Work Text:
Colin found himself insatiable.
Six months ago, he looked up at the Mansfield ball to see Penelope step down the grand staircase. It felt like he had been kicked by a horse. She was, at once, more beautiful than he could bear and exactly the same as she always was. Which meant, his mind scrambled to assist him, that perhaps she was always more beautiful than he could bear. Perhaps he had not allowed himself to notice because he knew it could not be borne.
She had arrived with her hair cascading over her shoulders, pinned up halfway and woven with ribbons. He saw her face grow golden with happiness when she spotted Eloise, and he saw her walk slowly toward his sister. Saw her walking slower still every time Eloise looked irritated at how long it was taking her. This gave Colin plenty of time for him to observe the pleasing curves of her shoulders and arms and breasts, and imagine how the lavender silk taffeta would feel crumpling under his hands if he drew up her skirts, and exactly how soft her legs might be. She was breathtaking, and now he could not unsee it.
Three months ago, Penelope agreed to marry him. Though they had spent long hours together before he knew he loved her, and longer hours once he realized, he still felt his stomach roil and knot when he took her dainty hand in his. He had spent the past months delighting in Penelope: how very clever she was, and how quickly she could craft a retort, and how patient and lovely she remained with Hyacinth and Gregory. His chest ached with nervousness, his lungs feeling like bellows pleading with a dying fire, before she said “yes.” He thought it might feel better, after, that he would be made of light and laughter and melt away entirely; instead it ached more and worse and deeper.
The ache licked into his bones and she smiled through her own tears and said, “Oh, darling, why are you crying?” and he felt quite certain he was the luckiest man in England, to have Penelope look at him so. The luckiest man in the world, perhaps, to have her agree to be his wife. Her cheeks were as pink as her day dress, and her eyes sparkled up at him, and then down at her ring, and then up at him once more, and Colin had never felt happier.
One month ago, Colin kissed down Penelope’s neck in the woods. He had stolen kisses before (the first on the evening she agreed to be his forever) and he thought of the soft, pleading sounds she let out when he took himself in hand each night. He had even kissed her neck before, and he knew Anthony would be furious and Lady Featherington would be furious but he simply could not bring himself to care. He had arranged for a picnic on the grounds of Aubrey Hall, much further than anyone cared to wander. He had arranged for Eloise to be occupied and for Penelope to slip out to the grounds unnoticed. Colin announced that he was on his way into the village, and cut into the woods instead. Found Penelope and her maids in short order, and dismissed the servants once they were settled. Offered Penelope grapes and cheese and finger sandwiches with such care she had giggled and asked if he had been studying with the help, and he could do nothing but kiss her.
And then kiss her cheek, and her jaw, and she made such delicious sounds and felt so good against his mouth that he could not bring himself to stop. Why should he? She was practically his wife, and no one would see, and he wished above all else for her to feel good. For her to feel precisely as good as he made himself feel thinking about her. And though Anthony would be very, very angry with him for behaving so recklessly with her virtue, was he here? He was not. No one was, only Penelope (who was Colin’s) and Colin himself, a man and his bride, and she clutched at him so sweetly when he dared to trace the tip of his tongue underneath her earlobe that he was compelled to continue. He stopped himself every few moments just to hear her whine, and to feel her little nails against his skin, and for her to lick her lips and and wrinkle her brow and insist, “More, Colin, you must give me more.”
So he kissed her more and more, and laid her down on the blanket and ghosted his fingertips along her exposed flesh and groaned when she keened. He kissed her shoulders and her chest and he paused longer than he had yet to when he reached the swell of her breasts, and he could not keep the wolfish grin from his face when she pled, “Please, please, please.”
“We would be in dire straits if we were discovered,” he said reasonably, cock straining against his trousers. “Perhaps we should stop.”
“No,” she insisted. “No, there is no one- we shall not be- you must.”
Colin beamed down at her.
“Sweet girl,” he cooed. “What would you like me to do? Tell me and you shall have it.”
She groaned in dismay and tugged harder on the fistful of his hair she had firmly in her grasp. His head bobbed toward her but he dipped right back up, grinning more smugly with every passing moment.
“Do- what you were doing,” she whined. “But more, and harder, and- and lower than- and where I am-”
“Where you are what, darling?”
Tears of frustration beaded her eyelashes, and Colin palmed his erection every time she closed her eyes. He wondered if he might come fully clothed, without Penelope even knowing what he was doing. Then he wondered if she might want to know what he was doing, and he moaned. Felt the warmth of teasing her, of enjoying her squirming and mewling beneath him, grow and grow into the burn of his desire to rut into her. Colin gasped and pressed and pressed the heel of his hand against himself while she begged.
“Covered,” she finally breathed. “Beneath my dress, please, I must feel you, I-”
He could not help himself then- he had meant to tease her more, to kiss just above the neckline of her dress until she was shaking and mindless with need. But she had said beneath her dress so plainly, he had to see immediately. He forced her sleeves off of her shoulders and tugged her dress down and fished her breasts out of her stays, wild-eyed and panting, and while she was shocked into stillness by his brutishness she looked at him with awe. Colin had never felt more powerful nor more pleased, on his knees over a disheveled Penelope, and his voice was gravel when he managed to speak again.
