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Chapter Text

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He takes a slow, deep breath. Then lets it out again on a soft exhale, a low moan rumbling from deep within his chest.

“Mmm… There you are,” he says, voice low. 

After another exaggerated, slow breath, he speaks again.

“So shy… so quiet…” he croons. “Like you’re afraid I’ll see too much. But that’s exactly what I want, love. To see you. All of you.”

He chuckles, his tone teasing. 

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “Not your hands… not your skin… not those beautiful eyes. I want every part of you laid bare. Not just your body, but that tender little soul you keep locked away.”

A low, hungry groan escapes his throat. 

“God… you’re stunning,” he says. “Even the parts you think are flawed—especially those.”

Taking another slow breath, he lowers his voice to an intimate whisper.

“You flinch when I touch you here, don’t you? Mmm, I feel it… that hesitation.” 

He pauses, letting out a soft moan.

“But you don’t need to,” he insists. “Because to me, it’s irresistible. I could spend hours here—” 

A pause.

“Kissing…”

A gentle kiss.

“Tasting…”

Another gentle kiss, lips lingering a bit longer this time.

“Worshipping—” he whispers. “Until you melt under me and never doubt yourself again.”

He releases a heavier exhale on a breathy moan.

“Fuck… You don’t see it, but you undo me,” he urges. “The way your body feels against mine… the way you breathe when I get close. Every little reaction makes me harder…” he says with a strained groan. “Makes me ache to show you how beautiful you are.”

Then, “Yes, love… Stay still,” he commands, his voice rougher, deeper, but warm.

“Let me trace you… slowly. My hands, my lips—they belong to you. And they’re telling you the truth,” he sighs.

“That you’re perfect.”

A soft kiss.

“That every inch of you is mine to adore.”

Another.

Suddenly, taking a ragged breath, he lets out a soft growl.

“Look at me,” he commands.

“Mmm… that’s it. Don’t drop your gaze. I want you to see how much I need you. How much your beauty wrecks me.”

He moans softly, breathless.

“Fuck… your eyes,” he says. “Don’t you dare hide them.”

He sucks in a breath. “They could bring me to my knees,” he whispers.

“You think you’re small… shy… plain…” he says with a slight laugh.

Then, groaning in pleasure, he continues, “But to me?” 

He pauses, his voice low and reverent. “You’re everything.”

Suddenly he gasps, his breath faster, voice edging on a groan.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby. Yes… just like that. Let me hear you breathe while I touch you. Let me hear how good it feels to be seen, to be wanted.”

He lets out a huff of a breath. 

“Mmm… that’s it. You’re doing so well,” he moans, straining with arousal.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “My beautiful girl. Every curve… every scar… every little mark you try to hide… I want them all.”

“I need them all,” he groans. “Because they’re you.”

“And you—” he insists, in a breathy, adoring whisper, “fuck, you’re perfection.”

His breath quickens, his voice taking on a rough edge.

“I want to worship you until your body forgets every cruel word you ever told yourself. Until all you can hear is me—telling you how breathtaking you are, how gorgeous, how fucking divine,” he moans.

His breath slows again, the rhythm of his voice matching the rhythm of every movement.

“Mmm… yes…” he groans. “You feel that? That’s how much you affect me. How much I need you.”

A long pause, fraught with tension. Then:

“Stay with me, love,” he commands, his voice firm. “Stay in this moment.”

He can’t help letting out a low growl, the tension building in every breath.

“You are mine. Mine to touch. Mine to cherish. Mine to worship.”

His groan deepens before he gasps. 

“Fuck… yes… Come with me, baby. That’s it…” he urges, his voice breaking with release.

“Mmm—God, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything.”

He slowly exhales, a soft, satisfied moan escaping as his voice fades to a tender whisper. 

“My perfect girl,” he says with a kiss.

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A gentle tap to her shoulder jolted Penelope out of her stupor. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, and her eyes landed on the face of an elderly woman. Scrambling to shake herself out of it, she yanked an AirPod out of her ear. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked, breathless.

“The time, dear,” the woman repeated, her voice brittle.

“Oh. Umm…” Penelope awkwardly grabbed her phone, pressed pause on the audio that had been flowing into her ear, and glanced at the clock. 

“It’s half eight,” she answered absently, still trying to reorient herself into the present moment. 

“Thank you, dear,” the woman said, smiling as she moved to sit on the bench next to Penelope, cradling a mug of tea in her wrinkled hands. “Don’t want to miss my train, but I felt the need for a cuppa before heading out into that downpour.” 

Penelope’s gaze followed the woman’s hand as she gestured toward the shop window. The rain was, indeed, coming down rather heavily at the moment. She was almost positive it hadn’t been raining when she arrived at the cafe. Had she really been there that long? She glanced back down at her phone, her brain only just now registering the actual time.

8:34 a.m.

“Oh, fuck!” she yelped, hopping up out of her seat as she scrambled to shove her things into her bag. The elderly woman gasped and scooted out of the line of fire as Penelope awkwardly juggled items in her hands, shoving her book into her bag while simultaneously gulping down the last of her tea.

“Oh no… not again!” she whined as she struggled to shove her arms into her coat sleeves. “Michaela’s gonna kill me!”

Finally managing to jam her arms through her coat sleeves, she swung her bag over her shoulder, knocking it clumsily into the edge of the table, her now-empty teacup rattling perilously against its saucer.

“Fuck! Sorry!” she groaned, holding up her hands as if to steady the table. 

“Sorry,” she said again, this time directing her words to the alarmed woman on the bench as she smiled apologetically. “It’s just… I’m late for work.” 

Snatching the half-eaten biscuit off the napkin, she shoved it between her teeth as she wrapped her long, knit scarf around her throat.

“Oh, best hurry then, dear,” the woman urged.

Penelope nodded, the biscuit still hanging out of her mouth as she pulled her cap onto her head and rushed through the cafe doors towards the tube station.

Letting out a breathless huff, Penelope collapsed onto the carpeted seat of the train. She fidgeted uncomfortably as her soggy, clingy coat bunched around her arms. When she finally felt settled, she pulled her phone out of her bag and fired off a quick text to her boss, making up some lame excuse about getting held up helping an old woman about to miss her train. Hey… it was sort of the truth. 

She sighed, pushing away the guilt as she pulled off her wet cap and smoothed a hand over her dishevelled hair. She was late for work, and she was going to arrive looking like a drowned rat. Great! 

She’d let him distract her again. It was getting out of hand. She was really going to have to get her shit together. Starting now. 

