Chapter Text
This summer wasn’t like the ones before.
Penelope Featherington was free–done with university. Well... she was six months ago. For the first summer she had no more deadlines, no more half-assed group projects with classmates who didn’t want to do half the work, and most of all no more pretentious professors. She should’ve felt unbothered, free. Instead, she was standing on the patio of her father’s best friend.
The California sun was way too fucking bright, the air smelled like expensive perfume.
Her family, her father, mother, and sisters were all scattered around the house, caught up with old friends and family members that hadn’t been around in years.
All of this was for Felicity. She was the reason for all the catered food and the overfilled backyard with people Penelope didn’t even remember.
But there was one person.
Colin Bridgerton.
Her dad’s best friend. Pushing fifty, with silver streaks by his temples and a voice that could charm an entire room–or shut one down. He spoke so softly, usually. But she’d heard him before, behind closed doors, yelling through an office wall.
Colin was dressed sharp, like always. That quiet confidence that always made women lean in a little closer just to be around him. He had been around for a long time.
God, she was eighteen when they met. Now, she was twenty six, and he was still Archie’s best friend. Divorced. No kids–well, none that he ever spoke about anyway.
He come to Felicity's concerts, stayed late at family dinners, and never missed a birthday. Over twenty years older.
There was something about him.
A line she knew not to cross, but she wanted to.
“Didn’t expect to find you hiding up here,” Colin says as he steps beside her. His eyes scan the party in front of them, unable to tell what’s on his mind.
Penelope didn’t look up at him. “Bit much, isn’t it?”
A small sound–almost like a laugh–came from him. “Your mom really went all out, as usual.”
“She always does.”
Colin took a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes still on the crowd. “Your mom wanted one of these for you too, you know. College graduation party. She said you turned her down.”
Penelope just shook her head. “I barely wanted to come home.”
“Is New York that much better than here?” Colin asked.
“It was…fun.” She sighed. “A place where I could be myself, where I didn’t have to deal with my crazy family most of the time.”
The truth was, any place was better than Montecito. New York had small apartments, places that weren’t filled with just rich people.
“I can’t believe you’re a college graduate,” he looked over, the corner of his mouth tugging.
Penelope shook her head, not trusting herself to answer right away.
Colin Bridgerton, who co-owned a company with her father, who made deals over steak dinners and walked through rooms like he owned them–Calling her smart, like that meant something.
He was always so good with compliments. Always knew how to say just enough without making it a huge thing.
After seven years, not much had changed about him.
“You went to college,” Penelope murmured, looking at him. “You own a company. Pretty sure you’re too good for my father..”
Colin chuckled, lifting his drink and tipping it toward the lawn. “Think he’s had too much already?”
She followed him–her father laughing a little too loud, glass in his hand already half-empty. Her mother was already irritated with him, staring at him from the corner of the lawn.
“No,” she said, eyes still on her father. “His limit is usually way higher than three.”
Colin nodded, not disagreeing.
Then–quietly–”Can I have a sip of that?”
He looked at her for a long moment, then passed the whiskey over without a word. Penelope took a sip. It burned in the way she liked. When she looked back at him, he was smiling–just barely–shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was letting her drink it in front of him.
She didn’t wait for the moment to pass. “How’s my father been?” she asked, bluntly.
“He’s…gotten better,” Colin hesitated, which means he was lying.
Penelope didn’t bother to press. She didn’t have to. She already knew the truth–Felicity had told her everything. The missed dinners. The text messages her mother had found at three am. The hidden bottles. The way he started slurring again before noon.
“He’s been going to meetings, recently,” Colin adds. “He tells everyone he’s playing golf.”
They stood there for a while, standing in silence. With Colin, it never felt quiet. It was a break, really, from the noises of the party, from the forced smiles, from watching him charm every woman in the room. Including her sisters.
He reached over, taking the whiskey from her hand with a lazy ease. Then nodded toward the house.
“There’s a whole house full of it,” he said, “You want more, get your own.”
Penelope looked at him—at the silver in his hair, that easy smirk that never left his mouth, the way his voice was always so soft when he spoke to her.
There was something about him.
Something that had always lingered too close.
Something she shouldn’t want.
But she did.
“Everyone missed having you around,” Colin said. “Your little sister wouldn’t shut up about you while you were gone.”
“I missed her.”
The silence fell back between them, easy again–until someone walking up the stairs caught Penelope’s eye.
“It looks like you have company, Mr. Bridgerton ,” she teased.
She didn’t have to gesture. His eyes followed her to an older blonde, Lydia, one of the ladies from the accounting department. With a drink in her hand, making her way up the stairs with such confidence. Her smile was already on him.
Heading straight for Colin.
Colin rolls his eyes, taking another slow sip.
“Can you take this inside for me?” He asked, handing over the glass without looking.
“Yeah–of course.”