“Here, you meant,” he urged, cupping her breast reverently. “You would like me to kiss here, I can see it.”
And it was not that Colin meant to lay with Penelope for the first time in the woods at Aubrey Hall, the sunlight streaming down onto them. Turning Penelope’s red hair to flame, orange and gold shifting as she writhed. Making her skin look porcelain, her pink nipples like ripe berries against the alabaster of her skin. Getting lost in the beauty of her, lost in just how much she looked like a painting or a statue or- but then he would be taken out of his reverie when she whimpered “Ow,” or “There,” or “Again,” or, Colin’s favorite, “Colin please Colin please please please.”
Truly, he did not mean to take her then. He had thought perhaps he would lick her sweet cunny and find out what her arousal tasted like, and perhaps press his tongue inside of her while she sobbed, overcome. He had not accounted for her eagerness meeting his own. Had not planned on Penelope gulping down every ounce of pleasure he provided and requesting more. Before he knew it her skirts were rucked up and her inner thighs shone, light reflecting off the wetness coating her there. And then his fingers were inside her, and he was rocking his hardness against the back of her thigh, and still she was not sated. She pulled at him, pressed herself against him.
“I do not know when we might have another chance before the wedding,” she panted. “You must- you must- I wish to feel everything, I want you to-”
Colin was so drunk on her excitement that he did not remember to be careful. He did not bring her to orgasm, working one finger in after the other to make up for his overzealousness. No- he pressed the head of his cock against her cunny, rocking himself against her center and making her keen and beg.
“I will tell what you want, angel,” Colin breathed, desire plain on her face. “You want to feel me inside of you.”
“Inside?” she asked, eyes hazy. Then, before he could respond, she continued. “Yes. Yes, I want you inside- all of you, can you-”
Surely it would not do, for a man to deny his wife. Surely he must give her what she so desires? Colin felt certain of it. So what if Anthony would wring his neck if he found out? So what. He would not find out, and Colin would not deny Penelope, and they would be all the happier for it. When he decided himself he pressed right in- his desire to feel wrapped in Penelope’s tight wet heat, and her desire to be as close as possible to her husband, and their desire for more, more, more urging him onward, rushing ahead of himself. He felt the unentered squeeze of her around his tip, almost too tight to let him in, and he bucked his hips hard to press past the resistance of her body.
“Colin,” she choked out.
“There, there,” he soothed, sawing in and in and in. “There, darling. It will only take a minute, you will see.”
“I cannot-”
He cupped her breasts, prick jumping at the feel of his fingers sinking down into her flesh, and then grasped her hips for leverage so he could fuck all the way inside of her.
“Shh,” Colin said. “Shh, pet. You have not done this, yet, so I must make space inside of you. Your body will grow used to me any moment now, and you will love the feeling of being so full. Tell me when it happens, sweetling. Look at me and tell me exactly when.”
Penelope let out strangled cries for the entirety of her body becoming used to receiving Colin inside of her. The more it pained her the closer she drew him to her; when it no longer hurt her and instead gave her deep, rolling waves of pleasure, she looked pleased indeed to have him already so near. She was able to press her lips to his throat and bite on his shoulder and crane her neck up and up until he smiled benevolently at her and captured her mouth in a kiss.
“Now,” she said belatedly. Colin felt smug and proud for her to have forgotten such a simple order in so short a time. “It feels good, I love it, I love you-”
The harder Colin fucked her the harder she demanded it, and so it was only natural that he came inside her once he felt her spasm around him. He ground his hips against hers, humping blindly into her, and he could think of nothing but how perfect she was and how incredible he felt and how he would do absolutely anything to feel this way as often as possible.
He lay on top of her for she whined every time he tried to roll off, and they caught their breath together.
“I am no longer full,” Penelope pouted as Colin’s cock softened inside of her. “Colin, why am I no longer full?”
Colin might have been offended if he was not so delighted by her pouting.
“Dearest,” he cooed, resting his forearm by her head. “I will not be able to fill you so for some time, as I must recover.”
Her pout grew only more pronounced, her bottom lip jutting out and her brow creasing dramatically. It was rather endearing.
“It is not fair,” she huffed, “for you to show me such a thing and then deny me.”
“Deny you!” He stopped here to kiss her soundly for several long minutes, until he was sure she was breathless. “I am lucky indeed. Most ladies would not have been able to handle such treatment so soon. But you demanded it of me, did you not?”
Penelope turned shy and crimson, and Colin tilted her chin up to kiss her once more.
“None of that, Pen,” Colin said. “Let me reward you for your appetite. You wish to feel full again, do you?”
