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Tracing the rim of her drink with the tip of her finger, Penelope watched distractedly as the soft bubbles popped along the surface. The warm light above reflected off the fluted glass in her hands, bouncing onto the rustic orange fabric at her back.
A bottle of champagne sat between them in the centre of the table. Apparently, tonight was a cause for celebration—the advanced copies of her book had finally arrived, waiting patiently in the safety of her living room, the spines stacked neatly in a perfect row. Edwina had insisted on buying the bottle; Penelope had quietly slid her card to the bartender before she could notice.
But now that Penelope was here, nestled into her favourite booth at her favourite bar, her first night off work, meetings, and deadlines in months , she realised what a dangerous game she was playing. The sparkling wine had already begun dulling her mind, the tart taste lingering on her tongue. She was already losing track of her conversation with Edwina, nodding softly or quietly murmuring in response when there was a prolonged pause from across the table.
She had thrown herself into that three-month-long work bender on purpose . It had been a necessity; anytime her mind had been given a chance to wander, even for just a second, everything would flood back in a sea of memories, drowning her in a wave of torment.
Now she had foolishly allowed her brain to settle, shifting focus from late-night emails and last-minute manuscript edits. There was only so much she could resist, the edge of her reality foggy after only a couple of glasses.
The groan of his mouth, hot against hers, as he pressed them both into the mattress.
But this line of thinking was a pointless pursuit. They had agreed; they had both agreed for the sake of the friendship. As much as she desperately wanted him again, it would only ever be a one-time thing.
Her fingers gripped his neck, grasping at the hair as her chest arched into his touches.
Penelope’s hand instinctively stretched out under the booth table, desperate for something to hold, craving the warmth of bare skin. She couldn’t help reliving it; she would be replaying those cherished memories for all eternity.
Tantalising shivers down her spine as he whispered her name into her skin. “Penelope...”
“Pen!”
The snap of fingers, millimetres from Penelope’s nose, jolted her back to reality.
Edwina grinned as she leaned back into her side of the booth. “Are you even listening to me?”
Penelope reached for her drink to settle her flaming face. “Sorry,” she apologised, hiding shamefully behind the glass. “I was lost in my head.”
Edwina tapped her flute against hers, and the clink of their glasses vibrated against her tight grasp on the stem. “Does your brain ever turn off?” Edwina teased as she took a long sip.
Grimacing against the rim, Penelope tipped the rest of the liquid back in one long gulp. The additional rush of fizz did nothing to settle her thoughts; if anything, it made everything around even more hazy, her inhibitions continuing to cloud. The fog was thick enough that she did not notice Edwina’s growing smile, or when her deep chocolate eyes caught on something in the corner of the room.
“Oh! Finally,” Edwina squealed, bolting upright in her seat. “There he is.” Her arm reached tall above her head, stretching to the ceiling, as her fingertips waved frantically. “Colin!”
Colin?
Penelope spun her entire body around in her booth, whirling around fast enough to give herself whiplash. She squinted towards the glass panels of the bar’s entrance, and there he was, the devil she knew, framed angelically in the doorway by a halo of city light glow.
As Colin approached, Penelope looked over him unabashedly, taking in every detail before he arrived at their table. He had paired his signature Bridgerton smirk with one of his silly baseball caps; she hoped he would remove it so she could ogle his gorgeous curls. The teal of his jumper brought out the blue in his wide-eyed stare, while the deep neckline revealed his usual silver chain, matching metal wrapped around a triad of his fingers.
The additional glint of silver against his wrist, peeking out underneath the threads of his sleeve, made Penelope’s eyes do a double take.
The cold press against her fingertips, tracing the embellishments, metal glimmering in their early morning haze.
Colin was pulling Edwina in a side hug when Penelope finally found her feet, stumbling forward with a shaky stance. She wasn’t at all prepared for his immediate embrace, his solid arms wrapping tightly around her torso. Her fingers clasped around his back, entrapping them together, while she took a moment to inhale his intoxicating scent, pressing her cheek into the softness of his sweater.
She felt his palm graze the tie at the top of her dress that was holding everything together, fingers dripping into the ends of her straightened hair. His other hand pushed into her back, pressing them closer, while his deep voice mumbled something into her hair, words inaudible over the loud music.
They swayed together for a long moment until she reluctantly let him go.
Colin’s fingers grazed the curve of her hip as she moved backwards. Penelope risked a look down and then up his torso, their blue eyes locking together at the top of her glance; his hard stare softened by the pull of his timid smile.
“What are you doing here?” she murmured, stationary in his orbit, too mesmerised to break free.
“Oh,” Colin said softly, cocking his head towards their table. “Edwina messaged, I-” he tried to explain, then paused, eyes widening.
Their heads swivelled around in a synchronised rush.
The smirk on Edwina’s face was as wide as their faces were flushed. “No, please,” she mocked, saluting them with her glass as she settled back into her seat. “Take your time. I wish I got that kind of welcome.”
Concealing her laughter behind her drink, Edwina watched as Colin scrambled into the booth across from her with a muttered apology. Penelope slipped in beside him, shuffling over until their thighs pressed together under the table.
Edwina waited until they were both settled and then rounded on Colin with a teasing smile. “How was Spain?”
“Spain?” Penelope twisted her head towards him in confusion. “I thought you were in Italy?”
Colin’s hand was already reaching for the back of his cap. “Uh, yes, I was,” he stumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in nervous comfort. “France, too; I extended the trip,” he added, flickering his eyes over the smooth granite of the tabletop to avoid Penelope’s curious expression.
“But why did you-”
“-what are we celebrating?” he pondered, interrupting any attempt at interrogation. He gestured to the empty champagne bottle sitting between them.
“Oh!” Edwina gushed as she leaned forward, giddy with excitement. “Didn’t she tell you? Penelope’s book is in!”