Penelope takes it, fingers brushing his, and turns toward the house.
Inside, it was quiet. Cool. Too big for one person, too clean to feel lived in. Art on the walls that probably cost more than the car she drove here. A bar, barely touched, glasses that looked new. Like just bought today.
But that’s what success looks like—well she fucking guess that’s what it looks like—owning more things than you even know what to do with.
The California sliding door was wide open–one of those massive glass walls that slid out of the way, turning half of the house into the patio. The house was just as crowded though–business associates, distant relatives she barely recognized, and way too many of Felicity’s loud friends packed onto one couch.
None of Colin’s family, not really. Just Gregory, lingering by the bar, trying and failing to flirt with women who were clearly out of his league.
Penelope set the glass in the sink, careful, like it might break if she set it down any harder. Then walked up the stairs toward the bathroom–to freshen up, reapply lipstick, and to pretend she was literally anywhere but here.
She looked down at her phone. Then again. The time hadn’t changed much.
Penelope thought about the matching bra and panties she was wearing. Black. Ruffled just enough. Clinging in all the right places–she told herself it was for her. A small act of self care. Something private, something simple.
But she knew better. A part of it was for him.
Colin.
She stared at her reflection for long enough, probably too long.
“Fuck it .”
The dress she had on slipped off her shoulders in a slow, deliberate drag. Cool air brushed her skin as the fabric pooled at her feet. She picked up her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. She opened the camera, angled it just right, and snapped a photo. Lace and skin.
Then came the sudden slam on the door.
“Pen!” Felicity’s voice from the other side. “Mom wants you to come down to take pictures!”
Penelope jumped, nearly dropping her phone on the floor. “ God ,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “How did you even know I was in here?”
“I just followed you up here,” Felicity laughed, then her footsteps disappeared.
Penelope sighed and locked her phone. The moment was gone. She slipped her dress back on, fingers smoothing fabric that suddenly felt so fucking tight on her skin.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, the house felt louder. Somehow, in less than thirty minutes, half the damn party had migrated inside, drinks in hand. Conversation way too loud.
And when her foot hit the last step–she saw him.
Colin Bridgerton. Stretched out on the couch, spread out, a new drink in his hand, and Lydia sitting next to him. God, her laugh was too loud, her hand was too close to him. He was smiling–that calm polite smile he used when he didn’t care really.
Penelope felt it.
But jealousy wasn’t something she let herself feel. Not often. But fuck, here it was. Over her dad’s best fucking friend.
She pulled out her phone, debating. His contact was plain–Colin Bridgerton. No emoji. No nickname even. The name she’d gotten used to hearing in her father’s office, that was now stuck in her head.
She tapped his name. Opened the empty text message thread.
And sent the picture.
The one from the bathroom.
Penelope didn’t move. Just stood there, watching him.
Colin pulled out his phone, eyes looking down to the screen. His cheeks turned red almost immediately. Then he was looking around the room, sharp and so quick, until he locked onto her.
His eyes were darker than before.
“ Excuse me ,” he said to Lydia, still sitting beside him, polite as ever.
And then–he was moving.
Toward Penelope.
Fast.
Way too fast.
“Get Upstairs.”
She didn’t expect his grip–fingers so tight around her arm, not rough, but enough to make her nearly fall off the last step. Didn’t expect him to practically haul her up the stairs, ignoring every curious look, every half-drunk conversation they passed.
He was angry. And god, it shouldn’t have made her heart race like this–but fuck it did.
He pushed her into the bathroom, closing it shut behind them and locking it.
“What is this?” he demanded, pulling out his phone, holding up the screen like it’s crime scene evidence.
“I don’t know–” Penelope started, the lie so weak as it came out.
“You do,” Colin snapped. “Do you have any idea what would happen if your father saw this?”
She looked at him, into his blue eyes with a smile, “Then don’t let him.”
He scoffed, harsh and bitter. Ran a hand through his grey hair, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe she was saying–what she’d done.
“Jesus Penelope.”
“What am I supposed to do with a nude?” he asked, holding his phone up toward her.
“Anything you want,” Penelope said.
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “What am I supposed to do with you, Penelope ?”
She opened her mouth. “Anyt—”
“Let me fucking guess,” he cuts in, “Anything I please?”
She didn’t speak. Just nodded.
It was like something in him snapped.
Colin’s eyes darkened, jaw tight. “Take them off,” he muttered quietly.
Her hands moved before her brain even caught up. She lifted her dress, slow, bunching the fabric at her waist. Then, with trembling fingers, she slipped her panties down her legs.
Once her underwear was on the floor, Colin moved.
He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, like picking her up was muscle memory, and set her on the cool marble counter. He stepped in closer, hands firm on her knees, pushing her legs open for him.
She was wet already. And Colin Bridgerton hadn’t even fucking touched her.