They found that Penelope dearly loved the stretch and burn of too much, of being held and spread and ordered open. Colin slipped his fingers inside of her, two as he had before they had joined, and she had keened for more and more again. He felt something catch and burn in his chest, to see her shaking and wide-eyed on his hand. Something about the way his knuckles pressed against her opening, too much and impossibly large, and still his beloved asking and wheedling for him to try one more, a little harder, made everything else go quiet. They found, after much blushing and stammering, that it seemed each of them liked it as much as the other- and wished for it always, constantly.
So Penelope and Colin each looked for any opportunity they might lay together again, no matter how uncomfortable or unlikely; so Colin spent dedicated time after he fucked Penelope full of his cum shoving it back inside her with two fingers, and then three, and then tucking his pinkie inside her as well, while she shook and shook and moaned. Sometimes he had her sit up, shaking uncontrollably, thighs still spasming, so he could feel the weight of her body bear down on his hand.
“Can you feel it?” he would ask, awe struck. He thought perhaps he liked stretching Penelope this way just as much as she did. Sometimes he thought he might like it more. “Can you feel how good my hand would be inside of you, angel?” And Penelope would keen and wail and pull him into a bruising kiss, and they would continue so until he could fuck her once more. In exchange for his attentions Penelope made herself most obliging, and would stay still and good and wait for Colin to feel her over and inside in exactly the way Colin instructed to no matter how shivering Penelope found herself. She loved his hunger and cast herself as the banquet, and would rattle through to her very bones before she would disobey him, and her obedience made him stronger, and his strength made her bare her belly, and they stayed drunk on each other this way even though all their moments were stolen.
Therefore it was not surprising at all that they had found themselves in a third-floor closet, kissing hungrily amongst fresh, folded linens and bricks of uncut soap and blankets that needed mending. There was a table in the middle of the cramped space that the servants used to fold and cut and prepare, and Colin had grabbed a handful of covers from the sewing basket before pulling his trousers to his knees and clambering up. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, steadying his breath, before twisting to offer his hand to Penelope.
“You want me to-?” she asked, shyly.
Colin had seen her drooling and shaking around him and had fed her his spend from his fingers and off of his cock and and taken one of her petal-pink nipples delicately between his teeth while he stuffed and stuffed his fingers inside of her until she squirmed and wriggled and cried with pleasure, but she still looked at him bashfully like she knew nothing of her body. It drove him mad.
“Yes, sweetling,” he said, for he followed her lead in this, and if she wished for him to show her how precious she was to him before he enjoyed her fully. *
He clasped her hand and helped her up onto her knee, guided her to straddle him.
“And you will let me come?”
Penelope sounded plaintive, even as Colin pressed into her.
This was because he had cornered her in the library earlier: he had dipped his finger inside of her while she made little Oh! sounds into his vest. Had imagined the wet press of her mouth glowing, the perfect pout of her lips embossed upon it — upon him — and he had tugged her head back by her hair and dipped down, licking in to her mouth while she whined. Colin had not given her any more; he kept her squirming on his forefinger while he kissed her deep, and he licked his fingers lazily while she mewled and rolled her hips against nothing. That had been hours ago, and she had spent the afternoon pouting and flouncing and generally being just impetuous enough that Colin was sure to notice. It made him half-hard and hazy to see. It did not help that he knew exactly what her perfect little cunny looked like, how dark her copper curls grew when she was teased and teased and got no relief. So when he eventually excused himself, Colin knew an unsatisfied Penelope was needy enough to follow right after. He enjoyed being wicked to her, as his wickedness made her cling to him more and more; he wanted her to wind her arms around his neck and refuse to let go. Sit in his lap for meals and in the drawing room and as he drank in the study, then lower her gaze demurely as he stole her away to their bedroom. Therefore he enacted his wickedness upon her whenever he could, and because she responded so pleasingly Penelope was teased and tugged on far more than she would have otherwise been. It was her fault, really, for being so beautiful; for moaning so prettily in distress.
“I have not decided,” he lied. He had, indeed, decided that she would come at least twice; she did not need to know this for it to happen.
“You must,” she said, pressing her palms to his chest as she sank down. Penelope bit her lip and urged herself on. She let out pleased, bit-off ohs at the stretch of him.
“Must I?” Colin grinned. “I shall use you as I wish, then?”
“However you want, my love.” Penelope undone was both demanding and pliant, and Colin loved it. “Only I must be full, and I must come.”
“However I want,” he breathed out once she was settled and full of his cock. “Like this, then.”
He encouraged her forward, cupping the nape of her neck and pressing between her shoulder blades until she was cuddled on his chest. Colin thrust into her lazily, humping slowly, enjoying the scent of her hair and the way his betrothed snuffled against his chest. First with pleasure, for Colin was inside her. Then with indignation, for he was being rather gentle, and he had not even groped her bottom or her thighs as she loved so dearly. No, instead he carefully bent one of her arms behind her back, and then the other, so he could hold her wrists in one hand, and he stroked her hair with the other. Instead he grinned as he felt her falling under his thrall, her pretty mouth open and sealed to his skin as she moaned.