“Early copies,” Penelope clarified, waving the accolade away swiftly with the back of her hand.
“Really? That’s amazing.” Colin slung his arm over her back, letting his fingers fall gracefully against her shoulder. Penelope stalled for a second, but Colin tugged her closer to his warmth; she melted into his side easily, heat rising on her cheeks.
“She’s been working so hard these last few months,” Edwina cooed, ignoring how Penelope shifted awkwardly under Colin’s forearm. “And it was so worth it! It turned out so great.”
“I can’t wait to read it.” Colin leaned in to murmur his personal congratulations against the shell of her ear. The praises sent shivers hurtling Penelope’s skin, goosebumps trailing up and down her spine, as her skin reddened.
Skin prickled as he breathed against her, mouthing warmly against her neck.
“God, I need another drink,” Penelope muttered, cursing at the empty glass before her.
The grip on her shoulder tightened. Edwina looked around eagerly, ready to pounce on the next waiter that zipped past their table.
“Next round is on me!”
—
She was wearing the dress. The dress.
Granted, Penelope wore many similar black dresses, with long sleeves down to her wrists and plunging necklines that left nothing to the imagination. But Colin knew this dress intimately. This dress had the same delicate back tie, revealing every inch of her delectable curves when unfastened. This dress had the same dangerously high slit, allowing easy access for his fingers to tease under the fabric, grazing to the top of her thighs.
Fabric bunched at her waist as his lips found their target, tongue lapping over her hot centre.
The low cut barely concealed her cleavage, but that didn’t matter anymore. Colin knew exactly what lay beneath. He knew precisely what shade of pink her skin could flush, what shape her nipples would form when hardened by his thorough attention.
Fingers pulled at the neckline, tugging down to reveal creamy skin.
Had she worn it on purpose? Other than her hair, which was lighter than he remembered, almost blonde now, she was the spitting image of that night. He didn’t even need to see this particular souvenir of their torrid affair; the vision of Penelope, blue eyes wide, his name gasping from her mouth, had been burning a raging inferno in his mind for months.
Her dress and his trousers met in a pool on the bedroom floor.
Why on earth had he agreed, nay promised, that it would be a one-time thing?
The second he’d arrived at the bar, spurred on by the string of Edwina’s increasingly desperate text messages, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. He was sure Penelope had caught him staring; how could she not? He’d snuck a glance at every opportunity he could, darkened eyes tracing the delicate pattern of her curves, losing himself in the deep valley.
But he had caught her eyes lingering too. She had followed his fingers as they danced, circling the air in extravagant motions while he entertained Edwina with another of his travel stories. When he had been fiddling with his rings, distracted in lurid thought, twisting the bands of metal up and down his fingers, she had done the same absentmindedly, mirroring his movements with her gemstone.
Colin had to keep reminding himself that her actions didn’t mean anything, repeating the mantra repeatedly in his mind. There was no way to know, no way to be absolutely sure she wanted him again, just as desperately as he needed her.
And yet, her touch would still find his.
When she had passed him his first drink, their fingertips had connected against the rigged glassware, sparking together like a lightning bolt.
Colin could feel the warmth of her thigh pressing against his own thigh, her naked skin escaping confinement through the high slit of the dress. At some point, her shoe had scratched against his leg. He’d flinched away at the surprise of the caress, but she hadn’t moved away, instead grazing along the inseam of his trousers with the point of her toe.
Then in the middle of a particularly humorous story, she had reached for his hand for stability, squeezing his fingers as she tipped back in boisterous laughter. Long after the joke was over, she had refused to pull away; her small palm warmed his knuckles until the waiter arrived with their next round of drinks.
As the pile of glasses before them had increased, Colin had grown bolder, spurred on by her close proximity. The loose hold his fingers held on her shoulder had slowly lowered until he was grazing the top of her forearm. His pinkie tickled her side between drinks, eliciting a soft titter; he could feel the vibration of her giggle through his chest as his hand moved further down.
He had been brave enough, or maybe just too inebriated to care anymore, to settle his knuckles on the swell of her hip, the harsh lines of his wristwatch leaving indents into her smooth curves. Colin had been tracing slow circles across the fabric with his thumb, stopping briefly to pinch the flesh between his forefingers. She hadn’t batted him away; if anything, Penelope had purred, humming her approval in response.
Now she was twirling the straw around in her drink— their drink; he was positive he’d just taken a sip out of the same glass. Her fingers were busy swiping through the photos of Edwina she had just taken in an impromptu photoshoot, so her tongue was poking out between her pout, chasing the plastic as it evaded her mouth.
Colin watched, transfixed, as she teased the tip of the straw between her lips. He had to bite his lip to suppress a heated groan as he remembered just how talented her tongue could be.
She’d reduced him to toe-curling madness with a single swipe.
Edwina had noticed his struggles, though. She’d been watching them both all evening, observing their interactions with curious eyes, trying and failing to hide her coy smile behind her drinks. Maybe Penelope had mentioned something to her, or perhaps his pathetic attempts at subtly had been for naught; as soon as Penelope had given him silent permission to touch her again, Colin had been nothing short of handsy.
“Let me see, let me see,” Edwina insisted in front of him, grabbing at Penelope's pink phone case before she could object. She cooed in approval, flicking her way through the photo collection while Penelope leant forward slightly to watch the screen.
Then the device was up at Edwina’s face, her digits jabbing at the screen. “Your turn,” she instructed, tilting the camera lens toward them. "Scooch together,”
Colin wasn’t sure how much closer they could physically get without Penelope ending completely in his lap. Still, Penelope shuffled over with a giggle, pushing her chest into the gap underneath his arm, hands landing next to his arm on the table.
“Closer,” Edwina guided, gesturing at them with a wave of her hand.
