Chapter Text
Since the day Penelope lost her virginity, she was practically insatiable. And Colin, as a man and a provider, did everything in his power to fulfil her needs. But sometimes he let her take a little control, you know, as a treat.
When riding him, she tried very hard to be as rough as he could get but never quite succeeding. Her body was too small and too soft. He appreciated her effort, he really did. But in his opinion, her taking control meant slow and sensual sex that made him almost cry every single time. As his mother once said, he was one of sensitive children and he couldn't agree more. During those moments he thought of her kindness, beauty, open-mindedness and so many more attributes that he fell in love with when they were children. He thought of himself and what he was capable of to make her happy. How he could kill someone, even himself, if she told him to.
That was why he always hugged her and buried his face into her neck while desperately rutting against her gushing core. Flesh of her thighs slapping hard against his lap, his palm tightly holding the bottom part of her soft belly while the other was ruthlessly circling and rubbing her nub. He loved her clit. It was so sensitive. This was why women were superior to men. They had an organ whose only function was to give pleasure. He could rub, pinch, slap, lick, suck, pet, kiss, grind against, the possibilities were endless. Women could come multiple times during sex and never made a mess like men did. Although, Penelope had a rare ability to squirt during a strong climax. So most women.
Despite him enjoying being rough with her, he preferred a gentler approach. His favourite always began with kissing. Deep, slow, sensual. Penelope moaning into his ear. Her supple arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him down to her. Him picking her up because he doesn’t fancy a crick in the neck for either of them. Her crying out in surprise because she keeps forgetting how strong he is. His arms possessively shielding her body like someone would come and snag her away from him. One palm or the other wandering down her plump and jiggly butt, definitely deserving a slap or two. Spending at least 30 minutes worshipping her breasts, at the end just trying to stuff them into his mouth. Gently putting her down on the bed (or any flat surface, he is not picky) and leaving every inch of her body cared for by his hands and lips. Settling between her legs for an hour or two and listening to her cries, setting a quicker pace when he sees the overstimulation in her body language. Putting more pressure on her belly and growling at her to stay still. Sometimes slowly rutting against the mattress because she is the tastiest thing he has ever had in his mouth. Opening her up gradually with his fingers. Her short arms desperately trying to touch him lower than his head but he can’t complain, he loves when she plays with his hair. Finally sliding in and just basking in her presence. She really looks, sounds, smells, tastes and feels the best. He couldn’t ever get enough of her. Holding her tight against him, smelling the floral shampoo she has used since puberty and kissing every inch of her skin he had access to. Her nails gliding along his skin, causing goosebumps. Whispering sweet nothings and everythings into her ear. How he loves taking care of her and feels taken care of. How her curves fit into his hard planes. How he would love to fill her up with his cum and repeat the process until it takes in. How amazing as a mother she would be. How caring but worried as a father he would be. And so much more. Him caressing and gently touching her face, neck and spine. Noticing her face expression, knowing she is close and picking up the pace until he feels her walls sucking him in and her nails digging into his shoulders, eyes rolling into her skull and her juices drowning both them and the bed.
Like this, his orgasms were the strongest. When their bodies, minds and souls felt like one. He feels like one lucky bastard to find someone who loves and understands him and truly knows him like Penelope does. He could not imagine his life without her. Without her, their flat would be without flowers and herbs on the balcony, snuggly pillows and blankets in the living room, smell of freshly baked biscuits in the kitchen, beauty products permanently scattered around their sink in the bathroom or books that she is in the process of reading on her nightstand in the bedroom. Women arrive into a house and make it a home. His mother was right. She was always right.
She was also the first one to know they weren’t just friends. Obviously, she handled his laundry. He was mortified when she asked him about Pen. Not because the idea of Pen with him was horrifying, god no. It was because she held his jeans with a suspicious stain on a suspicious area between. Her timing was impeccable, Benedict said. And he was laughing and crying when Colin told him. Of course he did not tell him willingly. That gangly (they were 16, both of them were but that was beside the point) asshole was too observant for his own good. And him wearing his emotions on his face did not help either. That’s how his mom and his older brother were first to know of their relationship. PTSD doesn’t describe enough of what he went through that day.
There were two sides to this situation. First, he could be much more obvious with his affections. Of course, not the affections they enjoyed in private, but they could hold hands, comfortingly touch each other, he could have Penelope on his lap and no one could tease him about it. Second, even though his sibling did not tease him about their relationship, they however started monopolising her time as often as possible. It was a whole mission, everyone was involved. Anthony dragging her to the chess table and provoking her to play with him, attacking her wit and strategy skills, knowing her competitive nature is equal to the Bridgertons’, just more subtle. Benedict, the whore, innocently flirting with her and playfully touching her, making Penelope blush and Colin’s blood boil. Daphne was taking her shopping and doing her make-up and basically making a doll out of her. That he did not mind. If he had to pick up his jaw and tongue off the floor every time, that was just a bonus.