“Colin,” she eventually whined. When he did not answer and only continued to rock his hips steadily, she tested his hold on her wrists and set her teeth against his nipple. “I wish to be full, you promised.”
“I did no such thing,” Colin said. But he too wished for Penelope to be stretched to her fullest, and she had given him the desperate mewling that he so loved, and so he used his free hand to palm her. Drag her open. Penelope shivered, body ready for what came next, and she clenched down hard on his cock. “Darling. Have you missed taking more? Tell me, angel, and you shall have it.”
“Please,” she said, drooling just a little onto him. Colin could picture the exact orchid-pink of her flushed cunny, for it grew redder and more swollen as she approached her peak, and even the thought made him mad. “Please, I-”
A voice cut through their pleasure, and they froze.
“I wondered where you two scampered off to.”
Penelope squeaked and burrowed her face into Colin’s chest, struggling against his hands as if she had any way of covering herself. She was stuck, full of Colin’s cock and at Colin’s mercy as he knew, of course, that the right thing to do was to try and preserve Penelope’s modesty. Even if it was much too late for that. Even if Benedict was already looking with unbridled delight at this new angle of Penelope.
It seemed, however, that his hands were sure she had no virtue left to protect, as they flexed and held her right in place. Colin was sure it was a momentary lapse in judgement, except— except Benedict was still looking, raking his eyes all over Penelope’s soft curves, and it only made Colin hold her more firmly.
He wondered for a moment exactly how quiet Benedict had been. How neither of them had heard the door open, and how many servants might have walked in on him tupping his fiancée before quietly shutting the door behind them, unannounced. Benedict was only quiet when it served him, and so now he did did no such thing. Instead he shoved at the door so it slammed closed, and Colin heard himself hiss, “Honestly!”
His brother smirked and Colin screwed his eyes closed for a moment. He must be able to think of a way to send an intruder away, so Penelope could come and come again and so Colin could, too. Inside. As was his right. But Benedict was here, now, which was surely an impediment, and unfortunately it was Benedict, who was not so easily soothed. He was pleasant enough on his good days, and so amiable that few others noticed how calculating he could be, and he had little loyalty. A keen sense for leverage belied by his frequent, flamboyant drunkenness (or his frequent pretense as such, for a well-heeled gentleman can get away with almost all things things sober and the rest of it, too, with a bottle in hand). Colin did not like to cross him. He knew it would not trouble Benedict at all to share with his mother and her mother what they had done, and he knew that it would mean long weeks without Penelope whining on his prick. Colin could barely stand the thought, let alone how beside herself he knew she would be. So he would be doing it for her, really.
He saw the shape of Benedict’s plan in his gaze and agreed to it wordlessly before it was fully formed, Benedict’s thoughts blooming in Colin’s thoughts before he knew what was happening. Whatever price the lovers might pay would be justified, the men reasoned separately and together, if they were allowed to continue. It would not be so different, would it? they wondered. There is nothing else he would accept, anyway, they thought - and so there was no point in questioning further, was there? No. Colin saw the glint in Benedict’s eye and knew precisely where this was going. Forgave himself immediately. Did not go soft, for he would be tagged back in in no time. And his Pen did so love to be full, did she not? She would be fine. She would perhaps enjoy it, even, and then they would be safe to continue and Colin would be able fuck the memory of that enjoyment out of her, until she was filled up just as she should be: gorged on him, mind and body. It was settled. He flexed his arms to bring Penelope closer to him, rocked up into her slightly so she might focus on how good she felt and not how exposed she was.
Colin knew he should try for Penelope’s sake, but he could not help how sardonic he sounded.: “I don’t suppose you’ll leave us?” and to his fiancee, lips brushing her temple and in a voice just soft enough to melt her but not so soft Benedict would croon antagonistically at him for months, he said, “Shh, Pen. Trust me and be still. I have you.”
Penelope knew Colin, and she knew to trust him fully, and later in his bedchamber Colin would strip his fist over his cock considering how very deep that trust was for her to sigh and sag against him with Benedict right there. Penelope knew Colin and loved him, and because she loved him she obeyed him, and Colin could not help but preen a little at how well she was doing, and how hazy he had made her so quickly, and how even though she was quivering in his arms, she nuzzled into his neck and waited for Colin to make things right. Penelope knew Colin was Colin, and she knew Colin would choose correctly for them both.
And Penelope knew that Benedict was Benedict, but she did not know that if there was drink or drug or cunt to be had he would find it out. That he would not care who it belonged to or how he consumed it. Benedict had barely been twenty when his nose had been broken by a friend upon finding Benedict with his head between his friend’s sister’s thighs, and not twenty-five when he was found fucking an art school owner’s wife against a trellis, and he had taken how it had healed much better the second time as proof he should not curb his baser impulses. That the fact that all of his impulses were baser was fine, actually.
