Chapter Text
Penelope is pleasantly sore between her thighs by the time morning breaks.
She brushes her teeth in-front of the mirror, her lips curving into a smile around the brush as she gazes at her reflection. It’s stupid, but she swears she looks different — brightness in her eyes and a fresh flush in her cheeks that can only come from really good sex.
Fantastic sex.
Three rounds of really fantastic sex, to be precise.
She spits and rinses her mouth out. When she rises again, she runs her fingers through her freshly washed hair, already curling damp at the ends. She’s just got out of the ensuite’s shower, so huge and lavish she feels like she should pay rent to use it, and she watches in the mirror as a few water droplets run down her collarbone and disappear under the soft fabric of the robe she’s thrown on.
She sighs, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as heat inexplicably rises in her cheeks. She shakes her head, a smile spreading over her lips as she places the back of her hand against her warm cheek. This is stupid, she thinks. She doesn’t even know what she’s smiling about. She just knows she hasn’t been this happy in a very long time... and she can’t believe this is her life now.
Her musings are interrupted by the click of the door as Colin enters. He locks it behind him and comes to stand next to her. They don’t speak, a comfortable, easy silence falling over them as he brushes his teeth. His eyes flick up and lock with hers in the mirror when he spits, both of them sharing gentle smiles.
He turns the tap off, the white noise of rushing water replaced by silence. Then he comes to stand behind her, winding his arms around her waist. She sighs, leaning into him, head rolling against his shoulder. He’s shirtless, clad only in his boxers, and she can feel him — all of him — against her back. Her eyes flutter shut.
“Good morning,” he hums into her hair.
She smiles, her fingers loosely gripping his wrist then sliding back and forth over his forearm. She tilts her head to the side to give him better access as he drops to plant a brief kiss on the side of her neck.
“Morning.”
She runs a hand absently through her hair again, twisting the strands around a few fingers before they snag on a knot. She winces, trying to smooth it out with her fingers, before Colin wordlessly picks up the hairbrush on the counter next to her.
She smiles at him through the mirror, a satisfied sound that’s half a moan, half a purr falling from her lips as he begins to brush. She lets her eyelids flutter shut, her already relaxed body growing even more so as he works out the knots. This is just another way he looks after her... and she's starting to discover just how much she loves being looked after. Before long, her hair is smooth, and with no sting in her scalp, she realises she barely felt a thing.
“You’re good at this.”
He must hear the disbelief in her voice because a chuckle rumbles from his chest.
“You sound surprised.”
That’s because she is.
“Michaela said Amanda’s head looks like it’s going to pop off every time you brush her hair.”
He laughs again as he puts the brush down and places a brief kiss on the top of her head.
“Michaela is dramatic. You shouldn’t listen to her.”
“She speaks very highly of you,” Penelope counters, “always telling me what a good guy you are.”
He clicks his tongue, an amused expression flitting over his face. He places his hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze before he begins to run them down the sides of her body.
“Well, maybe you should listen to her sometimes.”
She huffs a laugh, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth when his hands travel lower. He gently grasps her hips, a hum escaping his lips.
“You showered already?”
She opens her eyes, finding his in the mirror.
“I had to,” she tells him, eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushing with preparation for how bold she’s about to be, “I was a little sticky after your first good morning.”
She was. Sticky from his cum leaking out of her and down her inner thighs after she’d ridden him in a lazy, Sunday morning kind of fuck. Sticky from their mingled sweat, beading across both their bodies and drying on her skin once they were finished.
He grins, one of his hands sliding to her waist as the other casually toys with the belt of her robe. Her eyes drop from the mirror to watch, her body growing warm as his fingers run over the knot.
“Colin.”
Her voice is a warning, low but weak and without conviction — because as much as they do need to get ready for the day, she thinks if he takes his hands off her, she’ll scream.
“Hmm?”
“The kids…”
“Are still asleep,” he finishes for her, fingers still flirting with the knot of her belt as he bends to kiss her neck, “I checked.”