Penelope folded further into his space, her wrists folding over the top of his arm, skin on heated skin. Then she tried to prop herself upward to get more comfortable. She overextended, twisting awkwardly and leaning further forward than intended. Colin felt the full weight of her leg drape over the top of his thigh as she let out a breathy gasp, their joined legs thankfully hidden safely under the table.
Edwina seemed satisfied enough, directing them to smile as she raised the phone. Colin was struggling to remember to breathe, let alone pose how he usually would for the camera, completely conscious of every searing touch. Penelope seemed to find the whole ordeal hilarious; the giddy sound of her laughter reverberated close to his ears while her cleavage jiggled on full display. It took every shred of Colin’s willpower not to look down.
Angling the phone up and down, Edwina took her role of photographer very seriously. When she had exhausted her finger on the shutter button, she slunk back into the fabric cushions to admire her work, her reaction hidden behind the magenta case. Penelope and Colin stayed locked together, unwilling to part as they waited patiently. Eventually, Edwina’s face resurfaced with a schooled expression, and she placed the phone down tentatively on the tabletop.
Penelope frowned as Edwina reached for her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“Just to the ladies.” Edwina shimmied herself out of her seat, then loitered at the foot of the table, glancing between them and the unlocked phone in the middle. Then she straightened, shooting Penelope and Colin a pointed smirk.
“You should post one of those,” she mused, nodding down at the screen open on the gallery; dozens of miniature versions of themselves stared back in the thumbnails. “Show everyone how hot you two look together.”
Colin gaped as she sashayed away. Penelope let out a tiny squeak of noise as she jumped forward to snatch up her phone, then crushed it against her chest to hide the screen. She twisted, trying to free herself from their entanglement, but Colin refused to let her go. He splayed out his palm on her hip, keeping her steady and holding her captive.
“Let’s see,” he encouraged, breath hot against her earlobe. The heart shape of her earring, inches from his mouth, swayed slightly as she desperately tried to suppress a shudder.
Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she lifted the phone forward so they could look. Colin watched over her shoulder as she swiped through each photo, the side of her ankle idly brushing up and down his calf as she did so.
“We do look hot,” she finally agreed, sparing a quick glance in his direction. She caught Colin’s eyes, watching as his gaze darkened in real-time. “We don’t have to post any,” she babbled, looking away from the intensity and busying herself with the phone again. “She’s right; people might get the wrong impression, and I-”
“I don’t care.”
Her finger paused at his confession, hovering midway across the screen over one of the thumbnails. Colin reached forward and took hold of her hand, guiding her touch and then pushing down on her finger to enlarge one of the photos.
“This one,” he suggested, nodding towards the screen. “I love your natural smile.”
Penelope shook her head softly, the edges of her lips curling at the compliment. She moved back through a few images until she found her favourite. “No, this one,” she argued playfully, angling the phone towards Colin so he could see. In this version, her mouth was opened wide, eyes scrunched mid-laugh. But his grin was on rare display, cheeks dimpling at the corner.
“I like your smile,” she said, looking up timidly to check his reaction.
Colin mirrored the smile back. “Okay,” he whispered in defeat, too besotted to debate, as he squeezed the curve of her hip. “You post one, and I’ll post the other?”
By the time Penelope had sent Colin’s favourite photo to his phone, uploaded her own, captioned the post and then published it to socials, Colin was still on the first screen. He chewed his lip as he perused the options, heavily debating applying a black-and-white filter to the photo as he held the phone in one hand.
Penelope distracted herself with his bracelet while she waited. She traced the pattern intricately embedded in the silver with the tip of her finger, dragging her pointed nail below the metal to caress the skin underneath. The wisps of hairs on his forearm stood to attention as her fingertip continued to explore.
“I don’t think Edwina is coming back,” she said idly as her thumb grazed across the top of his hand. Then as if finally remembering herself, she released a soft, defeated sigh and pulled away, lifting her leg off Colin’s thigh and finally extracting herself from his side. She shuffled across the bench seat, letting Colin’s hand fall from her hip onto the cushions.
“Pen,” Colin started, instinctively reaching out, missing her warmth.
She hummed, deep in thought, as her body turned back towards him. “I would have brought it from home if I knew you were coming.”
Colin blinked back at her, his brows scrunching together. “Brought what?”
“My book,” Penelope smiled sheepishly. Her fingers were busy again, picking at the corners of her manicure, twisting the gemstone round and round. “We could get your copy now if you wanted,” she suggested, eyes wide and hopeful.
Heat began to spread through Colin’s chest. Was this an invitation? An intended promise for more? He still couldn’t be so sure, but even if that was all it was, a quick detour to her place, a gift of her bound manuscript to round out a perfect evening, he wasn’t about to refuse the opportunity. Especially if that opportunity allowed him to continue basking in her warm touches.
“I’ll call us a cab.”
—
Drifting outside, they wandered toward a lonely street corner and waited for their car to arrive. Darkness had fully settled over the city, with much of London already tucked in for the night, save for those few straggling souls who didn’t want the night to end.
The air outside the bar was buzzing just as much as it had been inside, hotter than it had any right to be at this time of year, but filled with electricity all the same.
Or maybe it was just her.
Penelope adjusted the leather strap slung over her shoulder. Not that it needed adjusting for the third time, the oversized bag perfectly secure in its current location wedged up against her side. Still, her hands itched for something, seeming to find displeasure in any and all configurations.
Maybe it was the heat, adding to the already lethal combination of champagne and gin, that had her restless. Maybe it was that bolt of adrenaline still coursing through her, wisping out from her fingertips. Maybe it was the unusual quality such chemicals unleashed in her, a shamelessness bravado, so wholly unfamiliar, that caused every atom within her to ricochet.