She swiped through her apps, pulling up the audio file paused mere seconds before the end of the sound clip. She shook her head as she stared down at it. It was just a story. Just a voice. It shouldn’t be this distracting. At this rate, she was going to get fired if she didn't sort out her priorities. 

Okay, starting tomorrow.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Penelope relaxed into her seat, slumping against the window as she fished the AirPod out of her coat pocket. She stuffed it back into her ear and pressed play.

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“Well, I hope that was as good for you as it was for me,” he says, chuckling. “As always, my lovelies, thanks for listening.”

He blows a kiss.

“Until next time, behave yourself… unless being bad keeps you thinking of me.”

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A slow smile crept across her face.

Maybe not tomorrow… but definitely soon-ish.

“This is the second time you’ve been late for work this week… and it’s Wednesday,” Michaela Stirling, Penelope’s boss, hissed as Penelope dropped her satchel atop her desk and hung her wet coat on the back of her chair.

“I’m sorry, Mich. I got caught up,” Penelope retorted distractedly as she fired up her laptop.

“Helping a granny. I heard,” Michaela huffed. “Pen, I know we’re friends, but I am still your boss. I need you here on time.”

“It’s just after 9:00. I’m not that late,” she tried to justify lamely.

“You’re supposed to be in that seat by 8:30, Pen.” Michaela lowered her voice and leaned in closely to whisper, “Look, I don’t care where you were, but when you’re late, it reflects poorly on me, and I cannot lose this job. I just bought my flat.”

Guilt washed over Penelope and she sighed heavily. Michaela had been her boss for two months now but her work friend for over three years. They started at the agency as junior copywriters on the same day, recent university graduates ready to take the advertising world by storm. They were quite the duo, Penelope with her keen observations and sly wit and Michaela with her strategic mind and unique vision. The first campaign they were paired up on was a surprise success and afterward, their senior counterparts frequently requested the pair be added to their creative teams. They quickly had the “junior” dropped from their titles, and a few months ago, they were both up for the same promotion. Michaela won out in the end, but Penelope held no resentment towards her. Michaela was forward-thinking, astute, and oozed creativity, and if Penelope were making the choice, she would have chosen Michaela as well.

“I’m sorry, Mich. You’re right. I promise I will get it together.” She glanced away from her monitor and looked up to make contact with Michaela’s deep brown eyes. “You have my word.”

“So what’s got you in such a tizzy these days? I know you weren’t helping an old woman onto the tube.”

“I was… kind of,” she muttered.

“You’ve been acting strange since last week.”

“I have not. I just… Bloody hell!” she huffed. “What is wrong with this computer? It takes forever to boot, and then when it finally does, it’s incredibly laggy. I’m ready to throw this thing in the bin. And no one from IT ever responds to my tickets.”

“Department’s understaffed right now. There’s a new bloke starting tomorrow. Maybe he can help.”

“Doubtful. I’m afraid this thing is a lost cause…” The end of her sentence drifted off as she was finally able to open her email. She began reading the latest demand from the head of marketing at Greggs, her biggest and most important client at the moment. Their team didn’t think the copy for the latest commercial was ‘thought-provoking’ enough. Thought-provoking? It’s for a company famous for cheap sausage rolls, for Christsakes. Why would it be thought-provoking?

“You’re avoiding the question, Penelope.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not acting any kind of way.”

Michaela clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth in disagreement. “If you say so,” she relented, rolling her eyes. “I’ll let you off the hook for now because I know you need to focus on rewriting the commercial for the wankers at Greggs.”

Penelope threw her a confused look and Michaela continued, “I was copied on the email, too. What the fuck do they want, a manifesto about how the sausage roll is more than a quick snack, it’s nostalgia, a beacon of British identity, or some shit?”

“Ugggh, I hate this. This is the longest Wednesday of my life and it's only 9:15,” Penelope moaned.

Michaela’s expression softened and her lips turned up in a smile. She placed a comforting hand on Penelope’s shoulder and reassured, “You’ve got this, Pen. You always do.”

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the only sound in the quiet office suite. It was after five, long after the other team members trickled out, and her monitor’s glow felt accusatory. The blank space on her storyboard mocked her with every blink of the cursor.

Greggs wanted ‘thought-provoking’. Not ‘witty’. Not ‘clever’. Not ‘cheerful’ like the last campaign. Thought-provoking. Penelope had scribbled half a dozen words in her notebook—‘warmth’, ‘honesty’, ‘real people’—but they didn't fit together. They sat there like puzzle pieces from different boxes.

Her pen tapped against the page, rhythmically at first, then faster. She’d had a half-idea earlier, something about customers’ morning rituals, but it slipped away the moment her mind wandered. And it wandered far too easily.

Her jaw tightened. She shouldn’t have listened to that audio during her morning commute. The voice had crept under her skin, low and velvet, full of warmth and command. Now, every time she reached for a tagline, she found herself dragged back into the cadence of that voice, the way it coaxed, the way it praised. As her mind wandered again, unbidden, she heard him.

That voice—with its steady confidence—slipped into her memory like smoke. ‘That’s it, good girl… stay right there for me.' She flushed instantly, dragging her pen across the page in a meaningless scrawl. Heat curled low in her stomach and she squeezed her thighs together under the desk, frustrated. She didn’t want this now. She can’t want this now. This was not the time. 

She shook her head, dragging her attention back to the empty storyboard. Greggs. Thought-provoking. Bakeries. Pastries. ‘Food for thought?’ she scrawled, then immediately crossed it out with a violent slash. Too punny. Too cheap.

Her mind betrayed her again—his growl, that little catch of breath, the heat in his encouragement. She shivered, cheeks burning, and shoved the thought away. “Stop,” she whispered under her breath. She was supposed to be thinking about bakery goods, not the way her body reacted when she listened to him. 

Another half-idea formed, something about bread as “the daily pause,” nourishment as reflection. It could work. But then her chest tightened with the sound of ‘yes, just like that’ echoing in her head, and the thought unravelled before it had a chance to take shape.

The clock ticked over to six. Her notebook was a mess of doodles, half-formed slogans, and frantic scribbles. It slid past seven. She glared at the clock as if it was mocking her lack of progress. Her eyes burned from staring too hard at nothing for another hour. Frustration clawed up her throat until it was hard to swallow. Her chest ached with the pressure of the deadline. She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath.

She didn’t even notice her boss—the same friend who used to share late-night pizza with her during campaign deadline crunches just like this—leaning against the partition.

“You’re still here,” Michaela said softly.

Penelope jumped, then forced a weak smile. “Yeah. Trying to wrestle genius out of myself. It’s… not cooperating.”

Michaela stepped in, the scent of coffee trailing with her. “And maybe trying to make up for being late this morning?” she gently teased.

