Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Penelope Featherington sat by her bedroom window, staring out at the hazy morning mist that clung to the garden like a possessive lover. The pale sun did little to warm the early spring air, and yet she pressed her forehead to the cool glass, needing the chill against her skin.

Her heart felt too warm. Too restless. Too… unsettled.

Again.

Another morning waking like this. Her skin sensitive. Her pulse quickening at the slightest thought of him.

Colin Bridgerton.

God help her, she was still hopeless over him.

Years had done little to dull the ache. If anything, it had become something worse. A craving she buried under layers of polite smiles, carefully chosen words, and—most importantly—suppressants.

Penelope reached for the small, unlabeled bottle on her vanity. The pills rattled inside, reminding her of every choice she’d made to keep herself hidden. Swallowing one dry, she tilted her head back and shut her eyes.

The bitter taste coated her tongue. It never got easier.

But she needed them. Without them, her scent would betray her. Without them, the entire ton would know what she truly was.

An Omega.

A secret she had held tightly for years.

Her mother didn’t even know. Lord, she couldn’t imagine the hysteria that would follow if Portia Featherington discovered that her youngest daughter—her least marriageable, her plainest, her most overlooked child—was an Omega. The very thing Portia believed only high-born beauties deserved to be.

Penelope had started taking suppressants the moment her first heat threatened to expose her at sixteen. She hadn’t told a soul. Not even Eloise.

Especially not Eloise.

The last thing she needed was another person pitying her… or worse, trying to “help.”

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Penelope?” came her mother’s voice, strained and impatient. “You’re not still in bed, are you? There’s far too much to do before Lady Danbury’s Full Moon Ball.”

Penelope’s stomach twisted.

The Ball.

Of course.

“I’ll be down shortly, Mama,” she called back, schooling her voice into something light, something obedient.

As her mother’s footsteps retreated, Penelope allowed herself a quiet, bitter laugh.

Lady Danbury’s Full Moon Ball was infamous across the ton. Every season, it coincided with the first full moon of spring—an event where Alphas, Betas, and Omegas mixed more… freely than they did at ordinary society functions.

Ostensibly, it was just another masquerade ball. A place for dancing and music under moonlight.

But everyone knew the truth.

Lady Danbury hosted it because she enjoyed watching the courtship games play out when instincts ran close to the surface. It was the one night when society’s rigid rules softened. When Alphas prowled just a little closer. When Omegas who wanted to be caught… often were.

And when unmated Omegas on the brink of their heats had to tread carefully.

Penelope dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to settle the loose copper waves. Even her hair felt too soft today, too silky. Another warning sign.

She glanced down at her reflection in the small mirror on her vanity. Her cheeks had a permanent flush. Her lips—already too full for her taste—looked even more swollen.

Her suppressants were weakening.

They always did around the full moon, no matter how many she took. The science could only do so much. Nature didn’t like being controlled.

“Just get through the night,” she whispered to herself.

Then, maybe, she could hide for a week. Wait for the lunar pull to fade. Wait for her body to settle again.

Wait until her heart stopped imagining things that could never happen.

Like Colin noticing her.

Like him realizing she wasn’t just Eloise’s shy, forgettable friend.

Like him looking at her with the hunger she sometimes imagined… in her most private, most shameful dreams.

Penelope’s face burned. She covered it with her hands, trying to banish the image of Colin’s hands gripping her hips, his mouth at her throat, his scent filling her lungs.

Stop it.

Those thoughts were dangerous. Especially now.

Especially with how close the full moon was.

⸻

By late afternoon, the Featherington household descended into chaos.

Modistes came and went, fabrics draped over chairs, ribbons and lace scattered everywhere. Even Prudence and Philippa were unusually quiet as dress fittings dragged on.

Penelope stood like a doll on display as Madame Delacroix’s assistants pinned and tucked the lemon-colored silk of her gown.

Lemon. Again.

Of course her mother had chosen the most unflattering color in London.

“I don’t see why you must sulk,” Portia scolded as she paced the room, inspecting her daughters. “This ball is your opportunity, Penelope. Perhaps if you smiled more, stood straighter, and spoke a little less, someone might overlook your… other qualities.”

Penelope bit her tongue.

This was not new. Nor unexpected. But it still hurt.

Her hands clenched in the folds of her skirt.

At least the dress had a low neckline. Fashionable, her mother called it. Scandalous, some would whisper. But for Penelope? It was armor. A distraction.

If men were looking at her décolletage, they might not notice the faint flush creeping up her neck… or the way her scent kept trying to spike.

Suppressants dulled her Omega signature, but they couldn’t erase it completely. Not under this moon. Not with this much stress.

Madame Delacroix seemed to sense it. The modiste’s nostrils flared faintly as she adjusted the bodice, her eyes flickering to Penelope’s throat before darting away.

Penelope prayed no one else noticed.

Especially not Colin.

⸻

That evening, as her carriage rattled toward Lady Danbury’s estate, Penelope sat rigid between her sisters, staring out at the star-streaked sky.

The moon was already high.

Fat. Full. Glowing like a silent witness to her unraveling nerves.

The air inside the carriage felt heavy. Every breath a struggle.

She could already feel the pull… that low, instinctual thrum beneath her skin. As if her body recognized the lunar shift even before she stepped inside the ballroom.

“Perhaps this year will surprise us all,” Prudence muttered beside her, fluffing her skirts. “Maybe one of us will finally attract an Alpha willing to mate.”

Philippa giggled.

Penelope swallowed hard.

The word mate lingered too long in the air, too sharp and intimate.

Her heart pounded as they rolled to a stop at the grand entrance of Danbury House.

Music drifted out through the open doors. Laughter, too loud and loose already for this early in the night. The scent of too many bodies, too many emotions, too much desire—all of it tangled together and spilling into the spring air.

A footman helped her down. Penelope’s slippers touched the stone steps, and the weight of the night settled on her chest like a stone.

Inside, chandeliers glittered overhead. The dance floor gleamed with golden light and silk gowns and dark tailored suits. Everywhere she looked, Alphas prowled the edges of the room, their gazes sharpened by the full moon and the heady perfume of unclaimed Omegas.

Penelope’s breath caught as her eyes found him—almost against her will.

Colin.

Standing near the orchestra, laughing with Benedict and Anthony. His dark green waistcoat brought out the color of his eyes. His smile—boyish and easy—made her stomach flutter in a way she’d never been able to stop.

But tonight… something felt different.

His stance. The set of his jaw. The way his gaze kept drifting across the room… as if searching for something.

Her.

No. Impossible.

Yet when their eyes did meet—just for a flicker of a second—something primal and electric surged between them.

Penelope’s skin prickled.

His gaze lingered. Longer than it should have.

Her knees wobbled.

Colin looked away first, laughing at something Anthony said. But there was a tension to his shoulders now. As if… unsettled.

Penelope pressed a shaky hand to her stomach.

This was dangerous.

She needed to stay hidden. Stay small. Stay away.

For both their sakes.

As the night deepened and the moon rose higher… she feared that might no longer be possible.

Chapter Text

Colin Bridgerton had always loved traveling.
The thrill of new landscapes, the scent of foreign spices in open-air markets, the feeling of being unknown and untethered—it had been the perfect remedy for years of stifling London expectations.

But now, sitting in the Bridgerton family drawing room, back in Mayfair after nearly a year abroad… he felt restless in a way that had nothing to do with wanderlust.

The air felt thick. Too warm. Too charged.

A tightness coiled low in his stomach, an instinctive pull beneath his skin that he couldn’t name.

And worst of all… it was getting worse by the hour.

“Stop pacing, Colin,” Benedict called from the chaise near the fireplace, raising an amused brow over the rim of his wine glass. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Colin paused mid-stride and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Sorry. Can’t seem to sit still tonight.”

Anthony, lounging nearby with his customary brandy, snorted. “It’s the moon,” he said knowingly. “Every Alpha in the city’s been on edge all week. Haven’t you noticed the mood at White’s? Or the park?”

Colin frowned. He had noticed. Tension on the streets. Conversations that sparked too easily into arguments. Fights breaking out in gentlemen’s clubs over minor slights. Even the air smelled different.

Like something waiting to happen.

Anthony continued, swirling his drink lazily. “Danbury’s Full Moon Ball tonight won’t help matters, I can tell you that. Half the unmated Alphas in London will be prowling like wolves, looking for some poor Omega to sink their teeth into.”

Colin stiffened. “Don’t be crude.”

His eldest brother just laughed. “It’s the truth. And you know it.”

Colin bit back a retort, choosing instead to cross to the window. Outside, the full moon hung low and bright over the rooftops.

The air felt heavier with each breath.

He swallowed hard. His skin prickled under his clothes, like every nerve was too close to the surface.

It wasn’t just the moon.

It was… something else.

Or maybe… someone.

⸻

By the time they arrived at Lady Danbury’s estate, Colin’s temper was pulled taut like a bowstring.

The gardens outside the house were already filled with lingering guests, sipping champagne and flirting beneath the flowering trees. Inside, the ballroom glittered with candlelight and silk, the air thick with perfume and too many bodies pressed too close.

Colin tugged at his cravat, feeling like it was choking him.

“Relax,” Benedict teased, elbowing him in the ribs as they stepped inside. “You’re wound tighter than a clock spring.”

Colin ignored him.

His gaze swept the room automatically, scanning faces he knew and many he didn’t. Alphas, Betas, and Omegas mingled in a haze of color and scent, the energy simmering just beneath the surface.

He shouldn’t have come.

He should’ve stayed home, locked in his study with a bottle of brandy and a distraction.

But something—something restless and gnawing—had dragged him here.

And that’s when he saw her.

Penelope.

Standing near the far wall, half-hidden behind a column of roses and trailing ivy.

For one breathless second, the rest of the room fell away.

Her gown—a soft lemon silk—hugged her curves in ways he never allowed himself to notice before. Her copper hair gleamed under the candlelight, loose waves cascading over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted in a way that sent heat straight to his gut.

But it wasn’t just how she looked.

It was her scent.

Faint, but unmistakable.

Colin froze.

The world tilted.

She smelled like… Omega.

Not just the clean, polite trace every woman carried. Not the over-perfumed disguises most Omegas wore to these events.

No.

This was raw. Warm. Sweet and sharp and utterly, devastatingly natural.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

How? How had he never noticed before?

Penelope Featherington. Eloise’s best friend. The girl he’d grown up teasing, the one he’d barely spared a second glance at for years.

And yet now… every Alpha instinct in his body roared awake.

The need to claim.
The urge to touch.
The violent, possessive growl building in his throat at the thought of any other male catching even a hint of her scent.

Colin gripped the edge of the nearest table, white-knuckled.

He had to get himself under control.

This wasn’t like him.

He wasn’t some mindless Alpha chasing down the first Omega in heat. He was better than that. He had discipline. Restraint.

But when she laughed softly at something Lady Bridgerton—his own mother, for heaven’s sake—whispered in her ear, Colin’s stomach twisted painfully.

And when another man—a Beta, by scent—stepped a little too close to her side, Colin’s vision went dark around the edges.

Mine.

The word pulsed in his head, unbidden and unstoppable.

Mine.

Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room.

⸻

“Penelope.”

Her name tasted strange on his tongue. He hadn’t meant to speak it aloud.

She startled slightly at the sound, turning to face him.

Their eyes met.

And everything inside him… broke.

Her pupils were dilated, her breath catching the moment she saw him. Her lips parted on a soft inhale. The scent of her grew stronger—sweet, honeyed, laced with a note of submission she probably didn’t even realize she was giving off.

Colin stepped closer, unable to help himself.

“Colin,” she said quietly, voice breathless. “I… I didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed.” His tone came out lower than intended. Rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You look… well.”

Penelope’s flush deepened. Her fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her skirt.

She looked like she wanted to bolt.

For a flickering second, he wondered if she would.

Part of him wanted her to.

Part of him… wanted to chase.

Another Alpha, standing nearby, turned to glance at her—drawn no doubt by her unmasked Omega scent.

Colin’s control finally cracked.

He stepped in front of her, blocking the stranger’s line of sight, planting himself firmly between Penelope and every other male in the vicinity.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, voice dropping even lower now. Protective. Possessive.

Her eyes widened, clearly picking up the shift in him. Her scent spiked with something that sent every cell in his body into overdrive.

“Y-yes,” she whispered, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Colin’s gaze dropped to her throat. The delicate curve of it. The place where her scent gland pulsed with warmth just beneath the skin.

He had to get her out of here.

Had to get her somewhere safe. Somewhere away from every prying eye… every rival Alpha… every danger.

Now.

Before he did something unforgivable.

Before the instincts won.

⸻

“Would you like some air?” he asked gruffly, already offering her his arm before she could answer.

Penelope hesitated—just for a heartbeat—but then her fingers curled into the crook of his elbow.

And that simple touch…
That smallest point of contact…
Lit him on fire.

Colin’s heart thundered as he led her out toward the gardens, away from the music, away from the crowd.

Away from every other male.

His hands itched to touch her properly. To bury his face in her neck. To mark her until her scent screamed his name for days.

Focus, he told himself harshly.

But it was already too late.

This night wouldn’t end the way he’d planned.

And deep down—past the instinct, past the hunger, past the need—he suspected part of him had known it all along.

Chapter Text

The night air wrapped around them the moment they stepped outside.

Cool, damp, and laced with the faint scent of blooming jasmine, it was a welcome relief from the suffocating heat inside Lady Danbury’s ballroom. But Penelope barely noticed any of it. Not the flowers. Not the stars. Not the golden glow from the house behind them.

She noticed only him.

Colin.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as they moved further into the garden paths. His hand rested lightly on her lower back—nothing scandalous, just barely there. But that single point of contact burned through her like a brand.

Her Omega instincts curled tight and trembling inside her.

He was too close. Too warm. Too… Alpha.

And there was something wrong with him. Or rather… something different.

The Colin she knew had always been charming, lighthearted. A tease. A friend.

But this Colin…
This Colin’s jaw was clenched.
His steps were tense.
And every now and then, she caught him drawing in deep, sharp breaths—like he was scenting her. Like he couldn’t help it.

Her throat went dry.

This was a mistake.

She should have refused him when he offered to escort her for air. She should have stayed inside, should have disappeared behind a column or ducked behind one of the potted palms like she usually did.

But when he’d leaned close, his voice low and rough in her ear, asking if she needed air… she couldn’t say no.

And now she was outside with him… under the full moon… alone.

God help her.

⸻

They walked in silence for several long, heavy moments.

Penelope wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to contain the shaking. Her skin tingled with awareness. Her scent—she knew—was betraying her more with every breath. The cool air outside helped… but not enough.

Her suppressants weren’t masking anything now.

Colin’s steps slowed behind her.

Without turning, she felt it—the shift in the air, the way he stopped walking, the way his gaze burned against her back.

“Penelope,” he said, voice low and strained.

She froze.

Slowly, carefully, she turned.

Colin stood a few feet away on the garden path, staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time.

And not just seeing.
Hunting.

His pupils were blown wide, almost black in the moonlight. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow bursts. His hands flexed at his sides like he was fighting the urge to reach for her.

Penelope’s heart skittered painfully. “Colin…?” she whispered.

He took one step forward.

Then another.

“Do you have any idea,” he said, voice rough as gravel, “what you smell like right now?”

Her breath caught.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Colin let out a low, shaky laugh—but there was no humor in it. “Of course you do. You’ve always been clever. Always knew how to hide from me.” His gaze dropped to her throat, lingering there too long. “But not tonight. Not anymore.”

Her knees wobbled.

This wasn’t happening.

He was too close now.
Too big.
Too Alpha.

His scent—warm cedar and spice and something darker beneath—wrapped around her senses like a snare.

“I don’t…” she stammered, taking a shaky step back. “I don’t know what you mean.”

It was a lie.

They both knew it.

His eyes darkened further, like that single lie had snapped the last thread of his restraint.

“Liar,” he breathed.

And then he surged forward.

Penelope gasped as her back hit the cool stone wall of the garden terrace. The impact stole her breath, but not nearly as much as the feel of him crowding her space. One hand planted on the wall beside her head. The other… braced lightly on her hip.

Not holding her. Not yet.

But close enough that she felt every tremor running through him.

Close enough that if she shifted even a fraction, their bodies would touch.

“Colin…” she breathed.

His gaze flicked to her lips.

Her scent must have thickened again because she watched his nostrils flare, his throat work as he swallowed hard, as if trying to tamp down the hunger building inside him.

“This is dangerous,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” His tone came out hoarse, like it physically hurt him to speak.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then… slowly… Colin leaned in.

His nose brushed along the curve of her throat. Inhaling deep, dragging her scent into his lungs like he needed it to survive.

Penelope whimpered—soft and involuntary—and felt his entire body stiffen in response.

“Jesus, Penelope,” he growled, low and possessive and half-feral. “You’re driving me mad.”

Her hands, traitorous things, lifted to press against his chest—intending to push him away.

But instead… they fisted in the fabric of his waistcoat.

Holding him there.

Inviting.

His lips ghosted over the spot just below her ear, the heat of his breath making her shiver.

“You’ve been hiding this from me,” he rasped.

Her throat tightened. “You never… noticed before.”

Another growl—this one softer, like frustration made flesh.

“That’s the problem,” he said bitterly. “I notice everything now.”

His hand slid from the wall to cup her waist, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp.

The whole garden seemed to tilt.

Her scent was blooming between them now, thick and heavy and impossible to ignore.

And him… God, he smelled like every Alpha dream she’d never let herself have. Dark. Earthy. Male.

Her mind swam.

“Colin… please…” she whispered, though even she didn’t know if she was begging him to stop… or begging him not to.

His forehead dropped to hers. Their noses brushed. Every breath became shared air.

“Tell me to leave,” he said, voice shaking. “Tell me now. Because if you don’t…”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

That broke him.

In a rush, his mouth captured hers—hot, hungry, overwhelming.

Penelope gasped against his lips, her hands sliding higher, gripping at his shoulders as he pressed her harder into the wall.

The kiss was messy. Too much teeth. Too much need.

His hands roamed—hips, waist, back. Like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.

Her mind reeled. Her body burned.

Her Omega instincts screamed with want.

Her thighs trembled as she shifted under him, and she felt it then… the hardness of him, unmistakable, pressed against her hip.

The growl that rumbled from his throat in response made her knees nearly buckle.

And still… he didn’t let go.

Didn’t pull back.

If anything, he pressed closer.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he kissed down her neck, mouthing at her scent gland like he wanted to bite her then and there.

She whimpered again, breathless.

“God, Penelope,” he rasped. “You don’t know how close I am to… to…”

He cut himself off, biting down on a curse.

Somewhere deep inside, the last fragile thread of his restraint tugged tight.

With a groan that sounded almost pained, Colin shoved himself back just far enough to drag in a shaking breath. His eyes squeezed shut.

“I have to get you out of here,” he ground out.

Penelope’s head spun.

“What?” she breathed.

“Somewhere… away from them. Away from this. Before I—” He shook his head, visibly struggling. “Before I do something I can’t take back.”

Her heart skipped.

“Colin…”

But he was already grabbing her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

His voice—when he spoke next—came out dark and final.

“There’s an old garden house… past the roses. Empty. Secluded.”

Her breath caught.

“Come with me.”

And even though every rational part of her screamed that this was madness… she didn’t hesitate.

Not when he pulled her with him.

Not when she stumbled after him through the darkened paths.

Not when her Omega instincts sang at the promise of what waited beyond.

The moon followed them like a silent witness.

And for the first time in her life…
Penelope didn’t want to hide.

⸻

Penelope barely registered the crunch of gravel under her slippers as Colin pulled her along the winding garden paths. Her lungs burned with every breath, but she couldn’t tell if it was from running—or from the intoxicating scent rolling off him in waves.

His grip on her hand was firm but careful, his thumb stroking unconsciously along the inside of her wrist where her pulse raced like a trapped bird.

He wasn’t speaking now.
His focus was singular, relentless.
Every muscle in his body coiled tight like a predator chasing prey—and Penelope wasn’t sure if she wanted to flee or let herself be caught.

Behind them, the music from the ballroom faded, replaced by the night sounds of crickets and distant laughter—other guests wandering the outer gardens, too far away to witness what was happening here.

Too far to help her… if she needed help.

Did she?

She couldn’t tell anymore.

Her thoughts swirled with heat and scent and Colin—Colin everywhere. In her blood. In her bones.

His pace didn’t slow until they reached the far end of the garden where the hedgerows grew wild and overgrown. The air here felt cooler, heavier with the scent of damp moss and roses left untended too long.

Colin paused near an arched iron gate half-hidden beneath ivy.

Beyond it, Penelope could see a small structure nestled at the edge of the property line—an old gardener’s outhouse or tool shed, stone and timber, long abandoned.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

This was really happening.

Colin turned toward her then, still holding her wrist.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, strained breaths. Sweat beaded at his temples, though the night air had cooled considerably.

And worse… his scent had darkened. Changed.

It was heavier now—spiced cedarwood laced with something wild and deeply Alpha. It wrapped around her senses like velvet and smoke, making her knees threaten to buckle again.

“You’re trembling,” he said hoarsely, his gaze raking over her.

“So are you,” she whispered back.

That made him pause.

For a flicker of a second, the playful, familiar Colin she knew peeked through—his mouth quirked in something like regret. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Then—before she could answer—he dragged her closer until there was nothing but heat and breath and the thin barrier of her gown between them.

His hand moved to her waist, palm splaying wide over her lower back.

“You’re in heat,” he said softly, as if saying it aloud might shatter what little restraint he had left.

“I know.”

Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. Wanting. Breathless.

“You’ve been hiding this from me all these years,” he growled, dipping his head to drag his nose along the curve of her neck, just above her pulse point.

She gasped, tilting her head back instinctively, giving him more access.

“Do you know what that does to me, Penelope? Smelling you like this… after all this time? Feeling every man in that ballroom looking at you like they could just… take you?”

His words came out low and possessive, edged with frustration and something deeper.

Her thighs pressed together.

“I wasn’t trying to—” she started, but his fingers tightened at her waist.

“You weren’t trying to draw me out?” His voice roughened, nearly breaking. “Then why did you let me get this close? Why haven’t you run?”

Her breath caught. “Do you want me to?”

Colin froze.

For one beat… two… they stood like that, locked together in moonlight and shadows, both trembling, both on the edge of something they couldn’t name.

Then… with a harsh curse under his breath, Colin spun them both toward the gate.

The metal creaked loudly as he shoved it open.

“Inside,” he said roughly, leading her toward the darkened outhouse at the end of the path.

Penelope’s legs felt weak, her entire body buzzing with heat and anticipation and fear and… longing.

With every step, her Omega instincts flared brighter.

Her body already knew what was coming.

And heaven help her…

She didn’t want to stop it.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The door slammed shut behind them with a force that rattled the wood on its hinges.

Penelope stood frozen in the center of the small garden outhouse, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The air inside was thick with dust and the lingering scent of damp earth, but none of it mattered.

There was only one thing she could smell now.

Colin.

He stood with his back pressed against the door, as though physically barring any escape—either hers… or his own.

Moonlight slanted through the grimy window, cutting across the sharp line of his jaw and the tense column of his throat as he swallowed hard.

His eyes…

God, his eyes.

Gone was the soft, teasing gaze she knew.

What stared at her now was pure Alpha.

Hungry. Dark. Wild.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She took a trembling step back, nearly stumbling over an abandoned garden rake on the floor.

Colin’s gaze tracked her every move.

“Do you have any idea,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked, “what you’re doing to me?”

Her breath caught. “Colin, I—”

“Don’t,” he cut in hoarsely, shoving off the door and closing the distance between them in two long strides.

Before she could form another word, his hands were on her—one at her waist, the other fisting in her hair as he pulled her mouth to his.

The kiss was nothing like the one in the garden.

This wasn’t soft.
This wasn’t careful.
This was possession.

His mouth devoured hers, hungry and relentless. Teeth grazed her bottom lip. His tongue pushed past her defenses like he was starving for her.

Penelope whimpered, her hands scrambling at his waistcoat before giving up and clutching at him, pulling him closer, needing him as much as he needed her.

Colin growled low in his throat at her response, deep and rough and pure instinct.

His hands roamed—hips, waist, thighs—sliding under the folds of her gown, finding bare skin, stroking upward with desperate focus.

Her Omega instincts unfurled—hot, needy, and terrifying in their intensity.

“This is madness,” she breathed against his mouth.

But her hips lifted toward him anyway.

The door rattled again as he shoved her back against the wall.

Her scent…

God, her scent.

It filled the air, thick and sticky sweet with Omega heat.

Colin buried his face in the curve of her neck with a broken, guttural groan.

Every rational thought dissolved.

There was no Colin the gentleman. No Bridgerton brother.

Only Alpha.
Only instinct.
Only breed. Breed. Breed.

“You’re killing me,” he growled against her skin, dragging his mouth along her throat. His hands shook as they raked over her waist, her hips, down to grab fistfuls of her skirts.

Her breath hitched. “Colin—”

“I have to fill you,” he cut in, voice wrecked and desperate. “Do you understand? I can’t… I can’t stop it. I need to get inside you. Need to—fuck, Penelope—need to put my pups in you.”

The words broke from him like a confession he couldn’t contain.

Penelope froze… then shuddered.

Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, wanting it too much to lie.

He kissed her again—hard, messy, frantic—then dropped to his knees.