Eloise was the worst. Her favourite brother was Benedict and she, as a raging lesbian, acquired his strategy and relentlessly flirted with her. But she, as a raging lesbian, did it better. If Ben’s flirting was making Penelope blush, Eloise’s made her speechless. She was not used to that much attention, she was confused and shocked. Francesca, as the most subtle among them (which was not difficult to achieve, they were as subtle as an elephant in a refrigerator), she just started talking to her more. They already shared the silent understanding and trust so talking one on one could take hours. In his opinion, that’s why she was the most diabolical among the lost. He never knew when she attacked and it was always at the time he expected it the least. And they spent hours talking. When he raised the issue with Penelope, she just laughed and said that he has to learn to share, sooner or later.
“Not with you, you are special to me. Let me show you.” he sincerely whispered.
His gentle kisses did not surprise her but feeling poured into them made her gasp nonetheless. She watched his scrunched eyebrows and palms holding her cherub cheeks, softly but possessively. Suddenly, he separated their lips and ran to lock the door.
“So no one could interrupt us.” he smiled.
Not going back to her lips, he was now focused on the milky peach skin on her neck. He slowly went from her jaw to her cleavage, leaving small marks behind with his teeth. Recently, she got very vocal and he loved that. What he did not love was his sibling hearing them. He softly but authoritatively splayed his palm over her neck and squeezed the sides. Loud moans changed into gasps, her lush thighs squeezing together from the sensation. To get her closer, he hauled her into his laps and squeezed her neck a little harder. The force he used on her neck he felt on his hips. If Penelope ever kills him with them, he would die a happy man. And if she allowed him to live between them, he would die a happier man.
Feeling her grind a little against him, he knew how desperate she was at the moment. He moved her on his thigh, now she had something better to grind on while he paid attention to her chest. The marks from the last time faded, it was his duty to replace them. She never wore deep necklines just for the sake of hiding them. Now she wore the shirt that he had in school. Just by flicking a few buttons, he had access to the whole chest. He attached his nose to the valley between her tits and inhaled. Except for her typical intoxicating smell, he also smelled himself. His cologne, deodorant, his sweat. But she did not smell like a sweaty boy. Actually, the combination of them made him know that she belonged to him. Penelope was his. And he belonged to her.
Squeezing her sensitive mounds while sniffing her rapidly changed her tempo. She pushed him far into the armchair they were sitting in and centred her cunt onto his bulge, dainty hands supporting her by holding onto his chest. For the first time, he just laid there, fascinated by the goddess riding him. He came dangerously close. Instead, he moved her over his face, short thick legs resting on both sides of his neck. He fiercely dives in, enjoying her taste. The mix of her skin, juices and her sweat sits on his mouth and refuses to leave. Colin focuses on her hard twitching clit, finally showing itself from the hood it is usually hiding in. She can not see anything under the veil of pleasure, just his darkened eyes and dishevelled hair that she uses as reins to get to the finish line. When he levels his finger with her entrance, he is barely breaching it. And just to intensify what she was already feeling, his palm went back to her throat and squeezed the sides, less gently than before. She could take it.
Her hips stuttered and not even the hand on her neck did not stop her from the wail that got out of her. The second he felt her unravel, he bit her clit. To keep her on him, a hand that rested in front of her entrance harshly grabbed her jiggling arse. He needed her on him. He needed to physically feel her presence and smell her. He was basking in her warmth when she suddenly moved her body and was seated back on his lap and seductively moved back and forth on his cock. He was basically frothing at his mouth like a rabid dog.
“Are you gonna come?” if it was a rhetoric question or a normal one, he did not know nor care. His brain was refusing to work and he could not blame it, all the blood was situated too far away. He was far too gone to respond.
But Penelope recognized the feral look in his eyes. She did not need to ask him but wanted to tease him, just a little bit. She picked up the pace, ruthlessly rutting, feeling him violently twitching. She wanted to finish him but she realised too late that she rode both of them to the climax. The ridges and veins on his beautiful cock were pressing against her pussy just right. One second she saw his eyes darken even more and another she felt his massive hands move her like a ragdoll, shamelessly staring at her with a fascinated glint and harshly thrusting.
When she looked down, she saw the head of his cock bumping at her overstimulated clit in quick short thrusts. She saw his hips stutter, covered in her slick, and splattering his come, mixing with her slick on their thighs. The sight made her violently gasp, her walls desperate to suck something in. She fell down on him and appreciated helping her ride out the aftershock by sensually kissing him, moaning into his mouth. When both of them fell down from their high, he gently laid her down on the bed and cleaned them both up with wet wipes that he stored in the drawer of his nightstand. After that he laid next to her and she immediately cuddled on his chest, gently scratching his pecs.
“Sleep. You worked really hard, baby.” and she fell asleep with him humming a song in her ear.