Anthony simply laughed loudly and clapped Benedict on the back whenever any new transgression was found out, and he gave Benedict much more leeway than he gave the rest of them. If Colin felt jealous of anything it was that, the permission and the focus Benedict received that fed each other, one into the other. It made him ever more louche and ever more confident, and he became quite spoiled in a way Colin had only seen among the most degenerate of his drinking partners. For when he did not get his way, Benedict became snake-eyed and conniving, and he could make things very unpleasant very quickly.
So it was for the best and also for expediency that Colin kept Penelope bared to Benedict. It was not because he became strangely harder at the prospect, which - he had no idea if he did or not, for surely it was more likely that Penelope had clenched or mewled in a way Colin’s body knew. This was much more likely than - Colin would not even entertain the thought. Colin would not think about much until Benedict was gone; his job was to curb Benedict’s anger and do what was in the best interest of Penelope and if that so happened to be one and the same, good. If that so happened to mean he could rock up into her soft, sucking center while Benedict decided how he wanted to go about it, all the better. If it made Benedict’s eyes light up, that was - that was - he was not thinking about it, or the desperate burning he felt coursing through him, or how he wanted to wrestle Penelope onto her belly and use her roughly. None of this was related, and so it bore no consequence. He would put it out of his mind. He would be a dispassionate observer until it was just Colin and his bride alone once more, as it should be.
This approach immediately fell through, for it simply meant Colin observed himself instinctually spreading Penelope wider as Benedict stepped close. As if to say, See? See how beautiful she is all over? I have seen you peer down her bodice. Peer here as well, where she is ruby-red and wet, and tell me I am not the luckiest man in England. Colin should not have felt it thrill through him when Benedict grinned at him and then at where she was bared. But he should not have been bedding her before their wedding, he reminded himself, and he should not have been coming inside, if he was honest, and he should not have developed such a desire to give Penelope exactly what she wanted however he could think to, and so this simply joined his growing list of improprieties.
Benedict ran his hand down Penelope’s back and she shivered. Said, “Colin,” the sound of her voice just as it was when he went too quickly or too roughly at the start, before she relaxed into loving it - but she trailed off when he squeezed her wrists in warning. “Shh,” he murmured against the crown of her head. “Do not snap, angel. He will tell.”
“Oh, I will,” Benedict grinned. “I would love to tell everyone what you really are.”
Penelope whimpered then, a sound of true distress, and Colin rocked into her without thinking - to comfort her, surely. He would give her his fingers as well to suck on, for that comforted her as well when she was growing used to her cunt stretched wide, and her sniffling and suckling down past his second knuckle is why his cock twitched inside her.
“I am good,” Penelope said softly. Obstinately, Colin knew, though few others would have heard it in her voice.
“You are,” Colin agreed. “Yes, of course you are.” And to Benedict, far more crossly, “She is.”
“It certainly would be worse for you two if no one else thought so,” Benedict leaned forward, eyes trained on the curve and split of her. Colin felt a simmering unease with someone else evaluating what he owned so arrogantly, but he supposed he could not blame him. “Look at her. Not even wed and she’s dripping. Full.”
Penelope mewled against Colin’s chest just as Colin snorted at Benedict making such a green mistake.
“Full,” Colin laughed mockingly up at his brother. He could not stop himself. He knew what was best, which was to be stoic while Benedict decided exactly how much of a brigand he would be, and then put it out of his mind for there was nothing else to be done. But he was a man, now, and he was with his wife, and he felt quite cross at the intrusion, and cross again at how throughly Benedict knew he had all the leverage, and he felt desperate to exert even a little control.
“Not so?” Benedict looked even hungrier at the thought and before Colin could say, Ignore me, or Yes, filled to her back teeth. No room here, please go away, Benedict reached down. Pressed his finger to her rim, petting against her. Testing her. “Room for me here, then?”
Penelope’s wet hiccuping breath fanned against Colin’s chest and he tried not to groan.
“No, I-”
“No,” Colin croaked. “No, not there.”
Colin could not keep his cock from pulsing inside of Penelope at the sound of her concern and he wondered if she could feel it. Wondered if she knew what it meant; if she was excited for that day as he was. They had tried, of course, for she was both greedy and his and he could not stop staring at the tight pucker of her asshole whenever she canted her hips up for him. She would press her cheek against the ground and pull her skirts around her waist and wait smugly for Colin to whine and groan at the sight of his spend dripping out of her pretty, flushed cunt.
He never minded. He wanted to whine when it came to Penelope: she was so good, so sweet for him, that he would embarrass himself any number of ways if he meant he got to feel her longer or look at her longer or catch that heated smugness flash across her face. That smugness was a private look, a hard-won one, and it made him want to pin her down and press his fist inside her as punishment and reward both. When she grew too smug at his slack-jawed enjoyment of her he scooped his seed up with two fingers and pressed it all the way inside her, so he could hear her breath escape her in one long Ah! Then before she could grow used to it he used three, and he had started lapping at her tight little rim because he wanted to see his spend drip from there too, and from her mouth and the thought made him grind and buck against her.