That had to be the reason for her behaviour tonight. Why her touch never seemed to leave his. Why her body had been drawn in like a moth to a ruinous flame. Why she’d so brazenly invited him to her flat in the middle of the night under the flimsiest of guises.
“Two minutes away,” Colin said, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the back of his phone case as he studied the screen. Throwing a glance her way, he flashed a toasty, lopsided smile.
There it was again. The burning urge to reposition her bag. To twist the band around her finger. To smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in her dress.
Was his head swimming as much as hers—drunk on a cocktail of stolen looks and not-so-secret caresses they’d been sipping for the past few hours? That was how it happened before—a handful of drinks, a sprinkle of heated stares, one perfectly platonic excuse to be alone.
“Oh!” he blurted. “It’s around the corner.” Turning toward her, he took her hand in his without warning, leading her through the street as they jogged over to the cab. Residual nerves melted away in his warm embrace, her fervent fingers finally satisfied.
And yet gone too soon as he let go to open the door for her. She stalled for a moment on the edge of the sidewalk. Were they really doing this?
He raised a brow. “Getting in?”
Penelope silently reminded herself that she was getting ahead of things. They were just two friends going back to her flat for a quick errand and possibly an innocent little nightcap. All that flirting at the bar was simply that—light, playful, unserious. And just because this night so closely mirrored another, did not mean such a night would repeat itself.
But maybe it would.
—
They were doing this.
Well, they were doing something , at least. He didn’t want to be too presumptuous about her invitation, but after she’d welcomed his touch so readily and practically sat in his lap for the better half of the evening, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering in a certain direction. And with the way she brushed her backside against him as she climbed into the backseat, Colin decided that such optimism was not misplaced.
Following behind, when he got situated in his own seat, he glanced over to find an adorably amusing sight. Penelope struggled to get a hold on her seatbelt, pawing at the buckle over and over, unable to grasp it. He briefly wondered how long she’d let this go on before twisting around to get a better look at the thing. The hilarity of it all must have been written on his face, because the moment she spotted him she burst into giggles. “Oh, fuck off,” she leveled at him in between, his own unstoppable laughter joining the chorus.
“Here,” he said, unbuckling himself and switching over to the middle seat. Batting her hand away, he took hold of the belt and brought it across her front. He hadn’t exactly meant for the back of his hand to graze over her breasts along the way—all those drinks muddling his coordination—but he also couldn’t deny how the hitch in her breath at the contact thrilled him in the most satisfying way. Completing the journey, he allowed his palm to lightly caress her hip on purpose as he fastened the buckle into place. He let his hand drift down, falling away into the scant space between their legs as he met her eyes. “There.”
Holding his gaze, she replied, rather breathlessly in his opinion, “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
They stayed there for a moment, staring and letting the energy simmer between them. She broke contact first, pulling her lip between her teeth as she flicked her eyes down to his wrist. The point of her nail lightly scraped against his skin as she ran her finger along the edge of the metal, goosebumps raising in her wake.
The solid band pressed between soft bodies, searing into sweat-slicked skin.
To any outsider, the circles she was idly drawing over the inside of his wrist could have been written off as mindless, something she did without even considering it. Three months ago he might have said the same. Hell, three hours ago he might’ve interpreted it innocently. But he knew her better than that now—this was intentional. As intentional as his own hand breaking away and gliding across her lap, circling around the edge of her thigh.
“Pen,” he whispered, tugging her in closer, his body leaning in to match. He wet his lips, noticing just how close hers had become.
“Colin,” The heat from her mouth bubbled and fizzed like the champagne that danced through it hours ago, leaving him light-headed. “We said one time,” she contended, even as she assisted in his efforts of bringing her leg to rest over his. “We shouldn’t…again.”
Her hands had found their way to his chest, running along the thick collar of his jumper, fingertips dripping over onto his exposed skin. One of her thumbs hooked onto the silver chain dangling around his neck, twisting it slowly. “I shouldn’t let myself get…distracted by this again.”
Her tongue laving over the hollow of his throat, down down down, taking his chain between her teeth and tugging.
The memory shot through him, flexing through his fingertips as they wrapped around her knee.
“I suppose I shouldn’t revisit this dangerously high slit then,” he countered, drifting over the opening in her skirt to find her velvety skin. She sucked in a sharp breath as he explored beneath the fabric, the precise response he was hoping for.
The gasp rattled in his ears as cool metal nudged up against her hot centre, his fingers curling inside.
As he continued to trail up her leg, the plush of her lips brushed against his ear. “I shouldn’t kiss you here,” she rasped, her wet tongue flicking his earlobe, setting him on fire.
Her lips everywhere they could reach—on his own, down his neck, over his abdomen, lower still.
His fingers dug into the meat of her thigh. He wanted her mouth—desperate for it, even—but she wanted to tease, pulling away with a devilish twinge to her lustful stare.
“Or put my hands here…” They were wrapped around his neck, one inching up so she could thread her fingers through his hair. He wished she would toss his cap aside and pull on his strands like she meant it.
His head cradled between her legs, fistfuls in both hands as she called his name.
Colin bit back a groan, awareness thrumming through every inch of his body. She had to know what scratching her nails over his skin did to him.
Sharp points leaving scorch marks across his back as she fell apart around him, the tension in his own body snapping in an instant.
He could play this game too.
“I really shouldn’t try to take this off of you,” he stated cooly, following the path of her plunging neckline, letting his finger slip underneath. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession as he moved back and forth, over the peaks and into the valley between but never quite reaching where she wanted. “Should I?”
It was all he longed for—to peel the clingy garment off her, releasing her from its prison and releasing them both from this torturous dance.