Penelope offered a sheepish smile.

Perching on the edge of the desk, Michaela glanced at the chaotic notes. “You’ve been at this all day, huh?”

“Since lunch,” Penelope admitted, her voice tight as she closed her notebook like she’d been caught with something shameful. “I had a bunch of emails to catch up on this morning. But now I’ve got nothing. I mean, they want profound from… sausage rolls? It feels impossible.”

“Hey.” Michaela’s voice was gentle, steady in the way it had always been. “Sometimes the harder you push, the less it works. Why don’t you call it a night?”

“I can’t. The deadline’s—”

“You can,” Michaela cut her off, smiling. “Tomorrow isn’t today. And you’ll see it differently when you’re not exhausted. Go home. Relax. Rest. Reset. Ingest something that isn’t coffee and sugar. Come back with fresh eyes. I promise the ideas will come. You always find them.”

Penelope’s throat tightened, torn between gratitude and the urge to cry as the anxiety chewed at her ribs. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t want to let you down, Mich,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

“You won’t,” Michaela said firmly. Then, her voice softened with a familiar teasing lilt. “Just do me a favour and make sure you actually get here on time tomorrow, yeah? Inspiration won’t help you if you sleep through half the morning.”

Penelope’s lip twitched despite herself. “Noted.”

“Good.” Michaela patted her shoulder, warm and reassuring. “Go home. Trust yourself. You’ll crack it tomorrow.”

For the first time all day, Penelope let herself really breathe. She knew exactly what she needed to relax. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get home. Gathering up her things, she headed toward the tube station, the anticipation beginning to flutter in her belly. 

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He takes a slow, deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. 

“Mmm… hey, love,” he says with a soft smile in his voice.

“Before we start… tell me—how are you feeling tonight?” 

A short pause. 

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Come here, pretty girl.”

He hums softly. “Hi there.” 

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay… you know I always need to ask—do you want this? Do you want me to take care of you tonight?”

He takes another slow breath.

“Mmm… yes. That’s my girl. Thank you for trusting me,” he says, his voice warm, assured.

A slow, soft kiss.

“You don’t have to think; you don’t have to worry,” he promises. “Just let go. Let me lead.”

Another kiss.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

He lets out a groan. “God, you’re beautiful,” he says, voice husky. “Even when you’re shy… especially when you’re shy. You don’t need to hide. Not from me.”

He hums appreciatively.

“Let me see you—every inch, every breath, every sound,” he breathes.

A gentle kiss. 

Another. 

Then he slowly exhales, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“Mmm… fuck… you undo me just by being here. My hands would be on you already, gliding up your thighs, parting them just enough… feeling how warm you are for me.”

He groans, his breath catching.

“You’re already aching, aren’t you?” he asks. “Fuck, I can hear it in your breath.” 

He lowers his voice to a murmur. “Touch yourself for me, love,” he commands. “Yes… right there.” 

A long pause. 

He lets out a slow growl.

“Good girl,” he moans.

A wet kiss.

“God, the thought of you… my hand wrapped around myself… mmm… fuck… I can’t hold back when I picture you spread open, touching yourself the way I want to.”

He groans, breathing becoming heavier. 

The sound of slow stroking.

“Yes, baby… keep rubbing, nice and slow,” he urges. “Don’t rush. Let me hear you. Every whimper, every gasp—fuck—it drives me insane.”

His voice deepens, almost a growl. “Good girl… that’s it. You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

He hums in pleasure. “Mmm, I can almost taste you. Imagine my tongue there instead, licking, circling, sucking you until your hips are shaking.”

The sound of exaggerated kissing and licking noises.

He moans. “Mmm… fuck yes… I’d worship your pretty cunt until you couldn’t breathe, until all you could do is beg me not to stop.”

Picking up the pace, he moans louder, his voice strained.

“Yes… fuck… keep going, love. Circle it just the way I know you like.”

His breath becomes laboured. “Harder… faster… let me hear it," he insists. "Let me hear my good girl fall apart for me.”

He lets out a growl that turns into a deep, breathless groan.

“God, I’m stroking myself to the thought of you—”

The sound of stroking begins to increase in volume and pace.

He begins to pant with the effort, then gasps. 

“So needy, so perfect—fuck, I’m close just hearing your little whimpers.”

He moans.

“Yes… yes, baby… You’re doing so well for me.”

His voice takes on a commanding edge.

“Take it higher, take it faster—that’s it, let it build…”

He groans softly. 

“Mmm, fuck… I can feel it; you’re right there.”

A long pause, filled with anticipation.

Then, rough with pleasure, he commands, “Come for me. Right now. Be a good girl and come for me.”

He lets out a louder growl that turns into another groan.

“Yes—fuck yes—that’s it,” he pants. “Mmm… oh God, I can hear you falling apart. So fucking beautiful when you let go.”

He moans, long and breathless.

“Ahhh—fuck, yes… That’s my perfect girl…”

He whimpers, then gasps.

“Fuck, yes… I’m with you… I’m right there… mmm—”

He groans loudly with release, lost briefly in his own ecstasy as he tries to catch his breath.

As his breathing slows, his voice softens tenderly.

“Mmm… good girl,” he croons. “So beautiful… so perfect when you come. When you let me take care of you. Come here. Give me your mouth.”

A gentle kiss.

“Shhh… just breathe with me,” he encourages.

He lets out a soft hum, then a slow, relaxed exhale.

“That’s it, love,” he purrs. “You did so good for me. So good. You’re safe. You’re mine. And you’re everything I’ll ever need.”

He sighs contentedly. 

“Oh, wow. I really needed that today. Did you?”

Chuckling, he lowers his voice to a teasing murmur. “I think you did. And I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did. Because I definitely enjoyed it, love.”

He hums softly. 

“Thank you for spending time with me today. You make me feel so special, baby. I hope I make you feel special too. Because you are special to me. And don’t you forget that.”

He blows a kiss.

“Until next time, behave yourself… unless being bad keeps you thinking of me.”

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The next morning, Penelope barely managed to make it in on time. It was a small victory she clung to as she settled at her desk, clutching her coffee like armour. She told herself today would be better. Fresh eyes. New ideas.

She was halfway through rereading Greggs’ campaign brief when Michaela called her into the conference room.

“Sorry to interrupt your flow, Pen. I know you’re in the thick of it,” Michaela said.

“No worries, Mich. What’s up?”

“I wanted you to meet the newest member of the team. Here to hopefully solve all our problems.” She chuckled at her own joke. 

“He was with HR this morning for onboarding,” Michaela continued. “That’s why I couldn’t make introductions before you got started.”