She relaxes, melting into him. She sighs, tipping her head to the side again in a silent gesture for him to continue. He does, his lips skating along her skin, teasing her with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Her skin shivers and blossoms under his touch, every neuron firing to life, as he makes his way to the sensitive area behind her ear. He kisses and bites her there, then takes the lobe between his teeth and gives a small, playful tug.
“Can I touch you, Pen?”
She nods, bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“Yes, touch me,” it’s wrenched from her mouth as though he’s a charmer and she’s his snake, hypnotized and dancing to his tune, “please.”
A pleased noise rumbling from his chest at her enthusiastic consent, he gives a small but firm tug on the knot of the belt, deft fingers unravelling it. Her heartbeat picks up, stuttering in her chest then quickening to a gallop as he slowly reaches around and slips the robe off her shoulders. She holds her breath as it falls to the floor in a cloud of soft cotton.
She swallows, tearing her eyes away from the mirror as her nipples pebble in the cool air and her toes curl against the heated tiles. She’s been exposed in-front of him before, of course; the night before Benedict and Sophie’s wedding, he spent hours telling her exactly what he loved about her body and just last night, he mapped every part of it with his tongue. But still — standing in-front of the mirror like this is confronting and for a moment, she can’t look.
She smiles, small and wry, when she feels his touch. He gently turns her face back to the mirror, his thumb hitched against the side of her chin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped low, thick with desire and — dare she say it — adoration, “so fucking gorgeous.”
She tilts her head back, lips parting as she watches desire flare through her own eyes. It’s amazing, she thinks, how much she wants him and how clearly she can see it. She can literally see the blues of her eyes disappearing, her pupils swallowing them whole.
His hands drop to her waist again, pulling her flush against him. She gasps when she feels him hard against her back, length twitching in interest.
“We look good together, don’t we?”
She nods, warmth spreading through her chest.
“We do,” she agrees softly.
One of his hands drifts over her belly before skating higher, then he lifts one of her breasts and palms it. She moans as she watches him tweak a nipple, his other hand slipping between her thighs. She whispers his name, breathy like a prayer, as he spreads her wetness and plays with her clit.
He dips down, lips hot against her ear.
“I haven’t taken you from behind yet,” he murmurs, “will you let me?”
A shiver races down her spine, her inner thighs growing slick just at the thought. She can’t believe how much she wants him, how she wants him more now she’s had him three times already, not less.
“Yes,” she whispers, the words shooting straight between her thighs, “yes, please.”
He steps back and she can’t see what he’s doing, but she can hear and feel rustling behind her, and then she can feel his cock, hot and hard against her back. She moans, eyelids fluttering, as he splays a palm across her shoulder blades and gives her a gentle but firm push.
She lets herself be moved, lowered, until she’s holding her weight on her forearms either side of the sink. She’s closer to the mirror this way, eyes flicking up to her own reflection, and her blush intensifies at the heat and desire she sees there.
She releases a shaky breath when she feels his fingers slide between her thighs. He probably thinks he needs to prepare her for him, make her wet, but doesn’t he know by now that she’s always wet for him? That heat pools between her thighs at the mere sound of his voice? She would be embarrassed by it, humiliated, if she wasn’t so sure he wanted her just as much. Maybe even more.
A sound chokes from his throat at the feel of her — half a groan, half a grunt. His fingers withdraw and then she feels something bigger at her entrance, the head of his cock splitting her open. With a squeeze of her hip and a whisper of her name, he pushes inside.
“Fuck,” she bows her head, the word a reedy whimper, as she takes all of him in one thrust. She’s growing accustomed to him now, her muscles learning how to stretch around him, but before last night, it had been a long time since she’d had sex, and he’s not exactly small.
“Good girl,” he croons, the hand on her hip sliding so his palm is splayed over the small of her back. His hands are so big, strong and masculine and covering so much of her skin, he makes her feel small, and Penelope has never felt small. “You take me so well.”
The praise only makes her hotter, makes her whine, makes a gush of wetness seep from her and coat his cock. He groans when he feels it, feels her get wetter for him, his hips snapping faster against her ass.