Before she could even gasp, he shoved her skirts up around her waist, tearing at the delicate lace of her underthings like a man possessed.

“So wet for me already,” he rasped, voice shaking. “Your body’s ready. It’s begging me to breed you.”

She let out a soft, helpless whimper as he licked a slow, possessive stripe up her inner thigh, stopping just shy of where she needed him most.

With a raw, ruined sound, Colin lifted her—carrying her across the room and setting her atop a dusty worktable near the wall. Her skirts bunched around her thighs, leaving her bare and open beneath him.

“This is going to hurt, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips, voice frayed. “But I’ll make it good. I swear it.”

She nodded, breathless and trembling.
His fingers dug bruises into her hips as he stood again, fumbling with the front of his breeches, freeing himself with no grace and no control.

When he pressed the thick head of his cock against her slick entrance, they both moaned.

Colin slammed his palm against the wall beside her head, chest heaving.

And then… he pushed inside.

Slow at first. Barely. Just the thick head breaching her before he cursed low and dark and thrust deeper with a hard, unstoppable snap of his hips.

Pain bloomed—sharp and sudden—but dulled under the white-hot rush of fullness and instinctual rightness.

Penelope cried out, nails dragging down his back as her body stretched to take him.

“God, Penelope,” Colin groaned, voice broken. “You’re dripping for me. So tight… so perfect…”

Her Omega instincts howled in answer.

Her hips tilted up in welcome, greedy for more.

That was all it took.

Colin began to move—slow at first, then faster, harder—setting a rhythm that left her gasping, clinging to him as wave after wave of sensation crashed through her.

The sound of their bodies meeting filled the air—wet, raw, devastating.

His knot swelled, thickening fast.

When it finally popped inside, locking them together, Penelope screamed—half pain, half ecstasy—as her body clamped down around him like a vise.

Colin roared against her neck, going rigid as he filled her with heat, spilling himself deep.

Her belly felt heavy with it already.

But still…

He didn’t stop.

Colin kept grinding into her—slow, shallow thrusts—driving every drop deeper.

“Gonna take,” he panted against her skin, licking at her throat. “Gonna stay in you until I’m sure… until I’m certain I bred you.”

Penelope whimpered, trembling, her body helpless against the force of him.

“You’re squeezing me so good… milking me for it… like your body already knows what it wants.”

His hand slid between them, stroking possessively down her lower belly.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “That’s me. Knotted inside you. Locked… keeping it all in.”

Her cheeks flushed, mortified and desperate all at once.

Her Omega instincts screamed with wanting.

“Gonna fill you again,” he growled low. “Stay buried in you ‘til I’m sure you’re carrying my pups.”

Her mind blurred at the words.

Pups.

His pups.

Her thighs trembled as they tightened around him.

Colin’s breath stuttered at her reaction.

Without thinking, he dragged her hips closer, tilting her for deeper pressure.

His knot swelled further, locking them tighter.

“You want it too,” he whispered roughly against her lips, licking and biting at her mouth as she sobbed softly. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t pretend you don’t want me filling you again… and again… until there’s no doubt.”

His hand cupped her belly again.

“Gonna make you round with me,” he panted against her ear. “Gonna watch you swell.”

Penelope sobbed—wrecked, ruined, and too far gone to fight it.

And then…

She turned her head… exposing her throat fully. Tilting her chin up in trembling invitation.

Colin stilled.

A beat of silence.

Then… with a broken, feral sound… he sank his teeth into her scent gland.

The real bite.

The mating claim.

Permanent. Binding.

Penelope screamed for him—writhing, shaking, breaking apart as her orgasm slammed through her with violent, overwhelming force. Her body clamped tight around his knot, locking him inside her with no chance of escape.

Colin followed with a roar, rutting hard through the bite as another thick, endless wave of heat filled her womb.

Penelope’s mind was gone.

Utterly, hopelessly gone.

Her body writhed against Colin’s, trembling and shaking with the aftershocks of release. Every inch of her felt too sensitive, too raw, too full. Her inner walls fluttered helplessly around the thick swell of his knot still lodged impossibly deep inside her, keeping every pulse of him trapped where her body craved it most.

But Colin…

Colin wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Still knotted tight, still locked to her, he rocked his hips again—slow, grinding thrusts, barely an inch of movement, but enough to send fresh jolts of unbearable sensation through her already trembling frame.

She let out a wrecked little sob, clutching at his shoulders as her body clamped down in helpless protest.

“Shh… easy, sweetheart,” Colin rasped, voice low and completely wrecked with need. “Can’t help it. Still so fucking hard for you. Still need to move. Gotta work it deeper… get it all in you…”

His hands tightened at her hips, dragging her against him in slow, obscene rolls that made her vision blur.

“You’re taking me so good,” he breathed against her neck, licking lazily over the mark where he’d just bitten her. “Little Omega, stretched so full around my knot… clenching like you don’t want to let me go.”

Another grind, deep and possessive, made her cry out again—high and wrecked and completely lost to him.

Her walls squeezed around him like a vice.

Colin groaned loudly at the feeling.

“Fuck… yes… just like that,” he growled. “Squeeze me. Milk me for every drop, darling. You need it, don’t you? Want me to keep filling you… making sure it takes.”

Her breath came in short, panicked gasps.

“Colin, I… I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said darkly, still grinding, still thrusting shallow and slow but thick and deep enough to rub against every oversensitive spot inside her.

Her legs kicked weakly around him, thighs trembling.

Her clit throbbed, swollen and neglected, dragging her toward overstimulation with every tiny grind of his hips.

Colin felt her trembling harder, felt the little aftershocks building again.

“You’re close again,” he rasped against her skin, biting at her collarbone. “God, look at you… already about to come again… cockdrunk little Omega… can’t get enough.”

She sobbed again—half shame, half unbearable pleasure.

Colin reached between them, fingers rough and desperate, finding her swollen, slippery clit with maddening precision.

“Let go for me,” he growled, circling her with practiced, relentless pressure as he continued rutting inside her. “Come again. Milk my knot. Take every last drop, Pen… make me breed you deep.”

Her entire body locked tight.

Another wave of blinding, white-hot pleasure slammed through her before she could stop it—her walls spasming violently around his knot, sucking him in tighter, clenching around every inch of thick, Alpha cock still stretching her wide and full.

Colin let out a sound between a growl and a groan, burying himself as deep as her body could possibly take, hips grinding down with punishing force.

His cock pulsed again.

Another thick rush of heat spilled into her womb, filling her more. Too much. Overflowing. She felt it.

So full she could feel the pressure low in her belly, heavy and aching and impossibly, obscenely satisfying.

Her body accepted all of it. Greedy. Willing. His.

And still—still—Colin wouldn’t stop moving.

Slow, lazy, possessive thrusts through the tie. Shallow enough not to break the knot, but deep enough to drag her overstimulated body into another wave of helpless sobs.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” he murmured, kissing the tears on her cheeks. “Ruined and full… taking everything I give you…”

She shook against him, too overwhelmed to answer.

He kissed her harder. Deeper. Tongue thrusting into her mouth the same way his cock still moved inside her.

“Mine,” he whispered over and over again between kisses, between thrusts, between pulses of release still emptying into her.

“Mine to fill.”
“Mine to breed.”
“Mine forever.”

Her body—too exhausted to fight, too desperate to let go—clung to him like she never wanted him to stop.

And in that moment… she didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Not when her Alpha was still buried inside her.

Still knotted.
Still claiming.
Still making her his.

Only his.

Forever.

Chapter Text

The world had gone quiet.

Not silent—Colin could still hear the thundering of his heart, the ragged catch of Penelope’s breath against his neck—but quiet in that way that always came after a storm.

The air inside the little garden outhouse felt thick and heavy, like it had absorbed every moan, every gasp, every filthy, desperate sound that had poured out of them both.

He was still knotted deep inside her.

Still tethered to her body in the most primal, inescapable way an Alpha and Omega could be tied.

But already… he could feel the pressure easing. The swelling at the base of his cock was starting to soften, just barely, and with it… reality came crashing back like a bucket of cold water.

His stomach twisted.

What the hell had he done?

His hands, still cupping her trembling hips, trembled slightly. Beneath him, Penelope let out the softest whimper—half pain, half… exhaustion? Overstimulation? Maybe both.

Her thighs were still locked tight around his waist, but he felt the tension in her legs start to shake, like her body couldn’t hold him any longer.

“Pen…” he croaked, voice hoarse and shredded from growling her name too many times.

She didn’t answer.

Her head stayed nestled against his shoulder, her small hands fisted weakly in the back of his coat like she was too afraid—or too dazed—to let him go.

His heart cracked a little at the feel of her.

So soft.

So still.

So… wrecked.

“Sweetheart… talk to me,” he whispered, carefully easing one hand up to brush sweaty copper curls away from her flushed face.

Her cheeks were stained with drying tears.

When had she started crying?

Guilt hit him like a punch to the ribs.

“Shh… It’s alright. I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing soft, apologetic kisses to her temple, her hairline, anywhere he could reach. “You’re safe now.”

Another small sound escaped her throat—more breath than voice—but she didn’t pull away.

Still inside her. Still locked.

But moving carefully now.

Soft hands—rough from travel, from fencing, from life—but gentle with her.

One slid down her trembling thigh, soothing the muscles still twitching from overstimulation.

The other… drifted to her belly.

Splayed wide and possessive over the lowest curve of her abdomen like he was already claiming what might be growing inside.

And God… the mess he’d left in her.

The scent of it was thick in the air—Alpha and Omega, sex and heat, sweat and salt. His spend still filling her, still trapped inside by the bulge of his knot.

And worse…

The faintest trace of Omega fertility.

New. Unmistakable.

His stomach twisted tighter.

“I shouldn’t have—” His throat closed around the words. “Christ, Penelope… I should’ve controlled myself.”

She flinched at his tone—soft, but still too full of self-loathing.

“No,” she whispered, finally speaking, her voice hoarse and broken. “Don’t… Don’t say that.”

Her words, fragile as they were, knocked the air from his lungs.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want you to stop,” she confessed, curling tighter against him like she couldn’t stand the idea of losing his warmth. “I still don’t.”

Colin froze.

Her voice, her scent, her trembling little confession—everything in him buckled at once.

His knot throbbed inside her again—still swollen, still tight, still holding every drop of him deep where her body kept clenching around him like it didn’t want to let him go.

His heart cracked further, torn between guilt and the deep, dark satisfaction of knowing she still wanted him… even now.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he breathed, pressing soft, shaky kisses along her hairline, her cheek, her throat. “You did so good for me… took me so well.”

Penelope sobbed softly, her whole body trembling under him.

“I-It’s too much,” she whispered, voice thin and raw.

“I know, darling,” he whispered back, kissing her again—softer now, reverent almost. “I know. I’m sorry. Should’ve slowed down. Should’ve—God—should’ve been gentler—”

She shook her head before he could spiral further. “No… just… I wasn’t ready for how much I wanted you.”

Colin went still at her words.

Then…

Groaned low and wrecked, burying his face in her neck.

His heart broke at the thought that she might not know the difference between her instincts and her real feelings.

But even through the fog of his worry, his instincts screamed to comfort her.

With slow, careful movements, he adjusted them both, sinking to the floor with her still cradled in his lap, his back pressing against the wall now, holding her more securely.

Penelope let out a soft noise at the shift but didn’t let go—burying her face deeper against his neck.

Colin wrapped both arms around her and held her tight.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her hair. “For… for how rough I was. For not stopping. For not—God, for not giving you time to decide.”

Her fingers fisted tighter in his coat.

“I decided,” she whispered. “I knew what I was doing. I… I wanted you.”

Her words…

They shouldn’t have soothed him as much as they did.

But they wrapped around his battered conscience like balm.

Still…

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, stroking her back in slow, grounding circles. “I need to get you warm. Get you out of here. Clean you up.”

The idea of pulling out—of leaving her empty—made some deep, possessive part of him bristle.

But she was trembling, and her scent… it had shifted again.

Softer now.

Sated. But vulnerable.

Colin exhaled hard, pressing one last kiss to the bite mark blooming red and angry on her neck.

His hands moved again—one tracing along her hip, checking for bruises, the other stroking carefully over her belly.

When his fingers lingered there, rubbing lazy, soothing circles over her lower abdomen, Penelope let out a weak, breathless laugh.

“You’re already thinking about pups,” she whispered against his cheek, voice soft and fond and disbelieving.

Colin pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.

“Of course I am,” he said hoarsely, kissing her again—slow, deep, tender. “I meant every word I said to you tonight.”

She flushed, cheeks coloring as memory surged—every filthy promise, every growled claim.

His knot throbbed again inside her, answering like it heard her thoughts.

“Colin… you’re still…” she started, shifting slightly.

“Still knotted?” he finished for her, smiling crookedly against her throat. “Yeah. Not going anywhere.”

The weight of him still locked deep made her clench involuntarily.

He hissed softly at the sensation.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Keep doing that and I’ll stay like this all night.”

Penelope flushed bright and hot but didn’t loosen her grip on him—her legs still locked tight around his waist.

For now…

For this moment…

She didn’t want him to go anywhere.

And neither did her Alpha.

So Colin just held her…

Kissing her…

Whispering soft promises…

Stroking her belly with slow, possessive hands…

While they waited for his knot to finally ease.

And when it did…

When he finally slipped free with a low, reluctant groan, Colin stayed exactly where he was.

Cradling her close.

Pressing his lips to her temple.

“I love you,” he whispered suddenly, voice hoarse and honest and so open it made her chest ache.

Her heart lurched.

“I… I love you too,” she breathed, blinking back another wave of tears.

Like a vow.

Like a future.

Chapter Text

Penelope woke slowly, swimming up through layers of exhaustion she couldn’t seem to shake.

Her body ached everywhere.

Her thighs.
Her hips.
The deep, sore pulse low in her belly from being stretched and knotted and filled over and over again.

And beneath it all… that soft, insistent throb at her neck where Colin had bitten her. Where he’d nearly marked her fully.

The air smelled thick with him—cedar and spice and something darker that she now recognized as hers too. Her own Omega scent had changed overnight, no longer the soft, dulled thing she’d spent years masking with suppressants.

Now… it was unmistakable.

Rich and thick and undeniably mated.

Or nearly.

A half-claim. Unfinished. Unmistakable.

Her cheeks flushed hot even as her eyelids fluttered open.

She was in a bedroom she didn’t recognize.

Large windows let in pale morning light, but the curtains had been drawn halfway, leaving the room dim and soft.

The bed was too wide. Too luxurious. The sheets soft and cool against her overheated skin.

A masculine scent lingered everywhere.

Colin’s scent.

Her heart stuttered.

Before she could panic further, she felt movement beside her.

Colin.

Sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, still fully dressed except for his cravat, which lay discarded on the floor.

His hair was a rumpled mess from running his hands through it all night.

Dark circles smudged beneath his eyes, but he was awake, watching her like a hawk.

The second her gaze met his, he stood.

“Easy,” he murmured, crossing the room in three long strides to kneel beside the bed. “Don’t move too fast. You’ve been out for hours.”

Her throat felt dry as dust. “Where…?”

“My family’s townhouse,” he said softly, brushing hair from her temple with careful fingers. “Guest bedroom. I carried you out after…”

His voice faltered, but his eyes darkened with memory.

Penelope flushed scarlet, turning her face into the pillow.

Colin leaned in, voice low and full of that gentle, dangerous affection she wasn’t used to hearing from him.

“Do you want me to say it, Pen?” he asked softly against her hairline. “Say what I did to you? What I did with you? What I’ll do again if you let me?”

Her breath caught. Her stomach twisted with both want and mortification.

“No,” she whispered.

“Then rest,” he said, kissing her temple. “You need it.”

Her lashes fluttered. “But… the Ball. People will—”

“People can go to hell,” Colin said without hesitation, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulders like shielding her physically might somehow shield her from the gossip that would undoubtedly start soon. “Let them talk.”

Her heart squeezed.

“Eloise will know,” she whispered.

“I don’t care.”

“My mother—”

“I’ll handle her.”

“Colin…” Her voice trembled.

He cupped her cheek again, tilting her face so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You’re mine now,” he said, low and certain. “And I’ll protect you. From all of them. From everything.”

Tears burned behind her eyes.

Her Alpha.

Her friend.

Her… world.

She exhaled shakily, sinking back into the pillow, her body too heavy to argue.

And when Colin kissed her forehead again—soothing and tender, nothing like the hungry Alpha who’d knotted her hours before—she believed him.

For now.

Even if the whole world was waiting just outside that bedroom door… ready to tear them apart.

⸻

Downstairs, in the Bridgerton drawing room…

Silence lingered.

Thick. Awkward. Uneasy.

The kind of silence that only happened in this house when someone’s reputation—or life—hung in the balance.

Eloise stood planted in the center of the rug, arms crossed tight over her chest, looking like she wasn’t sure whether to scream or start laughing hysterically.

“She smells like him,” she said flatly at last, breaking the heavy stillness.

Lady Bridgerton, seated nearest the window with her morning tea, let out a soft gasp and nearly spilled her cup.

Benedict, sprawled sideways across the chaise like a cat too lazy to care about social disaster, just blinked once and reached for the decanter of brandy.

“Penelope?” Violet asked, her voice wobbling somewhere between scandalized and… resigned.

“Of course Penelope,” Eloise snapped, tossing her hands in the air. “Who else would I mean? I passed her door a minute ago. The whole upstairs smells like him. And her.”

Lady Bridgerton closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, setting her tea aside with trembling hands.

Anthony lowered the newspaper in his lap. He studied his sister carefully, reading between every line of what she wasn’t saying.

“Is she… alright?” Anthony asked at last, voice low but steady. “Did anyone see her?”

“I didn’t open the door,” Eloise admitted. “But… she’s breathing. I heard her. And Colin… he hasn’t left her side since last night. I heard him pacing in there most of the night.”

Benedict snorted softly around the rim of his glass. “Of course he hasn’t. Poor bastard’s probably afraid to leave her even long enough for breakfast.”

“Benedict…” Violet murmured a warning, but there was no real heat behind it.

Anthony scrubbed a hand down his face and exhaled heavily.

“I suppose we always knew it would come to this,” he said after a long pause. “They’ve been dancing around each other for years.”

Benedict raised a brow. “Decades, more like.”

Anthony gave him a look but didn’t argue.

Eloise sank into the nearest chair, still stunned. “But… like this? Without warning? Without… a proper courtship?”

Violet pressed her fingers to her temple, sighing quietly. “The moon was full. And if Penelope’s suppressants failed…”

Everyone fell silent at that.

No one needed to explain further.

Benedict broke it first, swirling his drink lazily. “Well… in Colin’s defense… it’s Penelope. And Colin. The entire ton has been waiting for this to happen since 1812.”

Anthony’s jaw ticked. “That doesn’t excuse—”

“It explains it,” Benedict said smoothly. “Not excuses. Just… inevitability.”

Violet stood then, smoothing her skirts with slightly shaking hands. “The real trouble,” she said with soft dread, “will be with Lady Featherington.”

Eloise let out a strangled laugh. “You think?”

Anthony blew out a breath. “Portia will scream the roof down.”

“She’ll demand marriage,” Eloise said.

“She’d demand a title if she thought she could get it,” Benedict muttered.

Anthony stood slowly, stretching like a man preparing for a long day of crisis management.

“I’ll talk to Colin when he comes downstairs,” he said. “We’ll… sort it out.”

Eloise blinked at him. “That’s it? You’re not going to storm in and drag him out of her bed by the scruff of his neck?”

Anthony gave a tired, crooked smile. “What’s the point? He’s already done the one thing none of us can undo.”

Benedict raised his glass again like it was a toast.

“And besides,” Anthony added with a sigh, turning toward the door, “they’ve loved each other for years. It was… only a matter of time.”

From the hallway, somewhere far above, there was the faintest sound of Colin’s voice through the floorboards.

Soft.

Low.

Careful.

Reassuring.

The entire family paused to listen for a breathless moment…

And then the house settled again.

Waiting.

⸻

Penelope stirred again, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as consciousness pulled at her like slow-moving water.

Her entire body ached.

Not the sharp, embarrassing ache she expected after a tumble or stumble—but something deeper. Soreness blooming low in her belly. An ache between her thighs that made her legs tremble if she so much as shifted.

And even worse… the fullness.

She could still feel it.

Even now. Hours later. Her inner muscles sore and sticky with him, still holding the lingering heat of his knot and everything he’d left inside her.

Her cheeks flushed hot.

Panic flickered in her chest.

Her eyes snapped open—just as Colin moved into view.

“Easy,” he said instantly, kneeling beside the bed with a soft, calming hand on her arm. “You’re alright.”

Penelope blinked at him, trying to sit up.

A sharp pain pulled at her hips. She let out a soft, broken sound before slumping back onto the pillows.

Colin flinched. “Don’t push yourself,” he murmured, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “You’re… sore. I—God, Pen, I didn’t mean to… I should have been gentler.”

His voice cracked over the word.

Something inside her ached at the look on his face. That blend of guilt and protective desperation. The same man who’d held her down, knotted deep, growling filth into her ear just hours ago… now looked like he might fall apart if she told him she was hurting.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and raw. “Just… tired.”

His hand—warm and steady—slid over her hair, down her cheek, lingering there with soft, grounding pressure.

“Let me help,” he said, standing and moving to a nearby table.

When he returned, he held a clean basin of warm water and a soft cloth.

Penelope flushed at the realization.

Before she could speak, Colin had already dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and begun gently wiping at her neck, her collarbone, the flushed skin at her chest where her bodice had been tugged too low.

His hands—so big, so sure—were heartbreakingly careful now.

No rush. No lust. Only soft, reverent care.

“You don’t have to—” she started, voice cracking.

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly.

The cloth drifted lower, sweeping along the undersides of her breasts, where faint red marks remained from where he’d held her too tightly. He hesitated there—gaze darkening with a mix of regret and longing—but continued with steady, gentle swipes.

Then lower.

Her belly.

Her hips.

His throat worked as he swallowed hard.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he whispered.

She didn’t.

When the cloth finally touched between her thighs, she whimpered—a sound she couldn’t quite bite back.

Colin froze.

“I’m sorry,” he said thickly, withdrawing the cloth immediately. “God, Pen… I’m hurting you again.”

“No,” she rasped, reaching for him blindly with shaking fingers. “Just… sensitive.”

He let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I… I know the feeling.”

Her gaze drifted downward.

His arousal was obvious. Pressed tight against the front of his breeches, even now, even after everything.

Her cheeks burned.

“We should… you should rest,” he said quickly, standing and dragging a hand through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He paced once across the room, then stopped, visibly wrestling with himself.

“I can send for a maid,” he said gruffly. “Or my mother’s physician. Or both.”

Penelope shook her head, throat thick with emotion. “No maids. No one else.”

His eyes softened at that.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Just me, then.”

He crossed the room again and pulled a soft, clean nightdress from a nearby chest of drawers.

“Here.” His hands shook slightly as he helped guide it over her head, easing the delicate fabric down her tender body. His knuckles brushed the curve of her breast, her hip, her thigh—but there was no heat in it now. Just reverence.

When she was finally dressed, Colin sat on the edge of the bed, his back tense, head bowed.

“I… I don’t know how to fix this,” he said softly.

Penelope blinked, heart sinking. “Fix…?”

“I lost control,” he whispered. “I didn’t give you a choice, Pen. Not really. That’s… That’s unforgivable.”

Her chest squeezed tight.

Her voice—when it finally emerged—came out small but sure.

“You gave me a choice,” she said, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch the back of his hand. “You asked me. I didn’t stop you. I didn’t want you to stop.”

Colin’s entire body went still.

Her Omega scent—still rich and new and touched with heat—wrapped around him again.

“I wanted you,” she said, cheeks burning. “I still do.”

His throat worked as he fought for control.

With a soft groan, Colin lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her trembling fingers one by one.

“God help me, Pen,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to her palm, not taking his eyes off her. “You’re going to undo me all over again.”

Her heart twisted painfully.

Her voice came out small, hoarse from crying, kissing, and too much ragged moaning the night before.

“You’re staring.”

Colin’s lips curled into something between a smile and a wince. “I know.”

Her cheeks flushed.

“Stop,” she whispered, turning her face half into the pillow.

He laughed softly—deep and warm—but didn’t look away.

“Can’t,” he said simply. “Not when you look like this.”

“Like what?”

His smile softened, all of the teasing chased away by something heavier, something more real.

“Like mine.”

Her breath caught.

The words hung between them.

Unavoidable now.

Colin’s fingers drifted toward her face, trailing lightly along the curve of her cheekbone.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?” he murmured, brushing stray curls away from her face. “Really touch you? Without pretending it was a joke or a mistake or… anything other than what it was.”

Penelope’s heart twisted painfully.

Her throat worked around the lump rising there. “Since when?”

He let out a soft breath, shaking his head as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, tracing the shape of her bottom lip with his thumb. “Maybe since last spring. Maybe since I left London and couldn’t get you out of my head. Maybe always.”

Her eyes widened. “Always?”

A faint flush colored his cheeks. “You were always… there. Always right in front of me. But I was too stupid to see you.”

Her stomach flipped at the confession.

He smiled faintly, dropping a kiss to her hairline. “You’re not invisible anymore, Pen.”

“I don’t want to be invisible,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked at the end, making her blink back fresh tears.

Colin’s entire body tensed at the sound.

He pulled her closer, curling around her protectively, his chin resting on the top of her head.

