Chapter Text
His eyes snap to hers the second she steps through the doorway.
He only takes a few wide strides to cross the room, and she tracks his gaze until he’s towering above her. An oversized hand wraps snugly around her waist, pulling her into one of the dark hallways before she can protest; her back is barely against the brick before his tongue is squarely down her throat.
He tastes like liquor and sin, and she can’t help but indulge, to savour the flavour of his lips against hers as her fingers begin to wander. They find purchase at the back of his neck, fingernails digging through the thin material as he presses her harder into the wall.
She knew he’d be here. She expected him to; she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t been perched on one of the bar stools, eyes casing the entrance and ears tuned for the telltale clack of her stilettos when she eventually returned.
“How long have you been waiting?” She purrs it against his mouth.
The grip on her hips tightens. “You said I’d know where to find you,” he grunts in response, “then you never came back.” When he pulls away to look at her, his eyes are close enough to count the individual speckles of blue, the fragments glinting even in the dim light.
“I guess you found me,” she whispers. Trapped in his orbit, she can’t look away.
“Colin,” he says suddenly, like he’s staking his claim. His mouth ducks down to suck marks onto her neck, branding his lips on her skin. “You’re not going anywhere without knowing my name.”
“I know who you are, Mr Bridgerton.” She’s known all week. She’d googled him the second she stepped outside the hotel, bare feet against the cold pavement, the inside of her thighs still sticky from release.
Rather than looking shocked, his lips turn at the edge, his expression sliding into amusement. She’s dragging him back into a kiss before he can reply, losing track of their touches as they fumble for each other. There's not much stopping him from tugging the top of her dress completely down, exposing her even in the cover of this dark hallway. The thrill of it sends a wicked spark down her spine, and a moan slips between her lips before she can stop it. She can feel his smile as he kisses a trail back up her neck.
“Now, you tell me your name,” he offers.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she suggests breathlessly. Her control is slipping between her fingers as his hands continue to explore.
“I believe I already have, Penelope.”
Her mouth falls open as he licks another line across her skin. Her name, filthily formed with his lips, has drowned out anything else in the rumble of this bar. Every inch of her body is tingling, goosebumps forming all over her bare arms.
It seems he’s done just as much research as she has.
“Such a pretty name for such a filthy girl,” he continues, whispering into the shell of the ear. Her back presses even deeper into the brickwork as his hand skims over her breast. A familiar, needy grab as he thumbs her raised nipple through the stretched fabric.
“Is this what you always do?” he asks lowly, squeezing. “Come to this bar, flash these perfect tits and pick up the first guy who comes crawling?”
Usually, it is. She enjoys the thrill of the hunt, the reward of a successful conquest, and the satisfaction of a stranger between her thighs. No names, no numbers, no repeats. Just a quick exit, a disappearance into the night, her heels clicking on the sidewalk.
But it seems like she’s willing to make an exception. She’s not sure anyone else can compare.
She’s rendered useless when his hand drops back to her hip, tugging her even closer. Her hands brace on his chest when he leans forward to nip her bottom lip with his teeth.
“Not tonight. Tonight, I want you to be mine.” He pauses and studies her face. “And I think you want to be mine, too.”
This should be when she turns the tide, spins their bodies around and pushes his frame into the uneven wall, tugs his lips between her teeth. Instead, she doesn’t stop him from bunching her silky emerald dress up her legs, doesn’t protest when one hand tightens on her hip, and the other disappears under her skirt. If anything, she encourages it, a little groan spilling from her lips when his fingers pause at the seam where her thigh-highs meet the edge of her arse.
He makes a noise of disbelief. “Are these for me?”
For the first time since they collided, he’s taking his time, a slow glide over the top of the lacey material. It’s an even slower trail as his touch moves around her leg to where she knows she’s bare and wet and already dripping for him.
She hears the hiss in her ear. “Such a naughty girl,” he purrs as his fingers slide against her seam. “Where are your panties?”
She knew they’d just get in the way when he finally got his hands on her. On the ride over, she’d pictured them stumbling into one of the adjoining stalls, his teeth on her neck and their eyes catching through the streaky bathroom mirror. Not out in the open like this in the middle of the hallway, with her skirt shucked halfway up her legs and his hands between her thighs.
She should be tugging his hair to one of the private back rooms and putting him on his knees where he belongs. Guiding his tongue back onto her clit like she so fondly remembers. Like she’s been craving. Like she planned.