But it could not happen until they were wed, for every time he tried to work anything at all inside that part of her she groaned so loudly they both had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from being discovered. The simply did not have the time, and Penelope was not sure she had the desire- but Colin knew her, and Colin knew once he had her pliant and beneath him she would love it just as much as the rest. He told her as much while he rubbed her little pearl, and she gasped and shook and said Are you sure? And he made her come and come rutting against his knuckles until they agreed they would devote days on their honeymoon to the task. Colin would get her thoroughly drunk on champagne and she could make as much noise as she wanted and he would not stop until she was full there, too.
It was more than enough now to work her open and down. Press them together as close as could be, wait for her desperate, hitching breaths to slip into something slow, pleased and steady. When he had nothing but time he has decided to take ages to get on with it - delighting in her pliant body melting over his lap, cupping her messy cunt, playing with her until she would whine for more. As they had stolen moments only, Colin barely rutted inside Penelope before his fingertips were pressing at the edge of her opening. Some days he would curse first and some days she would, as Colin dearly loved feeling her quim shivering around his cock and fingers both and Penelope dearly loved him filling her so full she spilled up and over. The more she squealed and moaned in delight the further Colin crept inside her, and she would sink her nails into Colin’s shoulders in trying to work herself up and down her beloved harder and more.
Colin saw how dearly she loved it, and felt how dearly he enjoyed it, and decided to be kind to them both. He gave her just want he wanted (for she wanted it), and he worked one finger in next to his prick and then two, and he had just started considering if she could take a third (a third, the thought made him dizzy and when he whispered it hot against her ear she whispered she was dizzy too) only a week before Benedict loomed over them both. She had grinned and rubbed her cheek against him afterward, a kitten in a sunbeam, and she had murmured, “Ruined me thoroughly before we are even wed! Colin Bridgerton, I had expected more from you,” with a grin that made him want to pin her down and start all over again.
“We are as good as wed,” he had pronounced, “For you are mine and therefore I shall use you as I wish.” This always made her squeal and wriggle in a way that pleased him, and so he said it as often as possible. “But what’s this?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her so he could press heated kisses against her ear and jaw and neck - and so she could giggle and try half-heartedly to get away -“Expected more from me! Very well, I shall press my fist inside you, and you shall be ruined indeed then, will you not? Such a harlot you turned out to be, Pen, what would the ton think?”
She had gasped, “Your fist!” and squirmed just as he liked, and she had laughed, “Harlot! Do I bring you such pleasure, then, my love?” and the more he spoke the more she melted for him, until he was sure all that was holding her shape was his hands around her waist, and cupping the nape of her neck, and his body pressing against hers.
It was exactly this sort of carrying on, Colin was certain, that meant he could not be blamed for what happened. He had a soon-to-be-wife who grew weary from wanting, and the way they rutted together was too urgent and important to wait for anything as insignificant as someone else’s pronouncement, and he knew quite well he would go mad if he was kept from Penelope’s pretty cunt and her swollen lips and the sweet, doe-eyed look she gave him when she was pleased with him. Moreover, he knew how cross she would be if they were kept from each other for even a day, and was a husband not to make decisions on behalf of his wife? Was it not his job to determine what was in her best interest and their best interest, both, and to act decisively to bring it about? And was it not important to protect Penelope’s reputation? And did he not know Benedict better than anyone, save Anthony? As soon as he heard Benedict’s voice while Penelope’s cunny gripped him, he knew what would happen. And what was once, really, if it was to ensure there were no delays to the start of their wedded bliss? There was no reasoning with Benedict, not once his jaw was set as it was. And there was no reason not to have it over with quickly, so he could resume making Penelope whine and keen on his cock. And there was no need to draw it out by coddling her, or explaining overmuch, for she might not understand readily how necessary it was, for Benedict to have a turn.
If she shut her eyes she would barely notice a difference, Colin would wager. She loved it on her belly with Colin braced over her just as much as she loved it any other way; would this be truly different? He would have her draw his thumb into her mouth for the duration, and she could bite down if she was cross with him, and then in no time at all he could set about making it up to her. He had the rest of their lives to distract her from this day, and before that he had at least another twenty minutes, and she was always more amenable with him once she had been brought to her peak while still thrumming and aching from another orgasm. All would be well.
These were things that Colin knew innately, as he knew how he worked and he knew how Penelope worked and he knew how Benedict worked. Or, he thought he did. For he had not been anticipating how his cock would jump when Benedict stepped close to Pen, unable to tear his eyes from the plush curve of her ass. And he did not know why Penelope’s little whimpers of confusion made him hungrier for what must happen. Colin did not have time to think about it, nor about how something stirred deep within him when he realized he would be holding his wife tight and still while someone else moved inside of her. No, that thought was too foreign for him to consider; he certainly could not consider how feral he felt about the prospect of fucking her right after, of reminding her who she belonged to. Not if he wished to hold his spend. Benedict already had enough on him, he did not need spilling early to be added to the list.
He did not spare a thought when he felt Benedict’s grin split across his own face in response, and he did not think about how his stomach swooped at Benedict’s sharp-eyed chuckle.