Breathless, she began, “Colin,”
He tilted his face, bringing it closer to hers, their lips nearly touching. “Pen,”
The car lurched to a stop. In a daze he looked to her, searching her face for some sort of confirmation that the spell they had fallen under would exist beyond this cab ride. That her invitation included more than a copy of her book and a chaste goodbye that left him on the wrong side of her door. That the memories of last time were ingrained in her brain just as much as his. That they were enough to make her want to chuck their promise in the bin for just one more taste.
Silently, he tried to communicate: just once more.
Yanking him from his seat and up her steps, her hands did the answering for her.
—
Penelope fumbled for her keys at the door, Colin’s wandering hands doing nothing to aid in the search.
Why had she brought such a ludicrously large handbag? Internally she cursed the black hole in her grasp and her own lack of foresight. Externally, she fought to contain the needy and frustrated moan bubbling in the back of her throat as he palmed over her ass.
Keys key keys—what did keys feel like? Little flames burst from each of her fingertips as they rummaged, ready to burn down into nothing if she couldn’t get them within striking distance of his skin soon. The heat of his breath ghosted over her neck as he delicately moved her hair to the side and Penelope was prepared to give up the search and have him right here in the corridor.
Just as she was puzzling over the logistics and deciding if she really cared about upholding the good standing she had with her neighbours, the fuzz of her fluffy pom pom keychain tickled her wrist. Fingers clasped tightly around the bundle, she spun around to hold up the keys between them like a prize.
His smile surely matched her own—a beaming sigh of relief that they wouldn’t be forced into public indecency.
Her hands trembled while his explored, hers finding the lock and twisting as his roamed over every one of her curves with startling familiarity.
Never so happy in her life to see the darkened interiors of her flat, she rushed inside, only to have him lock onto her wrist and whirl her around, her back hitting the door as it slammed shut behind them.
Finally, after hours of delicious torture, everything clicked into place. His mouth found hers, hungry yet tender as his tongue slid in against her own. Her soft lines pressed into his hard edges, his body crowding hers against the door.
And their hands.
It made sense now why she hadn’t known what to do with them. And why his never seemed to hold still. They belonged on each other, unsatisfied and unrelenting until they found their way home.
Never had the movement of her fingers felt so natural as when they knocked the cap off his head and twined themselves in his hair. Never had his seemed quite so nimble and focused than when they were unknotting the tie holding the back of her dress together. Never had her palms burned in such a gratifying way as when they snuck beneath his jumper, stroking over his toned stomach.
Their promise had been made with their heads—logical, keeping their friendship at the forefront, preserving what they had instead of gambling for more. But their bodies had not been in agreement. Now they’d gone too long without, depriving themselves of the nourishment they craved until every nerve ending was screaming, calling out for the other.
Frantic, she raced to pull the knit over his head as he tugged the dress down her shoulders with matched urgency. Both of them exposed, he took hold of her face, angling it so he could claim her mouth once more. Chest to chest, she could feel the rapid thump of his heart matching hers. The power his lips held was unfair—how easily they were able to draw such pleasures from her with a single touch.
His mouth blew a teasing stream of air over her hardened nipple, tormenting her until he closed his lips around her.
With a gasp, Penelope was pulled from her memory by a steely chill on her inner thigh. She could feel him begin to smirk against her mouth as his fingers drifted higher and higher, ultimately finding the wet spot that had been growing between her legs ever since he arrived at the bar.
A pleased noise rumbled in his chest. She let out a brief whine as Colin removed his hand to curl around her thigh, lifting it high to wrap around his own. With better access he returned, commanding, “I want you like last time. Coming apart on my fingers and shaking so hard you can hardly stand.”
She clawed into his back, her body reduced to a shuddering stammering mess she could no longer control as she shattered around him.
He pushed her knickers to the side and she held fast to his shoulders to steady herself as he parted her further. “Do you think you can do that for me?” he asked, lazily circling around her clit, occasionally swiping over it and turning her mind to mush.
Over and over again, they kept coming. Even when she thought it wasn’t possible another one hit her like a pile of bricks.
She nodded swiftly. “Yes,” she murmured, licking into his mouth—partly to get his taste back on her tongue and partly to stifle the moans threatening to escape.
One slipped through as he slipped a finger inside, the metal of his ring stretching her as he reached in deep. It was official: she’d never be able to look at his hands or listen to them tap against a tabletop without drenching herself again.
As he built her up, her fingers grew restless once again. They traced along the strong ridge of his shoulders, followed the taut line of his jaw, flexed over the tensed muscles in his arm as he moved within her. But she wanted more than just the parts she could get her hands on at the moment. She wanted all of him. Reaching between them, she made quick work of his belt buckle.
“Pen—fuck ,” he groaned, stilling his movements and resting his forehead against hers as she took him in hand. Stroking leisurely up and down his length, he picked up again, matching her rhythm. Pulling back slightly, he looked between them. “Fuck, I missed seeing your hands wrapped around my cock.”
They worked each other over in tandem—a mess of fast hands and desperate noises disappearing into mouths. In a blur his hips bucked forward and her wrist was captured and yanked away. Not given a moment to mourn the loss, Penelope found herself with both arms overhead, wrists caged by his large hand and pinned to the door. She felt her own slickness coating his fingers, still warm against her wrist. His eyes darkened as his other hand returned between her legs, his fingers pushing inside with renewed purpose.
Falling apart bit by bit, any anxieties about their original agreement began to fall away too. There was no room to fret over how quickly they had abandoned their positions or to ruminate on what it all meant. There were only flashes of the present that tore through her pleasured daze.
Smooth steel pressing into her. Possessive growls of her name. A hint of gin and citrus lingering on his tongue. The rivets of his bracelet branding her skin. The rough pad of his thumb bringing her to oblivion.
Her legs shook as requested, along with the rest of her. Letting her arms fall to the side, he focused his attention on holding her upright, preventing her body from sliding down the door and into a puddle.