Instead, he teases around her entrance again with a slow drag, watching and waiting for her nod of approval. When his first finger sinks to the knuckle, he shushes her cry with his mouth.
“You need to be quiet unless you want everyone to hear.”
When another finger presses in against the first and she clenches down on the stretch, the smirk on his face spreads, and he crowds her even closer to the wall. Another thrust causes her to grab his shoulder to stay upright. When his fingers disappear into her again, faster this time, she can’t stop the whimpers she muffles into his chest.
No one should be able to hear her over the sound of the music coming through the speakers. It’s so dark in this corner, and she can’t see anything past his broad chest. His shirt strains over his broad shoulders, indents showing where her nails dig into the fabric. His length is pressing hard into her stomach.
Even though he’s like a giant wall of muscle, shielding her from lingering, curious glances, someone still might be able to see them. See the flash of creamy skin as her skirt rides higher and his fingers move faster against her. See how she clings onto his arm for dear life or the way her mouth tips open as his thumb brushes her clit. The idea that someone is watching their display is thrilling, and she can’t focus on anything else.
She’s not even sure he notices how exposed they are. He’s too caught up in the moment, burying her in his delicious scent and mouthing at her neck. Moving his fingers between them as she climbs and climbs and climbs.
“Come for me, gorgeous girl,” he says, whispering filth into her skin, and that’s what catapults her over the edge.
He holds her up as she trembles, grinding onto his hand as she chases the pleasure. It all feels incredibly wanton and dirty, but she doesn’t care. That’s exactly why she’s here, exactly why she returns to this terrible bar every week looking for a new toy to play with.
She thinks that’s why she was so desperate to seek him out again.
She indulges in that in-between moment with a sigh until he releases her. She almost wants to whimper as his hand retreats, but then his fingers, slick and shiny from her release, press against her smudged lipstick. She can’t help but take them, locking their eyes as her tongue peeks out to swipe at the moisture on his fingertip. She takes pride in the noise she draws from him when she hums around the digit.
Now, they can return to her schedule. She can take back some of the control. It should be easy to do so now, with his breath so hot and heavy against her skin, his pupils dark behind hooded eyes as she sucks each finger between her lips.
She’ll turn away. Feel his eyes on her arse as she saunters back into the ambient glow of the bar. Enjoy the way he trails helplessly behind her, fingers desperate for another touch. Then, she can lead them back to the same hotel room as before and finally get exactly what she wants.
But before she can do any of that, his hands snake around her wrist, pulling her down the rest of the hallway. She barely has a chance to tug her skirt back down as she stumbles after him towards the emergency exit. But there’s no room for negotiation in his voice—no room to protest.
It’s not like she was going to anyway.
“You’re coming home with me.”
---
He keeps her busy in the back of the taxi.
It’s not exactly the way she would have imagined it; her lips around his cock, coaxing him to a whimper, driver be damned. Instead, his hand strokes slowly and subtly over the front of her dress. He watches her the entire time with a small smile, his eyes fixed unabashedly on her deep cleavage.
Eventually, she stretches over to reach for the bulge in his pants, but he’s quick to swat her hand away. It remains pinned between them on the seat as he resumes his movements. Each graze over her sex is slow and steady, an aching tease, and she’s strung all the way back to the edge when the car finally pulls over.
She doesn’t recognise the building when they arrive. Nor the lobby as he directs her through towards the lift, his hand warm on the small of her back. When the silver doors finally shut, she’s hoping he’ll slam down on the emergency button and crowd her against the mirrored walls. Shove his tongue back down her throat.
But everything is quiet as they ride the three floors up, his fingers still looped around her wrist, like he’s worried she’s going to make some sort of escape. The reality is the opposite: mindlessly following him down the hallway, waiting patiently as his key turns in the lock, stumbling over the threshold into the privacy of his apartment.
Everything becomes a little more frantic when the door slams shut behind them.
His fingers loop into her hair immediately, pulling her towards his mouth for another heated kiss. But she’s already halfway to her knees, fingers scrambling at his belt buckle on the journey down. She hears a suck of his breath as she settles onto the floor.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, his grip tightening at the hair on the back of her neck.
It’s funny how it’s this position that has finally put her back in control: submissive and on her knees, gazing up at him with wide eyes and a grip on his belt. The clink of metal echoes in the dark apartment as she works quickly to unbuckle the latch. She makes a small noise of victory when the leather finally slips free, pulling at the button hidden underneath to free him.