Penelope quirked her brow curiously. 

“This is Colin,” Michaela said, introducing the agency’s latest hire, the new IT personnel who would be handling the department’s seemingly never-ending tech complaints. Penelope turned and the world lurched sideways.

Her gaze snagged on him instantly. 

“Well, maybe not all your problems, but I’ll do my best,” he said with a smirk.

The easy smile, the tilt of his head… it stirred something familiar, though she couldn't place it right away.

“Hello Penelope,” he said warmly, as if no time had passed. “Good to see you.”

And suddenly, it hit her like a lightning bolt—enough to send a confused shiver down her spine. It had been years since she’d last seen him, but there was no mistaking the familiar curve of his mouth, that smooth tone of his voice, the way he carried himself, only more confident now, sharper around the edges. He’d grown into himself, and it made her chest tighten.

“You know each other?” Michaela asked, momentarily confused.

“It’s been a long time,” Colin said simply, “but, yes. We’re acquainted.”

Penelope stumbled over a greeting, suddenly aware of the heat in her cheeks. Her throat went dry. She nodded politely, managed a strained “welcome aboard”, and silently made plans to excuse herself as soon as it was reasonable. 

“Your boss said you’ve been having some computer trouble?” he enquired, startling her. She suppressed another shiver. 

“Uh, yeah. Yes. I’ve been… glitchy.” Penelope winced at her own awkwardness. “I mean—the laptop. Not me. Well, maybe me too, but—”

His chuckle was low and easy, and she wanted to sink through the floor. “Let’s take a look, then.”

Penelope led him back to her desk, painfully aware of how close he walked behind her. Her pulse fluttered with something that wasn’t just surprise; it was attraction, unwanted and inconvenient. As if her brain had been primed for this, the echoes of the audios spilled through her head. 

‘Relax. Breathe. That’s it, just like that.’

Of all people. Of all places.

When they reached her workstation, Colin gestured at the screen. “I won’t be interrupting your work, will I?”

Her mind blanked for a second under the weight of his attention, then she blurted, “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just, um—” She slid her chair sideways and tapped her notebook. “Scoot over a bit. I can scribble down ideas and transcribe later. You won’t even notice me.”

“Perfect,” he said, crouching to plug in a diagnostic drive.

Penelope bent over her notebook, willing herself to focus on words instead of the warmth of him beside her. 

But the moment her pen touched the paper, the flow emerged. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the distracting rhythm of his voice as he muttered to himself over her keyboard. Or maybe it was the phantom cadence of those audios threading through her thoughts, urging her onwards.

‘Slow down. Breathe for me. You’re doing so well. Take your time. You’ve got this.’

And then—strangely—it clicked.

Greggs didn’t just want 'thought-provoking'. They wanted something that made people feel seen. Reassured. Like a moment of care in the middle of their routine.

‘Slow down. Breathe for me.’

Her hand flew across the page: sketches of commuters pausing, parents sharing a pastry, a teenager laughing with friends over coffee. Visuals of people rushing, and the simple act of stopping for a pastry as a grounding moment. Not ‘funny’, not ‘catchy’—but human. 

Real. 

She underlined her phrase three times: Take a pause with Greggs.

Her pulse raced, but this time it was from exhilaration, not panic. For the first time in days, the ideas felt alive. Inspiration spilled out of her at last, and all she had to do was scoot over, breathe, and let it happen.

She sat back, exhaling slowly, notebook filling fast with notes and sketches.

Maybe this wasn’t a disaster after all.


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He lets out a rough exhale with a low growl.

“Mmm, there you are,” he says. “Come here.”

A small pause.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Right here. I don’t want shy tonight,” he insists in a stern tone. “I don’t want you hiding. When I tell you what to do, you do it. Understand?”

Another short pause. 

“Good girl,” he purrs with a kiss.

Then, he lets out a wicked laugh.

“You like it when I take control of you,” he says. “Don’t even try to deny it. That sweet little body of yours was made to follow my orders. So open those pretty thighs. Right now.”

He lets out a satisfied groan.

“Good. Keep them there. Don’t you dare close them until I say so,” he orders.

Suddenly, there’s the sound of wet spit, followed by a low growl.

“That’s it. My spit on you—messy, dripping,” he urges. “Take it, love. That’s right. You’re going to rub it in, right on your clit.”

A slow intake of breath.

“Do it. Now,” he says sharply. “Mmm, fuck, good girl.”

He lets out a heavy moan and needy growl as he strokes himself.

“You hear that?” he asks. 

Wet sounds of stroking begin. 

“That’s me stroking my cock to the sight of you obeying me,” he murmurs intently. “Fuck… you make me so hard.” 

He groans louder. 

“Keep circling. Faster. I want you needy. I want you soaking, Pet.”

The sound of steady stroking continues.

"That's right. You're my little pet aren't you?" 

He lets out another snarling groan, his breath harsher now. 

“Aren't you? Say it,” he directs. “Say you’re my good little pet.” 

A sharp intake of breath. 

“Louder,” he demands.

He lets out a dark chuckle.

“Mmm, that’s better,” he praises. “God, I love hearing you admit it.”

He takes a slow, deliberate breath and sighs with satisfaction.

“Now… You’re going to come when I tell you. Not before,” he warns. “If you even think about coming without my permission, I’ll stop. And you’ll be left begging, dripping, pathetic.”

He hums low in his throat.

“Do you understand?”

A pause. 

“Good,” he whispers harshly.

He lets out another growl. His breathing ragged as the sound of wet kisses takes over.

“Fuck, you sound so messy down there,” he pants. 

“Rub harder. I want you right on the edge. That’s it.”

There’s a longer pause as his laboured breathing continues.

“Yeah, that’s it, pretty girl. Shake for me. Moan for me. Let me hear how desperate you are,” he groans.

Stroking sounds begin to pick up speed.

“God, I’m so close just listening to you—” he whines, voice breaking with need. “My dirty little girl, legs spread, cunt wet with my spit, doing exactly what I say. Fuck… yes.”

He inhales sharply, his voice taking on a commanding tone.

“Now. Come for me,” he demands. “Right fucking now. Be my good girl and come.”

A low growl escapes his throat, overlapping with moans as he reaches climax.

“Yes—fuck yes—that’s it,” he breathes. “Mmm, you’re perfect when you fall apart for me like that.”

He lets out a satisfied sigh.

“Good girl…” he pants, his voice gravelly. “You took it so well. Just like I knew you would.”

His breathing slows, voice softens, tender now.

“Shhh… that’s it,” he croons. “You did so good for me, love.”

A gentle kiss.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs softly. “My beautiful girl… my perfect girl. Come here.”