As she caught her breath she caught Colin gazing down at her, something soft painting his expression. A dangerous thought crept into her mind: they were fooling themselves if they thought this thing between them could be contained. On instinct she pushed it away before she could grow attached.
But the stain of it remained, colouring the tension that gathered between them as she gazed back. Sparks flying with no concern for the risks they posed, one touch would have them engulfed again. Rather than see them as the warning they were, she let the flames draw her in. Their lips came together once more and everything else turned to dust.
Their mouths never parted as they clumsily made their way through the flat. Shins and elbows bumped on stray furniture and sharp corners protruding from the darkness. Muffled laughter coming in bursts as shoes were kicked off and tripped over. Her dress was left in a heap on the kitchen floor. His trousers abandoned somewhere halfway down the hall. Hands grasping and pawing at any supple skin they could find along the way.
When they reached her bedroom she squealed as his strong arms hoisted her up, tossing her onto the bed like it was nothing.
As Colin slipped off his pants, he remained still at the end of her bed. His eyes mapped out a path along the shadowed edges of her that he intended to follow with his hands and tongue. Bathed in the waning streetlamp and moonlight that filtered in through the window, his breath caught briefly in his throat. Her beauty gnawed at him, made him ache deep in his bones.
How were they supposed to go back? How could he ever sit across from her at a cafe or his mother’s dining table without being consumed with want? How could he watch her delicate fingers clack away on a keyboard or fiddle with a pen without imagining her hands on him? How could he continue to call himself her friend when that word failed to capture the turn their relationship had taken?
Penelope moved to prop herself up on her elbows. Dramatic shadows danced across her face as she took him in, her gaze finally landing on his. She eyed him with a softness that amplified the ache, before raising a brow with a sultry flare that rippled through him.
The mattress dipped beneath his knees as he crawled on the bed, his fingers surrounded by soft, cosy linen until they met another kind of softness. He took his time running his hands along the contours of her calves and under the seam of her knees as she instinctively spread herself for him. His thumbs drew gentle circles over her creamy thighs, delighting in how her hands fisted in the duvet and breath stuttered when the polished surface of his rings made contact. Up he went until he met the border of lace around her hips. With a lift toward him in invitation, he hooked his fingers in, dragging her knickers down her legs until she was fully bare to him.
Leaning back, he took in the view—pink and perfect and shining with the proof of the pleasure he’d drawn from her. As he admired his handiwork, a little voice nagged from the back of his mind. It was supposed to be one time. Somehow he had lucked into a second. It would be reckless to allow himself to count on anything more.
If this time was truly the last then he needed to make it last. He needed to memorise every inch of her, catalogue every little sigh and arch of her back and scrape of her fingernails. He needed this to carry him through the after that awaited, because there was no going back to before.
Lost to his own thoughts, he was pulled back by her hands encircling his, pulling them up her body. She allowed his fingers to skim over her rounded stomach and dip into the curve of her waist as she guided him. Palms connecting with the fullness of her breasts, her fingers curled around his, the two of them giving her a firm squeeze.
Content with his ability to take direction, she let her hands fall away and let his take control. The pads of his fingers traced along the underside, over the swell and into the space between. Her back arched as his thumbs swept over her pebbled nipples. The hum of pleasure lingering just behind her lips as irresistible as the rosy tips poking between his fingers, he lowered himself to get a taste.
Raking her nails up his arms and over his shoulders, he was rewarded for every swirl of his tongue and nip of his teeth. When he finally wrapped his lips around her and began to suck, she thrust her fingers into his hair with a cry. He let the sound reverberate through him, his skin prickling in response.
Her hold on the back of his head urged him not to stray and Colin couldn’t stop himself from grinding his hips against her, his hardness growing unbearable. He was determined to make this last.
But it was all getting to be too much. The way her legs twisted around his back, bringing him closer still. The give of her soft flesh beneath his fingers. The overwhelming need to see and taste and touch as much of her as possible, all at once.
The plea in Penelope’s voice revealed the same desperation. “Colin, I can’t,”
The rawness of her statement sizzled through his veins. “Can’t what?” he asked, imparting as much lightness to his tone as he could manage.
“Take any more of your teasing, please,”
It humbled him, how she wanted him again so soon after coming apart at his hands. It sparked something in him, a brazen confidence that he could make lightning strike twice. That if he made this memorable enough, she wouldn’t be able to forget it. That she wouldn’t be able to let go, giving him permission to hold on.
Spurred on, the playful lift in his voice became real. “Mmm, I think you can,” he murmured into her flushed skin.
He placed a wet kiss on her straining nipple. “Because you know”—his tongue circled around the rosy border—”because you remember ”—once more, this time with a brief flick over the tip—”how I’ll take care of you.”
Tearing himself away, he hovered above her, willing her eyes to open and meet his. When they did, he tilted his head, a smirk creeping across his face. Low and gravely, he asked, “You remember, don’t you?” His hand found its way back to her breast, rolling her slicked nipple between his fingers. “How much you quivered on my fingers?”
He licked at the spot just south of where her earring dangled, making her shiver. “And my tongue.”
Nudging her knees further apart with his own, he took himself in hand and moved the tip through her folds, gathering wetness. “And my cock.”
Satisfied with her squirming and aware of his own control slipping, he lined himself up at her entrance and kissed her deeply. “You remember, don’t you Pen?” he whispered against her lips, drawing the bottom one into his mouth and sucking.
Their chins bumped together as Penelope nodded. “Tell me.”
“Yes yes, I remember, all of it, please just fu-” Her broken moan was drowned out by his own, by the dizzying pleasure that enveloped him as he pushed inside. As he pressed in further, the memory of the first time sprang to life. The sensation of splitting her open while fragments of his heart spilled out onto the mattress flooded his senses as he experienced it all over again.