“You never were. Not to me. Not really.”

She sniffled against his chest.

Colin’s hand moved slowly along her back, stroking gentle circles, anchoring her.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said, voice low and certain. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not your mother. Not the ton. Not even my brothers—though I suspect I’ll be dodging punches the second I go downstairs.”

Despite herself, Penelope let out a soft, broken laugh.

Colin smiled against her hair.

“Eloise is going to murder me first,” he added, tone dry but fond. “I can already hear her lecture.”

Penelope’s smile wobbled.

Then, softly: “I don’t regret it, Colin.”

His breath caught at that.

Her words—so small, so sure—hit him straight in the chest.

His fingers tightened at her waist, curling her closer.

“I don’t either,” he said, kissing the top of her head again.

They lay like that for a long time, wrapped in warmth and comfort and something tender and new.

Eventually, Penelope drifted back toward sleep, her breathing evening out against his chest.

But Colin stayed awake.

Stroking her hair.

Watching the light change through the curtains.

And silently making himself a promise.

He would protect her.

He would fight for her.

And when the time came…

Their future.

Pups and all.

No matter what the world had to say about it.

Chapter Text

Colin barely made it down the stairs before disaster hit.

He’d barely touched the bottom step of the Bridgerton townhouse when Anthony’s voice roared from the drawing room.

“Bridgerton!”

Colin winced, bracing himself as his eldest brother stormed into the foyer, face thundercloud dark, fists clenched at his sides.

Behind him, Benedict lounged in an armchair, swirling a glass of brandy like this was all fine theater.

And Eloise—

God.

Eloise stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, a glare so sharp it could cut through steel.

“Morning,” Colin said cautiously, running a hand through his still-tousled hair. “Sleep well?”

Anthony surged forward.

Colin barely ducked the first punch. The second grazed his jaw, hard enough to snap his head sideways.

“Bloody hell, Anthony!” Colin shouted, staggering back, clutching his face.

Anthony’s chest heaved, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. “You absolute reckless bastard! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

Colin spat blood into the corner rug with a grimace. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

Benedict snorted into his drink.

Eloise crossed the room in three fast strides and jabbed a furious finger into Colin’s chest.

“Don’t play clever with us! We all know where you disappeared to last night. And more importantly…” She sniffed dramatically, her nose wrinkling. “You reek of Omega.”

Colin froze.

His blood turned to ice.

Eloise’s glare sharpened to something deadly. “And not just any Omega.”

Colin swallowed hard. “Eloise…”

“Penelope,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “You… and Penelope.”

Anthony went still.

The room fell silent.

Colin’s heart pounded. “I… It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t planned. The moon—”

“Oh spare me,” Eloise snapped. “I don’t care about the moon. I care that my best friend is upstairs in your bed with a scent marker on her neck and half the ton already whispering about why she disappeared halfway through Lady Danbury’s ball.”

Colin flinched.

Anthony stepped forward again, calmer now—but only just. “Is she alright?”

Colin nodded quickly. “Sleeping. Exhausted. But… she’s safe. I swear.”

Anthony ran both hands through his hair like he wanted to strangle something—or someone. Probably him.

Benedict finally chimed in from his corner. “Well. At least you finally picked someone worth the trouble.”

Colin shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Eloise crossed her arms tighter. “Does she… does she know? About…?”

Colin’s gut twisted. “She knows she’s mine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Colin rubbed the back of his neck. “We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Anthony cursed under his breath.

“Well,” Benedict said lazily, standing and setting down his glass, “you better start planning how you’re going to fix this.”

Colin’s stomach dropped.

Two hours… if he was lucky.

⸻

Meanwhile, across Mayfair…

Portia Featherington stood in her front hall, hands on her hips, glaring at an empty staircase.

“Where is she?” she snapped at the nearest housemaid.

“Miss Penelope never came home last night, ma’am,” the girl stammered.

Portia’s eyes narrowed.

“Find out where she went,” she said sharply. “Now.”

⸻

Penelope woke to the sound of raised voices.

At first, she thought she might be dreaming.

Her head ached. Her body still felt sore and heavy, a dull, satisfied ache lingering low in her belly. Every movement made her hips and thighs protest. And her neck—God, her neck throbbed in time with her pulse where Colin had bitten her.

But when she blinked her eyes open and heard Eloise shouting just outside the bedroom door, the dream dissolved instantly into reality.

“Oh no…” she whispered, curling tighter under the covers.

Too late.

The door burst open.

“Penelope Featherington!”

Eloise stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed pink with fury, her hair wild, her eyes blazing like she could set the entire room on fire with sheer force of will.

Colin appeared right behind her—half-dressed still, looking equal parts exhausted and battle-worn. His sleeves were rolled up, his jaw freshly bruised from Anthony’s punch. But the minute Eloise moved to step further into the room, Colin threw an arm out, blocking her.

“You don’t get to yell at her right now,” he said, voice low and sharp.

Eloise gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“She’s barely awake. She’s sore. And she’s overwhelmed enough as it is.” Colin’s body language screamed territorial Alpha—standing tall between Eloise and Penelope like he might physically lift his sister and carry her out if she took another step forward. “You want to scream at someone? Scream at me.”

Penelope whimpered from the bed, burying her face in the pillow.

This was a nightmare.

Eloise’s glare flicked from Colin… to Penelope… then back to Colin.

“I’ll scream at both of you if I damn well please!” Eloise snapped. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was when she vanished last night? Or when I woke up this morning to find out you—” She jabbed a finger at Colin’s chest. “—dragged her out into the gardens like some scent-drunk Alpha caveman and—and—” Her voice broke, cracking on the next word. “Claimed her.”

Colin’s expression darkened. “I regret nothing, I love her.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Penelope peeked up from the covers, her heart twisting.

Eloise’s voice was shaking now. Not just angry. Hurt.

“I trusted you,” Eloise said bitterly, blinking too fast like she was fighting tears. “Both of you.”

“Eloise, please,” Penelope croaked, trying to sit up despite the soreness blooming through her hips.

Colin was at her side instantly, helping her with gentle hands, propping pillows behind her back.

“I’m fine,” Penelope whispered, but it was a lie and everyone in the room knew it.

Eloise’s throat worked. “You’re not fine.”

“No,” Penelope admitted softly, voice trembling. “But I’m not… I’m not hurt. Not like you think.”

Silence.

Eloise swallowed hard, staring at her.

When she finally spoke again, her voice dropped to something softer—fragile, even.

“Did you… Did you want this?” Eloise asked, her eyes shiny but sincere. “Was it your choice?”

Penelope’s own tears burned behind her eyes. She nodded quickly, clutching the blanket tighter around herself. “Yes.”

Eloise’s shoulders sagged with something like heartbreak and relief all at once.

Colin squeezed Penelope’s hand tightly, then looked up at his sister. “I’ll make this right.”

“You’d better,” Eloise said, her voice shaky but laced with steel.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed out.

Colin stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, running a tired hand over his face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then—quietly—Penelope reached for him, curling her fingers around his wrist. “You don’t have to protect me from her.”

Colin let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Oh, Pen… I don’t think I can stop myself from protecting you from anyone at this point.”

She smiled weakly. “I noticed.”

His hand covered hers.

And even though her heart still ached with fear and uncertainty about what came next…

Somewhere deep inside… Penelope felt… safe.

Even now.

Even with the world crashing in around them.

⸻

The door clicked softly shut behind Eloise.

For a long moment, the room stayed completely still.

Penelope sat propped against the pillows, hands twisted tightly in her lap, heart hammering painfully behind her ribs.

Colin hadn’t moved.

He sat beside her, elbows braced on his knees, hands pressed to his face like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Silence stretched, thick and tense.

Penelope’s throat ached.

“I… I should go,” she whispered suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could think better of them.

Colin’s head snapped up so fast she flinched.

“No.” His voice came out low and immediate. Uncompromising.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her eyes went wide.

“I…” She hesitated. “I shouldn’t be here. Not in your family’s house. Not in your bed.”

“You’re exactly where you should be,” he said fiercely.

Her stomach twisted. “Colin—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted, shifting to sit beside her fully now, taking her trembling hands in his own. “I’ll deal with everyone else. The gossip. My brothers. Your mother. Lady Danbury. I don’t care.”

His thumb swept softly over the inside of her wrist, slow and soothing.

“I care about you,” he added, voice dropping lower. “That’s all that matters right now.”

Tears burned behind her eyes again.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, voice cracking. “I’ve spent my whole life… hiding. Pretending I wasn’t… this.”

His gaze softened instantly, thumb tracing soothing circles over her skin.

“I know,” he said gently. “And I hate that you felt like you had to.”

She looked down at their intertwined hands. “Everyone’s going to talk.”

“Let them.”

Her laugh came out wet and shaky. “You’re being very cavalier about this for a man who’s about to cause a social scandal.”

Colin’s mouth twitched—half grimace, half smile. “Pen… after last night, I think we’re well past scandal.”

Her cheeks flushed deep red.

Colin’s expression shifted, softening again as he lifted one hand to her face, cradling her cheek with devastating tenderness.

His thumb brushed away a stray tear at the corner of her eye.

“I’d do it again,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

“I’d lose control again. I’d ruin my reputation again. Hell, I’d fight every man in London again—just to keep you like this.” His thumb traced down her throat, stopping just above the angry mark he’d left the night before. His eyes darkened as he stared at it, like some primal, possessive part of him stirred all over again just seeing the evidence of what they’d done.

“Mine,” he murmured under his breath, like a prayer. Like a curse.

Penelope’s heart flipped painfully.

Her body still ached. Her skin still burned from his touch. And deep inside, she could still feel the lingering heat from where he’d knotted her.

Her Omega instincts hummed at his words.

Still wanting. Still reaching for him. Even after everything.

As if sensing the shift in her scent, Colin leaned closer, his nose brushing along her throat.

“You smell like me,” he whispered against her skin. “Still.”

Her body trembled.

“And when you go into heat again…” His lips brushed just below her ear. “You’ll smell even sweeter. Stronger. I’ll scent-mark you again. Fill you again. Knot you deeper than before.”

Her breath caught.

“Colin…” she whimpered.

His teeth grazed her throat—gentle this time, a soft scrape rather than a bite.

“I’ll stay inside you next time,” he promised darkly. “If you let me. If you want me to.”

She let out a shaky exhale, her hands curling tightly into the front of his shirt.

Colin pulled back just enough to look at her—really look at her.

His gaze searched her face, his voice going softer. “Do you want me to? Pen… tell me.”

Her cheeks flushed hot.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

And after a long, trembling pause, she whispered:

“Yes.”

Colin’s breath left him in one sharp, broken exhale.

He kissed her like he hadn’t touched her at all yet.

Soft. Sweet. Careful.

And then—because they both knew they had a thousand things to face outside that room—he pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“We’ll take this one step at a time,” he said quietly. “But I need you to know something before we face any of them.”

Penelope blinked up at him.

“I want all of it with you,” he said. “The fallout. The heat. The pups.”

Her breath stilled.

“Say that again?” she whispered, voice small and disbelieving.

Colin smiled, thumb stroking slow and lazy over her lips.

“I want to give you pups, Penelope Featherington,” he said, voice low and sure. “As many as you’ll let me.”

Penelope’s breath hitched at Colin’s words.

Pups.

The single syllable lingered in the air between them, heavy and loaded.

Her entire body flushed at the heat in his tone.

Her scent spiked.

And when he kissed her again—slow and deep and full of dangerous promises—Penelope realized she might never survive this man.

Her heart stuttered violently, and she knew… she knew she should be overwhelmed, scandalized, terrified even—but all she felt was this aching, liquid warmth spreading low in her belly.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up—her thighs squeezing together instinctively, her scent blooming fresh and sweet in the air between them.

Colin’s pupils dilated instantly.

His whole body went taut like a pulled bowstring.

“You like hearing me talk about our pups,” he said softly—more observation than question.

Penelope flushed deep, burying her face in his shoulder like she could somehow hide from how obvious her reaction was.

Colin’s hand cupped the back of her head, holding her there, cradling her gently against him.

“Of course you do,” he breathed against her hair, pressing a slow kiss there. “You’re Omega down to your bones, Pen. Your body was made for it.”

Her stomach twisted at the low, hungry tone in his voice.

Possessive. Worshipful.

A promise wrapped in filth.

Colin shifted closer, pulling her fully into his lap, careful not to press against her sore thighs too hard.

“You’re already soft here,” he murmured, slipping his hand down to rest over her lower belly. His palm flattened there, warm and sure, like he was staking a claim on something that hadn’t even begun to exist yet.

Her breath caught audibly.

“I filled you so deep last night,” he continued, kissing her temple between words. “So much of me inside you… I swear I felt you take it.”

Her cheeks burned hotter.

Her thighs trembled where they rested over his lap.

Colin dragged his thumb in slow, lazy circles over her belly.

“Do you know what that thought did to me?” he whispered. “Thinking about you… here… getting round with me? Swelling full with my pups?”

A soft, broken sound escaped her throat—half a whimper, half a moan.

Colin’s lips curved against her hairline, satisfied and possessive.

“I want to see it,” he whispered, nuzzling behind her ear. “I want to watch you grow… watch your body change for me. For them.”

His other hand slid up her spine, slow and reverent.

“Your scent will shift again,” he continued, voice like warm smoke. “It’ll get sweeter… heavier… and every Alpha in London will know you’re bred.”

His teeth grazed her throat. Not biting. Just… a threat. A promise.

“And they’ll all know exactly who put you in that condition.”

Penelope gasped, burying her face deeper against him.

Colin’s hand moved lower, stroking along her hip, then curling around her backside with slow, claiming pressure.

“And when you’re big and glowing and soft… I’ll still want you like this,” he murmured, rocking her gently in his lap. “I’ll still want to fuck you full again. Keep you marked and messy and mine.”

Her body pulsed at the filthy sweetness of it.

A wave of slick dampened between her thighs before she could stop it.

Colin hissed softly at the new bloom of scent, his whole body reacting like he was ready to throw her back on the bed and start all over.

But he forced himself still.

Barely.

His forehead pressed to hers, breath shaky.

“I should stop,” he said hoarsely, though his hands continued to stroke over her hips like he couldn’t help himself. “You’re already sore. I promised I’d take care of you.”

Penelope pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

Her cheeks still flushed. Her lips still kiss-swollen. But her gaze—clear and wide—held something soft and devastating.

“I want all of it too,” she whispered.

Colin froze.

For a long moment, he just… stared at her.

Then… with a low, desperate groan, he pulled her fully into his chest again, holding her like he never wanted to let her go.

And deep inside…

Penelope knew he wouldn’t.

Not now.
Not ever.

Chapter Text

Colin’s breathing was ragged, his heart pounding like he’d just run for miles. Holding her tight against him, he dragged a shaking hand over the back of his neck, forcing himself to calm down enough to speak.

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice hoarse. “But if you want me… really want me… if you want me to stay yours forever…”

He tilted his head just enough to expose the vulnerable stretch of his neck—his mating gland.

“You’ll have to bite me, Pen. Make me yours. Finish this bond. Lock me to you the same way I’ve already locked you to me.” His voice dropped further, wrecked and pleading. “Say you want me, sweetheart. Say it.”

Colin didn’t even have a chance to catch his breath.

One second he had Penelope curled soft and trembling in his lap… her flushed face tucked against his throat, her scent sweet and thick in the air…

And the next…

She moved.

Not shy. Not hesitant.

Not anymore.

Her hands slid up his chest—bold, needy, shaking with adrenaline—and she dragged her fingers into his hair, holding him still.

Her mouth pressed hot and open over the side of his throat… right where his own mating gland pulsed under the skin.

Colin went rigid.

His breath punched out of him in one broken sound.

“Pen…” he whispered, voice wrecked already.

But she didn’t stop.

Didn’t hesitate.

Her tongue stroked over the spot first—soft, wet, tasting him.

Then she dragged her teeth across the sensitive skin.

Colin’s entire body arched under her.

“God… Penelope… sweetheart…—”

Her instincts—Omega-deep and heat-dazed and aching for him—shoved past every scrap of propriety she’d ever clung to.

And she bit him.

Hard.

Sharp and sure.

Teeth sinking into the spot where every Omega marked their mate in return.

The burn of it lit Colin up like lightning under his skin.

His whole body snapped tight, his hips jerking helplessly beneath her, rutting up against her soft thighs even through the blanket tangled around them both.

“Fuck,” he gasped, one arm flying to brace around her waist like he physically couldn’t stop himself from dragging her closer. “Oh… God… Pen…”

Her teeth stayed sunk in for a long, dizzying second.

Then she licked the skin, soothing over the sting, her breath warm and shaky against his throat.

Colin’s heart felt like it might break right out of his chest.

It was done.

Finished.

The bond—the full, permanent, irreversible tie between Alpha and Omega—was now locked between them both.

His entire soul sang with it.

His scent shifted instantly.

So did hers.

Their combined pheromones thickened in the air—heady and sweet and so unmistakably mated that anyone within ten feet of the bedroom door would know before they even walked in.

Colin let out a shaking, ruined laugh—half disbelieving, half completely undone.

“Christ… you’re perfect,” he rasped, turning fast and dragging her under him with a desperate groan.

Penelope squeaked but didn’t fight him.

Her thighs fell open automatically, hips tilting up, her Omega instincts singing as loud as his Alpha ones.

Colin kissed her deep—messy and wet and full of too many feelings he couldn’t find words for yet.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered hoarsely between kisses, her lips swollen, her breath hot and shaky. “Completely.”

Colin let out something between a growl and a sob.

“Say it again,” he begged against her mouth.

She smiled, still trembling but fierce now.

“Mine.”

His control shattered for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

And when he took her again—fast, rough, biting kisses and frantic touches and messy grinding—it was with every promise her bite had just sealed between them.

Forever.

⸻

By the time the knock came downstairs announcing Lady Featherington’s impending arrival…

Colin was still curled around her.

Still inside her.

Still wearing her bite on his throat like a crown.

And Penelope…

Penelope smiled sleepily against his chest.

Too sore, too tired, and far too full of him to feel even the faintest bit afraid.

Her Alpha would handle everything.

Starting with her mother.

Chapter Text

Colin barely had time to help Penelope settle back into the pillows before the shouting downstairs began.

Her mother’s voice.

Shrill. Indignant. Already halfway through a tirade and climbing higher by the second.

Penelope flinched at the sound, curling instinctively toward him, burying her face against his bare shoulder.

Colin stroked slow, grounding circles over her spine, murmuring softly, “Stay here. Rest. I’ve got this.”

Her scent—still thick with satisfaction, heat, and the unmistakable signature of their new, fully completed bond—wrapped around him like armor.

Colin pressed one last kiss to her temple, then stood, dragging on his clothes with shaking fingers. His throat still burned where her teeth had sunk into him.

Where she’d claimed him back.

Where she’d finished what he started.

His Omega. His mate.

Forever.

The thought filled his chest until it ached.

Colin barely made it halfway down the stairs before he heard her.

Portia Featherington.

Her voice carried up the stairwell with all the subtlety of a hunting horn.

“I demand to see my daughter this instant! Where is she? What have you done with her? Where’s that useless boy?!”

Colin sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.

At the bottom of the stairs, Lady Bridgerton stood with her arms folded, her expression a careful mask of cool civility.

Anthony stood beside her, jaw clenched, his arms crossed like stone pillars, watching the door with the same glare he reserved for enemies across a battlefield.

Colin squared his shoulders.

This was his to handle.

As soon as he stepped into the drawing room, Portia rounded on him like a viper.

“You!” she shrieked, pointing a trembling, gloved finger at him as though he were something foul tracked in from the street. “How dare you? How dare you touch my daughter? Ruin her! Destroy her prospects! I warned her! I told her you’d never take her seriously! That you’d toy with her affections like every other foolish girl who’s fallen for your smile—”

Colin’s temper snapped clean in two.

“Don’t,” he said coldly, voice dropping low and lethal. “Don’t you dare speak about her that way. Not here. Not in front of me.”

Portia blinked, startled by the sudden shift in tone.

Colin took a deliberate step forward, letting every ounce of Alpha scent bleed from him into the air between them. Possessive. Final.

“She’s mine now,” he said.

The room went silent.

Lady Bridgerton’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.

Anthony stiffened but didn’t interrupt.

Portia, however, reeled back as if slapped. “Yours?”

“Yes.” Colin’s voice stayed low but steady. “We’ve mated.”

Portia gasped, color draining from her face before rushing back in twofold. “You… you let this happen? You let her—” Her mouth snapped shut in disbelief. “Of all the shameful… reckless… lowborn, Omega things to do… She’s thrown herself at you like some—some desperate creature, and you—”

“That’s enough,” Colin growled, advancing until Portia stumbled back a step.

“She’s spent her whole life wanting you,” Portia hissed. “Fawning after you like some wide-eyed little fool. And you let her ruin herself over you? And now she’ll be cast out! Shunned! A ruined Omega with no—”

“We’re getting married.”

The words cut through the air like a blade.

Portia froze mid-rant.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “What?” she croaked.

Colin straightened to his full height, every inch the determined Alpha now. “By special license. Immediately.”

Lady Bridgerton exhaled softly, some unspoken approval in her expression now.

Anthony’s scowl shifted just a fraction.

Portia blinked rapidly, her breath hitching like she might faint.

“You’ll… you’ll marry her?”

“Yes.” Colin’s voice never wavered. “Because I love her. Because I chose her. Because she’s my Omega, and I’m not giving her up for anything.”

Silence hung heavy in the room for one long beat.

Then, with a choked, scandalized sob, Portia turned on her heel and fled toward the front door, muttering darkly about fainting spells and ruined daughters and needing her smelling salts.

Colin stood in the middle of the drawing room, breathing hard, his jaw still clenched.

Lady Bridgerton gave a small, satisfied nod from her corner seat.

Anthony muttered under his breath, “Well… at least you’re doing the right thing now.”

Colin didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned on his heel and strode back upstairs.

Back to Penelope.

Back to his mate.

Back to the woman he would marry—scandal or no scandal, London be damned.

Chapter Text

Colin didn’t knock when he entered Penelope’s bedroom.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t pause.

He crossed the threshold like a man who had every right to be there—because after the last twenty-four hours… he did.

She was already sitting up, eyes wide and bright with nervous energy. Her copper hair was a riot of soft tangles around her shoulders. Her skin glowed, flushed pink from rest and lingering heat.

But when she saw him—when she saw the dark, possessive look on his face—she inhaled sharply, pupils dilating.

“Colin…” she breathed.

He shut the door behind him with slow finality.

Then locked it.

Her throat worked visibly as she swallowed. “I… did it go badly?”

Colin’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I told your mother exactly what I did to you.”

Penelope’s entire body flushed.

His gaze darkened at the scent spike rolling off her—sweet, thick, pure Omega want.

“I told her you’re mine,” Colin continued, stalking across the room toward her, slow and lethal. “Told her I knotted you. Filled you. That I’m going to marry you. Give you pups. And that she won’t stand in our way.”

Penelope let out a soft, broken sound—a mix of mortification and longing.

Colin’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“You like that?” he murmured, reaching the side of the bed. His hand curled around her ankle, dragging her slowly toward the edge until her thighs parted just enough for him to fit between. “Hearing what I told them?”

She nodded breathlessly, her hands curling in the bed sheets. “Yes. God, yes.”

He leaned down, pressing his nose into her neck, inhaling deep.

Her scent had deepened again. Sweet. Heavy. Open.

Perfect.

“I can smell how wet you are already, sweetheart,” he growled, voice thick with hunger. “Were you thinking about me when I was downstairs defending your honor?”

She whimpered, breath catching.

His hands pushed her nightdress up, revealing bare thighs and damp heat between them.

“No underthings?” he murmured approvingly.

Her cheeks burned. “I… I wanted to be ready for you when you came back.”

Colin cursed low under his breath.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he said, dragging two fingers through her slick folds, spreading her open and making her cry out.

When he pulled his hand back and shoved his breeches down, Penelope’s breath hitched at the sight of him.

Her gaze dropped low—and she gasped audibly.

“Oh God… Colin…”

Her eyes went wide, lips parting as she stared at the thick length of him.

“I forgot how… big you are,” she whispered, voice shaking but hungry. “It… you… it barely fit last time.”

His grin was pure, smug Alpha satisfaction.

“And yet…” He pressed the head of his cock against her dripping entrance, rolling his hips just enough to push in a bare inch, making her gasp again. “You took all of me like you were made for it.”

Her hands scrambled to clutch at his shoulders, digging her nails in as he pushed deeper.

Stretching her. Filling her. Claiming her again.

She moaned loud and unrestrained, hips lifting greedily to take more. “Yes, please… more… all of it.”

“That’s my good Omega,” he growled, thrusting deeper, burying himself fully in one long, slow, possessive push.

Her walls clamped tight, squeezing him, her head falling back against the pillows as she cried out his name.

“God, Colin… you’re perfect,” she gasped, shameless and breathless. “So thick… so deep… I can feel you everywhere…”

Her praise undid him.

Colin’s pace quickened, hips snapping hard, fucking her deep and rough and exactly the way she begged for with every breathless, needy moan.

Her nails raked down his back.

Her legs locked around his waist.

And when he felt the first flutter of her walls tightening in climax, he dropped his head to her throat, growling, “That’s it… take your Alpha… take every inch, every drop. Say it, Pen. Tell me who fucks you like this.”