A shocked gasp hitches in her throat when his hand slots back to her hip and the other slides up her spine, wrapping the hair he’d just brushed around his fist. He tugs, gentle but firm, and her eyes roll at the thrill of it all.
“Open your eyes, Penelope,” he orders, voice gritty, “look how beautiful you look getting fucked.”
She moans, her eyes flying open at the command. She moans again as her eyes flit over her reflection —because she does look beautiful. Her eyes are wide and glassy, a lovely flush speckling high across her cheekbones, her lips lush and popped open around pretty gasps.
Behind her, he looks beautiful too. With his clenched jaw, and heaving chest, and strong muscles rolling under sweat slicked skin as he fucks her. They’ve had each other three times already, once this very morning, but they can’t get enough.
He seems to read her mind, or he’s thinking the same thing, because his fingers tighten their grasp around her hair and hip and he growls, low and gritty.
“God, I can’t keep my hands off you. You make me feel like a bloody teenager.”
She huffs a laugh between the gasps and moans. Sometimes he talks as though he’s ancient, not a man only a few years past 30. She spreads her legs a little wider, lifts her hips a little higher, pulses around his length.
She curses when he hits a particular spot, her fingers curling around cold porcelain as she grips the edges of the sink.
“Colin,” she whines, her breath quickening, “harder.”
He groans his approval, hips snapping faster as he fists and pulls her hair again. The action tugs her a little closer to him, lifting her off the sink, and her arm flies up to scramble behind her. She finds his elbow and brings his arm down, guiding his palm up her body, from her belly up her sternum between her breasts until she’s leading his hand to anchor itself at her throat.
Her eyes fly up to lock with his in the mirror. There’s a question in his blazing gaze, and she answers it with a nod and a squeeze of her fingers around his. Then she lets her own hand fall away. Her eyes flutter at the flex of his fingers around her throat, and it must turn him on too because his hips stutter for a beat before he bites out a curse and fucks her harder.
Her other arm raises again, curling around him and grabbing a fistful of his hair. She’s flush against his chest now, anchored to him by the strong hand he has wrapped around her neck and her tit as he cups it with his other.
He squeezes, fingers plucking at her nipple, as his hips thrust faster. Then he trails the hand down her body and between her legs, to her aching clit.
His fingers tighten around her neck, gripping with just the right amount of pressure — not too hard, just the way she likes and how does he know that? How can he play her body as though he’s known it for years, make it bend and bow to him?
“Christ, Pen,” he pants, rubbing her clit in tight circles, “I can feel you getting tighter. You gonna come for me?”
She nods, eyes rolling back in her head as her thighs begin to shake and her stomach tightens.
She whines, dipping her chin to catch two of the fingers he has pressed against her throat between her teeth. She sucks on them and bites down as she comes, her body pulling tight like the string of a bow before it snaps. Her moan muffles around his fingers before her mouth opens, hitched wider by his fingers pulling at its hinge.
“Oh, that’s it,” he purrs, delighted, watching in the mirror as his fingers move over her clit in a fast, wet blur, wringing out the last of her orgasm, “good girl.”
Her last moan is more like a sob as she slumps against him, body still trembling as his hips pick up their pace again, chasing his own release.
The hand behind his head fists tighter in his curls as he does, fingers gently coaxing him on.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
She bites down on his fingers again then demands, “do it. Come inside me, Colin. Fill me up.”
He pushes in once more, to the hilt, then breaks. She watches his face in the mirror as he finishes inside her — the pleasure flitting across his expression, his mouth falling open around heavy pants, the flush of pink painted high on his cheekbones.
She shudders as he pulls out of her, her body already lamenting the loss. She glances at her reflection in the now fogged glass, her body sweaty, her hair askew.
“I guess showering and brushing my hair was pretty pointless," she notes breathlessly.
He grins.
“Sorry,” he shrugs, not sounding sorry at all.