Another gentle kiss.

“Breathe with me,” he whispers softly. “That’s it… just rest now.”

He takes a slow, deep breath.

“You’re safe.”

Another.

“You’re mine.”

He takes one more deep breath, then lets out a soft, soothing hum.

“And I’ll take care of you,” he promises.

Several slow, soft kisses, accompanied by only the sound of his steady breathing.

“Mmm. You believe me don’t you? I am proud of you. Yeah,” he croons. 

“You did so good, love,” he praises. “Now be a good girl one more time for me and go turn on that shower. I want you to let that warmth wrap around you as if it were my arms.”

Another kiss.

“Use that fancy new soap,” he suggests. “No, don't argue. You deserve to spoil yourself. And it makes you smell so good, baby. I love it when you smell good. Will you do that for me, please?”

His voice lowers to a murmur. 

“Good. Then I want you to pour yourself a cup of tea and get cosy in your favourite spot. You know the one. That’s it. Are you comfy?”

A short pause, the sound of a blanket being pulled close. 

“There,” he soothes, a smile in his voice. “Lets get you all tucked in. That’s it.”

He chuckles. “You look like a little warm burrito. So cute,” he teases with another kiss.

“Now that you’re all cosy, relax for me. Let that tea soothe your throat. That’s it. Now close your eyes… and just allow your mind to rest for a moment. Take some deep breaths for me.”

He takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly.

“Just like that. Good. Now another,” he instructs.

Another deep breath in, then out. 

“I want you to remember something,” he says, his voice gentle. “Keep breathing for me. In. Out. That’s it. Just breathe and listen to the sound of my voice. I want you to remember that you are incredible and you deserve to feel good.”

He hums. “You do. And I’m so lucky you chose to let me help you feel good. When you tuck yourself in tonight, allow yourself to fully relax, okay? Feel your body melt into the mattress. Feel the cool sheets against your skin. The softness of the pillow beneath your head. And close your eyes and rest, knowing that someone out there is dreaming of you tonight.”

A short pause.

“It’s me,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m the one dreaming of you.”

There are a few more heavy exhales and a comfortable silence before he sighs contentedly. 

“There aren’t words to express how badly I needed that. I hope it was good for you, too.”

A brief pause, and then he blows a kiss.

“Until next time, behave yourself… unless being bad keeps you thinking of me.”

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A satisfied smirk washed over Penelope’s face as she set her favourite vibrator down on the nightstand. Back-to-back orgasms left her feeling warm and slightly woozy, like she just stepped off a boat after a long day at sea and was trying to walk on solid ground. He always made her feel this way—dizzy and boneless and wanting more.

Always wanting more.

And she deserved more. Especially after she found her flow and rewrote an entire ad campaign by early afternoon. Colin proved to be a surprisingly capable technician and had her computer running at full speed in just over an hour. Shortly after, the Greggs chief marketing officer had the reimagined proposal in his inbox with plenty of time to spare, and he’d even replied “spot on” before Penelope left the office for the day. She considered swinging by the pub on the way home, or even better, treating herself to a new handbag at Harrods, but ultimately there was only one way she wanted to celebrate.

A few orgasms would do the trick, courtesy of her new favourite voice actor.

She remembered how this obsession started, just two short weeks ago. She brought work home with her one night, tasked with finding a voice actor to narrate Greggs' latest podcast advert. She meant to peruse the usual websites for freelance performers when a misguided search term caused her to stumble upon a certain subreddit. The NSFW warning popped up and she clicked the tab closed immediately. This was her work computer, after all.

But her curiosity was piqued, so she grabbed her phone and found the page again. Her eyes went wide as she skimmed over tags that said things like Masturbation, Cunnilingus, Wet Sounds, Cum Play.

Then they settled on a thread simply titled “I Yearn For You” with tags that read Yearning, Kissing, Needy, Desperate, Whimpers, Listener Orgasm, Irish Accent.

She clicked, and she’d been tumbling down the rabbit hole ever since.

She tried listening to a few other performers, but they all sounded so fake and foolish. There was just something about him. Something about his voice—low, steady, and soothing as he heaped praise on the listener, admiring their beauty, assuring them that they were his good girl.

Every word that left his lips felt genuine and sincere. And then suddenly, his soft Irish lilt would morph into a seductive growl, commanding her to get on her knees and take him down her throat. He’d chuckle at her greedy enthusiasm, and after a symphony of lewd, wet sounds, he’d find release in a series of the most beautiful, breathy moans. 

Penelope shook her head in disappointment, feeling embarrassed that a voice on the Internet sent her into such a tailspin. She reminded herself that he was probably just a guy, middle-aged, chubby, and balding, living in his mum’s attic, who found some sick joy in masturbating for pathetic women like her to hear.

She pulled herself up and headed to take a cold shower. She needed to calm down before bed and distract herself with something productive. Her phone automatically connected to the shower speaker and for the first time in days, instead of turning on another one of his scenes, she turned on the BBC Global News podcast. She wasn’t sure what killed the mood faster—the impossibly cold spray of the water or the disheartening headlines of the day.

Teeth brushed and night cream applied, Penelope crawled into bed and closed her eyes. She was just about to doze off when her phone chirped with a new notification. Unable to ignore it, she flipped the phone over and grinned giddily.

New Post by Lord Whistledown.

Chapter Text

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“Mmm… Darling, there you are. I missed you this afternoon,” he murmurs, his voice warm and soft.

There’s the sound of a gentle kiss.

“You look tense, baby. Rough day at work?”

He emits a worried hum, and then coos, “I’m sorry, my love. I’ll make it better, I promise. Let me help you relax.” 

Another gentle peck. 

“Why don’t you shower and put on something more comfortable, and I will pour us some wine.”

There’s an extended silence before he releases a soft moan of approval.

“There’s my beautiful girl. You’re already looking more relaxed. Did that hot steam loosen up your muscles a bit?”

He chuckles softly. 

“Yeah? That’s good, baby. I want you to feel soft and pliant for me.”

He hums in satisfaction, his tone changing.

“Fuck, look at your hips sway as you walk toward me. I love the way your pyjama shorts ride up your thick thighs as you move. And that T-shirt…” 

He laughs.

“That’s mine, isn’t it? You think you can just take what you want out of my drawer?”

He releases a low growl of approval. 

“Well, I guess it’s ok. I mean look at the way that thin fabric stretches over your tits. Perfect tits that probably feel so good, freed from that bra after a long day.”

A soft rustling, as he shifts into a different position.