“Not even going to bargain, then? ‘Not there’ and that’s it?” Colin rolled his eyes and begin to slide out of Penelope. “Penny, are you sure about this one? I’d negotiate your comfort, at least.”
“Colin,” Pen said against his neck, “what is he talking about?”
“Shhh, pet,” Colin soothed her. “I know what is best for us, do I not? Be still. Benedict just needs a little try to keep our secret.”
“A little try?” her voice was small in her panic, and Colin rocked back in for a moment to comfort her. Or himself. Both, most likely.
“Not so little,” Benedict laughed. “Don’t lie to the poor girl,” just as Colin scowled up and said:
“No point bargaining with you.”
“You’re no fun.” Benedict nodded toward where Colin and Penelope were joined, and undid his trousers. “Buy my silence, then.”
“Sweetheart,” Colin pitched his voice low as if he could prevent Benedict from hearing it. “You will- It will feel just as it always does, alright? If a little different.”
“‘Not there’,” Benedict murmured to himself as he positioned himself. “I thought for years our Penny was going to be a proper lady. You were so quiet and unassuming, weren’t you? But now I know-”
Perhaps it was the haziness still left between Colin and his beloved, or his need to comfort her without causing her undue alarm about what she was to experience, or his own emotions sloshing between arousal and irritation and anger and back to arousal once more, but Benedict slid his finger inside of Penelope, where Penelope was already in use, and Colin was caught by surprise. And Penelope was caught by surprise. And Benedict was as well, for they all moaned at the feeling.
“Oh,” said Benedict, and his jaw hung slack and his eyelids grew heavy. “Oh, Penny, I see, I see- you are good, so you take whatever is given-”
Colin should not have been shocked twice in a row, he should have shouted or- he could not think of what to do, for the richness of Penelope’s stretched cunt had dripped over him unexpectedly and it robbed him of most thought. He thought Fuck when Benedict pulled his finger out, and he thought distantly that that’s what he should do, surely?
He felt shocked and swooping from the finger next to him not belonging to him but to him, and he had decided a way for Benedict’s claim to Penelope to be alright, and he had thought to himself, Pull out, then, go on, it will only take a moment… And his body, used to standing when it did not want to and bowing when it did not want to drew its hips back, though it did not want to. He thought of how lucky he was to have a wife he and his body both wanted to stay buried in, and how delicious the molten grasp of her was. And then Colin could not think or speak or breathe, because when he was not yet halfway out Benedict pressed the blunt tip of his cock at Penelope’s stretched entrance, tip bumping against taut skin, and pushed steadily inside.
It felt insane. It felt inevitable, Penelope not moving and Colin not moving and Benedict refusing to do anything but move purposefully forward. He pressed the cradle of Penelope’s hips into Colin, the press of her more than Colin had ever managed before, and Colin had to suck in a shivering breath. He did not stop when Colin stuttered his hips back, not enough to slip out but enough to jolt Penelope into her body once more. He did not stop when Penelope keened and said “Wait- wait— please,” and he did not stop even as each of them shook with the grip of it. It made the back of Colin’s neck prickle; the feeling was beyond even Colin’s wickedness to imagine.
Penelope’s muffled please did not have any intended effect, as it did not make Benedict pause and and Colin shoved further inside on instinct; Penelope said God and Colin said God and then there was Benedict’s voice in the mix, too.
“Good,” he heard muttered above him. “Good, good, just like-”
And Colin was being good because he was not coming, and he was not seizing Penelope hard enough to bruise and fucking into her as hard as he was able, he was good. If fucking into Pen while stretching her on his fingers was incredible this was doubly so. He threaded his hand through Penelope’s hair and tried to breathe slowly, so he could not combust, and tried not to buck his hips, so he would not come immediately. (He would never heard the end of it.) He and Benedict stayed still for several panting breaths, as deep inside Penelope as they could both manage.
He felt damp lashes crush tears against his shoulder; her eyes often welled when Colin worked her open. She would cry and cry and cling to him, and he would coo and kiss her, and once she caught her breath she would do everything she could to keep him inside her so. She let out a jeweled string of sounds, augh augh augh, as Benedict pressed steadily deeper. The tip of her tongue lolled out when she groaned. Colin felt the wetness of it and felt the wetness of her cunt as if it was all over him, covering him, and it took everything within him not to grind up hard at the thought.
Perhaps it was plain on his face, for Benedict grinned a little sharply and began sawing in and out of Penelope.
Though Benedict started slow he did not stay so, as every whimper out of Penelope’s lips made Benedict groan and sneer and fuck her just a bit harder, just a bit faster. Colin knew his bride and he knew her preferences and even still he marveled a bit at how it made Penelope only more receptive; turned her softer and slicker and warmer for them to use.
“Christ,” Benedict hissed as. “Made for this, wasn’t she?”