He grabs her hand instead, tugging her towards the huge cubicle with that lopsided smile still on his face. He turns the shower on and nudges her towards the spray, entering the cubicle behind her. There’s more than enough space for two, and she sinks back against him with a sigh as he begins to wash her. His touch is gentle between her legs, soothing her sore cunt and swollen clit, and a blush rises in her cheeks again when she feels his cum trickle down her thighs, watching the pearlescent drops swirl down the drain.
She turns around and they kiss between happy laughs, water raining down, lips wet and kiss swollen. When they are both clean, they step out of the shower and he wraps her in her robe again, grabbing his own and shrugging it on too.
He’s just tugging her towards him again when there’s a frantic screech outside.
“Daddy!”
His eyes fall shut, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.
“That didn’t sound good.”
He moves over to the door, reaching for the handle which is shaking from Amanda trying to turn it from the other side.
Penelope pales.
“Thank god you locked it,” she mutters, fighting back a shudder at the thought of one of his kids or her son bursting in ten minutes earlier.
He sends her a smile that’s more like a wince before he turns the lock and opens the door.
Amanda stands, chest heaving on the other side. She’s still in her pyjamas, and her hair is wild, and her gaze keeps darting to the door as though Oliver is going to burst through it. She speaks in a rush, clearly eager to get the words out before he does.
“Ollie stole my toy!”
Colin sighs, slipping into Dad mode.
“Were you playing with it at the time?”
She shifts, looking a little guilty.
“Well no, but—”
“So why can’t he have a turn?”
She scoffs in outrage, her mouth opening then closing until her frustration leads to a very petulant stamp of her foot. That gets her a very pointed, very unimpressed raised brow from her father.
“Because it’s mine!”
Colin’s mouth pinches.
"Amanda, you have to share with your brother,” he says, “you know that.”
She huffs again, her bottom lip protruding in a sulky pout. She crosses her arms over her chest, as though she’s refusing.
“I see,” Colin hums evenly, “so I suppose you don’t want to go out for ice cream today like we planned?”
“I do!”
He clicks his tongue, as though confused.
“But only good girls get ice cream and good girls share their toys with their brother…”
She blinks, then sighs.
“Fine!” she dramatically throws her arms up before she lets them slap back to her sides, “I’ll share.”
The corner of Colin’s mouth twitches as he reaches out to ruffle her hair.
“Good girl,” he praises, “now go back to your room. I’ll be in in a sec to get you ready.”
“Okay Daddy,” she sighs, then slumps out of the room.
Penelope purses her lips to hide her laugh, leaning against the bathroom door with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Well, at least she’s not dramatic,” she jokes.
Colin laughs, running a hand over his jaw, before he pulls her in for one more kiss.
“Don’t be silly,” Colin smiles when Emily insists on staying in the villa rather than joining them for ice cream, calling it intruding, “you’re family.”
The girl blushes, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“Okay,” she finally relents, taking Oliver’s hand.
They spend the day sightseeing — from a tour around the Colosseum which Elliot particularly loves, to the Sistine Chapel, stunning, vaulted ceilings Amanda can’t tear her eyes away from. Eventually they end up back at the Trevi fountain, Penelope smiling as she stares at a spot of stone and remembers the splash of Sophie’s champagne and Hyacinth’s vomit against it.
“Can I have mint please, Penelope?” Oliver asks her as they sit down near the fountain and Colin prepares to buy them all ice cream.
Penelope doesn’t miss the flicker of surprise that passes over Emily’s face — probably because Oliver talked to her. The babysitter stays quiet, but watches curiously.
“I’m sure you can,” she smiles, “go ask Daddy.”
He nods and skips over to take the hand Colin has outstretched for him. He disappears into the ice cream parlour with the kids, Elliot on his hip and Amanda just in-front of him.
It causes warmth to bloom across Penelope’s chest, the sight of him holding Elliot like that. She knows Alfred is a wonderful father, and Elliot is already lucky to have him, but it doesn’t hurt to have two strong, kind, thoughtful men in her son’s life.
Eventually, sitting beside her, Emily breaks the silence.
“Oliver spoke to you.”