“And the way your wet hair drips and makes the fabric translucent across your nipples? God, baby, it’s driving me insane,” he growls. “Look at those perfect, pert nipples on display for me. So pink, and already hard. I can’t wait to get my mouth on them. Suckle you until you arch into me and can’t take it any longer.”

He takes a shaky breath as if to steady himself. 

“But first, join me on the sofa, love. Yes, that’s it, right here.” 

There’s a soft pat of a hand against a cushion.

“A glass of wine for you, darling. Your favourite, from our trip to Italy.”

He pauses, and when he starts speaking again, adoration drips from his voice. 

“Cheers to my beautiful girl. So smart, so capable. You work so hard, and you deserve to be worshipped at the end of the day.”

Glasses clink, and he continues.

“You’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, my love. How about you let me rub them for you? Here, sit on the floor in front of me and scoot back against the sofa. That’s it baby. Look at you. You look so cute and tiny tucked between my legs.”

He chuckles softly, hands sliding along skin.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re all knotted up. What’s got you wound so tightly?” he asks, voice filled with concern.

“You don’t want to talk about it? That’s OK, you don’t have to talk about it. Just let me work these muscles for you.”

Hands continue to glide over skin slowly, rhythmically.

“You don’t deserve that my love. You are so dedicated to your job. You are so good at it, and yet you carry so much stress. It isn’t right. Let me take it from you. I want to make you feel good.”

A short pause.

"I am making you feel good?” 

He sighs in relief. 

“Perfect, because I want you to feel good everywhere. Your shoulders, your neck, your forearms. You build up so much tension sitting behind a desk all day.”

His hands continue to move slowly.

“When I’m done with you tonight, the only tight muscle I want to feel is your pussy gripping my cock.”

A short pause, then a chuckle.

“Mmm, do you like it when I talk to you like that? Yeah, I know you do. I saw you wiggle your bum, trying to squeeze your legs together without me seeing. But I saw you, love,” he teases. 

Then, his voice drops to a murmur as he leans closer.

“I always see you.”

His hands pause their roaming.

“I want you to close your eyes. Yeah, that’s it baby. Keep them closed and just listen to the sound of my voice.” 

The volume of his voice drops to barely a whisper. 

“You are perfect, and you deserve the world. And I’m going to give it to you."

He hums in mild disapproval.

“Don’t you dare shake your head at me. I’ve never met someone as perfect as you. You are perfect. And you’re perfect for me.”

Suddenly, there’s a series of wet, sloppy kisses. 

“Do you like it when I kiss your neck like that?”

Kiss.

“Yeah?” 

Another, slower this time.

“Because I love sucking on it, all along the graceful curve of it. I just want to be good for you, baby.”

A soft kiss turns into gentle suckling.

“Christ, love. You can’t moan like that, or I’m going to have to toss you over the arm of this sofa right now,” he scolds, the words muffled as he continues to kiss and suckle.

A pause.

“Oh. You would like that, huh?”

He chuckles darkly.

“Of course you would. You can be a greedy little thing, and you never turn down a good pounding,” he teases.

Then, his tone softens again. 

“But tonight, love, I want to take it slow. I want you to luxuriate in the feel of me worshipping your body. And before anything happens with my cock, I’m going to spend forever eating that gorgeous pussy of yours. I swear to God, every part of you is so fucking pretty.”

He groans.

“Especially your cunt. And you taste so good baby. I can almost taste your sweet nectar on my tongue right now.”

He laughs, its low sound almost taunting.

“But that’s not what we’re focused on right now, is it? I’m not done caressing this gorgeous body of yours.”

Hands begin to slide against skin again.

“So soft, so plush, full of curves that drive me insane. Why don’t you climb back up on the sofa, love, and lie down.”

He stills his hands. 

The sound of the sofa cushion dipping.

“Yeah, that’s my good girl. Are you relaxed? Would you like a pillow for your head?”

A rustling as the pillow is shifted.

“Mmm, yes, there you go sweetheart. Look at you, all sprawled out and waiting for me to touch you.”

He lets out a soft groan.

“God, I love the way your tits fall to the sides, so natural and heavy and full as you lie there. So big I can barely cup them in my hands. And these rosy nipples, so hard for me. Fuuuuuuu—”

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“Fuuuuuuck!” A female voice yelled in unison. “Bloody hell, Colin, what the fuck is happening? Just because I know you record this smut doesn’t mean I want to bloody hear it!”

Colin jumped in surprise and whipped around to find Michaela, her eyes wide with horror. He quickly paused the recording and pulled off his headphones. “Mich, how’d you get in here?”

“Um, you gave me your spare key last week? I knocked like 10 times but you didn’t answer, so I let myself in. Now I unfortunately know why.” Michaela quipped while peeking into the small cupboard beneath the stairs that Colin had converted into a recording studio. 

“This is like… all professional and shit,” she commented, eyeing the expensive looking microphone before him.

“Yes, well… It is how I make a living.”

“Hmm, funny. Here I thought you were part of the IT crowd.”

“Well, I am highly skilled at turning things on again,” Colin grinned, proud of his lame joke.

“You’re a fuckwit, you know that right?” Michaela asked with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“And yet you love me all the same.” Colin wrapped his arm around the petite woman’s shoulders and pulled her in for a side hug.

“Hmm… I suppose that’s true. Can’t say I had much choice in the matter.”

“Because I’m so irresistible?” Colin asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Because he loved you and that makes you family, whether I like it or not.”

Colin’s eyes softened at the mention of her cousin John. Michaela didn’t speak of him much-and neither did Colin for that matter-but in the rare instances it was unavoidable, Colin always felt a rush of emotion. Sadness. Grief. Loneliness.

His eyes found Michaela’s, wide and wet, likely mirroring his own. At least they had each other. That was the only solace to be found in the aftermath of their mutual heartbreak.

“I brought pizza and beer,” Michaela began, her voice watery. “You have some explaining to do.”

She headed toward the kitchen and Colin was quick on her heels, confused by what she meant.

“Do I?” he asked with a smirk. “‘Bout what?”

“Yes, you do.” Michaela opened the cupboard to the left of the sink and reached for the plates. She let out a frustrated groan as she rose to her tiptoes but still found herself too short to reach their assigned shelf. “Who in their right mind puts the plates on the second shelf?”

“I have no problem.” Colin easily grabbed two plates and set them on the dining table as Michaela sighed dramatically.

“Yes, well, we can’t all be giants.”

“Six feet is hardly a giant,” he scoffed.

Michaela simply hummed in response, focused more on popping the caps off of the beer bottles, while Colin dished up two slices of pizza on both of their plates. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment, having been too caught up in his work to even think about eating. But as he took a seat, his stomach emitted a loud, angry growl.

