for a little longer. You fit me so well, Pen, so perfect and puffy and slick. I’m so deep in you. Keep looking at me. Don’t look away.”

She could have cried. The way he pressed her legs together made him feel even bigger inside her, had him enveloping her completely. She felt him everywhere , all her sense leaving her as she stared at him through the mirror.

“Please -”

“No,” he denied her, tracing over her belly, his thumb swirling so lovingly, and she really did sob, that time, the pleasured noise punctuated by another squirt as he rutted against her particularly hard. “I’m going to savor you, fuck you so slow, because you deserve it, you deserve to feel so good , and I’m not gonna stop until you cum all over me. Do you want that, beautiful?”

“Oh, God, yes, I want you, I want it.”

“Tell me exactly, tell me what you want?” he asked, and she would do anything for him in that moment. 

“I want you to fuck me- slow-” he did, the pace so luxurious .

That’s all?”

“And- and to rub my clit- yes -” The way his two fingers slipped between her lips, tenderly stroking over her, was almost too much. She glanced down, noting the motion of it, shuddering, legs quaking as he wound her tighter. 

“What else do you want?” he asked, biting over her neck, eyes still locked on hers when she looked back at his face. He was pulling the most broken sounds of pleasure she’d ever made, punctuating each with another languid, indulgent thrust, pressure everywhere she needed. 

“And I- fuck I- Colin, don’t stop, yes- I- I want to-”

“What- do- you- want?” he repeated, each word accompanied by a swirl over her swollen clit, by a grind against her- she wailed. 

“I wanna cum- make me cum, Colin-”

“I’ve got you, Pen, yes,” he groaned, nuzzling at her shoulder as he gave himself over to her, as he gently fucked her. He smiled at her, sweet and warm and so, so lovely, the arm that he’d wrapped around her soothing down her stomach once more, lovingly pressing his fingertips into the soft of her. 

“I- I like it when you do that,” she said, unable to look away from his reflection. She would have to remember. Would have to hold this memory, precious, as delicately as he held her. Looking into his eyes as she felt him inside her had her feeling drunk and giddy, climbing higher than she could have previously imagined.

“Be specific, beautiful,” he said, curling over her and kissing her forehead, making her gasp.

“When you- when you touch my stomach. Like that-” She cut off with a whimper when his other hand collected her slick, rubbing in half-moons instead of the up and down he was previously. “Oh- god-”

“I love touching you,” he said, and she surrendered the view in favor of tipping her face toward him, allowing him to kiss over her cheeks, her nose, as though he wanted to give a peck for each freckle. The murmur of his lips against her skin was addicting and sweet. “Everywhere,” he continued, pressing his hand down below her bellybutton as he thrust in, the pressure too much and too good and yes yes yes. “Want to touch you everywhere. Never let you go.”

Yes. Yes, please. There- fuck , right there- Colin-” she bucked back against him, meeting each of his thrusts with her own as he played with her pussy, stroking over her clit, feather-light, before swirling much more firmly. He fucked her like- like-

He fucked her like he loved her.

She’d never approached an orgasm like this, before. By herself, she finished near frantically, quick to finish. Here, it was like she was being coaxed, like she was in free-fall, her eyes rolling, everything inside of her tensing, tensing- her senses sharped before they dulled, all her thoughts fragmenting slowly at first and then more and more until she wasn’t thinking at all. She met each of his motions desperately, wet and messy, soaking against him and only knowing it before she bore down and it felt so good, so good, so perfect, so- yesyesso- so-yes- so Colin Colin ColinColinCol-

The next time she had sense again, it was to flutter her eyes open to watch Colin fuck into her boneless body, gasping and red-faced and babbling praises of her that wormed their way into her heart and her mind and everything inside her like she was healing a wound she didn’t know she had. “In me,” she whispered, voice hoarse, “cum in me.” He went wild. There was a near-frenzied look on his face, and she watched, transfixed, as he came, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth popped open on the ending syllable of her name, a sob in his throat, clutching her like a lifeline out at sea. 

She didn’t think she could be more full, more complete, more content- but he came inside her and she milked the hell out of him as he did, the warm gush of him so comforting, humming and bouncing, just barely, to ease him through. He was gorgeous. She would never stop finding him gorgeous, even with his hair a mess, his chest heaving. Her best friend, her partner in crime- 

There were tears in her eyes, suddenly, the emotion of it all coming back to her, how sweet he’d been, how gentle, how she never wanted it to end. When he lifted his head, she saw how he looked her over, felt him pull her even closer, as though unable, unwilling to let her go, and then, twisting her over, he kissed her with the most delicate brush of his lips, like the beat of a butterfly’s wing. 