Penelope turns her head, smiling at the soft expression on the young girl’s face.
“Yeah,” she murmurs proudly, “he did.”
“That’s amazing,” Emily says and Penelope supposes it is, “he must really trust you. I’m so pleased for you all.”
“You are?”
She nods.
“I’ve babysat the twins for three years now,” she explains, “ever since I was sixteen and Hyacinth said her brother needed help.”
“I didn’t know you knew Hyacinth,” Penelope says, just realising now how little she knows about the girl.
Emily nods.
“We were in the same class at school,” she explains, “and she said the family helped whenever and wherever they could, but the kids needed some stability, someone outside of the family who was more impartial, and professional, and available when one of their siblings or Violet wasn’t always.”
“I get that.”
“So I’ve been around for a while now. I saw Mr Bridgerton—” she pauses, a flush creeping into her cheeks, “Colin… soon after his wife died and every year since. I’ve never seen him look as happy as he does now.”
Penelope smiles.
“He makes me very happy too.”
Emily nods, obviously pleased.
“It was really rough for a while,” she continues, “he was so… broken after Marina died. The kids too. I’m really happy they have you.”
“I’m happy they have you too, Emily,” Penelope tells the kind girl, “you clearly mean a lot to them.”
The girl’s blush intensifies as she averts her eyes. Just at that moment, Colin and the kids return, all holding ice creams. Colin hands Emily hers, which she takes with a shy thank you, and Elliot gives one of the two cones he’s holding to Penelope.
“Thanks, baby.”
They all sit together, Penelope smiling and leaning into him when Colin places a casual kiss to the top of her head.
Oliver climbs onto Colin’s lap, pointing to some engraving atop the Trevi fountain.
“For Uncle Benedict?!” he asks excitedly around licks of mint.
They all follow his eyeline, confused.
PERFECIT BENEDICTVS XIV PON MAX.
Penelope purses her lips to contain a laugh.
“Oh no,” Colin sounds amused too, but he’s clearly being careful not to be patronising, “that’s not for Uncle Benedict, baby. It’s for Pope Benedict. There have been a few of those.”
“What’s a Pope?” Oliver asks, confused.
As Emily leans in and explains, he turns to Penelope.
“That would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?” he asks, a grin lighting up his face, “if Benedict engraved the Trevi Fountain in commemoration of his wedding.”
Penelope huffs a laugh and takes a lick of her ice cream.
“Knowing you Bridgertons, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
They touch down in London around 6pm, all three kids exhausted from the journey.
After dropping Emily home at her flat on the way, they head to Colin’s house, eager to sleep off the flight.
Only when they arrive, there’s a car Penelope doesn’t recognise on his drive. From her place in the passenger’s seat, she turns her head to ask if he recognises it, but she can tell from the look on his face that he does. His eyes flicker with it, then he takes a visible breath, then he’s opening the door and fetching a sleeping Oliver from the backseat.
Penelope wordlessly grabs Elliot, who’s also sleeping, while Amanda who’s close to it but still awake slides out of the car. She rubs her eyes as she tiredly follows Colin, grabbing for his hand.
When they get to the door, he turns to Penelope, likely to explain who the car belongs to — but then the front door is swinging open.
Two women stand on the other side. One is older, around Violet’s age, while the other looks to be in her late 20s.
Amanda gasps when she sees them from behind Colin’s leg.
“Nanny!”
She squeals then throws herself into the older woman’s arms.
Nanny?
Colin sighs, closing the door behind them. The boys stir, but don’t wake, then Colin’s rubbing his hand over his jaw.
“Mary, you can’t keep letting yourself into my house.”
The woman raises a brow, clutching Amanda to her hip.
“Well hello to you too, Colin.”
There’s a beat of awkwardness as they all stand there in the foyer and Penelope gets the distinct feeling she’s missing something.
Eventually Colin comes back to life, turning to her with a smile she can tell is forced.
“Mary, Mia… this is Penelope,” he says, looking at her, then he turns his gaze to the other women, “Penelope, this is Mary and Mia… Marina’s mother and sister.”