“You’ve thought about this before,” Colin said. “Haven’t you?”
She nods.
“Words,” he firmly said.
“Yes, Colin,” she whispered.
His hands slid up her thighs, like he wanted to feel every inch of them. When his fingers finally reached her dripping wet center, brushing over her clit, her whole body tensed.
“Fuck–” Colin muttered. “This is a bad fucking idea.”
But his fingers didn’t stop. They moved in slow circles against her clit, pulling moans from her throat before she could even stop them.
He pressed his free hand over her mouth.
“Quiet,” he hissed, eyes on her. “I don’t need the whole house hearing this.”
The last thing either of them needed was her father hearing what the fuck was going on upstairs.
Colin’s fingers slid into her–slow, like he wanted to see every bit of her reaction. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, forcing the moans back down.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Her hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white. He didn’t stop. He didn’t rush. Just kept moving, like he had all the time in the world and all of this was safe. That someone couldn’t be on the outside of this door.
It felt impossible to stay quiet.
Every thrust of his fingers, every curl, drove her mad. And the sound–wet, slick, echoing through the small bathroom they were stuck in.
Then he pulled them out, and she whimpered.
Colin reached for his belt, unfastening it with ease. That metallic click, the slow drag of his zipper coming down–it was so hot that it made Penelope groan.
This was really happening.
His cock sprang free, and her eyes dropped instantly. Bigger than she imagined–thick, veined, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. Perfect. Too fucking perfect.
“Your one chance, princess ,” Colin spoke. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Colin, please .”
He didn’t answer. Just took his cock in hand, tapped it gently against her clit. The contact made her gasp, biting down on her lip so hard it nearly broke the skin.
Being quiet in this bathroom felt like torture.
Colin was teasing her–dragging the thick head of his cock through her soaked cunt, slicking himself with her. Then he lined up–just barely–and eased the tip in. Inch by inch.
“ Goddamn ,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby.”
His fingers found her clit again, rubbing slow circles as he pushed deeper. Her hand flew to his shoulder, nails digging in, trying to keep herself steady on the marble counter.
“God–” she gasped.
Colin’s fingers moved faster on her clit, coaxing her with every stroke as he eased in, deeper.
“You’re taking me so fucking good.”
“Please—please,” Penelope moaned. “I can take more, I can.”
Something snapped.
Colin buried himself in her with one deep, hard thrust. He moaned loud, unrestrained. The kind of sound that could’ve easily slipped past that door if anyone was close enough to hear them.
Then he started moving. Rough. Relentless.
His hands gripped her thighs, tight enough to leave bruises. Each thrust sent her back against the counter, breathless, his name slipping from her lips in quiet gasps.
Her head hit the mirror with a thud as it fell back, eyes hazy, lips parted. Colin dragged her closer, fingers still circling over her clit, never letting up.
He was fucking her—deep, fast, the slap of skin on skin in the bathroom.
Penelope’s hand fisted his neat shirt, wrinkling the fabric. Her other hand was pressed over her mouth, muffling the sounds that kept slipping out despite her best fucking effort.
“Fucking hell,” Colin groaned.
“Faster–” Penelope moaned. “Please, fuck, faster.”
Colin obeyed.. His thrust grew rougher, deeper, the rhythm unrelenting. His fingers moved quicker too. She was close, right on the edge. She didn’t even care that the counter was digging into the back of her thighs anymore.
Didn’t care about anything except him .
“Are you going to cum for me?” Colin asked, out of breath. “Cum on my cock, baby?”
Penelope nods, mouth falling open and a sharp cry as she clenched around him. The orgasm hit her so hard, fast–leaving her thighs shaking. Colin’s hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound before it was too loud for people to hear.
But he didn’t stop. He fucked her through it–hard and fast, exactly how she begged for it.
Then suddenly, he pulled out, chest heaving. One hand wrapped tight around his cock.
“Off” he growled, “now.”
She moved without question, legs shaky as she got down from the counter. Onto her knees, looking up at him–mouth open, ready.
Colin groaned–loud–when he came. Thick ropes of cum spilled from the head of his cock, some catching on her tongue, dripping onto her chin, side of her lip, even across the front of her dress.
He braced himself on the counter, chest rising fast.
Then—a knock on the door.
“Colin?” Archie’s voice.
Penelope froze.
“Portia’s wondering where you went.”
“Yeah,” he called out. “I had a phone call.”
He looked down at Penelope–still on her knees, flushed. His thumb reached a smear of cum from the corner of her mouth.
“Tell Portia I’ll be down in a minute.”
Penelope stayed still, eyes locked on him as he tucked himself back in, fingers smoothing down his shirt where her hands had wrinkled it. He handed her a towel, trying not to look as shaken as he felt.
She wiped her chin, her breasts, lips still parted.
“Close one,” she murmured, a smirk pulling at her mouth.
“Too close.”