“You do!” she sobbed, shaking under him. “Only you! My Alpha… God… Colin… my Alpha!”

That was all it took.

His knot swelled fast and thick again, locking them together just as she screamed through her release, her body milking him greedily as he emptied himself deep inside her for the second time in as many days.

When they finally stilled, still tied, still shaking…

Colin pressed a dozen soft kisses along her face, her throat, her hairline.

And when she finally caught her breath enough to speak, she smiled up at him—sated, flushed, and beautifully wrecked.

“I love my Alpha,” she whispered.

And Colin?

He buried his face in her neck and growled softly…

“Mine.”

Forever.

⸻

“You should’ve seen her face when I told her what I did to you,” he murmured, smirking against her skin. “Told her I k”mated you. Told her you’re mine. Told her there’s not a damn thing she can do to stop me from doing it again.”

Penelope moaned as he drove his cock into her again deep and forceful.

“Your mother thinks she can stop this,” Colin whispered against her throat, dragging his teeth across her bond mark. “But I’ve already knotted you. Already filled you. And when she sees you next… walking downstairs full of my seed, marked and bred… she’ll know it’s too late.”

Her head tipped back against the pillows, her throat bare and flushed. Her fingers scrambled uselessly at his shoulders, then slid down to grip at his biceps, trying to anchor herself to something solid as he drove into her over and over.

Her entire body seized at the words, her breath catching on a broken, high moan. “God… Colin… please… d-don’t stop…” she gasped, hips tilting up to meet his next ruthless grind. “I want her to know… want everyone to know… I’m yours… I’m already yours…”

Her nails dug into his back, dragging him closer. “Let her see me wrecked for you… let her see what you’ve done to me…”

Her words broke on a high, needy moan as he thrust even deeper, grinding against her cervix with brutal, perfect pressure.

Her walls clamped down in reflex, her body milking him for every inch.

“So thick—so deep—” she whimpered, her voice wrecked and shaking. “F-fuck—never felt anything like this… you’re splitting me open… filling me too much—”

Colin’s answering growl vibrated against her neck.

“You love it,” he panted, thrusting harder, grinding through the squeeze of her walls with ruthless focus. “Your body’s greedy for it. Can’t get enough, can you? You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched violently. “Yes! God, yes… ruin me… breed me… knot me again—”

She cried out as another hard thrust punched the air from her lungs.

“Fuck me full—don’t stop—Colin—Alpha—please—”

The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room—wet, raw, animal.

Colin’s fingers dug into her hips, holding her down as she writhed beneath him.

“You’re made for this,” he growled into her skin. “Made for me. Made to take every inch of my cock… take every drop until you’re swollen and dripping and bred like you’re supposed to be.”

Her entire body spasmed at the filthy words.

“I feel it—” she sobbed, voice high and shaking, thighs trembling violently around his hips. “Feel you stretching me so deep—feel you inside my belly—oh God, Colin—it’s too much—I love it—don’t stop—”

“Never stopping,” he gritted out, knot swelling fast now. “Not until I know I’ve filled you enough to take… not until you’re carrying me, Penelope… carrying my pups.”

Her scream tore from her throat just as his knot locked tight inside her again, her orgasm crashing over her with dizzying force.

And even then—even knotted, even tied—he kept grinding through the tie, rutting slowly, keeping her milked and overstimulated as she whimpered helplessly beneath him… still begging for more.

Penelope barely had time to catch her breath.

Her body was still trembling from the last wave of release. Her thighs shook. Her neck burned from where Colin’s teeth had threatened to break skin too many times already.

And still… she wanted more.

Needed more.

Her Omega instincts screamed for it.

For finality. For his pups. To be filled with him.

Colin hovered over her, still fully buried inside her, still knotted tight. Sweat clung to his temples, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven gasps.

But it was his eyes—dark, wild, desperate—that told her everything.

He was fighting it. Fighting instinct.

And she was done watching him fight.

“Do it,” she whispered hoarsely.

Colin froze.

Her voice shook, but she forced the words out again, stronger this time. “Fill me, Colin. Mate me.”

His entire body tensed.

“Pen… you’re still sore… still stretched… I should wait… give you time—”

“I don’t want time.” She lifted trembling fingers to cup his face, dragging him down until their foreheads touched. “I want you. All of you.”

Her Omega scent flared—ripe, open, begging.

Something inside Colin snapped.

With a broken groan, he thrust shallowly, grinding deep through the tie, as if instinct wouldn’t let him stop even for this.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice wrecked and shaking. “I can’t be gentle this time.”

“I don’t want gentle,” she gasped, her body arching beneath him. “I want my Alpha.”

That broke him.

Colin dragged his mouth down to her throat, licking and sucking over the already bruised bite mark from before—coating it with his scent, salivating in anticipation like the feral creature he was.

His cock pulsed deep inside her.

His knot tightened again—swelling further, impossibly thick—making her sob with overstretched fullness as her body instinctively rippled around him in answer.

“I’m going to breed you,” he growled low and dark against her neck. “You’ll be filled constantly. We’ll have so many pups Pen.”

“Yes—yes—please—” she whimpered, writhing under him.

And then…

With a brutal, claiming snarl…
Colin was filling her over and over with his seed, shaking and growling as he claimed her again.

Penelope screamed—half from the intense, overwhelming force of yet another powerful orgasm … half from the tidal wave of possessive Alpha pheromones suddenly flooding her body.

Her back arched off the bed, her vision going white-hot with sensory overload, her thighs and pussy quivering after her Alphas delicious assault on her uterus.

Her Omega instincts roared to the surface, locking her muscles around him, making her clamp down hard on his knot in a desperate, primal need to hold him inside.

Her body shook violently as another orgasm tore through her without mercy—triggered purely by him filling her still, by their bond, by the overwhelming rightness of being his completely.

Colin kept thrusting—slow, grinding, shallow but forceful—even as his mouth latched to hers, smothering her with love and deep affection, filling her with his seed and his cock and his entire being.

His knot throbbed, locking impossibly tighter.

And when he finally came again—filling her with another thick, endless wave of heat—it truly felt like he was pouring every ounce of himself into her.

His scent.
His seed.
His claim.
His promise.

When he finally eased —licking and kissing her face and chest with slow, lazy strokes of his tongue and mouth—he stayed pressed deep inside her, holding her tight, cradling her like she was something precious.

His Omega.

His mate.

His future.

Her entire body trembled against him.

Tears wet her lashes—not from pain, but from sheer sensory overload and emotional release.

Colin kissed her eyelids, her temple, the corner of her mouth.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered hoarsely, voice wrecked but full of so much love she could barely breathe through it. “Officially. Fully. Forever.”

Penelope managed a small, broken laugh.

“I was yours the second you dragged me into that garden and long before then,” she whispered back.

His smile against her skin was soft and devastating.

“And you’ll stay mine,” he promised darkly, palming her belly with lazy, possessive strokes. “Until you’re full with our pups… and long after.”

Penelope whimpered at the promise, her body clenching down on him instinctively again.

His answering growl rumbled deep in his chest.

And even knotted…

Even fully bonded…

Colin began to move again.

He should have pulled out. Should have soothed her, kissed her softly, tucked her under the covers and let her rest after such a brutal claiming.

But the second his knot pulsed inside her again… and her walls clamped down like a vice… and her Omega scent bloomed thick and sweet and wrecked in the air around them…

He lost what little restraint he had left.

Still buried to the hilt. Still locked tight. Still tied to her body like nature itself refused to let him leave.

And now…

His hips were moving again.

Slow, grinding, possessive rolls—dragging his thick cock against her oversensitive, battered walls, working through the tie, stretching her all over again from the inside.

Penelope sobbed under him.

A wet, broken sound that made his entire body throb with dark satisfaction.

Her thighs trembled around his waist, her legs weakly kicking against the bed as her overstimulated body tried—and failed—to escape the relentless grind of him still deep inside.

“C-Colin… too much… I… I can’t—” she gasped, voice hoarse and shaking.

But her body told the truth.

She clenched harder.

Gripping him like her body never wanted to let him go.

“Liar,” he rasped against her throat, licking over their bond mark with pride. “You’re milking me, Pen. Squeezing me so tight like you never want me to stop.”

Her answering whimper was pure, raw need.

Her scent only got sweeter.

More slick spilled from her, making the obscene slide of his cock inside her worse—sloppier, wetter—every inch of him grinding against her most sensitive spots.

Her belly felt full. So full. Heavy and hot and stretched.

And still… he kept moving.

“You wanted this,” he growled low in her ear, snapping his hips hard enough to make her cry out again. “Begged me for my knot. Begged me to fill you. Begged me to love you.”

“I—I did,” she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder, her nails clawing at his back. “God… I wanted it… wanted you… want all of it—”

Her words broke on another moan as he gave a hard, brutal grind that made her entire body seize up beneath him.

“I know you did,” he growled, voice thick with pride and feral satisfaction. “And you’ll take more, little Omega. Take everything I give you. Every inch. Every drop.”

Her mind blurred.

Her hands shook.

But still… her hips tilted toward him on instinct.

Opening for him.

Welcoming him deeper.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered against her skin, thrusting through the tie again. “So stretched… so fucked out… so full of me. You’re gonna keep me inside until I know you’re bred.”

Another shudder wracked her.

Penelope let out a soft, broken, cockdrunk laugh through her tears.

“Greedy Alpha,” she gasped.

Colin’s answering growl rumbled deep in his chest, shaking them both.

“Only for you,” he murmured darkly, biting softly at her shoulder as he thrust again, slower this time but still thick and deep and devastating.

“Always for you.”

Colin’s thrusts slowed again, dragging deep and thick through the stretch of her tight, still-clenching walls. Even through the knot, even with her soaked and wrecked and trembling—he couldn’t stop moving. Couldn’t stop chasing the wet, perfect drag of her body around him.

And God, the things she was saying…

Penelope whimpered against his neck, her lips brushing his sweaty skin as she gasped between sobs and breathless, needy praise.

“Colin… so big…” she moaned, her fingers digging into his hair, tugging helplessly. “God… you’re so thick… stretching me too much… but it feels so good… I can’t… I can’t get enough of you—”

His hips jerked at her words, grinding deeper, making her squeal and writhe beneath him.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he growled, dragging his tongue across her bond mark possessively. “Say it again. Tell me how good your Alpha feels inside you.”

Her walls fluttered violently around him at the command.

“You feel perfect,” she gasped, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “So deep—Colin—I can feel you in my stomach—God… you’re still hard… still filling me… I’m already so full—”

Her words slurred into a soft, broken moan when he gave her another slow, punishing thrust.

“Yeah?” he rasped, grinding through her again. “You feel every inch of me, don’t you? Every thick… fucking… inch… stuffing you full, knot still keeping me locked tight.”

She cried out at the words, arching up to take more.

Her Omega instincts surged hot and wild through her veins.

Her body begged for more. More of him. More heat. More of the impossible stretch.

“I want it,” she whimpered. “Want it all. Want you to make me yours again and again.”

Colin’s control shattered completely at that.

His breath caught on a groan as he gave a hard, slow grind that made her sob with overstimulation and filthy want.

“Fuck… Penelope… I’m gonna fill you again,” he promised darkly, nipping at her jaw, her throat, her lips. “Gonna keep you stretched and stuffed until you’re leaking all over these sheets… until you’re dripping with me for days…”

Her eyes rolled back as he moved again—deep, lazy, knot-heavy thrusts that dragged against every hypersensitive, overused spot inside her.

“Want you to breed me,” she gasped suddenly, too cockdrunk and blissed out to filter the words. “Want your pups—God, Colin—please—want to be full of them—”

His entire body went still for one heart-stopping second.

Then… with a deep, guttural snarl that shook the walls, he drove himself as deep as the tie would let him go, grinding with slow, punishing force as her entire body trembled in surrender beneath him.

“Fuck… Pen… you’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathed. “You want my pups?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

“Then you’re gonna take every drop,” he growled, slamming into her again. “Gonna keep my knot right here… locked inside you… until I’m sure… until your little body’s holding our pups safe inside where they belong.”

She sobbed at the promise, her slick gushing helplessly around him.

Colin kept moving—slow and deep and brutal and loving—each thrust a filthy, whispered confession:

“You’re perfect for me.”
“My sweet little Omega, made to take her Alpha.”
“Taking me so good… greedy little thing… sucking me deeper every time.”
“Gonna breed you full… watch you swell with me… watch every other Alpha in London know you’re mine.”

And with her head buried in his neck and her body stretched to breaking, Penelope gave him everything—

Her tears.
Her moans.
Her surrender.
Her heart.

And Colin…
Gave her everything right back.

Including every thick, deep pulse of himself…
As he bred her all over again.

They should have stopped.

Penelope’s body had long since passed the point of overstimulation—her thighs trembling uncontrollably, her slick still leaking in messy, humiliating drips onto the bed beneath them.

Her skin burned.

Her Omega scent hung heavy in the air, thick with bond-heat and exhaustion and open, desperate want.

Colin was still buried inside her. Still locked tight. Still knotted.

And still… he was moving.

Slow now.

Deep.

Each thick roll of his hips made her gasp, her throat raw from crying out already—but still she clung to him, still she begged for more.

Every inch of him dragged against her oversensitive walls, filling her over and over.

“God… Colin…” she whimpered, voice slurred and ruined. “I’m so… so full… it’s too much—”

But her hips lifted to meet him anyway, greedy and slick and needy, chasing the stretch she shouldn’t be able to take again.

Colin groaned low in his throat, nuzzling against her neck, his breath hot against the bond bite still fresh and aching.

“Look at you,” he whispered, kissing the tear-streaked skin just below her ear. “Still letting me fuck you like this… still taking me so deep… even with my knot holding you wide open.”

Her whole body convulsed at the words.

“I can’t help it,” she whimpered, rocking against him as best she could from beneath the weight of him. “I need you… all of you… even when it’s too much… I still want more.”

Colin’s answering growl was soft and sweet and dangerous all at once.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against her throat. “So fucking perfect for me… made for me to fill you… made to take my cock and my knot and everything I give you.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as another slow, deep grind of his hips pushed against her cervix again, sending another dizzy wave of overstimulated pleasure rolling through her.

“I can feel it all,” she gasped, her hands trembling against his back. “You’re so… so thick… God… you’re still stretching me open… I feel so full… like you’re never going to stop… never going to let me go…”

Colin’s smile against her skin was dark and satisfied.

“I’m not,” he whispered roughly. “Not until I’m sure. Not until I know you’re bred.”

Her body locked at the words. Another small, choked sob escaped her throat—half want, half overwhelmed, all Omega instinct.

“I want it,” she whispered, shaky but sure. “Want your pups… want you to make me full again and again… want to feel you inside me for as long as you can stay.”

Her words undid him.

Colin’s hips snapped forward with sudden force, making her scream as her body clamped down hard on his knot again.

“Fuck… Penelope…” he groaned against her neck, kissing her roughly, deeply. “You’re gonna be the death of me saying things like that… you want me to fill you again, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she gasped, already trembling toward another broken, overstimulated orgasm. “Want all of it… want you dripping out of me when you finally pull out… want to feel it always—”

Her words cut off on a sob as Colin shifted again, grinding so deep she saw stars.

“You’ll have it,” he promised darkly. “Every drop… every knot… every fucking litter you want.”

And when she broke apart around him again—tight and fluttering and utterly wrecked—he kissed her through it, his own release following close behind, knot pulsing violently inside her as he spilled even more warmth deep into her already flooded womb.

When they finally stilled, both shaking and breathless and half-delirious, Colin stayed pressed over her, still deep, still tied, still cradling her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world.

And when she finally found the strength to lift her head, she whispered—soft, trembling, but sure:

“I love being your Omega.”

Colin’s heart cracked wide open at the words.

He kissed her slow and sweet and full of promise.

“Forever, Pen,” he whispered back. “You’re mine forever.”

Chapter Text

Penelope woke with her face pressed to Colin’s bare chest, her skin sticky with sweat, her hair damp at the roots, and her throat dry as dust. Her stomach twisted ominously.

At first, she told herself it was nothing. Just the lingering consequence of too many nights spent wrapped around each other like ivy and stone—her body sore, her scent still thick with his knot, with his claiming.

But this… this nausea was sharp. Rising fast, almost violent.

Her eyes flew open.

“Oh… God—”

She lurched upright, scrambling out of the sheets with a panicked, breathless gasp.

Colin sat bolt upright too, heart hammering under his ribs at the sudden loss of her.

“Pen? Sweetheart—what is it?”

Her bare feet hit the cold floor. She didn’t even pause to grab a dressing gown. She barely made it to the washbasin before the first brutal wave hit her—retching so hard she saw stars burst behind her eyelids.

Colin was there in a blink.

“Penelope—oh, darling—easy…”

He dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking as he gathered her tangled hair away from her face.

Her scent filled the air—sweet and sharp, threaded with distress and something else. Something new.

His instincts screamed at him.

He held her until her body quieted, until all that was left were soft, broken hiccups and the occasional trembling shudder.

Then he wet a cloth and pressed it to her lips, then to her flushed, damp forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” she croaked, her throat raw. “Probably just something I ate…”

But she could barely finish the lie. Her stomach rolled again at the thought.

Colin stayed kneeling, staring at her with furrowed brows… and then, slowly, he leaned in.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he buried his face at the curve of her neck.

Inhaled.

Deep. Long.

His entire body locked tight, like a bow drawn to breaking point.

Penelope froze.

Her heart thudded painfully.

The air between them went electric, charged with something unnameable.

“Colin?” she whispered, voice cracking.

He pulled back by inches, his gaze fixed on her like she was something precious… fragile… and utterly changed.

His pupils were blown wide, the ring of hazel swallowed by black.

“You’re carrying me,” he breathed—like a confession, like a prayer.

Her stomach swooped.

“I—what?”

His hands shook as he cupped her face, smoothing damp curls back from her temples.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, reverent now. “With my pup.”

Penelope’s throat closed up. Her vision blurred.

“That’s… that’s impossible.”

Colin laughed—quiet and disbelieving, like it was the only sound he had left.

“No, love. It’s not.”

Her body shook.

Tears spilled hot down her cheeks, and she hated herself for it—hated how easily her emotions betrayed her.

“I wasn’t ready,” she whispered brokenly. “Colin, we’re not even married, and my mother will—”

“I know.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice trembling but sure. “I know, sweetheart. But I will fix this. We’ll fix this.”

“What will people say?” she choked, pressing both fists against her eyes like she could block it all out. “The scandal… the shame…”

“Let them talk,” he said simply.

His tone burned with quiet alpha finality, a low growl beneath the words.

“I’ll marry you tomorrow if you’ll have me,” he added, voice rougher now, lower, full of something possessive and wild. “Or tonight. Right now. I’ll find a vicar and drag him here if that’s what you want.”

Penelope let out a watery, disbelieving laugh that dissolved into another soft sob.

“You can’t mean that…”

“I mean every word, darling.”

His hand slipped lower, wide and steady over her trembling belly.

Her heart cracked painfully at the feel of him there—already protective, already… hers.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking now too. “I love both of you.”

And she let herself fall into him, letting his scent surround her, anchor her… at least for now.

⸻

Later that afternoon, after Colin had tucked her back into bed—layering the blankets over her like she was made of spun glass—there was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” Colin called softly, but he didn’t move from Penelope’s side.

Violet Bridgerton entered quietly, bringing with her a gentle-looking, gray-haired midwife named Mrs. Alcott.

Penelope flushed scarlet.

Colin squeezed her hand, refusing to let go even as the midwife worked.

“She’s a Bridgerton now in all but name,” Violet said softly to Mrs. Alcott, though loud enough for Penelope to hear. “And I expect her to be treated as such.”

Penelope bit her lip, fighting tears again.

Colin pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Easy, darling. Just breathe for me.”

Mrs. Alcott’s hands were cool and professional, but kind. She hummed to herself as she examined Penelope, occasionally glancing at Colin with an unreadable expression before returning to her patient.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping her hands on a cloth and giving them both a small, knowing smile.

“Congratulations, my lady… you are with child.”

Penelope let out a broken, helpless sound—half sob, half sigh of disbelief.

Colin’s grip on her hand tightened, then loosened, only so he could press a line of kisses—first her knuckles, then the delicate skin at her wrist.

Then he wrapped both arms tightly around her waist from behind, curling protectively along her back like he could shield her from the world.

Violet lingered only long enough to brush a kiss to Penelope’s damp hair, whispering, “You’ll be well cared for, I promise you that,” before slipping from the room.

Colin buried his face against her neck the moment they were alone, letting out a shaky breath that sounded more like a growl at the edges.

His hands roamed low—palming, memorizing, staking claim.

⸻

The room was quieter after Violet and the midwife left, but not calmer.

Penelope sat propped against the pillows, her hands pressed nervously to her belly like she still couldn’t quite believe it was real. Her skin was pale, her eyes glassy, her lips bitten pink from worry.

Colin sat beside her, still fully dressed but looking utterly undone.

He hadn’t stopped touching her. Not once.

First it was her hands, then her wrists, then smoothing stray curls back behind her ears. Now… it was her thigh, warm and steady through the blanket, his thumb tracing small, absent circles against her skin like he needed the contact as much as she did.

“Colin…” Her voice cracked, low and trembling. “I don’t know how to do this.”

His heart clenched.

He didn’t hesitate.

“You won’t do this alone,” he said fiercely, turning fully to face her, cupping her cheeks between both hands like she was something breakable and sacred at once. “Not for one single second. I swear it.”

Tears gathered again, despite her best efforts.

“I don’t know how to tell my mother,” she whispered, shame and fear twisting her insides. “She’ll—she’ll scream, Colin. She’ll never forgive me. This is going to ruin everything.”

Colin’s expression darkened—not with anger toward her, but with something hot and protective and wholly alpha.

“I’ll handle her,” he said roughly. “If she yells, she’ll yell at me. If she tries to shame you, I’ll put myself between you and every cruel word that ever leaves her mouth. No one—not your mother, not society, no gossiping neighbor—will ever touch you with their judgment. Not while I’m breathing.”

Penelope made a soft, wounded noise at that—half sob, half laugh.

He kissed her forehead, slow and lingering. Then her cheeks. Then the tip of her nose.

“You’re not ruined,” he whispered. “You’re mine. And you’re perfect.”

Her breath hitched.

He slid his palm low over her belly again, spreading wide over the soft skin hidden beneath her nightgown like he was already trying to shield whatever small, new life had begun inside her.

“I’ll find us a house,” he murmured, like he’d already been thinking of it for hours. “A home we can make ours. With a nursery. With windows that let in the morning sun. I’ll build the crib myself if I have to. Hell, I’ll fill the room with flowers, with toys, with whatever you want.”

His voice dropped lower, softer.

“I’ll give you everything, Penelope. Everything I can give. And then more.”

Her throat closed, overwhelmed.

“I’m scared,” she confessed in a whisper.

“I know,” he said. “So am I. But I swear to God, darling… you’ll never face any of this alone.”

Penelope closed her eyes, letting herself lean into him, soaking in the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart under her ear.

Colin kissed the top of her head.

“And for the record…” His voice turned unexpectedly fond, a low rumble at her crown. “I hope they take after you. Every bit of you. Your heart. Your laugh. Your stubbornness that drives me mad. Your fiery red curls. Your eyes…”

He kissed each eyelid softly.

“And if they inherit even half your courage, they’ll be unstoppable.”

Penelope let out a soft, watery laugh—half tears, half relief.

Her hands gripped his shirt, holding tight like she never wanted to let go.

And Colin… just held her tighter.

As if he never would.

⸻

That night, Colin curled around her like she was something soft and breakable.

His chest pressed to her back, his breath ghosting against her neck with every exhale.

One of his hands lay splayed across her belly, thumb moving in lazy, absent strokes. The other threaded between her fingers beneath the blankets.

“You’re going to grow round for me,” he whispered, voice thick with something between awe and hunger.

Penelope blinked hard, trying not to cry again.

“You’re… you’re scaring me with how calm you’re being,” she admitted softly, turning just enough to glance at him over her shoulder.

Colin smiled against her skin.

“Oh, darling… if you could feel what I’m holding back right now…”

His voice dipped lower, rougher—more heat and gravel than sense.

“You have no idea how badly I want you again. Right now. Knowing you’re already full of me…”

A tremor ran through her.

Colin’s hand moved, slow and possessive, over the soft curve of her belly. Not enough to arouse—but enough to brand. Enough to claim.

“But I won’t rush you,” he murmured, kissing the tender bite-mark he’d left on her neck weeks earlier. The mark had faded but hadn’t quite disappeared.

“I’ll wait,” he promised, kissing her shoulder. “You’ll eat. You’ll sleep. You’ll rest. And when you’re ready… I’ll remind you exactly how we got here.”

Penelope’s heart tripped over itself at the heated promise laced beneath every word.

She let out a trembling, almost disbelieving laugh. “Colin…”

“I mean it,” he said, dragging his lips over the curve of her throat.

“I’ll take care of you, Penelope. Every day. Every hour. Every breath you take.”

And when she finally drifted to sleep, it was with his arms locked firm around her, his hand still spread protectively over her stomach…

And his mouth pressed soft, reverent, endlessly possessive… against her skin.

Chapter Text

The Mayfair art exhibition was packed.

Too many bodies. Too much perfume. Too much noise.

Penelope felt it the moment she stepped inside—the overwhelming crush of scents, the oppressive swirl of silk and cologne and sweat. Every Alpha in the room seemed to turn their head the second she crossed the threshold.