“I’ve been thinking about this cock all week,” she confesses as she pushes his pants down his thighs. He’s straining in his underwear, and once she pulls those down and gets her hands on his bare length, she wastes no time in leaning forward and swiping her tongue against the very tip.
“Fuck,” he curses again above her. “What else have you been thinking about?” he asks, but it comes out strained, another profanity escaping as she takes the head of his cock between her lips.
The answer is simple. Him. She’s been rehashing their night together in her mind all week: his soft stare and eager eyes, rough hands and grunts in her ear. There’s just something about him she can’t get over. A desperate, nagging feeling she cannot let go.
But she can’t exactly respond with her mouth full. She’s too focused on dragging her tongue along the underside of his shaft, coaxing the whimpers from him above her. It’s barely been seconds, and he already seems to be wavering in control. As her lips mouth over his cock, slow and coy, she glances upwards to find him staring down at her intently, heat flashing in his eyes.
“Christ,” he breathes. It's good to see she’s already reduced him to one-syllable responses.
His other hand joins the first curled in her hair, pinning the remaining strands from her face so she can easily suckle him. It puts a little power back in his hands, and he tugs her closer. Moving much gentler than she expected, he tests her limits, but she responds by sliding her hands to his rear, letting her lips stretch even further down his girth.
“That’s so good, baby,” he says as she flattens her tongue. “I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about.” The words are tight, just like the grip on her hair. “Those gorgeous fucking tits. The little noises you made when I got my mouth on you.” She can almost hear the grin in his voice before he lets out another curse. “God, that pretty pussy grinding all over my face.”
The praises hit her clit, and another shallow thrust muffles the whine she releases. The next thrust is a little rougher, and she gags a little when his cock hits the back of her throat. She peers back up his torso and straining muscles to find his eyes scrunched closed and head tipped back in the moonlight. She focuses back on her mouth around him, saliva drooling from her bottom lip as he indulges in a few more hard thrusts. She’s helpless to take it, eyes beginning to water from the strain.
Then, all of a sudden, he releases her hair, and she pushes off his cock with a gasp.
“Up,” he commands, repeating it gruffly when she continues to kneel on the carpet, a little lightheaded and confused as she regains her bearings. “Up, up, up.”
Once she staggers to her feet, he spins her and shuffles them both a few paces further into the room. She can barely see in the darkness, just a gleam of light painting all of his furniture in silver. After a few wobbly steps, her stomach finds the edge of the loveseat, and he crowds over her spine and pushes her over the armrest before she can find her footing.
It’s an exposing position to be in, with the soles of her feet barely reaching the ground and her face in the throw cushions. Especially when she hears him move behind her, and his hands find the swell of her arse, pushing the slinky fabric up and over her hips.
“God, I missed this.” She can feel his breath on her bare cheeks, his nose buried between her folds, his tongue dipping inside. He licks one long stripe from her clit to her puckered hole, and she shudders against his mouth.
“Colin!”
“Yes,” he groans, and the zing of it throttles through every nerve. “Say my name again.”
It’s utterly sinful the way he moans into her sex, how his palms spread her even wider. How he holds her steady with his grip on the top of her stockings. The sounds she makes when his fingers join his tongue, and she knows she’s probably making a mess of his couch. Soaking his hand and the fabric beneath.
“Colin, Colin, please,” she babbles when he pauses for air. “Fuck me. I want your cock.”
“Such a needy girl,” he teases, and she whimpers when he pulls away. She can hear the telltale sound of a crinkling condom wrapper, and then his length is pushing at her entrance. He’s far too thoughtful and polite, taking his time and letting her adjust to his girth. It’s so much slower than she’d like. She wants him to lose control. To push her further down into the cushions and make her take every single inch until her legs are shaking.
“More,” she says, trying and failing to shift her hips back to meet his.
“Fuck, Penelope, you’re so goddamn tight.” He stretches her further until he’s finally buried deep, and it’s pure agony when he leisurely withdraws again. She imagines he’s probably watching the filthy scene with his mouth agape: her arse raised in the air and his cock sliding slowly inside her pussy.
But it’s not enough. “Faster!”
“Patience.”