“Sounds like you got here just in time, Mich. I might have wasted away.”

She let out a hearty laugh and quickly raised her hand to pinch her nose. “That’s funny, Bridgerton. You almost made beer shoot out my nostrils.”

“Hey,” he started, then took a big bite. He continued his sentence with a mouth full of pizza, “I get really focused when I’m working and lose all track of time.”

“Stop. I do not want to hear any more about your work,” she scoffed as she made air quotes. “Especially while I’m eating.” 

“Hey!” he complained. 

Michaela took a long swig of beer. “But I do want to hear more about our work. Please enlighten me as to how you know Penelope Featherington.”

Colin caught the corner of his lips starting to turn upward, and he coughed suddenly, hoping Michaela hadn’t clocked the response. Her eyebrows raised. She noticed. Of course she had. They’d been close friends for years now and despite his best efforts, he could never slip anything past her.

“She lived in my neighbourhood when I was growing up. Right across the street actually. She used to play with Eloise all the time, but then something happened with her dad and they moved away suddenly. We never saw them again.”

“And?”

“And what?” he asked.

“And… why did you smile?” Michaela pressed.

“I didn’t,” he lied, taking a sip of his beer nonchalantly in an attempt to disguise it.

“Yes you did, you liar.”

Fuck. 

“It was just nice to see her, is all.” He shrugged. “She was a sweet kid. They left so quickly, and we just never saw them again. Eloise was devastated.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Were you devastated?”

“No. Like I said, I barely knew her. It was a long time ago.”

“You weren’t sweet on the neighbour girl?”

“Mich, I was 15. She was 12. Don’t be gross.”

“Me don’t be gross? I don’t have a cupboard below the stairs dedicated to recording porn.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

The two friends found themselves giggling at their silly rapport. Colin was so grateful to have Michaela in his life. Despite her tough exterior, she knew and loved the real him. There was no pretense surrounding their friendship. Just two people who accepted and loved all parts of each other.

“So, Penelope…“ Colin treaded lightly. “How long have you worked together?”

“We started on the same day. Rose up the ranks together. We were actually both up for the same promotion; the one I ended up getting. So now I’m her boss, which is a little strange. But we’re making it work.” She shrugged.

“You’re friends, then?”

“I mean, we don’t hang out on the weekends or anything, but yeah, we’re work friends. We occasionally grab a pint together after work. Maybe a pub trivia night here or there.”

Colin nodded and popped open a second beer. “Well I look forward to getting to know her again.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Michaela teased, laughing as Colin shoved her foot with his under the table.

Colin sighed heavily as he trudged toward Michaela’s office. He’d been with the company just four short days, and already the job left him feeling depressed. 

It was an ad agency, so naturally the office layout and decor was sleek and trendy. Most of the employees worked in a wide-open area with cubicle partitions that were barely taller than their monitors. The space was dotted with bean-bag chairs, pinball machines, and ping pong tables, but he never saw anyone enjoy the “perks” of working for a company that, at least on paper, claimed to encourage play to enhance teamwork and foster creativity.

Offices lined the perimeter of the large space, but the floor-to-ceiling glass walls gave the impression that management existed in a fish bowl. There was no privacy. Everyone was watching and being watched at all times.

It was Colin’s idea of hell.

He wasn’t sure how he’d let Michaela talk him into this.

He didn’t really need this job. Somehow the little side-hustle he started while bartending turned into quite the revenue stream, but he couldn’t in good conscience tell his mother how he made a living now, could he?

Colin had always been skilled with technology, building computers, designing video games, and creating websites since he was just a young boy, so when he decided it was time to return to London, his best friend Michaela had just the job for him.

It was safe. Respectable. Boring.

But it was easy, and it provided a suitable front for his family.

Michaela waved from behind her glass wall as she saw Colin approach her office. Her door was already propped open, so he wandered inside and casually collapsed in a chair, propping his feet up on her mid-century inspired coffee table.

“I got your text. What seems to be the problem?”

“Christ, Colin. Get up. You could at least look like you’re attempting to work, couldn’t you?”

“I’m simply awaiting instruction,” he replied with a smirk.

“Something happened to my printer driver. Can you reinstall it?”

A shocked laugh escaped Colin’s throat. “Are you serious?”

Michaela crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Mich, I’ve seen you build a retro gaming console out of a Raspberry Pi.”

“Hey, do you want this job or not?”

Colin pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm, not especially, no.”

“Well if that’s the case I’m happy to ring Violet Bridgerton right now and …”

That was all it took for Colin to spring to his feet and take his place behind Michaela’s desk. He furrowed his brow in confusion momentarily as he tried to determine the cause of the missing driver, but a flash of red caught his attention through the glass.

He realized that from Michaela’s desk, he had the perfect view of Penelope’s workstation. She shifted slightly in her chair, and he could see her face, which was flushed with frustration. He chuckled lightly to himself as he watched her smash her mouse against her desk a few times, and he swore he could hear a faint growl come from her direction.

“It helps if you look at my screen and not Penelope,” Michaela teased, leaning cooly against the office wall.

“I’m not— I’m just waiting for this to download,” he stuttered.

“Okay,” she replied, her tone laced with disbelief.

“I am!”

“Okay!” Michaela repeated, volume and tone matching Colin’s insistence.

He huffed and returned his eyes to the monitor. He smashed a few buttons, and in no time, a test sheet was rolling off the printer.

“Is that all?”

“For now,” Michaela smirked.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he asked as he headed towards the door. No matter how hard he tried to pretend he was annoyed with his friend, he couldn’t help but give her a soft smile.

“I do. But you’re still meeting me at the pub later, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss—"

"And don't try to back out last minute this time!" she interrupted. "You've blown off our campaign for two weeks in a row for your damn audio shit. We need to work on our story arc before the next session."

"I will be there," he assured.

Colin gave a slight wave as he stepped out of Michaela’s office. He started toward the stairwell—unlike the rest of the company, IT was hidden in a windowless basement—but a sharp thwack caught his attention from across the room, followed by a muttered, “Oh, come on, not again.”

He didn’t have to look to know who it was. She was at her desk across the room, mouse in hand, tapping furiously like sheer willpower might convince it to work. A strand of hair had come loose from her bun, curling against her cheek as she glared down at the screen.

He bit back a grin and called over his shoulder, “Everything okay over there?”

She didn’t acknowledge him. She was clearly mid-battle—cheeks flushed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘you’re going to work if it kills you.’

He crossed the office, leaning casually against the side of her cubicle. “You okay there?” he tried again, “or should I call in backup?”

She jumped slightly, spinning toward him. “Oh god. You saw that.”