Her hands trembled where they rested on her skirts. The high waist of her gown did little to hide the slight swell of her belly now, but thanks to a carefully placed shawl and strategic draping… most wouldn’t notice.

Not unless they were looking too closely.

Or unless they were an Alpha.

Which, unfortunately… far too many were tonight.

Penelope’s stomach churned—not with sickness this time, but with instinct. Anxiety. The wrong kind of attention was pressing down on her skin like a too-tight bodice.

She shouldn’t have come.

But Colin had insisted.

“You need fresh air,” he’d said that morning, kissing the corner of her mouth as she lay curled on the chaise. “You’ve been cooped up too long. And besides… I’ll be with you.”

And true to his word, he had been… until five minutes ago, when Lord Grantham had cornered him near the portrait gallery to discuss some estate nonsense.

Now she stood near the far wall, fingers twisting nervously in her gloves, painfully aware of the growing attention gathering around her.

Three men.

All unmated.

All Alphas.

And all looking at her like she was something ripe and unattended.

One of them—a sandy-haired Beta named Mr. Abernathy—offered her a too-wide smile.

“Lady Penelope,” he drawled, taking a slow, deliberate step closer. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of speaking this Season.”

Her heart skipped.

Her throat tightened.

The other two men—lesser sons of noble families, but Alphas nonetheless—drifted in her direction like sharks scenting blood in the water.

Penelope backed up, feeling the cold wall press against her shoulder blades.

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” she managed, her voice thin and shaking.

Mr. Abernathy’s nostrils flared. His smile twisted.

“Odd,” he said, voice going low, almost mocking. “You smell… healthy enough to me.”

One of the other men tipped his head, eyeing her with a kind of lazy hunger.

“You smell—”

“Finished.”

The voice that cut through the air was low. Dangerous.

The room seemed to still around it.

Colin.

Penelope’s knees nearly buckled with relief.

The men froze as Colin Bridgerton appeared at the edge of the crowd—his posture pure territorial Alpha, his expression nothing short of lethal.

He crossed the distance in three strides, every movement coiled with fury.

Without hesitation, he placed himself squarely between her and the would-be suitors, shielding her like a wall of muscle and barely restrained violence.

“She’s mine,” Colin said, voice rough and deep with threat. “And she’s carrying.”

Gasps rippled nearby.

The nearest Alpha paled, taking a step back like he’d touched flame.

Mr. Abernathy swallowed visibly. “L-Lord Bridgerton… forgive me, I didn’t realize—”

“You didn’t realize she’s marked?” Colin’s lip curled. “You didn’t notice the shift in her scent? Or did you notice… and come sniffing anyway?”

Abernathy blanched.

The men scattered, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Colin didn’t move immediately.

He stood there, breathing hard, muscles tight under his coat as he dared anyone else to even look her way.

When he finally turned, his expression softened the moment his gaze landed on her.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her against his chest.

Penelope clung to him, shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know how to—”

“Shhh.”

He kissed her hair, low and tender.

“You don’t apologize for being beautiful and mine.”

Her breath caught.

And right there, surrounded by half the ton, Colin nuzzled against her neck and pressed his lips right above her faded bite mark—low, slow, possessive, and entirely unconcerned with who saw.

“Let them look,” he murmured darkly. “Let them remember exactly why no one gets near you again.”

Her Omega instincts unspooled, curling warm and soft inside her, leaving her dizzy with it.

But of course… fate wasn’t done with them yet.

They hadn’t made it twenty steps toward the exit when Penelope heard a shrill voice from behind them.

“Penelope Featherington! What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Penelope froze mid-step.

Her blood ran cold.

Colin went still beside her.

He turned first.

Portia Featherington, in all her powdered, overdressed glory, was storming toward them, trailing both Phillipa and Prudence like over-perfumed vultures.

Colin’s entire body shifted in front of Penelope again, his posture turning once more from protective to downright predatory.

Penelope swallowed hard, already wilting.

“Mother…” she tried weakly. “Please… not here…”

But Portia wasn’t listening.

“Not here?” her mother sneered. “Not after you’ve been caught wrapped around this Bridgerton like some desperate little guttersnipe? Do you know what people are saying? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to this family’s reputation?”

“Mother, stop—”

“Oh, don’t pretend at modesty now!” Portia hissed. “I’ve heard the rumors. Do you think you can trap him with some ridiculous story about being with child? As if any Bridgerton would lower themselves to—”

“That’s enough.”

Colin’s voice dropped so low Penelope barely heard it.

But the effect…

Portia stumbled mid-rant, startled by the sheer threat lacing his tone.

Colin stepped forward.

Deliberate. Controlled. Dangerous.

His eyes burned cold.

“If you say one more word against Penelope,” he said slowly, “I will make it my personal mission to see you barred from every drawing room and dinner party in London. Every invitation revoked. Every door closed.”

Portia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Phillipa and Prudence stared, eyes wide.

“And let me be very clear,” Colin added, tilting his head just slightly, the smile that followed thin and sharp as a blade, “If either of you—” he flicked his gaze to Penelope’s sisters “—dare to speak ill of her… or of our child… I will not be nearly so polite.”

Penelope gasped softly, her heart breaking and mending all at once at his words.

Colin’s arm wrapped tight around her waist.

“And before you ask,” he said coolly, “Yes. She’s carrying my pup. Yes. I’m marrying her. And yes… I’ll tear apart anyone who tries to shame her for it.”

Another sharp intake of breath from somewhere nearby—another scandalized guest eavesdropping.

Colin didn’t care.

Portia, for once in her life, seemed utterly speechless.

Penelope buried her face in Colin’s shoulder, too stunned to do anything else.

Colin kissed her temple and guided her swiftly toward the exit.

“Let them choke on their gossip,” he murmured into her hair as they left. “Let them whisper until their tongues fall out. All that matters now… is you. And our pup. And the life we’re going to build.”

Penelope’s chest ached—with relief, with fear, with something dangerously close to hope.

When they reached the waiting carriage, Colin helped her inside, following close behind and pulling her into his lap the second the door closed.

His hands slid to her belly again.

His lips pressed to her throat, then to her pulse point, then low—right where their pup grew hidden beneath her skin.

“You’re mine,” he breathed. “Both of you. Always.”

And as the carriage rolled away from Mayfair, Penelope allowed herself to believe him.

Even if just for tonight.

⸻

Penelope sat curled on the chaise in Colin’s bedroom, wrapped in one of his soft dressing gowns, still trembling slightly from the events at the exhibition. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room.

Colin stood at the window, hands shoved into his pockets, staring out at the city lights like he was already halfway across town, halfway to building something bigger… something permanent.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, he turned toward her.

His expression softened the moment their eyes met.

“I’ve found us a house,” he said quietly, moving toward her.

Penelope blinked, startled. “A house?”

Colin knelt in front of her, taking both her hands between his, rubbing slow, soothing circles over her knuckles.

“In Bloomsbury,” he said, smiling faintly like the words tasted good just to say. “It’s quiet there. Green space. Enough distance from Mayfair that your mother won’t just… appear on the doorstep uninvited. And more importantly…” His gaze warmed, went soft at the edges. “Enough space for you to breathe.”

Penelope’s throat tightened.

“You’ve already been looking?” she whispered.

“Every day since the morning you were sick,” he admitted, ducking his head a little as if embarrassed by how fast he’d moved. “I needed… something to do. Something to build for you, Anthony and Benedict assisted me too.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips, kissed each one like a vow.

“There’s a library,” he went on, voice low and full of something reverent. “A proper one. Shelves to the ceiling. Light from the east-facing windows so you’ll get morning sun while you read.”

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest.

“A garden,” Colin continued, shifting closer. “Big enough for you to grow every ridiculous flower you’ve ever wanted. Roses. Daisies. Even those climbing vines you’ve talked about that ruin the brickwork.”

She let out a watery laugh. “Wisteria?”

“Yes, that.” He smiled. “You can ruin the whole bloody house with wisteria if it makes you happy.”

Her vision blurred with tears she couldn’t stop.

“And the nursery?” she asked softly.

Colin’s smile deepened.

“Already picked out the room,” he said, resting one hand carefully over her belly again. “Big windows. Thick curtains to block out too much sun for daytime naps. Enough space for cradles, toys… whatever you want. Enough room for more than one crib, actually.”

Penelope’s breath caught.

“Colin—”

He kissed her knuckles again.

“I’m not saying we have to fill it right away,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. “But… someday. When you’re ready. When we’re ready.”

Her whole body warmed.

“And there are guest rooms,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “Enough for family to visit. Or to stay. For your sisters if… well… no. Actually, no, scratch that.” He made a face. “They’re not staying overnight. But Eloise… Gregory… Hyacinth… they’ll have space when they want to come spoil the pup.”

Penelope laughed, the sound breaking loose without warning.

Colin grinned wide at the sound like it was the greatest thing he’d heard all night.

“And the house will be ready in time?” she asked quietly.

“It’ll be ready before you’re showing properly,” he promised. “And I’ll carry you across the threshold myself.”

Penelope’s eyes filled again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hopelessly,” he agreed. “But for you? Always.”

Then, softer: “I want you settled somewhere safe, somewhere happy. Somewhere that’s yours as much as it’s mine. A place where no one can touch you, or look at you like they did tonight, or make you feel like you’re anything less than treasured.”

Her heart cracked wide at that.

Colin kissed her again—soft and lingering, tasting like home already.

“Bloomsbury is just the start, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We’re going to build our whole life from there. An empire, if you want it. A library, a garden… a nursery… and whatever else your heart wants.”

She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his cedar and spice scent, letting herself hope for the first time that maybe… just maybe… this could all be real.

And when he carried her to bed minutes later, his hands never strayed far from her belly.

Or from the promise of their future growing just beneath her skin.

Chapter Text

Penelope stood before the long mirror in the Bridgerton guest room, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers trembling against the silk of her gown.

Cream. Soft. Delicate.

It hugged her in all the right places—skimming lightly over the still-small swell of her belly, the empire waist forgiving yet elegant. The lace sleeves felt like something out of a dream, and the tiny pearl pins scattered through her hair glinted faintly every time she moved.

It wasn’t the wedding the ton expected. Not the grand church spectacle her mother had once raved about. No processional aisle lined with nobility, no towering cake, no orchestra.

But it was hers.

And it was Colin’s.

That made it perfect.

Her throat tightened as she smoothed her hands over the fabric one last time, willing herself not to cry—not yet, not before the vows.

Then the door opened.

And there he was.

Colin.

Tall and beautiful and just slightly out of breath, like he’d run up the stairs to see her before anyone could stop him.

His dark coat was perfectly cut, his cravat crisp… but none of that mattered when she saw the look on his face.

His gaze roved over her like he couldn’t believe she was real. Like he was starving for the sight of her.

“Sweetheart…” His voice broke, low and hoarse. “You’re… God, you’re beautiful.”

Penelope let out a helpless, watery laugh. “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

He crossed the room in three strides, cupping her face between his hands like she was made of glass.

“I need you to know something before this starts,” he said, voice shaking at the edges. “I would have married you like this even without the scandal. Even without the pup. Months ago. Years ago. It’s always been you, Penelope.”

Her heart cracked open.

“Colin—”

“I love you.” His thumbs swept away the tear that slipped free. “I love you, and I love our pup. And I swear, for the rest of my life… you’ll never doubt it. Not for one second.”

Her breath hitched.

“I don’t doubt it,” she whispered.

His smile… soft, wrecked, adoring… was her undoing.

⸻

The small ceremony took place in the Bridgerton garden under a hastily constructed white canopy.

Spring flowers—cut fresh from the estate hothouse that very morning—twined through the arch above them.

Violet had found a harpist on impossibly short notice.

Eloise had tied ribbons into Penelope’s hair with shaking, excited hands.

Benedict made terrible, ill-timed jokes to distract her from her nerves right up until the moment she walked outside.

Anthony stood behind Colin, tall and proud, his hand squeezing Colin’s shoulder once as she stepped into view.

Penelope’s steps were slow, uncertain—but her gaze never left Colin’s.

He stood waiting for her at the end of the short aisle, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling with deep, barely controlled breaths.

And when she reached him…

His hands didn’t tremble.

Not once.

He took both of hers in his, steady and sure, and when the vicar asked for his vows, Colin’s voice rang clear over the garden:

“With everything I am, I take you.”

“With every breath, I’ll protect you.”

“With every beat of my heart, I’ll love you.”

Her breath caught on a sob as she repeated her own vows back, her voice shaking but true.

And when he kissed her—slow and full and without apology—the entire garden went silent.

Even Anthony didn’t complain.

Penelope smiled into her husband’s mouth.

Her husband.

Her Alpha.

Her forever.

⸻

The reception was small but bright with laughter.

The Bridgertons filled every corner of the drawing room with chatter and clinking glasses. Eloise teased her mercilessly about how quickly she’d caught a Bridgerton brother. Benedict lifted his glass and toasted to “the scandal of the year, and also… the luckiest brother among us.”

Anthony smiled at that too, expressing happiness for them.

Colin stayed close to her the whole time. One hand never left her lower back. His thumb stroked lazy, secret circles over her belly when no one was looking.

More than once, she caught him staring at her with that soft, heated expression—the one that said he still couldn’t believe she was his.

At one point, when the guests were distracted, he leaned low to whisper in her ear.

“You’re glowing, sweetheart.”

She flushed. “That’s just the heat from the fire.”

He chuckled darkly. “It’s you carrying my pup. That’s what it is.”

Her face burned hot as he pressed a slow kiss behind her ear, just out of sight.

And when it was finally time for them to leave for Bloomsbury—Violet handing her a small bouquet of forget-me-nots for luck, Eloise shoving a wrapped cake parcel into her hands at the last minute—Colin swept her into the carriage like she weighed nothing.

⸻

The house in Bloomsbury was everything he promised.

And more.

When she stepped through the front door, she could only stand there… overwhelmed.

Light poured through tall windows. The entryway smelled faintly of fresh paint and cedar from the newly sanded floors.

Everywhere she looked… there were touches of him.

Her.

Them.

Fresh lilacs sat in a vase by the staircase.

The parlor had soft, pale walls—nothing too grand or intimidating.

And the library…

Oh God, the library.

Two full floors of shelving, already half-filled with books he’d begun collecting for her.

Sunlight streamed across the floor.

There was even a small writing desk tucked near the window, with space for her notes and letters.

Penelope pressed her fingers to her lips, turning in slow, stunned circles.

“I… I don’t have words for this…” she whispered.

Colin stepped behind her, wrapping both arms around her waist.

His nose buried at the curve of her neck as he murmured, low and thick with pride:

“I’ll never get tired of watching you walk through rooms I built for you.”

Her knees wobbled.

And when he guided her upstairs, his hands steady at her hips, he led her straight to the nursery.

Soft cream wallpaper. Empty for now… but waiting.

A rocking chair already sat in the corner. A small bassinet rested against the far wall.

Her eyes filled again.

“Colin…”

“This is only the beginning, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll fill this house with everything you love. With laughter. With books. With flowers.”

He pulled back just enough to cup her face.

“With pups,” he added softly, kissing her deeply, thoroughly, until she forgot where the floor was.

When she finally pulled back for air, her head spinning, she whispered against his lips:

“You’re insatiable.”

Colin grinned, utterly unrepentant.

“For you? Always.”

Chapter Text

The bedroom door barely clicked closed behind them before Colin had her in his arms.

Penelope gasped, her back hitting the cool wood with a soft thud as her new husband crowded into her space with all the pent-up restraint of the past weeks crumbling into dust.

His mouth was on hers before she could breathe—a deep, hungry, almost desperate kiss that tasted like everything he’d been holding back.

“Mine,” Colin growled against her lips, voice low and rough and completely ruined. “You’re mine now. No more hiding. No more waiting. No more damned interruptions.”

Her fingers twisted into the front of his coat, dragging him closer with instinctive force, like some deep part of her was just as desperate as he was.

“Always yours,” she whispered back, breath trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

That broke something in him.

With a low snarl, Colin scooped her up—one arm hooking under her thighs, the other tight around her back—and carried her across the room like she weighed nothing at all.

She barely had time to gasp before he laid her down in the centre of their enormous marital bed, spreading her out like something precious… and utterly his.

For a few long, burning seconds, he just stood above her, staring.

Peeling off his coat.

Then his cravat.

His waistcoat.

Button by button, he stripped away everything between them, until he stood there in shirtsleeves, chest rising and falling hard, his green eyes dark and endless.

“You’ve been driving me mad for weeks,” he rasped, his voice wrecked. “Every time I looked at you… smelled you… watched you sleep in my house… wearing my shirts…” His hands shook slightly as he climbed onto the bed, stalking her like prey. “I’ve barely touched you. Barely tasted you. And tonight… that ends.”

Her thighs trembled as he knelt between them, both hands sliding under her skirts with rough, impatient movements.

Her breath hitched. “Colin, wait—”

But they both knew she didn’t mean it.

His gaze locked with hers, every inch of him taut and trembling with restraint.

“Tell me to stop,” he said hoarsely, voice shaking at the edges. “Tell me now, Pen… before I forget how.”

She dragged him down to her, kissing him hard, her teeth catching his bottom lip in a way that made him groan.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she whispered.

That was it.

That was all he needed.

His control shattered.

⸻

Her gown hit the floor in moments.

Colin kissed down her neck, tracing his teeth over the faded scar of the mark he’d left during their first heat, then lower—over her breasts, her belly… pausing there.

His lips grazed her soft skin like a prayer.

His hand splayed wide and possessive across her abdomen, right where their pup grew beneath the surface.

“You’re already carrying me,” he murmured, his voice dark with awe and hunger. “Already growing round for me… and tonight, you’ll take even more of me.”

Her Omega instincts flared, sending hot, tingling waves through her skin. Her body ached to be filled again, claimed again, knotted and kept.

Her hips lifted toward him instinctively.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Colin surged up, stripping the rest of his clothes with shaking hands, finally freeing himself.

Penelope’s breath caught when she saw him fully—long and thick, already flushed dark with need, glistening at the tip.

Somehow… she’d forgotten how big he was. Or maybe she hadn’t forgotten at all… maybe her body had just craved it in the background every single night.

“Colin…” she whimpered.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised—but even as he said it, his voice betrayed the lie.

He lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds, making them both gasp.

Her scent… sweet and thick and perfect… filled the air like a drug.

“Look at you,” he groaned, pushing just the tip inside, stretching her open. “So soft… so tight… still made for me.”

Her hands scrabbled at his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin when he pressed deeper.

Her head tipped back, breath catching.

“Colin—please—more—”

That was it.

That was his breaking point.

With a guttural snarl, Colin slammed into her with one deep, thick, punishing thrust—seating himself fully, knot base already swelling slightly, forcing her body to yield.

Penelope cried out, her legs locking tight around his waist.

Her Omega instincts roared to the surface, clawing at him, needing more.

His hips moved hard and fast, setting a brutal, possessive pace that had the bed frame groaning beneath them.

He braced one hand against the headboard, the other cradling the back of her neck like he couldn’t decide whether to hold her close or completely devour her.

“Mine,” he growled at her throat. “My wife. My Omega. My mate. Mine… forever.”

Her body tightened around him with each word, every thrust hitting deeper, harder.

Her eyes glazed with heat and tears and overwhelming pleasure.

Her belly arched toward him as if even her womb knew… this was where she belonged.

Her orgasm built fast and devastating—her inner muscles pulsing around him, drawing him deeper, begging for his knot, his seed, his everything.

Colin’s knot swelled fast, thick and hot at the base, locking her open and helpless beneath him.

She felt the stretch.

Felt herself being filled… stretched wide… made to take every inch.

Her voice broke on a sob.

“I love you,” she whimpered, voice shaking, high and cracked and full of raw need. “Husband… fill me again… make me yours—”

The sound Colin made was pure animal.

He surged forward and bit down hard over her faded mark—claiming her again, marking her skin with new bruised color, renewing the bond between them with brutal, beautiful finality.

His knot popped inside her with one hard, final thrust.

Penelope screamed for him as he spilled deep—hot and thick and endless.

Colin didn’t stop moving until he felt every last drop locked tight where it belonged.

Their breathing slowed gradually, ragged and shallow, their bodies trembling and slick with sweat.

Knot swollen, bodies pressed tight, he curled protectively over her, cradling her belly with one wide hand, stroking her skin softly now… reverent where he’d been ruthless.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her swollen lips. “So perfect… so good for me…”

Her eyes fluttered shut, but she smiled—small and wrecked and content.

When she drifted into sleep, Colin stayed awake a little longer.

His hand never left her belly.

And in the dark, with his knot still keeping them tied together, he whispered one more promise against her hair:

“Forever, Penelope. For better… for worse… you’re mine.”

⸻

Penelope woke slowly.

Her body ached in ways she’d never known before—deep, low, sweet aches that left her flushed and sore and dizzy with memory.

Her neck tingled from the still-fresh bite mark, her thighs trembled at the slightest shift, and between her legs…

Oh God.

She was full.

Still full.

Her Omega instincts hummed lazily at the sensation of being well-knotted and well-loved.

The soft morning light streamed through the bedroom curtains, painting golden stripes across the silk sheets tangled around her waist. The air smelled like cedar, like skin, like sweat… like Colin.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning, wife,” came his low, lazy voice from somewhere near the hearth.

Penelope blinked blearily and turned her head.

Colin was sitting in the armchair near the fire, already dressed in loose linen trousers and a shirt that hung open at the collar. His dark hair was tousled, his skin still faintly flushed from their earlier exertions.

And his gaze…

His gaze was pure, unrepentant sin.

“Colin…” she croaked, her voice scratchy and hoarse.

The grin that curled at the corner of his mouth was far too satisfied.

“Careful, love,” he drawled, standing and strolling toward her with slow, lazy steps. “You sound as wrecked as you look.”

Her face went up in flames.

“Behave yourself husband,” she mumbled, immediately contradicted by the way she turned into his touch when he sat at the edge of the bed and cupped her face.

“Oh my darling wife,” he said, dropping a slow kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her still-swollen lips. “You love me. Desperately.”

She let out a small, embarrassed laugh.

“I… might slightly adore you.”

Colin huffed a low laugh against her temple, kissing her again.

Then, with entirely too much smug amusement:

“How’s the… ah… walking situation this morning, darling?”

Penelope gasped and smacked his chest weakly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re sore,” he teased, trailing a hand down to her hip, squeezing gently. “Didn’t help that you kept begging for more… and more… and—”

“Stop talking,” she hissed, burying her face in the pillow.

Colin chuckled, utterly delighted.

But then…

His teasing softened.

His hand slid lower, resting warm and protective over her belly.

His thumb stroked there, slow and tender.

“You’re not moving a muscle today,” he said, voice dropping low with quiet Alpha authority. “You stay in this bed. I’ll bring you breakfast. And tea. And whatever else you want.”

Penelope peeked up at him, eyes soft now.

“I can manage—”

“No, sweetheart,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You don’t have to ‘manage’ anymore. Not with me.”

Her heart squeezed painfully at that.

Colin leaned down, brushing his lips over her temple, lingering there for a moment before moving to press another kiss over the fresh bite on her neck.

“You’re going to rest. You’re going to let me spoil you. And when your legs stop shaking…” His voice dropped another octave, going positively wicked. “…we’ll see if I can make you limp again.”

Penelope groaned, tossing the pillow over her head.

“Colin! You’re terrible.”

Colin laughed—a low, delighted rumble—and tugged the pillow away so he could see her flushed, sleepy, utterly loved face.

“Too bad,” he whispered, kissing her soundly. “You’re stuck with me.”

Before she could argue, he stood and moved toward the door.

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” he said over his shoulder. “And something sweet. You need your strength… can’t have my Omega wasting away.”

Her cheeks burned again, but… the warmth inside her was undeniable.

As the door closed behind him, Penelope curled deeper under the blankets, one hand resting instinctively over her belly.

For once in her life… she didn’t dread what came next.

She waited for him to come back, already smiling into her pillow.

⸻

Penelope drifted in and out of sleep for the next half hour, half-lost in the lingering haze of their wedding night…

The ache between her thighs…
The weight of the new mark on her neck…
The dull, satisfied soreness low in her belly…
And most of all—Colin’s scent lingering heavy on her skin and in the air around her.

When the door finally creaked open again, she roused enough to lift her head—just in time to see him come back in, balancing a tray like he was delivering treasure.

“Good morning again, my love,” Colin said, grinning far too wide for someone who should be at least a little ashamed of himself.

The tray held a full breakfast: warm buttered toast, soft scrambled eggs, a pile of sugared strawberries, and a delicate pot of tea with two cups.

Atop everything sat a single violet tucked beside her napkin—probably stolen from the garden.

Penelope’s throat tightened at the sight of it.

Colin set the tray carefully across her lap and leaned down to kiss her cheek—lingering there for a moment longer than necessary, nuzzling like he couldn’t help himself.

“Eat,” he said softly. “You need your strength.”

“I’m not an invalid,” she muttered, though her stomach did choose that moment to rumble traitorously.

“No, but you are thoroughly, completely, deliciously ruined,” he whispered with a wicked grin, letting his hand trail over the blankets… directly between her thighs.

Penelope squeaked and swatted at him, face flaming. “Colin!”

He laughed but didn’t press… this time.

Instead, he settled beside her, pulling her back gently against his chest so she sat propped against him, tucked in the curve of his body like she belonged there.