She yelps louder than expected when his palm leaves a wet slap against her rear. She keens a little when he apologetically soothes a circle over the mark. But she still wants more. She wants him to imprint on her skin. She wants his nails digging into her bare flesh and the marks across her cheeks visible the next time she looks in the mirror. Another souvenir of him for her to take when she leaves.
“Do that again… ohmygod.” Another strike lands on her arse. “Just like that. Harder.” The next hit has her spluttering and begging. “Take me. Use me however you want.”
Hips snap powerfully against her, and she screams into the pillows. His fingers grip around her pushed-up dress as he repeats the motion.
“Is this what you need?”
“God, yes.”
Now that she’s unleashed him, she can do nothing more than take every thrust. It’s a deafening sound, the slap of his pelvis against hers. The smack his hand makes when he strikes her flesh every few seconds. She becomes louder and louder as her moans and pleas turn into mush, and she can hear his timbre do the same as his hips start to stutter.
She can feel him everywhere, deep in her core. She’s so close. Just a little longer, a little harder at this punishing pace. She doesn’t even know if she voices it or if he reads her mind, but he reaches between them to the spot she can’t quite reach, can’t quite scratch.
He finds where she’s most sensitive, and everything turns white hot.
As his movement slows, his hands skim up and down her heated skin and slide over the curve of her arse. There’s a warm breath on her neck when he collapses on her spine. Cotton pressed against her skin; it’s only at that moment that she realises they’re still half-dressed; her dress is still bunched around her stomach, and he probably has his pants pooled around his ankles.
When he finally withdraws with a hiss and she can hear his footsteps disappear down the hall, she stumbles onto the couch to catch her breath. She’s so sore in all the places she wanted to be. Her vision is a little blurry, but everything tingles in the perfect way. It’s a problem, though, because it’s only been a minute since he left the room, and she already feels like she misses him. Misses his hands on her hips and his lips on her neck. Misses the looks he’s been giving her all evening.
She scrambles back up to her knees when the seat beside her dips. Whatever remaining clothes he was wearing have been abandoned in another room, and she stares for far too long at his half-hard cock. But that’s when she notices he’s watching her, too. How he’s looking at her, all dark blue brooding eyes and tilted lips, makes it feel like he knows her deeply. Like he wants to know her deeply. Like he could pick all of her pieces apart and put her back together.
She can’t let that happen. She’s supposed to be getting him out of her system.
“Well,” she says. “I should probably go.” It doesn’t make sense how awkward the words sound coming out of her mouth. She’s never like this after a hookup. She doesn’t usually even say goodbye.
But when she risks a quick glance toward the doorway, his brows furrow, and he pulls her into his lap. She goes willingly, even as her mind screams that it’s a bad idea, a bad idea.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says, eyes dragging down her features. He’s already found the top of her dress and is pulling at the hem. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”
“But what if I’ve had mine?” she teases. She sees the flash of something flicker across his face, but she doesn’t object when he lifts the fabric over her head until she’s completely exposed before him.
He nuzzles into her cleavage, in the spot just above her heart. “I promise you I’ll make it worth your while.”
She can’t really argue with that.
Especially when he keeps his promise.
Teeth grazing over her breasts. Indents on the swell of her thighs. Her lipstick smeared across his chest. Grinding in his lap until he threatens to spill all over her stomach. His knees on the carpet, his tongue deep in her pussy, her legs hitched over his shoulders. Crashing against the wall when she finally drags him to the bedroom. Sinking onto his cock. Watching his features tense with every rise and fall. Catching her reflection in the mirrored door as he strums her clit. Their cries clattering down the hallway.
Slipping under the covers, lucid and delirious.
It’s the early hours of the morning when she makes her escape.
It’s a challenge to slip from the bed undetected; she has to peel his arm away from her stomach and pray he doesn’t wake. But while he softly snores, she retrieves her abandoned dress from the floorboards and dresses in the moonlight. Her shoes are scattered around the room, and she hooks a finger into each stiletto as she lingers in the doorway.
There’s a grey light streaming across the comforter. She can see his dimpled face, a smile formed in his sleep. The love bites she left on his chest and the bare body she knows hides underneath. It’s almost enough for her to forget about her fears and crawl back under the sheets.
But she’s already stayed for far too long. She probably should have never come back in the first place. If she delays any longer, he’ll get even further under her skin, and she’ll never recover from the inevitable heartbreak. She should cut ties now before they both get hurt.
She slips through the door before she can change her mind.