Now fully sheathed, he paused, raising up enough so he could see her. She brought her hands up to cradle his face, soft and gentle as her thumbs swept over his cheeks. A need so pure swam in her crystalline depths and Colin knew. Lighting was striking twice.
But no, that wasn’t quite right. Could it be considered a strike—a white-hot flash, powerful but fleeting—if the burn was constant? If that feeling currently rushing through his insides had never left?
Penelope traced his lips with the tips of her fingers and he planted a sweet kiss to each one before leaning down to place one on her lips. As he began to move within her, they melted into the embrace. Her hands smoothing over his shoulders, down his neck; his holding onto her sides as he rested on his elbows. Their lips and tongues found each other as he kept an easy pace.
“I’ll always take care of you,” he said into her ear between laboured breaths. “Give you whatever you need.” Not until the words had tumbled from his mouth did he realise how far that truth extended. He meant it not just for now, as he rolled his hips to meet every rock of hers, but for tomorrow. Next week. Ten years from now.
He could see the edge coming into focus, sensing it every time he pulled out and thrust back inside, swallowed up by her more and more with each pass.
“Tell me what you need,” he asked, throat ragged.
Blood was rushing in his ears and he couldn’t quite tell if she wanted him like last time , or like it’s the last time , and frankly he didn’t want to dwell on either option. He wanted to stay present, to be with her in every way in case it was the latter. He had to make this last, to bend the laws of time so this moment bled into the next one, until it lived in the present with them, never letting them forget.
Colin wrapped one of her legs high on his back, sinking in deeper, and let himself get lost. He couldn’t focus on what happened tomorrow or how their friendship would survive or if something better and truer could take its place. The most primal parts taking over, all he could do was feel.
How her nails dug into skin, leaving marks that branded him as hers. How her silken strands tangled in his fingertips as he directed her mouth to his. How her grip on him tightened, pulling him deeper into her grasp. How her fullness filled his hands wherever they landed.
Before he could attempt to pull himself back and hold on it was happening. Her movements beneath him were wild, her face scrunched up as it rolled through her. Her hold on him was intoxicating, more powerful than any of the drinks he’d consumed this evening. In a frenzied sprint, he grabbed her ass and yanked her to him for a few final thrusts. With a ragged shout of her name, Colin let go—of his control, of any expectations he held beyond this moment, of himself as he found release.
But as their breath slowed and bodies relaxed and minds drifted to sleep, Colin held fast to the one thing he refused to let go of: her.
—
Penelope tapped her fingernails against the side of her mug, the clack of the ceramic coalescing in a lazy rhythm with the drip of her coffeemaker. As the nutty aroma filled the air, her eyes naturally flitted across the flat, always landing in the same spots.
The end of the hall where one cream-coloured trouser leg poked out. The edge of the shag throw-rug where she’d tripped over her own shoes for the second time. His baseball cap left upside down near the base of the front door. Her black dress in a rumpled heap on the hardwood near her feet.
Each article solidified as a new memory, another collection of things she could never wear or look at or think about without being transported back here.
Over the course of the last twenty minutes—once she finally pried herself from his arms and forced herself to move beyond the blissful purgatory of her bedroom in search of something to soothe her raging headache—Penelope had come to accept this new contingency of their friendship.
Unlike last time, she didn’t delude herself into thinking this was simply a blip, a one-time occurrence that could be easily forgotten under piles of work and self-imposed deadlines. No, the way Colin grasped at her flesh and gasped her name would pop into her mind unprompted until her last dying day. That much she was certain of.
What she was less certain of was where they went from here.
While the coffee finished brewing, Penelope wandered over to the living room. Her row of books on the table had been knocked askew, his teal jumper splayed over top serving as the prime suspect. She brushed a sleeve aside and tucked a copy under her arm. Catching herself in the mirror hung near the entryway, she gave herself a brief once-over, smoothing out any stray hairs and rubbing away excess mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Content enough with her efforts, she poured fresh coffee into two mugs and padded back down the hall to her bedroom.
Colin was right where she left him, perfectly at home snuggled into her dusty pink sheets, only now he cradled one of her many pillows between his arms instead of her. A brief pang of nonsensical jealousy struck her as she sat on the edge of the bed.
Curtains parted, early morning sun poured into the room and onto his sleeping face. The silver wrapped around his wrist caught in the light as he shifted, its blinding glimmer yet another reminder. Slowly his eyes blinked open, his brow scrunched in momentary confusion before landing on her, softness taking over his expression as an easy smile spread.
“Morning,” he croaked, voice still rough with sleep.
“Morning,” she replied, presenting him with his steaming mug.
“Ahh, thank you.” Colin sat up to accept the offering. She watched as he took a long sip, the life coming back to him gradually. He took another drink and she held up the book she brought in for him, his eyes widening over the rim of the mug.
“Oh right, yes! Of course,” he stumbled, as if just now remembering the reason they’d ended up here in the first place.
Hastily he set down his coffee on the side table and began to leaf through the pages. “Wow, a real Penelope Featherington original.”
Her heart swelled at his glowing affection. He’d always been her biggest supporter, never once doubting her imminent success. Penelope was reminded why their friendship had been worth protecting in the first place.
“Would you sign it for me?”
She didn’t bother fighting the beaming grin her mouth fell into, taking the book where he’d opened it to the first page. He grabbed a stray pen from the nightstand, passing it to her. Their fingers brushed.
For a moment time stopped, a concentrated current of electricity unleashed between fingertips. Had he stilled there for a beat too long, or was she simply trying to extend this moment long enough to capture it?
Clicking the top, she took to writing him a short dedication. She could feel the burn of his stare locked onto her fingers, watching their movement with intent like he was trying to capture a memory of his own. The final T was crossed with a flourish and a few extra X’s added for good measure before she handed the book back to him. His eyes darted quickly over her handwriting and a pleased hum rustled in his throat. Then his eyes flicked up to hers, holding steady as the silence washed over them and their smiles grew to match.