She opened immediately, poured everything she wanted to say to him into it. 

“I love you, fuck, that was amazing,” he said, having pulled away just barely to take a breath, holding her like he wanted her to bury into his skin. She felt him soften inside her as she kissed him again, never wanting to let him go- 

Then, his words caught up to her and she gasped, breaking away from him. 

“What?” she asked, finally looking at him, not through a reflection, but with nothing between them. He smiled and kissed over her face.

“I love you,” he repeated. “I’m so in love with you. God, I should have said it a while ago. Could have said it months ago. And I know we’ve been together for a while and we haven’t said it yet, but, fuck, Pen, I just feel it so much right now.”

Her mouth was wide open, looking at him, eyes all but bugging out of her head. In love- while ago- together- a while?

“I’m sorry, wait- go back- go back.”

His brows furrowed, concern flashing in his eyes. “Pen? What’s wrong?”

“Together?” she choked out. “We’re- what do you mean- together? Like- as friends?”

“Uh- what? No?”

“No?”

“No,” he said, more firmly, flabbergasted. “No, not as friends. Very much not as friends. I’m- are you being funny?”

“No! We’re- when did we- we’re together?

“You- Pen-” his face went ashen. “Oh, god. Oh my god? Oh fuck.” She shimmied against him, realizing that they were having the conversation with him still inside her, and the very ending credits of Princess Bride playing in the background. She couldn’t even turn her head, because if she did, she’d see the full length of them, still pressed together. “You- you didn’t know we were together?” She shook her head, and she’d never seen him look so devastated before. “Holy- I’m so sorry, oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”

A stone sunk inside her, replacing the warm tenderness he’d filled her with, and she wasn't ready for him to pull out of her, to move away. “No- wait, Colin, wait-” she urged, cupping his cheek and searching his face, keeping them connected. “Don't pull out- and please don’t be sorry.”

“How can I not be?” he asked, chewing his lip, but doing as she'd asked. “I- I’ve been out here thinking we’re dating for a couple months and you- you didn’t even know. Which means we. . .we haven’t.”

“A couple months?”

“When we. . .kissed,” he said, almost awkwardly, certainly bashfully. “And- I’d never touched you like that, before.”

She flashed back to a few months ago, a couch, a velvet bralette, a gentle press of their lips together. 

“What the hell, Colin? You didn’t say anything?”

“I- well, I thought we were on the same page! I thought you- I thought you just wanted to wait! To take it slow while I was traveling,” he defended, and she gave him a look that made the edges of his lips pinch. “What. . .what did you think it was?”

“I thought we were just- just cuddling!” 

“Cuddling? Penelope, we- this was not cuddling!”

“Well- I know that now! Colin!” she said, again, absolutely exasperated. “I’ve been in love with you since I was seven-fucking-teen! If I knew it wasn't just cuddling, we wouldn't have taken it slow. We are not on the same page!"

He didn’t say anything, looking over her in wonder. “What?” he breathed, even as she huffed in annoyance. 

“I. Have. Been. In. Love. With. You-” he didn’t let her get any farther, his hand coming to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, his mouth pressing onto hers with the incessant need of a man in need of breath. She gasped against him and then sunk into his embrace, so whole

“I love you,” he whispered, and kept saying it, connecting them in another way, she felt him hardening inside her. The feeling of it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, gasping and moaning as he grew within her, pulsing once more. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He repeated it each time he pulled away, and she ran her hand through his hair, her nails scraping him to a shiver. 

“I love you, too,” she said, and it bubbled inside her, the giddiness of it, the new tide of everything coming together. “Fuck, I love you.”

When he finally disconnected her, there was something hot and feral and alive in his eyes. “I’m gonna do it right, this time,” he assured.

“Hmm?” she asked, nearly dazed, starting to spiral her hips as she felt him press against her inside, exactly where she needed him. 

“Can I fuck you, Pen? Can I fuck my girlfriend?” he asked, kissing over her nose, her cheek, her fluttering eyelids.

“Oh- god, yeah,” she said, nodding and leaning into him.

Girlfriend.

Fuck. 

Don’t moan. Don’t moan. Not just at that word. His girlfriend. Colin Bridgerton’s girlfriend-

“Don’t hold back,” he said, kissing her, hard, and she couldn’t help it. 

She never could say no to him.

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