Colin found he wanted her to be. For if she was, it was not really anyone’s fault, was it? It was her nature, which was too strong to contain. She was too soft, too beautiful to be built for anything else; her cunny was too slick and sensitive; her appetite too great for her to be appeased. It would make her even more than a prize than she was, in his estimation, for having a wife that needed tending to was a wife that needed him. He loved how she looked at him through her tear-beaded lashes, shaking and lamb-like; he felt her need him then. And if that were the core of her? If she could trust him to give her what she needed until she could not take any more? He might be the luckiest man ever wed. Colin wanted her to be and so— and so perhaps she was, or perhaps she would be, and perhaps it would be Colin’s wanting that made it so. Perhaps they wanted each other to obsession, and even so- and even so Colin might mold her to his desires, as she might mold him to hers? He could not help sinking his fingers into the lushness of her hips.
“Yeah,” he muttered. It came out as a groan and Penelope let out a long, hiccuping sigh — Colin had not noticed her hold her breath once Benedict realized what she was made for. Had she been waiting for him? She had, she was so pliant and sweet and good. “Yes.” Colin’s voice grew deeper, more lustful; he wanted to feel Penelope hear it once more. She did not disappoint (as it was not in her nature). Penelope was made for her husband to use and they both knew it; upon Colin’s confirmation, she melted fully against him, soft and warm and full.
It was not possible for Colin to stay still, then, with all of Penelope relaxed on top of him. Surrounding him. He groaned and bucked and grew more desperate for every possible moment he could wring out of this. The longer he fucked into her like this the more crazed he felt, and he wondered distantly if Benedict was not experiencing the same, for when Colin caught a glimpse of him (he spent most of this time with his eyes shut tight, thinking of Penelope’s heavy breasts and how her cunt tastes and how she looks when she holds herself open for him, expression sweet and needy) the same frenetic intensity Colin felt was mirrored in Benedict’s eyes.
Colin was not fucking Penelope with Benedict as much as he was fucking her at the same time, which meant sometimes they churned on opposing rhythms, out when in and in when out, and sometimes they fell in pace together in in in. Colin longed to know which Penelope preferred so he could give it to her, for he wanted to give her everything in that moment, his cum and his life and his future, pumped into her so it would infuse her every breath - his, she was his - but he could not find the words to ask. And it was so overwhelming, so swallowingly hot, that he would only hold the wish for a moment before he was lost once more to his pleasure. They rutted into her, felt her grow used to their treatment and wetter still; he was so lost in it, it was not until Colin heard Penelope stop moaning so loudly that he realized she had been making noise at all. Instead she was letting out soft wet moans and little sucking sounds that made Colin ache like he wasn’t already inside her, and Colin opened his eyes to see Benedict pressing his fingers further into Penelope’s mouth. It did not seem fair that Colin should not also feel inside her here, and once she was whining around both their fingers she sucked and sucked again.
“Fuck,” Colin groaned, and Benedict followed after him. Penelope could not move and Penelope could not help but be filled to the brim but Penelope could do this, and she devoted her energy to it. The harder they fucked into her the more desperately she suckled on them, drool falling down her chin and neck and pooling on Colin’s chest and that felt amazing, too, every part of Colin alive and keening with sensation. He could not believe how much he needed it, how he gulped down all he could; all of him reduced to his cock and his fingers and the bits where Penelope was crushed against him, more and more and more until he was coming with a moan and a shudder and a shout. He came so hard he did not noticed Benedict had clapped his free hand over Colin’s mouth, squeezing so hard it hurt while Benedict shook with his own orgasm. He only breathed freely when Benedict groaned quietly and fell forward over Penelope, and even that was curtailed by Benedict’s extra weight baring down on him. He turned his head resolutely as far from Benedict as he could get without moving, for he could not, and felt so boneless and pleased that he could not bring himself to mind at all, sucking in shallow sips of air and waiting for his heartbeat to fade from the side of his neck. He kept his forefinger in Penelope’s slack mouth, and pet her tongue slowly while he came back to himself.
When they had each caught their breath, the sweat on the napes of their necks grown cool and the spill of seed out of Penelope’s sore cunt slowed entirely, Benedict finally drew back.
“I cannot distract everyone for ages,” he said, buttoning his trousers and straightening his shirt.
Colin would have called him a bastard and worse for not bidding Penelope a proper farewell before he left, except the circumstances dictated this was the much preferable option. It was wild how quickly Colin’s heartbeat steadied once he was alone with his beloved once more. He cupped her cheek and appreciated how beautiful she looked when flushed.
“You are a marvel,” Colin said, trailing his fingers slowly down her spine. “Be good and still for me until I am ready again.”
“I am sore,” Penelope pouted, craning up.
“And you will be sorer still.” Colin grinned through their kiss. “I will see you shift at supper and know exactly why.”
Penelope wiggled back down contentedly, careful not to let Colin slip outside of her.
“Brute,” she smiled against his chest. “Hurry up.”
“Harlot,” he smiled in return. He knew she could hear it in his voice, even with her eyes closed. “Chivvy me along, then. Tell me how much you enjoyed yourself and I might.”
She let out a scandalized little gasp, and then Penelope did just that.