The first time they did this they said it was the last time. They’d likely say the same thing again now. How many more last times would they share?
Penelope had to believe that this time they meant it. That way she could hold his friendship close and revisit these memories without regret or expectations, basking in the nostalgia of a time when they got a taste of something more.
Still, the tension continued to simmer between them and Penelope felt that familiar frenetic energy lighting up her nerves. She balled her hands into fists, unsure where to put them.
Clearing her throat, she slid her glance away from his. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get home. To unpack and decompress after so long on the road.”
“Are you kicking me out?” he asked, his tone light and jovial with a hint of teasing.
“No! Of course not, no. I just…” She sighed and gestured vaguely, unable to voice exactly what she meant.
He understood. “It was supposed to be a one time thing.”
“Yeah,” she said, a wave of disappointment hitting her out of nowhere. She took the sash of her robe between her fingers, toying with the ends as she schooled her voice into sounding lighthearted and unaffected. “Maybe it’s a two time thing, then.”
“Maybe,” He moved to twine his fingers with hers, his warm palm squeezing flush against her own. Her buzzing skin calmed instantly, finally home. “We stop counting.”
—
It was well past midnight. Fragments of glitter had embedded themselves into the floorboards, beer bottles stacked strategically on the narrow space of the hall stand. Colin had been busy ferrying the last of his school friends and straggling party guests into the balmy evening air, coaxing them into cabs from the damp sidewalk. On his return upstairs, he took the steps two at a time, forgoing the rusty old elevator in a rush to escape the cold.
She was waiting for him at the doorway, her figure dimly lit by the flickering hallway light. “Colin,” she called softly, doe-eyed eyes twinkling as he rounded the corner into view.
They had gravitated towards each other all night, between well wishes and celebrations. Shared longing, lingering glances across the kitchen, bumped hips together in the crowded space, fingers brushing against the stone countertop. She’d openly flirted, smirking around the rim of her wine glass. He had snuck one too many glances down at the deep cleavage her snug black dress had provided.
But this was the first moment they had been truly alone all evening.
Colin shoved his hands deep into the lining of his jacket pockets, shuffling the weight of his feet from side to side. “Heading home, Pen?” he murmured, eyes flickering quickly over her features.
She shook her head slowly, letting the ends of her reddish curls rustle against her puffy sleeves. “Not yet. I still need to give you your present.”
“Pen!” Colin reprimanded with a teasing lip. “I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything.” He took a few steps forward to share her space under the doorway, forcing her to crane her neck upwards to meet his eye line. “Your presence is present enough.”
“I know,” she shrugged, the grin spreading quickly across her cheeks. “But you only turn thirty once.” Penelope turned in the doorway, twisting her neck over her shoulder in a silent plea for him to follow her.
Colin let Penelope escort him back into his flat, kicking off his shoes at the door. She moved through the spaces with familiar footing, the practised ease of someone who had been here many times before. As she glided past the kitchen, Colin noticed a couple of his family members were still loitering in the dim living room; Eloise was passed out, snoring softly in the oversized armchair in the corner of the room.
He followed her down the darkened hallway until they reached the last door on the left. The knob clicked as she turned it, and as they moved into the shadow, she moved swiftly to his bedside table, fumbling in the darkness for the lamp switch.
As Colin blinked away the harsh change in lighting, Penelope crossed the room to the dresser in the corner. She moved an ornate picture frame to one side and then an intricately carved wooden bowl to the other to locate a small red box hidden at the back, nestled amongst the rest of his travel trinkets.
She shrugged sheepishly at Colin’s raised eyebrow. “I didn’t want it to get mixed up with everyone else's.”
The mattress dipped as Colin found a seat on the edge. Penelope moved into his space, loitering near his knees as she held the red box outward with both palms. She waited nervously beside him, gnawing at the edge of her lip with her teeth as Colin untied the bow on top.
“I thought, well-” she rambled as he lifted the lid. “I saw it and thought of you,” she added quickly, casting her eyes to the textured rug warming the soles of their feet. “It matched the pieces you already had.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glimmer of silver as he lifted the band from its package.
Her fingers lunged, pulling the bracelet from his grasp. “You can return it if you want,” she continued hastily, “I still have the receipt.” She gingerly took his arm with her wavering hands, keeping her eyes focused on the metal as she latched her gift carefully onto his wrist. Her fingertips lingered, grazing over where warm skin and cool silver converged.
“Pen.” Colin’s voice was a mere whisper. His other hand moved to steady her knuckles, covering her entire hand with his large palm. He squeezed down on her fingers, eager to settle her mind. “Thank you; I love it.”
When her eyes finally lifted, his face was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her chest. She could pinpoint every speckle of blue in the depth of his eyes as his pupils darted back and forth, studying her expression.
Then with the slightest tug from his fingers, Penelope fell.
Colin cushioned her landing with the plush of his lips. She wasn’t entirely sure whose hands moved first; his fingers cupped her chin, cradling her face in their hold; hers gripped his shirt collar, tracing along the chain against his throat.
The voice at the back of her mind began to scream; if she let herself sink any deeper into his embrace, she might never be able to resurface. But her fingertips betrayed her, reaching behind his head and latching onto tufts of hair, pulling him closer. Cold metal pressed against the exposed skin on her back as Colin intensified the kiss, angling her face to mould against his lips, hungrily licking into the moan of her opening mouth.
As he started to lower them towards the mattress, Penelope decided she didn’t care. They could work out precisely what this meant; for the fragile nature of their friendship, for the vulnerable state of her overflowing heart, tomorrow.
For tonight, she decided to just let their hands do the talking.