“Open,” he said, picking up a strawberry and holding it to her lips.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can feed myself.”

“Yes,” he agreed easily, brushing the berry over her mouth with slow, teasing strokes. “But I like feeding you better.”

Blushing furiously but too hungry—and too soft inside—to argue, Penelope opened her mouth and let him press the berry between her lips.

Colin hummed his approval low in his throat as she bit down.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth again, licking away a trace of juice like he couldn’t help himself.

They ate like that—slow and lazy, him feeding her bites between kisses, his hands never straying far from her belly, her waist, or her neck.

At one point, when she reached for her tea, he stilled her with a soft touch to her wrist.

“Let me,” he said simply, lifting the cup and holding it to her lips.

Penelope rolled her eyes but let him do it anyway.

When she pulled back, she caught the fond, utterly wrecked look on his face—the one he wore when he was staring at her like she hung the bloody moon.

“What?” she asked softly.

Colin smiled against her hair.

“Just thinking how beautiful you are like this,” he murmured. “Soft and flushed and tucked into my bed… wearing my mark… carrying my pup…”

His hand slid instinctively over her belly again, slow and protective.

Her heart tripped.

“Colin…”

“And thinking,” he added, dropping his voice lower, more gravel and promise than words now, “about how I fully intend to spend the rest of my life making you feel like this… every single morning.”

Penelope laughed then—soft and a little tear-wet from how full her chest felt.

“Hopeless,” she whispered.

“Entirely,” he agreed.

And when she finally set the empty tray aside and curled back into him, Colin pulled the blankets higher around them both and held her tighter.

“Sleep a little more,” he murmured, brushing slow kisses into her hair. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

And with his arms locked around her… Penelope believed him.

Chapter Text

It was a few months later, Colin and Penelope had settled into married life well. Their days filled with happiness, love and time preparing for their growing family.

Penelope knew—deep in her bones—that something was different the moment she opened her eyes that morning.

The air in the bedroom felt… heavier. Thicker. Like it had weight.

Her skin prickled with restless energy she couldn’t name. Her back and hips ached low and deep, like a slow-burning throb she couldn’t stretch away.

She shifted under the covers, uncomfortable in her own body for reasons she couldn’t explain.

A soft whimper escaped her before she could stop it.

Colin noticed instantly.

Of course he did.

Even half-asleep, he was attuned to her scent like a hound to blood.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was rough with sleep but already thick with concern, pure Alpha instinct coming alive under his skin. He reached for her before his eyes even opened. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Penelope bit her lip, staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to lie.

To tell him it was nothing. Just stiffness. Just a restless night. Just… anything but the growing fear settling low and tight in her belly.

Her heart knocked against her ribs.

“Back pain,” she finally whispered. “Just a little… ache.”

Colin’s eyes opened fully at that. Wide. Alert.

And they stayed open.

“Since when?”

He was already sitting up, brushing her sweat-damp hair back from her forehead.

She buried her face in his chest, trying to disappear into him.

“Since this morning,” she murmured.

Colin was out of bed in seconds.

⸻

By mid-afternoon…

It was no longer something she could ignore.

The dull ache had sharpened, twisting into something that stole her breath with every passing minute.

The first real contraction hit while she was standing at the bedroom window, staring out over the small garden, trying to distract herself with the sight of distant carriages and passing pedestrians.

The pain bent her in half.

Her hands slammed against the window frame.

Her forehead pressed hard to the cold glass as she gasped for air.

“Pen?”

Colin’s voice rang sharp across the room.

Before she could straighten, he was there. Hands on her waist. Steady. Strong. His chest pressed to her back like a shield.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed, easing her toward the bed. “You’re not moving from here.”

Her legs barely worked as he lowered her carefully onto the mattress, arranging pillows behind her back like she was made of glass.

“I’m sending for the midwife,” he said, already shouting for a servant before she could protest.

“No—” she tried to argue, but her voice cracked around the next contraction tearing through her minutes later.

It wasn’t just back pain anymore.

It was starting.

And there was no stopping it now.

⸻

The next two hours blurred.

Penelope floated in and out of awareness, her mind frayed from the pain and panic, her body drenched in sweat.

Colin stayed at her side.

Always.

When she whimpered, he kissed her forehead.

When she sobbed, he kissed her cheeks, wiped her tears.

When she screamed, he pressed his mouth to her hair, whispering encouragement like it was a prayer.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart… Just breathe… That’s it… I’m here… I’ve got you…”

His hands never stopped moving—soothing, anchoring, holding her tight through every wave.

The midwife arrived at sunset.

Mrs. Adler—stern, experienced, all brisk efficiency but with a surprisingly gentle touch when it counted.

“It’s time, my lady,” she said simply, rolling up her sleeves.

Colin’s heart nearly stopped.

Penelope clung to his hand like she’d never let go.

“I’m here,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he wasn’t.

Not for one second.

⸻

When Penelope finally bore down, screaming from the effort, shaking so violently Colin was half-sure she’d break apart in his arms…

The first cry filled the room.

High. Sharp. Angry.

A boy.

Their son.

Colin let out something between a laugh and a sob, utterly wrecked as he kissed Penelope’s damp hair again and again.

Mrs. Adler placed the tiny, red-faced child in her trembling arms.

Penelope let out a broken, disbelieving sound—half-sob, half-laugh—as she cradled him against her chest.

“He’s perfect,” she whispered hoarsely, kissing their son’s damp head.

Colin pressed trembling kisses to her temple.

“You did it,” he breathed, voice cracking. “God, Pen… you did it.”

Her exhausted smile nearly undid him.

For one beautiful, blissful moment… Colin let himself believe it was over.

That this was it.

That this was their everything.

⸻

Until she screamed again.

Her body arched in his arms, locked tight as another contraction ripped through her.

Colin’s blood went cold.

“Penelope—?” Panic laced every syllable.

“Something’s wrong,” she gasped, her voice ragged with terror. “Colin—something’s—”

Mrs. Adler’s voice cut through the haze of panic with clinical calm:

“Another babe coming.”

Colin’s stomach dropped like a stone.

Another?

Penelope’s face drained of color.

Her eyes flooded with tears as she looked up at him with stunned horror.

“Another one?” she choked. “H-How…?”

Colin cupped her face between his shaking hands, holding her gaze as steady as he could manage through his own rising fear.

“I don’t know, sweetheart… but you’ve got this. You hear me? You’ve got this.”

Her whole body trembled.

“Colin—”

“I’m here,” he whispered, kissing her damp cheeks, smoothing her hair back. “Right here.”

Penelope’s nails clawed at his shirt as the next wave hit, her scream tearing from her throat like it was breaking her apart.

And then—

Another cry.

Another boy.

Their second son.

Colin’s heart felt too big for his chest.

Tears streamed down his face as he kissed Penelope over and over—her hair, her temple, her sweat-soaked brow.

“Two,” he whispered, laughing and crying all at once. “Two, love. Two.”

Her sob turned into a broken, exhausted laugh.

But before either of them could breathe—before they could even process—

Her body tensed again.

Her breath hitched sharp and panicked.

“No,” she gasped, shaking her head wildly, already half-mad with pain. “No… no more… I can’t—”

Another contraction surged through her like a tidal wave.

Her scream ripped through the room.

Colin’s vision went black at the edges as fear crashed down over him.

“How many did you put in me, Colin?!” she screamed—half-hysterical, half-delirious.

For one long, suspended breath, the world seemed to stop.

Colin froze.

Penelope’s terrified words echoed in the small bedroom like cannon fire.

How many?

His throat closed around the lump of panic rising fast.

The midwife was already moving—rolling up her sleeves again, giving firm orders to the maid to bring more hot water, fresh cloths.

Colin barely heard her.

All he could hear was Penelope’s broken, terrified sob as another contraction tore through her.

“Colin—please—” she cried, writhing in the bed, her hands clawing for him, for something to hold onto, for any anchor in the middle of this storm.

He was at her side instantly.

Kneeling by the bed.

Cupping her tear-soaked face in shaking hands.

Her skin burned hot under his palms.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her temple. “I’m here. I’m here, I swear.”

Her wide, glassy eyes locked on his, panic threatening to drown her.

“I c-can’t do this again, Colin… I—” She broke off with a sob as her body locked up against the next contraction.

“Yes, you can,” he whispered fiercely, pressing his forehead to hers, barely holding back his own tears. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You’re braver than me. Braver than anyone.”

Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

Her hands shook where they clung to him.

“Pen, listen to me,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, anywhere he could reach. “You’re not alone. I’m right here. I won’t leave you. Not for a single second.”

Another contraction built—stronger, deeper, more violent than the last.

Her scream ripped through him like a knife.

Colin cursed under his breath, his heart breaking in slow, brutal pieces as she pushed.

And then—

After what felt like years—

Another cry.

A third.

Higher.

Softer.

A girl.

Their daughter.

Colin’s vision blurred as the sound hit him.

Three.

Three.

His knees nearly gave way.

The midwife’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears: “A little lady this time.”

Colin let out a wet, broken laugh.

Penelope collapsed back against the pillows with a ragged, exhausted sob.

Tears streamed down her face unchecked.

Her whole body trembled violently as the aftershocks of pain and adrenaline left her shaking.

But when Mrs. Adler gently placed the tiny, screaming girl into her arms—nestled alongside her two already-swaddled brothers—Penelope’s sobs turned soft.

Shaky.

But full of something warm and stunned and alive.

Colin leaned over them both—pressing soft kisses to her hair, her cheek, her temple—whispering her name again and again like a prayer.

“My brave girl,” he breathed, voice thick and wrecked. “My sweet, perfect, fierce Omega…”

Her tears wet his throat as she buried her face against him.

Colin held her tighter, one hand carefully cradling her head, the other trembling as it stroked over her lower belly.

Soft now. Empty. But still radiating heat from the effort she’d given.

His touch drifted lower, fingers curling around her hip possessively, like he could somehow protect her body from the pain that had wracked it for hours.

“You did it,” he whispered hoarsely. “God, Pen… you did it.”

Her voice shook. “I… I thought I was going to die.”

“So did I,” he admitted, laughing wetly against her hair. “For a minute, I really thought I might lose you.”

Her arms trembled as she curled tighter around their babies.

Colin’s throat went tight as he watched her rock them all against her chest, trying so desperately to calm herself and the newborns at the same time.

The midwife and maid worked quietly in the background—clearing linens, tidying supplies—but to Colin, the world narrowed down to just this bed.

Just her.

Just them.

When the room was finally quiet, and the midwife stepped back with a nod of approval, Colin eased onto the bed beside Penelope, careful not to jar her too much.

He gathered her close.

Held her and all three pups like they were made of glass.

Penelope sniffled weakly, voice hoarse. “Three. There were three.”

Colin smiled into her hair, still breathless with disbelief. “I know.”

Her fingers curled weakly into his shirtfront.

Then… in a voice so small and exhausted it nearly broke him all over again… she whispered:

“How many did you put in me, Colin?”

His chest shook with a quiet, breathless laugh.

Then he kissed her again.

Soft. Slow. Full of everything he couldn’t say aloud yet.

“You’re going to throw that line at me for the rest of our lives, aren’t you?” he teased gently, voice low and fond.

Her laugh came out wet and wobbly. “Yes.”

Colin kissed her again, his heart so full he thought it might burst.

“I don’t care how many,” he whispered against her skin. “I’d give you a hundred if you’d let me.”

Her breath hitched. “Don’t you dare.”

“I love you,” he said instead, curling tighter around her.

Her eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling her under again.

But before she drifted off fully, her voice came soft and sure:

“I love you too.”

Colin stayed awake long after her breathing evened out.

Guarding them all.

Watching over his mate… and their pups.

And for the first time in his life…

Colin Bridgerton truly understood what it meant to love something more than himself.

Three.

Three pups.

His mate.

His family.

His everything.

And God help him…

He’d do it all again if she asked.

Chapter Text

The room smelled of sweat, salt, and the sharp metallic tang of birth.

The bed was a tangle of sheets, towels, and discarded linens. Penelope lay back against the pillows, her skin pale and clammy, her hair plastered to her temples in damp, curling tendrils.

Her nightdress—what remained of it—was pushed down around her waist, leaving her chest bare for the tiny, squirming bundles resting against her.

Three of them.

Two boys. One girl.

Her arms barely seemed big enough to hold them all.

Colin didn’t know how to breathe.

He sat at the edge of the bed, still stripped down to his shirtsleeves, his hands shaking as he reached out—one trembling palm cupping the smallest head, the other smoothing gently down the back of one of the boys.

“They’re… they’re all so small,” he whispered hoarsely, as if the words couldn’t even find their footing in his throat.

Mrs. Adler worked quietly in the background, changing linens, wiping down Penelope’s legs with warm water, cleaning what evidence of the ordeal she could without disturbing the fragile new peace.

Colin had barely noticed her presence. His entire world… was right here.

Penelope blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, her cheeks tear-streaked and blotchy.

But her arms never loosened.

Her fingers kept stroking each tiny back in turn, her touch shaky but determined.

“Three,” she whispered, her voice thin and wrecked and full of disbelief. “Colin… three.”

He laughed then—choked and wet and still half a sob. “I know.”

His throat burned. His chest ached.

God, he loved her.

He loved her so much it physically hurt.

“You’re… incredible,” he breathed, leaning down to press a long, shaking kiss to her temple. “You… Penelope Bridgerton… you’re the most… God, I don’t even have the words for you.”

Her smile was weak but real, her lips curling faintly at the edges. “You’re crying.”

“Of course I’m crying,” he choked out, dragging a hand across his face with a disbelieving laugh. “Did you see what you just did?”

She huffed the faintest laugh in return, then winced as her body shifted.

Immediately, Colin was there—adjusting pillows behind her back, shifting the weight of the pups to ease the strain on her arms.

“Let me hold them,” he whispered.

She nodded wordlessly.

One by one, with trembling care, he lifted each tiny bundle into his arms—settling both boys against his chest first, then carefully taking their daughter as well.

Three small bodies. Three heartbeats. Three perfect, impossible lives.

Colin stared down at them like he’d never seen anything more sacred in his life.

One of the boys let out a sleepy, angry squawk, flailing a fist against his father’s shirtfront.

Colin laughed again—soft and wrecked—and bent to press a kiss to the little one’s head.

“So fierce already,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “Just like your mother.”

Penelope let out a tired snort. “God help me if they’re all like you.”

He shot her a grin, still damp with tears. “I can’t wait to see you try to keep up with them.”

His gaze softened again as he adjusted his hold, cradling all three closer, letting them rest against his chest where they could feel his heartbeat.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered suddenly—so low Penelope barely caught it.

Her eyes opened slowly, searching his face.

“Yes, you do,” she said, with as much strength as she could muster. “Colin Bridgerton… you deserve all of this.”

He shook his head, breath hitching.

Then, unable to help himself, he leaned down and kissed her again—long and slow and so full of love she thought she might break all over again.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered over her tear-streaked face, her sweat-dampened skin, the new bite mark on her neck already darkening, her utterly ruined nightdress, and the pure, fragile miracle of their children tucked between them.

And in a voice low and full of raw, aching reverence, he whispered:

“My wife… my Omega… the mother of my pups…”

His throat tightened as he swallowed hard.

“I love you,” he said again, just because he could. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

Penelope’s eyes fluttered shut, a few fresh tears slipping free, but her smile stayed.

And when she drifted off at last—exhausted but safe, loved and surrounded—Colin stayed awake.

Holding all three pups.

Watching her breathe.

And for the first time in his life…

Feeling full.

Truly, utterly full.

⸻

The room had finally gone still.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting soft amber light across the rumpled bed, the emptied basins, the scattered towels.

Penelope slept deeply now—exhausted beyond measure, her face pale but peaceful, her breaths slow and even at last.

The worst was over.

Colin sat in the armchair near the bed, stripped to the waist now, his shirt tossed over the back of the chair and forgotten. His skin was still damp from the quick, shaky wash he’d taken in the basin after the midwife insisted he clean up—though she’d wisely said nothing when he refused to leave the room for even a minute.

And nestled against his bare chest…

Were all three of his pups.

One… two… three.

Wrapped loosely in soft blankets but with their tiny faces and limbs exposed enough for skin-to-skin contact.

Their small, warm bodies shifted now and then against him—soft, restless movements as they blinked or whimpered in their sleep.

Colin held them like something holy.

One wide, trembling palm cradled both boys against the solid plane of his chest, while the other curled protectively around the smallest—his daughter—tucked just beneath his chin.

Her little fist was curled tight against his throat like she was already claiming space for herself.

His heart…

God, his heart hurt.

Colin lowered his head and pressed the softest, most reverent kiss to the top of her tiny head, inhaling the faintest trace of her newborn scent.

One son shifted in his arms, kicking weakly.

Colin laughed under his breath—wet and wrecked and far too close to crying again.

“You’re going to cause me so much trouble,” he whispered, his voice cracking, rough and low. “All three of you. I can already tell.”

His throat tightened.

His hands shook.

He let his gaze drift toward the bed, toward Penelope—her hair still damp, her skin still flushed and splotchy from the strain, the faded mark on her neck standing out sharp against her pale throat.

God, she looked like she’d fought a war and won.

Colin swallowed hard, blinking fast, biting the inside of his cheek just to keep from sobbing out loud again.

“You nearly broke me today, sweetheart,” he whispered toward her sleeping form, voice raw. “Watching you… hearing you scream like that… I didn’t know I could be that scared. Not until I thought I might lose you.”

One of the boys let out a small, hiccupping cry.

Colin’s heart cracked wider.

“Shh… it’s alright…” he soothed automatically, rocking gently, adjusting their weight in his arms until they settled again.

The room stayed quiet except for the soft sounds of three tiny lungs working, three tiny hearts beating against his chest.

Colin pressed another kiss—first to one son, then the other, then down to his daughter again.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “All of you. God help me.”

His eyes burned, and for the first time since the births…

He let himself cry.

Silent, shaking tears that slipped down his face and into their blankets.

Tears for Penelope.

For his pups.

For the impossible, terrifying, beautiful life he’d somehow stumbled into.

When he finally looked back toward the bed, Penelope stirred slightly—her brow furrowing, her lips parting as though sensing something even in sleep.

“I’ve got them,” Colin murmured toward her, wiping at his face with the back of his hand but not loosening his hold on the babies for even a second. “Sleep, love. I’ve got all of them.”

And with three little heartbeats pressed tight against his skin…

Colin held his family close and stayed awake to guard them until morning.

Chapter Text

The morning light was soft and gray, barely creeping through the bedroom curtains when Penelope stirred.

Her body ached. Deep, dragging exhaustion pulled at her limbs like sandbags tied to every bone.

But… she wasn’t in pain.

Not like before.

Not like during.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the light, her dry throat working hard to swallow. The room smelled like warmth and sweat and milk and… Colin.

Her first instinct was to reach for him.

Her hand found nothing but warm sheets.

Panic rose in her throat before she could stop it.

“Colin?” Her voice was thin, barely a whisper, but still trembling with the aftershocks of everything she’d been through.

And then—

She saw him.

Across the room, seated in the armchair by the hearth.

Fast asleep.

Slumped low in the chair like his body had given out sometime during the night, legs spread wide, his head tipped back against the cushion at an awkward angle.

And on his chest…

Their babies.

All three.

Two boys… one girl… all curled up like kittens against his bare skin.

The blankets had slipped down around his hips sometime in the night, leaving most of his chest exposed. One of the boys had a tiny fist curled against Colin’s throat. The other was pressed just under his heart. Their daughter lay tucked along his shoulder, her face smushed sleepily into the curve of his neck.

Penelope’s heart cracked wide and soft at the sight.

Her chest tightened painfully as tears pricked behind her eyes.

The rise and fall of his chest moved all three of them in a gentle, steady rhythm.

Each little body… warm and safe and alive.

Colin’s arms wrapped instinctively around the whole precious pile—even in sleep—his hands spread wide across their tiny backs like he could hold the world together with just his palms.

Penelope let out a soft, broken breath.

God.

God… how did she get this?

Her vision blurred as tears slipped free, trailing hot and silent down her cheeks.

This man.

This ridiculous, infuriating, stubborn, beautiful man.

Looking like an exhausted, battle-worn Alpha king, asleep on his throne, guarding his entire future on his chest.

Her throat closed, too full of love to speak.

For a long minute, she just lay there… watching him.

Letting the image sear into her heart forever.

The pups shifted slightly—one letting out a sleepy grunt, their daughter hiccupping once—but none of them truly woke.

Colin stirred at the sound, his brow furrowing, one hand instinctively patting the nearest small back even as he stayed half-asleep.

“Easy… I’ve got you,” he mumbled without opening his eyes, his voice hoarse and rough.

Penelope’s heart shattered all over again.

A soft, watery laugh slipped past her lips.

Colin’s eyes cracked open at the sound—heavy-lidded, sleep-drunk, but sharp the second he saw her awake.

“Pen…” His voice caught, raw and thick. “You’re awake.”

She smiled through her tears, nodding weakly. “I’m awake.”

Colin’s throat worked hard around something that looked suspiciously like fresh tears.

Very carefully, like he didn’t want to disturb the pups sleeping on him, he shifted just enough to lean forward.

His gaze swept over her—searching, desperate, drinking her in like he still couldn’t believe she was there, alive, breathing, safe.

“Are you… alright?” he asked, his voice wrecked with tenderness. “Hurting? Dizzy?”

“Just tired,” she whispered, her smile wobbling. “But… I think I’m okay.”

Relief poured through his face, softening every line, though the red rims around his eyes told her just how much sleep he hadn’t gotten.

“Look at you,” she breathed, staring at him… at them… at all four of them together like this. “God… you look like a disaster.”

Colin huffed a wet laugh. “Feel like one.”

She wiped at her tears with trembling fingers. “But… also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes went glassy again.

Gently, with infinite care, he shifted the pups enough to free one hand and reached out to her—taking her fingers in his and kissing her knuckles like she was something holy.

“Come here,” she whispered, voice breaking.

He stood with slow, cautious movements, still holding the babies carefully, and climbed onto the bed beside her.

With shaking hands, Penelope helped him arrange all three of them across her chest—nestling the pups between them, letting them curl and settle until her arms were full.

Colin wrapped himself around her from behind, pressing soft kisses to her temple, her hair, her shoulder.

His arms caged hers… holding her and their pups like the last line of defense against the rest of the world.

Together.

Finally.

Penelope closed her eyes, her tears still falling unchecked.

And as Colin whispered broken promises into her hair—soft and raw and endless—she finally let herself believe it:

This was her life now.

Her Alpha.

Her pups.

Her forever.

And she’d never—never—be alone again.

⸻

The sun was fully up by the time Mrs. Adler returned with a soft knock at the bedroom door.

Colin barely lifted his head from where he lay curled behind Penelope on the bed, still holding her and the pups close.

“Bath’s ready,” the midwife said gently, not bothering to come in. “For both of you… and the little ones too. The water’s warm. Not too hot.”

Colin pressed a kiss to Penelope’s temple and whispered against her skin, “Let me take care of you, darling.”

She nodded, too tired to speak, too full of feeling to argue.

⸻

The bathroom was steamy and warm when Colin carried her there, one arm wrapped around her back, the other carefully cradling two of the babies while a sleepy maid followed behind with their daughter.

A large copper tub had been filled almost to the brim with water tinted faintly pink from rose petals and chamomile.

It smelled soft and sweet.

Calming.

Colin set the babies in their little bassinet nearby, layering soft blankets around them to keep them warm while he turned back to Penelope.

She stood unsteady on her feet beside the tub, her nightdress loose and falling off her shoulders, her skin pale and blotchy with exhaustion.

Her eyes…

God, her eyes looked so tired.

Colin stepped behind her, steadying her with warm hands on her hips.

“Let me,” he whispered.

Slowly, carefully, he helped her undress—sliding the ruined nightdress off her arms, kissing her bare shoulder, then her spine, lingering on every new stretch mark, every fading bruise, every place her body had worked and torn and bled for him… for them.

His hands trembled, but he didn’t let them falter.

When she was bare, he lifted her into the tub with infinite care, guiding her down into the water like she was made of glass.

The moment her skin hit the heat, Penelope let out a soft, broken sob.

Her whole body shook as she curled forward, wrapping her arms around her knees, letting the water lap at her belly and thighs.

Colin undressed and slid in behind her, pulling her back into his lap, arms wrapping around her waist, holding her to his chest.

And there—in the quiet, with the scent of roses in the air and her skin trembling against his—Penelope let herself cry.

Not soft tears.

Not dignified tears.

But deep, guttural, exhausted sobs that left her gasping for air.

Colin held her through every second of it, kissing her damp hair, stroking her arms, whispering low nonsense words meant only to soothe.

“You’re safe now… you’re safe… I’ve got you… I’ll always have you… You’re my strongest girl…”

Her fingers clutched at his forearms like she never wanted to let go.

And when her sobs finally slowed, when her breathing steadied and her trembling eased… Colin reached for the soap.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered again, softer this time.

Gently, he cupped warm water over her shoulders, down her back. He worked the soap into her hair, lathering slowly, stroking his fingers through every copper curl like he was memorizing the texture of her.

He rinsed her with care, tilting her head back over his arm, shielding her eyes.

He kissed the crown of her head when he finished.

Penelope lay boneless against him, too tired to speak, her skin flushed warm and pink from the bath.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she found him looking at her like she hung the sun in the sky.

