About Time

Bedroom Fantasies

That night, Colin lay awake pondering his thoughts and feelings, specifically of Penelope. They had corrupted his once sweet, innocent Pen's mind with salacious ideas. So why did he want so badly for her to share these new ideas with him?

It wasn't the first time he thought of her in such a way. The image of her fiery red locks, free and wild, often stirred something in him. When she was leaned over for a sip of tea, he leered at her ample bosom and wondered how they would feel against his palms. Her supple, peaches and cream skin roused bouts of curiosity if it tasted as sweet as she. As her tongue darted to the hanging creme on her favorite eclairs, he wished she was dragging it across various parts of himself. Even now, as he took himself in hand, he imagined her oceanic eyes and raspberry lips were all his. Her body writhing beneath him, plump and full, just as he thought a woman should be.

But Colin assumed these were mere fantasies. He never dreamed he could want more. She was Pen, a constant in his life. She brightened every room, not just with the citrus colors her Mama dressed her in. Penelope was kind, witty, bright, and beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be her husband. Was his family right? Did he wish to court her? Dear Gods, was Colin Bridgerton in love with Penelope Featherington?

While the thought should have shocked him, it felt more like comfort, like the answer to the question he had been asking his entire life. After spilling himself in his hand, Colin felt the need to get away and think more clearly. He was good at running away.

Meanwhile, Benedict thought of Penelope's small frame underneath his, her curves and porcelain skin begging to be touched by him. If he were to admit it, she would make a fine wife and a wonderful mother. The idea of her belly, plump with his child, sent him into a passionate daze. Benedict had hardly thought himself ready for marriage or proper courting, but Penelope may have been the right person with whom he could settle down. Since Colin wasn't bright enough to see how truly amazing she was, maybe he would court her. Benedict drifted to sleep, happily thinking of asking her the next day.

Penelope lay awake just across the square, having fantasies of her own. Since that afternoon in the modiste, wicked thoughts and images of a young couple swirled in her mind. She fixated on it all evening. So much so that she hadn't said a word since Eloise dropped her off. Her mother even sent her to bed early, thinking she must have been ill.

She studied the imaginary couple's forms like an engrossing novel. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and chiseled. He wore a thin white shirt, light enough to see the outline of his stomach and the happy trail of small dark curls leading to the inside of his breeches. Penelope could feel a heat rising in her core, aching for something. She had felt the ache before whenever she was near Colin, but now Penelope knew what she needed to relieve it.

Penelope slid up the layers of her nightgown to reveal her slick, hot center. She carefully began exploring herself as the man caressed the woman's full breasts in her mind. He took one in his mouth, and Penelope could almost feel the sensation of his warm tongue on her. His tongue moved further, across her stomach, down to her thighs, and back up until he reached her pleasure bud. Penelope's hands moved faster, in rhythm with his tongue, as something swelled inside her. As she reached her peak, she quietly called out the name of the man in her fantasy, "Benedict!" A volcano erupted inside of her, sending shivers down her legs. That was new. Perhaps it was because he and Genevieve were involved, so he was fresh in her mind. The thought startled her, and Penelope needed time to think.