And then…

Colin turned toward the bassinet.

“Now for them,” he said softly.

With practiced, careful hands, he lifted one boy first—cradling the tiny, wriggling bundle against his chest as he dipped the smallest part of the blanket into the water to gently dab at the baby’s skin.

Their son let out a weak, offended squeak, but soon settled.

Colin grinned at that, shaking his head. “Already full of opinions, this one.”

He did the same for their second boy, then for their daughter—his touch reverent, his kisses soft against each tiny forehead.

Penelope watched it all through blurry eyes, her heart expanding and breaking and healing all at once.

Colin bathed each baby with more tenderness than she’d ever seen in her life.

Soft cloth against tiny limbs.

Warm water poured over wisps of hair.

A gentle thumb smoothing down a quivering chin.

And when they were clean, he tucked them back into fresh blankets, lining the bassinet with warm cloths to keep them cozy.

Then… turning back to her…

Colin helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in towels, holding her as she shivered in the cool air, carrying her back to bed like she weighed nothing.

Once she was settled under the blankets again, he placed all three pups carefully against her chest… letting them curl and root against her, seeking comfort and warmth.

Penelope’s breath caught as she kissed each tiny, damp head in turn.

Colin lay down beside her, pulling the covers high over both of them.

His arms wrapped around the four of them like he could hold the entire world inside his chest.

They stayed like that—quiet and safe, their little family breathing together—until sleep pulled them under once more.

And Colin… even as his own eyes drifted shut… kept one hand resting over her belly, over her heart, as if he could still protect her from everything.

Even her own tears.

⸻

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the dying glow of the fire and the faint silver wash of moonlight filtering through the curtains.

Penelope stirred first.

A soft, fretful whimper by her ear pulled her from sleep.

Then another.

Then a third—smaller, higher, almost apologetic in sound—but insistent all the same.

The pups.

Her heart clenched before she even opened her eyes.

Colin was already awake.

She felt the shift of the mattress as he sat up beside her, heard the rustle of blankets as he moved. His scent—warm cedar and something deeper, something purely him—wrapped tight around her as he leaned over.

“Shhh… little ones… easy now…”

His voice was low, still thick with sleep but soft with love, already soothing as he reached for them.

Penelope blinked her eyes open to find him cradling all three against his bare chest, carefully untangling their swaddles, checking each tiny face with gentle, trembling fingers.

“They’re hungry,” he murmured, glancing down at her with sleep-mussed hair and dark, tired eyes. “They’re looking for you.”

Her throat tightened.

For a second… panic stirred low in her belly.

Would she… would she know how? Would she fail them?

Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed the blankets off her chest, baring herself, heart racing.

“I don’t—” She stopped, biting her lip. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Colin kissed her temple instantly. “That’s alright. We’ll figure it out together.”

Together.

The word settled something deep and tight inside her.

With infinite care, Colin handed her their daughter first.

“Start with her,” he whispered. “She’s the smallest.”

Penelope adjusted her hold awkwardly, guiding the baby toward her breast with shaking hands.

For a moment… nothing.

Then—slowly—the tiny mouth latched, warm and soft and surprisingly strong.

Penelope gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. The sensation was new. Odd. Aching and tender but… somehow right.

Her body… remembering what to do.

Her Omega instincts… answering the call without question.

Colin’s smile…

God, his smile broke her.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice thick with pride, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

Tears blurred her vision.

As the little one suckled greedily, Penelope laughed wetly. “She’s strong for something so small.”

“She’s yours,” Colin said simply, kissing her again.

When their daughter finished, Colin helped her reposition for one of the boys—carefully tucking him against her opposite side, making sure his head and neck were supported.

His hands never stopped touching her—brushing hair back from her face, stroking slow, soothing circles on her hip, steadying the weight of the pup against her chest when her arms trembled.

“Easy,” he murmured when she flinched at the pull of her body adjusting. “You’ve done the hardest part already… This is just the rest of forever.”

She laughed through her tears.

By the time the third pup latched, Penelope was openly crying, breath shaking with exhaustion and joy and sheer disbelief.

Colin held her close, curling protectively around her back, pressing soft kisses to her bare shoulder, her neck, her temple.

“You’re… amazing,” he breathed against her skin. “Do you even know what you’ve done, Pen?”

Her heart cracked wide.

“I just…” she whispered brokenly. “I just love them.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking with her. “I know. God… me too.”

When all three were finally full and drowsy, Colin helped her settle them back into the bassinet at the side of the bed—careful, reverent, like he was moving something sacred.

Then he climbed in beside her again—pulling her into his arms, tucking her close, one hand still resting instinctively over her belly even though it was now soft and empty.

Penelope blinked up at him through tired, red-rimmed eyes. “They’re going to wake again in… what… an hour?”

Colin laughed, low and wrecked and happy. “Probably.”

“And you’ll help me again?”

“I’ll help you forever,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “Always.”

And when she finally drifted off again, Colin stayed awake…

Watching their pups sleep…

And loving her more than any words could say.

⸻

It was well past midnight.

The fire had burned low again, leaving only faint orange embers glowing in the hearth.

The rest of the house was still. Quiet.

Except for one small, furious voice.

Penelope stirred first at the wail.

The thin, sharp cry of their daughter—high and indignant—broke the peaceful hush of the bedroom like a crack of thunder.

Her eyes opened blearily. “Colin…” she whispered, her voice hoarse and raw from sleep. “It’s… it’s her…”

But Colin was already moving.

Half-asleep but instinctively driven, he rolled out of bed with a soft groan, his bare feet hitting the floor with a quiet thud.

Penelope barely managed to lift her head before she caught sight of him—shirtless, sleep-rumpled, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing only a pair of loose linen trousers slung dangerously low on his hips.

The muscles of his back flexed as he crossed the room—shoulders broad, still lined with the lingering bite marks and scratches she’d left on him from their wedding night.

Penelope bit her lip, heat blooming low in her belly despite her exhaustion.

Even like this…

Especially like this…

He was still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Colin leaned over the bassinet, scooping their daughter up into his arms with practiced, easy care.

“Alright, little lady,” he murmured, his voice low and rough from sleep, soft and deep and full of Alpha warmth. “What’s all this fuss, hmm?”

Their daughter let out another shrill, hiccupping cry and wriggled in protest.

Colin pressed a kiss to her tiny, damp cheek.

“Shhh… I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking her gently against his bare chest.

He swayed on his feet, half-awake but steady, one hand stroking down her back in slow, soothing circles.

Penelope watched him from bed, too tired to sit up fully but too full of love to look away.

Her Alpha.

Bare-chested.

Bleary-eyed.

Rocking their screaming daughter in the dead of night without hesitation.

She caught him yawning wide around a broken laugh as the baby’s cries softened to sniffles.

“That’s it, love,” he mumbled, still swaying, voice gone utterly tender now. “You just wanted some time with your papa, didn’t you? Little minx… already got me wrapped around your finger.”

Penelope’s heart cracked open at that.

Her throat went tight with emotion.

Colin shifted the baby to one arm, still holding her close, and grabbed one of the soft blankets from the edge of the bassinet with his free hand. He wrapped their daughter tighter, keeping her snug against his skin, never once breaking the gentle rocking motion.

Even half-asleep…

Even dead on his feet…

His instincts never wavered.

When her cries finally faded into tired hiccups, Colin didn’t put her down right away.

Instead… he crossed back to the bed and slid under the covers beside Penelope—keeping their daughter curled against his chest as he settled close behind his wife.

Penelope turned just enough to tuck herself against his side, her fingers stroking lightly over their pup’s small back.

“You’re… incredible,” she whispered thickly, her voice still scratchy from sleep.

Colin let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m shirtless, half-dressed, and smell like sweat and milk. Not exactly heroic.”

“You’re perfect,” she corrected, kissing his bare shoulder.

Colin smiled into her hair.

“Remind me to thank your mother little one for making me sleep shirtless every summer,” he joked quietly, shifting to keep both her and the baby close. “Turns out it’s very practical for midnight skin-to-skin bonding.”

Penelope laughed—a soft, tear-wet sound—but she didn’t argue.

Colin’s arm curled tighter around her waist, anchoring her close, both of them warm and tangled under the blankets with their daughter now fast asleep between them.

And as he drifted off again—finally, deeply—Colin’s last thought was simple and fierce:

Mine. All of them. Always.

Chapter Text

It started with his hands.

Slow, warm, constant.

Colin couldn’t stop touching her.

Not in the hungry, rut-driven way he had in the weeks leading up to the birth—though God knew that instinct still hummed beneath his skin.

But now… this was something different.

Something softer.

More reverent.

The kind of touch that said: “You’re mine. You’re safe. I love you too much to stop.”

Penelope stirred awake to find him already halfway down her body—his head buried against the soft curve of her belly, his hands drifting lazily over the healing skin there like he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or cry.

“Colin?” she whispered, sleep-rough and confused.

His voice rumbled low against her skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I mean it.” His palm slid over the round, tender swell just beneath her navel—the place where their pups had been growing only days ago. “Look at you, sweetheart… still soft here… still glowing… like you’re keeping the memory of them right under your skin.”

Her cheeks flushed deep pink.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she murmured, trying to cover her face with her hands.

He caught her wrists before she could.

“No,” he said gently. “I’m being honest.”

Carefully—watching her for any flinch of soreness—he dragged the blankets lower, baring her belly completely.

Stretch marks—faint and new—traced soft lines over her hips and sides.

Her skin still looked tender and pink in places.

She squirmed beneath his gaze, suddenly shy.

“I look a mess,” she whispered.

Colin’s throat worked as he swallowed down the lump of emotion rising there.

“Don’t you dare say that again.”

Her eyes widened.

“I love this,” he murmured, dragging his lips over the curve of her hip. “Every line… every mark… proof that you carried them… kept them safe… gave me a family.”

She shivered under his touch.

When he kissed lower—mouth soft and slow and utterly adoring—she let out a quiet, breathless gasp.

Colin smiled against her skin.

Her scent—still sweet and warm and unmistakably Omega—bloomed again in the air between them.

Her body was still tender, still healing, but her scent reacted to him anyway… rich and soft… instinctively trusting.

He crawled up her body, bracing himself carefully so he wouldn’t press too much weight against her still-sensitive frame.

One hand drifted to cup her cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched. “Colin…”

“I mean it.”

He kissed her forehead.

Then her eyelids.

Then the tip of her nose.

And finally—slowly, reverently—her mouth.

“You’re mine,” he said softly between kisses. “Always mine. Forever mine.”

Her hands curled into the front of his shirt.

“And you’re mine,” she whispered back, voice shaking with both love and exhaustion.

Colin smiled like she’d given him the whole world.

“I’ll never stop reminding you of it,” he promised.

Then—because he couldn’t help himself—he kissed her again.

Longer this time.

Sweeter.

And when one of the pups gave a soft, mewling cry from the basket at the foot of the bed…

Colin smiled against her lips.

“Stay right here,” he murmured. “I’ll get them.”

And Penelope…

Soft and loved and safe and still glowing from the inside out…

Let him.

Her Alpha.

Her husband.

Her home.

⸻

The house had gone still.

The kind of deep, velvety quiet that only came in the darkest part of the night.

Not even the distant sound of horses in the street.

Not a single creak from the floorboards.

Just… peace.

Mostly.

Except for the small, sleepy sounds of three newborn pups tucked into their bassinet at the foot of the bed.

And Colin.

Wide awake.

Sitting on the floor with his back against the bedpost… holding all three of them at once.

One tucked along his forearm.

One cradled against his chest.

The third nestled against his shoulder, making soft little snuffling noises that Colin would swear on his life sounded like a growl.

“They get that from me,” he whispered with a tired smile, kissing the top of his daughter’s downy head.

Penelope stirred faintly under the covers above him but didn’t wake.

Good.

She needed her sleep.

God, she needed it.

And she looked… so beautiful like this.

Flushed and soft and still faintly scented with Omega milk and contentment.

Her hair was a mess across the pillow.

Her mouth parted slightly in deep sleep.

Colin’s heart ached just looking at her.

And then he looked down at the three impossibly tiny humans in his arms… and his heart threatened to break all over again.

How had this become his life?

This… soft chaos?

These perfect little weights pressed against him?

Just days ago, he’d been in this very room, hands in his hair, fighting back panic every time Penelope screamed.

Now…

Now he sat on the floor at three in the morning, with three sleepy little pups making sleepy little noises, feeling like the most blessed—and entirely unqualified—Alpha in London.

“You lot are going to ruin me,” he murmured softly, tracing gentle fingers over the curve of his smallest son’s cheek.

The baby’s tiny mouth opened in a yawn… then promptly latched sleepily onto the edge of Colin’s coat lapel.

Colin laughed under his breath.

“Wrong target, little one,” he whispered, adjusting his hold to make sure none of them slipped.

His eyes drifted back to Penelope.

His Omega.

His mate.

The mother of his children.

The softest, bravest, most stubborn little force of nature he’d ever loved.

And God…

He loved her.

More than he knew what to do with most days.

⸻

For a few minutes… Colin just sat there.

Breathing.

Soaking in the smell of them all.

Penelope’s warm Omega scent.

His own Alpha signature lingering over everything in the room—thicker now after weeks of nesting and guarding.

And beneath it all…

The delicate, sweet newborn scent of his pups.

Unique. Unmistakable.

The most perfect smell he’d ever known.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered to them all—his voice low, almost reverent. “Every day. Every night. Always.”

The pups shifted, soft and sleepy.

Colin leaned his head back against the bed, closing his eyes.

Letting himself have this.

Just for a moment.

Just him…

His mate…

And the three tiny heartbeats now tied to him for the rest of his life.

His family.

His home.

His everything.

⸻

Penelope drifted awake slowly.

The room was dark, but not silent.

Not with the soft, steady hum of Colin’s voice filling the air.

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the faint glow from the fireplace embers.

And there he was.

Sitting on the floor.

Back against the bedpost.

Legs stretched out in front of him.

Three tiny bundles tucked into his arms like they were pieces of himself.

Her heart caught.

Colin’s head was tipped back against the wood, his eyes closed but his mouth still moving—whispering low and rhythmic.

Soft nonsense words.

Little praises.

Snatches of lullabies she didn’t even know he knew.

“…my clever boy… my strong girl… my sleepy little lion…”

He shifted just enough to adjust the smallest of the pups against his chest, cradling the baby’s head with shaking, tender fingers.

Penelope swallowed hard.

Her throat burned.

Her body still ached in places she didn’t want to think about, and her breasts were sore, and she hadn’t had more than two consecutive hours of sleep in days.

But none of that mattered.

Not with this.

Not with him like this.

So soft.

So wrecked.

So completely and devastatingly in love with their children.

And her.

Always her.

Slowly, carefully, Penelope pushed back the blankets and slid out of bed.

Her legs trembled as they hit the floor, but she ignored it.

With small, quiet movements she lowered herself beside him.

Colin’s eyes flew open the second he felt her.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, already shifting to help steady her.

“You should be sleeping,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You need to rest.”

“I needed this more,” she whispered, curling into his side, her head fitting perfectly beneath his chin.

Her hands drifted over their pups—touching each one lightly… smoothing soft hair, tracing tiny fists… counting, again, for the hundredth time, that all three were real. Alive. Here.

“I woke up and you weren’t next to me,” she murmured against his throat. “And I… I needed to feel you again.”

Colin let out a low, rough breath.

His arm tightened around her waist.

“You’ve had me,” he said fiercely, burying his face in her hair. “Always.”

Her eyes stung.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you more,” he answered immediately, without hesitation, like breathing.

Her belly fluttered—soft and aching in the best way.

She pressed her lips to his jaw.

He kissed her forehead.

Then her cheek.

Then her mouth—slow and tender and full of promises he didn’t have words for yet.

The pups stirred between them, making soft mewling noises that made both their hearts squeeze.

Penelope laughed quietly.

“We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” she whispered.

Colin smiled against her hair.

“The most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.”

They stayed like that for a long time.

Curled together on the floor.

Skin to skin, heart to heart, their little family.

And when the first faint light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, Colin pulled her tighter.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered against her temple.

“I’ll hold you.”

And with that…

Surrounded by the warmth of her mate and her pups…

Penelope let herself drift…

And as she slipped back into sleep, surrounded by warmth and breath and heartbeats… she finally believed it.
They were hers.
He was hers.
And they weren’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

It had been six weeks.

Six weeks since everything changed.

Since their world had split wide open and made room for three.

Colin had been patient.

Painfully so.

Through every tear. Every cramp. Every instinct that screamed to pull her close and bury himself inside her until neither of them could breathe.

Instead, he’d bathed her. Dressed her. Soothed her with gentle, non-demanding touches while her body recovered from the brutal miracle of birth. He’d kissed her hair while she slept, whispered encouragement into her skin when the pups wouldn’t latch, pressed warm compresses to her back while she cried silently into the bedsheets from sheer, unbearable exhaustion.

And now—finally—she’d been cleared.

The words had barely left the midwife’s mouth before his whole body tensed with want. But he didn’t rush her. Not even when she looked at him across the room that night with those wide, uncertain eyes… wearing one of his old shirts and nothing else.

“I don’t know if I’ll feel the same,” she said softly, voice shaking. “If it’ll hurt. If I’ll… like it.”

Colin stood slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. He cupped her face in both hands, brushing his thumbs along her cheeks.

“Then we stop the second you want to. This isn’t about me. It never is.”

“But I want you,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much, I feel like I’m starving.”

That was all it took.

He kissed her like she was breath itself—slow and possessive and full of the kind of hunger that wasn’t about need so much as devotion.

She opened under him, melted into him, pressed her body into his like she was trying to stitch their skin together.

His hands found her thighs, sweeping up under the hem of his shirt.

She gasped.

“You still smell like me,” he growled softly. “Still taste like mine.”

She whimpered.

Colin walked her backwards to the bed, lips never leaving her neck, her collarbone, the edge of her jaw.

“Lie back,” he said hoarsely.

She obeyed.

And God help him—

She was everything.

Fuller. Softer. Curvier in places where she hadn’t been before.

She’d made life inside this body. And now it trembled for him.

He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed.

“Colin,” she whispered, startled. “What—”

“I’m worshipping you, sweetheart.”

And then his mouth was on her.

Soft. Open. Ravenous.

He spread her thighs with reverence and kissed her like a man starved—tongue slow and thorough, fingers steady on her hips as he drank her in.

Her scent was different—richer, sweeter, more hers than it had ever been.

She sobbed his name when his tongue circled her clit, when he groaned against her like it hurt to be apart from her this long.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t stop until her thighs were trembling, her breath was coming in sharp, broken gasps, and her hands were in his hair, tugging him closer.

“I missed this,” he rasped between licks. “Missed your taste. Missed the way you fall apart for me.”

“Please—” she whimpered. “I need you. I need you inside.”

He growled at that.

Deep and low and pure Alpha.

He stripped quickly, crawling over her like a force of nature—wild and barely held together by love.

He paused only to kiss her belly. Her hips. Her stretch marks.

“Perfect,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’re perfect.”

When he lined himself up and pushed the thick head of his cock into her, they both cried out—him from the overwhelming heat of her, her from the stretch, the slow, beautiful fullness of being taken again.

He sank into her inch by trembling inch, breath ragged, body shaking.

“God, Penelope…”

She was tight. So tight.

Soft and wet and clenching around him like her body remembered him better than her mind did.

He stayed still for a long moment, holding himself deep inside her, forehead pressed to hers.

“Okay?” he asked. Voice nothing but a rasp.

She nodded—eyes glassy, lips parted.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Not again. Never again.”

And then he moved.

Long, slow thrusts.

Each one deeper than the last.

Each one dragging a little more breath from her lungs.

He filled her completely—possessively—like he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of her untouched.

“Still mine,” he whispered against her ear. “Still sweet and wet and perfect for me. Even after everything. Especially after everything.”

Her hands gripped his back, nails digging into his shoulders.

He kissed her like a prayer.

Held her like a vow.

Moved inside her like it meant something.

Like it meant everything.

When she tightened around him, trembling beneath him, her cry broke the silence.

And he nearly lost it.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you.”

She shattered.

Hard.

Full-body.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as her body clenched around him, sobbing his name like it was the only thing she could remember.

And that was when his knot swelled.

He groaned—loud and broken—grinding deeper, deeper, until it caught, locking him inside her.

Her eyes widened at the stretch, the pressure, but she didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want him to.

She moaned through the fullness, through the heat, through the bond pulling.

Tightening.

Sealing.

When he came, it was with a strangled growl and a rush of heat that filled her entirely.

“Mine,” he breathed, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could reach. “Still mine. Always mine. Forever.”

They stayed tangled, trembling, his knot pulsing gently inside her as she came again—softer this time, a ripple more than a crash.

He didn’t let go.

He wouldn’t.

He wrapped her up in his arms and buried his face in her neck.

“I love you,” he whispered, again and again. “I love you, Penelope. I love you so much it hurts.”

And she…

Still stretched.

Still full.

Still locked around him.

Whispered it back.

“I love you too.”

Quiet. Raw. Real.

They stayed knotted.

Pressed close.

Breathing each other in.

He didn’t move until she was asleep in his arms.

Safe.

Claimed.

Loved.

Completely his.

And when he finally pulled back—slow and gentle and aching—he kissed the inside of her knee, pulled the blankets over them both… and whispered:

“We’re home again, sweetheart.”

⸻

The room had gone quiet again.

Penelope lay curled against Colin’s chest, skin flushed and damp, hair tangled and sticking to her forehead, breath soft and uneven.

He held her like he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers.

His knot had receded, but he hadn’t moved — not even a little.

Instead, he cradled her body against his own, a hand stroking lazy circles across the curve of her hip, his mouth pressed to her temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer right away. Just nestled in closer, a sleepy hum escaping her throat like she couldn’t quite speak yet.

Then, softly — voice thick and wrecked — she whispered, “I didn’t know I could still feel like that.”

Colin closed his eyes. Swallowed hard.

“I didn’t know I could deserve this,” she added after a beat.

That broke something in him.

He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her damp hair, his voice hoarse against her skin.

“You never stopped deserving it. Not for a second. Not even when you didn’t believe it.”

Penelope sniffed against his chest, and he felt the wet warmth of a tear where her cheek rested against his skin.

He kissed it away.

“You were everything before,” he said. “And you’re more than everything now.”

She didn’t speak again — but her hand slipped over his heart, splayed wide, like she needed to feel the proof of his words with her palm.

They stayed like that. Quiet. Tangled. Breathing together.

Colin adjusted the blankets, pulling them high around her shoulders and shifting just enough to tuck one leg between hers — anchoring her, wrapping around her, keeping her safe.

The scent of her still filled the room — warm Omega sweetness laced with sleepy contentment, love, and just the faintest trace of tears.

He stayed awake for a while longer just to watch her.

The faint rise and fall of her chest.
The flicker of her lashes.
The quiet, vulnerable beauty of her completely undone.

God, he loved her.

Every breath. Every edge. Every break.

And just as he was finally beginning to drift—

A soft, mewling cry broke the silence.

Then another.

Then the unmistakable sound of sleepy, hungry newborn snuffling.

Colin groaned quietly, already smiling. “They’ve got unbelievable timing.”

Penelope stirred beside him, eyes barely open, lips parted in a sleepy mumble. “Was it all three?”

Colin nodded, slipping gently out from under the blankets. “Definitely the whole team.”

She let out a breathless little laugh that made his chest ache with love. “They’re going to know we snuck off.”

He bent and kissed her forehead. “You rest. I’ll bring them here.”

She nodded — already halfway asleep again — and Colin padded across the room, tugging on a soft shirt and stepping to the bassinet tucked in the corner.

Three tiny pups, all squirming and squeaking softly.

He scooped them up with practiced hands — careful, steady, reverent.

One in each arm. The third balanced carefully in the crook of his elbow.

They settled the second they touched his skin, blinking up at him with sleepy, unfocused eyes like they knew.

Like they trusted.

“Alright, little monsters,” he whispered, smiling as he crossed back to the bed. “You’ve got the worst timing and the best instincts.”

Penelope sat up slowly, adjusting the pillows behind her back, arms open and waiting.

Colin placed each pup gently against her chest, helping guide them to nurse — her body already reacting with the kind of warm, automatic comfort that made him feel entirely undone.

One little hand curled around her finger.

Another kicked against his wrist until he kissed the tiny foot in apology.

The third just let out a loud, indignant squeak, like the delay had been personally offensive.

Penelope laughed again, tired but glowing, her hair a mess and her eyes glassy with love.

“Look at them,” she whispered. “We made them.”

Colin climbed back into bed beside her, one arm around her shoulders, the other supporting their smallest pup as he fed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, kissing her temple again. “We really did.”

The pups suckled quietly, their tiny bodies warm between them.

Penelope leaned her head against his shoulder.

Colin rested his cheek against the top of hers.

And for a moment…

The world was still.

No noise but the gentle suckling.
No weight but love.

Just this.

Them.

The family they built.

The home they’d become.

Chapter Text

The sun was only just beginning to rise.

Soft light spilled over the rooftops, bathing the city in a sleepy gold haze. The world was quiet — that rare, fleeting kind of stillness that came just before morning truly began.

Colin stood barefoot on the balcony, a warm blanket draped over his shoulders and one tiny bundle of blanket-wrapped life nestled to his chest. He held the little bundle close against his chest, cradled in the crook of one arm.

Their daughter — the smallest of the three. Her tiny head rested just beneath his chin, the weight of her impossibly slight, and yet wholly anchoring.

She had woken not with a cry, but a soft mewling whimper — the sort that stirred his heart before it reached his ears. Penelope, exhausted, had not moved. So he’d gone to the cradle, lifted the small, warm bundle without hesitation, and carried her here.

To this silence.
To this moment.
Now he stood in the morning light, swaying gently side to side, pressing soft kisses to the crown of her downy head.

“I’m never going to be ready for how much I love you.”

The baby gave a faint sigh, her breath fogging against the linen of his nightshirt. Colin adjusted his hold instinctively, thumb brushing her downy cheek.

“You’re so small,” he whispered, reverent. “And you’ve undone me entirely.”

She made a sound in response — something between a hiccup and a grunt — and Colin smiled, soft and awestruck.

“I’ve no notion how to do any of this,” he admitted, “but I swear I’ll give you everything I have.”

He bent his head, whispering against his daughter’s temple.

“I’ll protect you. And your brothers. Always. Even when I mess up. Even when I don’t know how.”

His voice cracked.

“Especially then.”

The wind moved through the trees in the square below, rustling branches like the city itself was stirring. But still, their windows remained aglow with the only light — a single candle flickering behind him in the nursery, casting long, wavering shadows across the floorboards.

He looked over his shoulder.

The room beyond was quiet. Penelope lay on her side in the bed, blankets pulled up to her shoulders, one hand resting where he’d been not long before. Her hair was a tangled halo on the pillow, and her face — even in sleep — held the soft lines of exhaustion and something gentler. Peace, perhaps.

Colin’s heart clenched.

She had given him so much.

She had nearly broken to bring these children into the world. Had endured pain and fear and moments of shattering stillness when he had nearly lost her.

And now she slept.

Alive. Safe. His.

He looked down again at the child in his arms — her nose crinkled, her fingers curled tightly in a fist no larger than his thumb. A life born of them both.

A miracle.

“Your mother is the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said softly, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “And you, little one… you’ve changed everything.”

There was no reply, of course. Only the sound of her breathing — slow, soft, steady.

Colin let his eyes close. Let the moment settle in his bones.

He stayed like that for some time, letting the light change. Letting the quiet hold them.

And when, at last, the first full rays of sunlight spilled over the rooftops and caught the golden edge of his daughter’s hair…

He smiled.

Because this — this stillness, this warmth, this weight in his arms — was everything he had ever wanted.

And more than he had ever believed he deserved.

He closed his eyes.

And for a little while longer… just held his daughter.

Let the world wait.

⸻

The morning began, as it so often did now, with a cry.

Followed swiftly by another.

Then a rather damp catastrophe that required two sets of hands, three fresh linens, and the sacrifice of one otherwise respectable dressing gown.

Colin groaned as he dodged the arc of a very pleased infant.

“Has he aimed before?” he asked, blinking blearily.

Penelope, hair pinned half-up and shawl slipping from one shoulder, chuckled as she fastened a clean cloth around their son. “I’ve begun to think it’s intentional.”

The routine unfolded in pieces, guided by instinct more than planning.

There was tea. There were crumbs. There were soft lullabies sung off-key, and endless trips between cradle and changing table, and Penelope’s quiet murmurs as she dressed one pup while keeping the other two from squalling.

By mid-morning, all three were fed, dry, and — miraculously — sleeping.

Colin sank into the settee beside his wife, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him with a sigh that seemed to come from her bones.

“I fear I’ve aged a decade in a fortnight,” she said.

“You are still the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” Colin replied, voice earnest despite his exhaustion.

“You’re a terrible flatterer.”

“I’m a man wholly ruined,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She hummed, eyes drifting closed.

The fire crackled low.

Outside, the wind shifted gently against the windows.

Inside, they were wrapped in warmth and weariness and quiet joy — a new rhythm taking shape.

It was not always tidy. Or graceful.

But it was theirs.

⸻

The knock came just after mid-morning, firm but unhurried.

Colin answered the door himself, holding it only half open.

Benedict stood there first, followed by Eloise, then Violet, with Francesca, Gregory and Hyacinth trailing behind. Anthony, Simon and Daphne appeared at the foot of the stairs, each holding a carefully wrapped basket.

Colin lifted a brow. “You brought the entire battalion, I see.”

Violet stepped forward, gently chiding, “We came to meet the newest member of the family — and to check on the mother, of course. I had hoped to have received letters but you’ve been fairly quiet darling.”

Colin’s gaze softened, but his hand remained firm on the edge of the door. “One at a time. Quietly.”

Eloise raised her brows. “You’re gatekeeping your own mother?”

“I’m ensuring my wife doesn’t faint from sheer Bridgerton force,” he replied, ushering Violet inside first. “The rest of you may take turns.”

The room beyond was warm and bright with winter light. Penelope sat on the settee, dressed simply, hair pinned back loosely. She looked pale still, but the smile that curved her lips as Violet entered was unmistakably real.

“Dearest girl,” Violet murmured, crossing the room at once. She sat beside her daughter-in-law, taking her hand gently. “You look radiant.”

“I look tired,” Penelope replied with a laugh. “But… happy.”

Violet’s eyes were already shimmering.

And then her gaze fell to the cradle beside the fireplace.

The breath caught in her throat. “There are… three?”

Colin, stepping in behind her, exhaled. “Yes. Two boys. One girl.”

A hush fell over the room as the family gathered slowly, cautiously — like visitors in a cathedral.

Francesca let out a quiet, breathless sound. “Three.”

Daphne clutched her husband’s arm and whispered, “Mama’s going to cry.”

She did.

Each Bridgerton took a turn — softly, reverently — peering down at the tiny bundles nestled side by side.

Benedict, uncharacteristically solemn, murmured, “They’re perfect. Well done Sister.”

Eloise — wide-eyed and visibly shaken — whispered, “You made people.”

Penelope laughed, the sound worn but joyful.

Colin stood at her side, one hand on the back of her shoulder, his body angled protectively between her and the bustle. It wasn’t conscious. It was instinct.

When Gregory reached for one of the infants, Colin’s hand shot out gently — not blocking, but hovering. “Support the head.”

Gregory blinked. “I know how to hold a baby.”

Colin’s tone was calm, but immovable. “You’ve never held mine.”

Gregory adjusted. Held his breath. Didn’t speak again.

Later, as the conversation drifted and tea was poured, Penelope leaned gently against her husband’s side.

They were surrounded by noise, laughter, and the steady heartbeat of family.

But between them — in every glance, every quiet brush of fingers — was a vow.

This was their beginning.

And they would protect it.

Always.

⸻

Penelope had asked the staff to keep the visit short.

But even so, her nerves had been frayed since morning.

Her mother hadn’t written once since the birth.

No notes. No flowers. No congratulations.

Just silence.

And then, abruptly — a message this morning:
“We’ll arrive this afternoon. Wear something presentable.”
No mention of the children. No inquiry after her health.

And certainly no acknowledgment of how much had changed.

Which… as it turned out… was exactly the problem.

⸻

The drawing room was quiet when the door opened.

Colin stood at Penelope’s side, one of the babies cradled neatly in his arms. The other two were settled together in the small cradle beside the fire, blinking slowly in the warm light.

Penelope looked calm on the surface. But Colin could feel the tension beneath her skin. He hadn’t let go of her hand since breakfast. He had no intention of letting go now.

Then—

The Featherington women swept in.

Portia first, as always, florals trailing in her wake like a second corset. Prudence and Philippa followed, already craning their necks toward the cradle with wide, curious eyes.

But it was Portia who stopped short.
Dead center in the room.
Eyes fixed on the children.

She blinked once. Twice. Then:
“…Wait. There are three?”

Philippa gasped. “Three?”

Prudence blinked rapidly. “But — I thought it was only one?”

Portia turned, fanning herself slowly. “Well, clearly that letter never reached us.”

Her tone was far too sharp to be accidental.

Penelope flinched.

Colin shifted his weight, gaze narrowing.

“They were premature,” he said carefully, “and Penelope was still recovering. My apologies if my first thought wasn’t sending a full inventory.”

Portia’s eyes flicked over the cradle again. “Well. I suppose it’s… impressive. Three. That’s quite the contribution.”

Colin said nothing.

Then: “We’re proud of them.”

Portia turned her smile toward Penelope. “And look at you, dearest. You’ve always been… well-built. So I suppose there was room enough.”

The silence that followed was instant and leaden.

Penelope froze.

Colin’s grip on her waist turned to steel.

He took one step forward — the child in his arms now stirring gently against his chest — and fixed his gaze squarely on Portia.

“If you ever refer to my wife’s body that way again,” he said softly, dangerously, “you won’t be invited back.”

Phillipa let out a nervous laugh. “We didn’t mean anything by it—”

“No?” Colin tilted his head. “Because it sounded very much like a woman insulting her own daughter in her own house.”

Prudence’s eyes widened. “Colin—”

But then…

A soft sound interrupted.

A hiccup.

Then another.

And from the cradle near the fire… their daughter let out a long, high, drawn-out coo.

Portia blinked.

Prudence tilted her head.

And Philippa — impossibly, uncharacteristically — smiled.

“Oh,” she murmured, stepping forward. “That was rather sweet.”

As if on cue, the baby in Colin’s arms gave a tiny sneeze — no more than a puff of breath and a wrinkled nose — followed by a gurgling sigh and a flutter of fingers at his collar.

Colin glanced down, his entire posture softening.

Penelope watched it happen.

The shift in him.

The shift in them.

The babies — warm, real, present — changing the air in the room without a single word.

Portia hesitated. Then took one cautious step forward.

“Which is which?” she asked, squinting.

Penelope stepped forward too, voice calm but proud. “That’s Thomas, with Colin. And in the cradle — Agatha on the right, George on the left.”

“Agatha,” Portia repeated, blinking again. “And George. Hm.”

Philippa leaned closer. “They all have your hair,” she said softly.

Penelope startled. “Do they?”

“Of course they do,” Philippa said with a smile. “Though… perhaps the boy’s might go darker.”

Prudence nodded slowly. “He has Colin’s nose.”

Colin remained silent, still watching them carefully, but Penelope felt it — the tension in him easing. Slightly.

Not trust. Not forgiveness.

Just… space.

The barest offering of peace.

By the time the Featheringtons left — trailing compliments and promises of new gifts (“triplets! We must buy in sets!”) — Penelope felt… raw.

Not hurt.

Not angry.

Just drained.

She shut the door behind them. Leaned against the frame. Let out a slow breath.

And then — warm hands found her waist.

Strong arms circled her from behind.

Colin pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Are you alright?” he murmured.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“They were surprised,” she whispered eventually. “But they liked them.”

Colin’s mouth curved against her skin. “Of course they did. They’re you.”

Penelope smiled.

Then turned.

Looked at the cradle where all three children now slept — warm and tangled in soft blankets, impossibly real.

“I think we did rather well,” she said.

Colin leaned in again.

“I know we did.”

Chapter Text

Omega end

The nursery had long since been expanded—twice.

What used to be a single, modest room now sprawled into three connected chambers at the top of the Bridgerton townhouse. Toys cluttered every corner. Blankets and half-folded linens draped over chairs. There was always the faint scent of milk and sweet Omega in the air, woven with Colin’s heavier Alpha scent that never seemed to leave her walls, her clothes… her skin.

And still…

Even with nine children already underfoot…

Penelope rested one protective hand over her belly.

Full again.

Full of him.

Full of more.

At least two. Possibly three, if the physician’s amused, knowing smile meant anything.

Her stomach fluttered with both dread and giddy, hopeless affection at the thought.

Colin was going to be unbearable when he found out.

Again.

“Stop running in the hall darlings!” she called out, raising her voice over the sound of two of the older boys crashing past the nursery doorway.

A chorus of giggles and scampering feet followed.

Somewhere down the stairs, she heard one of the toddlers shriek with laughter as Colin’s deeper voice rumbled in playful mock-anger.

A minute later, he appeared in the nursery doorway, flushed and grinning, carrying their youngest girl under one arm like a sack of flour.

Her wild curls bounced as she squealed with delight, wriggling happily in her father’s grasp.

Colin set her down carefully on the carpet before striding toward Penelope with that lazy, devastating smile that still turned her insides to warm syrup.

His gaze—hungry and soft all at once—dropped automatically to her belly.

“You’re glowing again,” he said low, placing one large, familiar hand over her bump without waiting for permission.

Penelope’s cheeks flushed. “I’m always glowing, according to you.”

“You’re always mine,” he corrected smugly, leaning down to kiss her. “And getting more beautiful by the day.”

She swatted at his shoulder, but he caught her wrist easily, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Multiples again?” he murmured against her knuckles, gaze hot and knowing. “I can smell it on you, you know.”

Her breath caught.

“Too soon to tell,” she lied weakly.

Colin’s answering grin was pure, filthy satisfaction.

“Never too soon for me to know what my Omega’s body is doing,” he said, voice dipping low with pride. “You always carry so sweetly for me, love. Stretch so perfect and full… swollen with our pups…”

Penelope whimpered before she could stop herself, heat blooming low and thick between her thighs.

Even now. Even heavily pregnant. Even with a house already overflowing with children.

Her Alpha still reduced her to a needy, soft-bellied mess with just a few words and a touch.

Colin’s palm stayed firm over her belly, stroking possessively. “You’re going to get even bigger this time, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ll rub you down every night when you ache. Feed you. Keep you full… and when these little ones arrive…”

His eyes darkened as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

“We’ll start all over again.”

Her heart twisted—equal parts mortified and wildly, helplessly in love.

“You’re insatiable,” she said breathlessly.

“Only for you, I adore you my love” he whispered back.

From the floor, one of the twins shrieked with laughter, toppling into a pile of stuffed animals.

The others were already dragging their father back down to the carpet, demanding a story, a game, or both.

Colin laughed and let them pull him down, gathering three children into his lap with ease, glancing up at her with that soft, sated look that made her chest ache.

Her Alpha.
Her mate.
Her whole world.

And as Penelope sat back down in her chair, one hand on her belly and the other wiping a tear of laughter from her eye…

She realized she wouldn’t trade a single moment.

Not the scandal.
Not the sleepless nights.
Not the constant, growing, ever-larger nest of pups at her feet.

Because this—this noisy, love-filled, chaotic life…

Was hers.

And she wouldn’t change a thing.

⸻

Penelope moaned softly, her head tipping back against the pillows as Colin’s hands slid over her belly—slow, reverent, possessive.

She was huge.

There was no ignoring it. Her belly curved high and heavy, her skin stretched tight and glowing, her body full of life—full of his pups.

Again.

Multiples again. Of course.

Her nightdress was already pushed up around her hips, leaving her thighs bare and trembling, her slick leaking between them as her Alpha knelt at the foot of the bed, spreading her legs wider with steady, unrelenting hands.

“You did this to me,” she breathed out, voice soft but teasing, her cheeks flushed. “Again. I was barely recovered from the last litter and now look at me—”

Colin’s dark, hungry growl rumbled from deep in his chest.

“Damn right I did,” he said, dragging his hands slowly up her inner thighs. “And I’ll do it again the second your body’s ready.”

His hands curved over her belly, thumbs stroking slow circles across the stretched skin.

“Look at you,” he whispered, kissing the underside of her bump, nuzzling the place where it met the top of her pelvis. “So full for me… carrying so many of my pups… stretched tight with every inch I put inside you.”

Her breath hitched.

Her thighs trembled wider.

“Colin… I’m already… I shouldn’t…” she whimpered, but her body betrayed her—slick pooling between her legs, dripping down onto the sheets at just the sound of his voice.

“Too late for shoulds,” he murmured, dragging two fingers through her wet heat, sliding them inside with ease, curling them deep. “You’re wet for me already. Sweet little Omega can’t help herself… not when she’s this full and still needy for her Alpha.”

Her entire body arched off the bed when he pushed in deeper, stroking her with slow, filthy precision.

“God, you’re still so tight,” he growled, voice low and full of filthy pride. “Even carrying my whole damn litter, you’re still squeezing me like you’re trying to milk every drop out of me.”

“Colin—please—” she gasped, already shaking with overstimulation before he’d even touched his cock.

“Say it,” he growled, dragging the head of his cock up against her dripping entrance, not pushing in yet, just letting her feel how thick and hard he still was for her.

“Say what?”

“Say you want me like this.” He kissed the top of her belly, then her inner thigh, then her bond mark at her throat. “Say you want me to fuck you while you’re full with my pups.”

Her walls fluttered at just the words.

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I want it—I want you—please, Colin… please—”

That was all it took.

He pushed inside in one slow, thick, endless stretch—groaning low in his throat as her walls struggled to take him with her belly already so tight and round.

Her head tipped back as she cried out, tears pricking her eyes at the overwhelming fullness.

“God—Colin—you’re still so big—feels like too much—”

“You can take it,” he growled, moving deeper, grinding into her cervix with slow, devastating thrusts. “You always do.”

His hands stayed firm over her belly, holding her steady, holding her full.

His cock dragged through her, thick and slow and deep—making her cry out with every inch.

And as he rocked into her, he whispered filth and praise between every kiss to her throat and shoulder:

“So perfect for me…”
“Made to carry me…”
“Still so wet and tight, even after all these pups…”
“Gonna fuck you full again after this…”
“Keep you like this forever… swollen and sweet and dripping with me…”

Penelope sobbed under him, her body shaking, her climax building fast and helpless beneath the pressure and the stretch and the heat.

And when she broke apart—arching, crying, coming hard around him—Colin locked his arms around her, thrusting deep through it, grinding harder, filling her all over again with a low, broken groan that sounded like worship and ruin in one.

Even after…

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move away.

Just stayed buried… holding her belly, kissing her soft and slow, whispering promises for the next time.

And the next.

And the next.

Because there would always be a next time.

With her.

With his mate.

With his perfect, full, endlessly fertile Omega.

Penelope let out a soft sigh as she shifted under the covers, adjusting to the familiar, heavy swell of her belly. Her back ached. Her feet ached. Even her ribs had started to ache from the latest round of kicks.

Colin’s hand slid over the curve of her stomach, warm and reverent, fingers spreading wide to cradle the movement of their newest littles.

“Still awake?” he asked, voice low and lazy.

“Barely,” she murmured, nuzzling into his chest. “Your children are hosting a boxing match in my womb.”

He chuckled, low and amused. “Can you blame them? Look at their mother. All that fire in one soft, sweet little Omega…”

“Colin,” she warned, laughing despite herself.

He kissed the top of her head, his palm stroking slow circles over her belly.

“We make the most beautiful babies, you know,” he said casually, almost smug.

She snorted. “Oh do we?”

“We do. It’s practically a talent. You should see the way people look at us in the park. Jealous. Stunned. Slightly terrified.”

“They’re probably just counting how many we have and wondering if we’re done.”

“Never,” he said with mock seriousness, voice dropping to a murmur. “Why would we stop when we’re clearly so good at it, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

Penelope rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed.

“Colin…”

“I mean it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her temple. “You carry them like a goddess. I look at you like this—round and glowing and filled with more of our madness—and I just think…”

“What?”

“We were made for this. You and me. All of this chaos. This home. These pups. We’re good at making them, love. And we’re even better at loving them.”

He paused, voice softening into reverence. “Every single one of them… they remind me of you. They were made from how much I loved you—how much I love you. They carry your beauty, your fire, your heart. And every time I look at them, I see you. I couldn’t be prouder to be their father… and your Alpha. You are so very loved, Penelope.”

Penelope’s breath caught.

Her hand curled over his.

And in the dark, with his lips pressed to her neck, her belly shifting with new life between them, she whispered:

“Maybe just one more after this.”

Colin grinned against her skin. “That’s what you said last time.”

“And the time before.”

“And the time before that.”

She elbowed him gently, laughing. “I hate how smug you are.”

“You love it,” he murmured, kissing her again. “You love me.”

She hummed. “Tragically.”

And beneath the covers, their children kicked, and her Alpha held her tighter.

As always.

Colin exhaled slowly against her skin, the kind of breath that carried years—of love, of mischief, of quiet nights like this. His fingers splayed protectively over the curve of her stomach, and he felt it again—that flutter, that soft nudge from within.

“She’s feisty,” he murmured.

“She?” Penelope arched a brow, though her eyes were closed.

“Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. It’s a father thing. An Alpha thing.”

“Mmm,” she teased. “Or maybe you’re just guessing and want to sound prophetic if you’re right.”

He grinned. “I’d never.”

“You absolutely would.”

“Well,” he admitted, pressing another kiss just beneath her ear, “maybe. But I know she’s going to have your eyes. Just like the others. That impossible shade of blue when the light hits right. And she’ll probably rule the rest of them with a single glare.”

“Poor things,” Penelope murmured sleepily. “Another little tyrant.”

“She’ll be perfect. Because she’ll be ours.”

Silence settled, warm and full, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the trees outside their bedroom window. The house was never completely quiet—not with so many little feet, little howls, little voices dreaming down the hall—but it was peaceful. The kind of peace that only came after building a life from chaos and laughter and choosing one another, over and over again.

“I still can’t believe it,” Colin whispered suddenly.

“What?” she mumbled, half-asleep now, nestled in his arms.

“That I get this. You. Them. All of it. I spent so much of my life chasing noise. Adventure. Something… bigger. And then you looked at me, and everything else just felt small.”

Her heart clenched. She didn’t speak—couldn’t. But her fingers curled tightly around his.

“You gave me this pack,” he said softly. “You made me Alpha, not with a title, but by loving me enough to let me grow into it. You made me a father. You made me… whole.”

She blinked back tears, burying her face in his chest. “You always were. I just reminded you.”

He kissed her hair. “Then thank you. For reminding me. Every day.”

“Don’t get too sentimental,” she murmured thickly. “You’ll ruin your smug reputation.”

He chuckled. “Impossible. I’m devastatingly balanced.”

Penelope laughed, and then sighed, shifting closer until their hearts were pressed together.

Their home breathed around them—soft creaks of floorboards, the distant patter of tiny feet in a dream-run, the murmur of safety.

Tomorrow would bring noise. Spilled juice. Missing socks. Screaming. Wrestling. Books read aloud three times in a row. And probably a tantrum or two.

But tonight? There was only this.

Love.

Warmth.

A heartbeat between them that wasn’t hers or his, but theirs.

And as she drifted off, wrapped in his arms, Penelope thought—not for the first time—that she wouldn’t trade it for all the quiet in the world.

Not when her chaos was this beautiful.

Not when her Alpha loved her like this.

A creak echoed from the hallway.

Colin paused, lifting his head just slightly. “And so it begins,” he murmured.

Penelope chuckled sleepily. “Which one do you think it is?”

“Sounds like Thomas. He always steps like he’s sneaking into a pirate’s treasure room.”

Sure enough, the door cracked open an inch. A messy tuft of golden-brown hair peeked through, followed by wide, solemn eyes.

“Mum?” came a whisper. “Dad?”

“Yes, darling,” Penelope called gently.

Thomas shuffled in, clutching a threadbare stuffed wolf under one arm and dragging his blanket behind him like a cloak.

“I had a dream,” he announced, already climbing up onto the bed.

“Was it scary?” Colin asked, moving to make room.

“No. I was a dragon. But Agatha tried to ride me and wouldn’t get off.” He settled between them with a sigh. “I didn’t like it.”

Penelope smiled, brushing a hand over his forehead. “Next time, fly higher.”

“I tried,” he yawned, snuggling closer. “But she’s very determined.”

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but another creak interrupted him. This one lighter, faster. Then two small shadows darted in, giggling in the dark.

Agatha and George scrambled onto the bed next, one after the other, their pajama-clad legs tangling with blankets and limbs.

“We heard Thomas,” Agatha explained, voice muffled as she buried her face in Penelope’s shoulder. “We didn’t want him to be alone.”

“And the hallway is cold,” George added sensibly, curling into Colin’s side. “And you smell nice.”

“That’s the highest praise I’ve ever received,” Colin murmured, wrapping an arm around him.

Penelope was now half-suffocated beneath a pile of tiny arms, legs, and floppy stuffed animals, but her heart could have burst with the fullness of it all.

“Is this a sleepover then?” she asked, a bit breathless.

“It’s a cuddle storm,” Agatha declared.

Colin grinned and reached over to lace his fingers with Penelope’s. “You heard her. We’re officially in the middle of a cuddle storm.”

“Worst storm we’ve ever had,” she whispered with a soft laugh.

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured. “I’ve never felt safer.”

Their children, once restless, began to settle—slowing breaths, small sighs, soft little murmurs only parents could understand. A tiny foot pressed into Colin’s ribs. A hand tugged at Penelope’s sleeve until she shifted just enough for Agatha to breathe easier.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees. The moon spilled its light across the floor.

Inside, the bed was a mess of limbs and love, of warmth and heartbeat and the kind of chaos that only came from having everything you’d ever wanted pressed up against you in the dark.

Colin turned his head and kissed Penelope’s shoulder, his voice a hush.

“You gave me this.”

Penelope tilted her face toward his, eyes shimmering in the dark. “We made this.”

He smiled. “You and me. And a whole lot of love.”

“And maybe just one more after this,” she whispered again, smiling into the night.

Colin squeezed her hand, the other already stroking soft curls and rubbing small backs.

“As many as you want, love. I’ll be here.”

Their pups sighed and snored and rolled against them.

And Penelope closed her eyes, heart full, surrounded by every piece of her soul.

Safe. Loved. Home.

Always.