“I’d say I heard it first,” he said, grinning. “That poor mouse didn’t stand a chance.”

Her expression fell somewhere between sheepish and exasperated. “It’s not my fault! It just—froze, and then started clicking everything all at once, and—ugh. I think my mouse just gave up on life.”

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded in affirmation, trying not to look too entertained. “What are we up to now—issue number five?”

Penelope groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

He leaned on the edge of her desk. “Let’s see… there was the WiFi that wouldn’t connect…”

“The router lied to me.”

“The frozen laptop during your meeting—”

“It unfroze the second you walked in. Like it knew,” she accused.

“And, of course, the infamous corrupted spreadsheet incident,” he said in mock seriousness.

“That one wasn’t my fault!” she protested, turning slightly pink. “I saved it! Twice!”

He grinned, crouching beside her chair. “Sure you did. Maybe the machines just have a vendetta.”

She folded her arms, muttering under her breath. “Sometimes I think they really do.”

He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. “Ah. So we’re in full sci-fi territory now?”

“Don’t mock me. You weren’t there when my laptop fan started screaming at me like an exorcism scene.”

Colin chuckled. “Careful—that’s how it starts. Today the mouse acts up; tomorrow the coffee maker demands tribute.”

She cracked a reluctant smile. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Moderately,” he said, deadpan.

“Don’t joke,” she warned. “That thing already makes a noise that sounds like it’s judging me.”

He laughed, crouching to check the cable connection. “So what I’m hearing is: you’re living in a low-budget sci-fi thriller.”

“Basically.”

He tapped a few keys, unplugged, replugged, and the cursor immediately glided back across the screen like nothing had happened. He turned toward her with an exaggerated flourish. “And just like that—balance is restored to the digital realm.”

She stared at the now perfectly functioning mouse, then at him. “That’s it? It just… works now?” she scoffed. “You’re kidding me.”

“Don’t worry,” he teased. “It’s a common condition. Happens to the best of us.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully, cheeks warming, and the corner of her mouth twitched as she tried not to smile. “I swear I went to university. I’m not this helpless. I promise I’m not an idiot.”

“Nope. Loose connection,” he said, lips curving into a smirk. ”Happens when a machine’s trying to keep its human humble. Classic robot rebellion tactic—lure you into despair, then surrender the second I show up.”

He dropped his voice into a calm monotone. “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Her head snapped up, eyes lighting. “You did not just quote 2001: A Space Odyssey at me.”

He smirked. “You got the reference.”

“Of course I did! ‘Open the pod bay doors, HAL!’” she shot back, deadpan.

He pointed at her, grinning. “Well, look at you. I’m learning all kinds of interesting things about you.”

She arched a brow, playing along. “Like what?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Let’s see… you have a vendetta against technology…”

“Technology has a vendetta against me,” she corrected.

“A caffeine addiction,” Colin continued without missing a beat. He quirked a brow when her eyes shot to the two empty coffee cups on her desk. 

Penelope scoffed, folding her arms in indignation.

“You scrunch your eyes and squint at your screen rather than wear your reading glasses. I’m guessing you think they make you look like a nerd?”

She gaped at him, but didn’t argue.

“Well I’m onto you, Featherington. You are a nerd. I mean, if there was any question, look no further than your good taste in science fiction and surprisingly good Dave Bowman impression.”

“That last one is a secret talent,” she said, mock-serious.

“Noted.”

She smirked, pretending to go back to work. “So you’re impressed that I have excellent taste in terrible movies?”

“Excellent taste?” he said, smiling. “Or just too much time on your hands?”

“Bit of both,” she said.

“Or maybe you’re secretly preparing for the robot uprising,” he said, standing again and brushing imaginary dust from his hands. 

“Maybe I am.”

“Well then, I’ll know who to call when the toaster rebels. Although, I have to say…” He gave her a sidelong grin. “If the machines ever do rise up, I’m siding with them.’

She arched a brow. “You would.”

Colin barked out a laugh that had Penelope chuckling along for a long moment. Then her laughter softened into a shy smile, the kind that made him forget for a moment that this was just a workday fix. They stood there for a moment, the laughter softening into a quieter kind of silence—that easy, unspoken comfort that comes when teasing turns into connection.

He cleared his throat, stepping back a little, trying not to look as charmed as he felt. “Alright. Crisis averted. But I’m putting you on tech probation.”

“Is that a thing?” she asked, smiling.

“It is now.” He winked. “You break anything else today, and I’m confiscating your mouse privileges.”

She rolled her eyes, but he could see the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet somehow, still saving your arse.”

Her blush was immediate—and he wasn’t sure if he meant it as a joke until it was too late.

He coughed lightly, straightening up and retreating a step. “Alright. Try not to anger any more machines today, yeah?”

“I’ll try not to incite any more robot uprisings,” she said, still smiling. “But, I make no promises.”

“Good plan,” he said, giving the desk a light tap before backing away with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’m on call for your next crisis.”

Her reply was dry but fond: “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

“If the machines turn on you again, I’ll be here. Your friendly neighbourhood IT guy-slash-human firewall.”

He looked back over his shoulder, catching her watching him, and the grin came back unbidden.

She snorted, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, walking back toward the stairwell. “But I’m the one who fixes your computer.”

It was late afternoon, the café humming with the low murmur of weekend regulars and the faint hiss of milk steamers—the kind of hour that invited stillness. Outside, the sunlight had thinned to a soft, amber wash, glinting off the windowpanes and dust motes drifting lazily in the air.

Colin sat tucked away at a corner table, half-eaten sandwich forgotten beside a cooling cup of tea. His notebook lay open in front of him, pages scattered with scribbles and half-formed thoughts. 

He was deep in his notes, chasing the rhythm of a new audio idea—something about tone, about how desire could sound in silence—when the door chimed.

Out of habit, he glanced up.

She stepped inside, and the quiet in his head scattered.

The late afternoon light caught only the edges of her form. From where he sat, her face was half hidden in shadow, but something about her posture caught his attention. The quiet confidence in the way she moved, the absentminded gesture of tucking a curl behind her ear as she scanned the menu board.

Then she shifted, stepping fully into the light.

The way her fiery curls framed her face. The thoughtful crease between her brows when she was concentrating. She carried herself with an effortless mix of focus and distraction; as if her mind was always half a beat ahead of her body.

Penelope.

It surprised him to see her there, on a Saturday. She didn’t seem the type to haunt little corner cafés on her day off. He’d half-imagined her weekends were spent tackling projects, catching up on reading, maybe reorganising the universe in colour-coded spreadsheets. But here she was in jeans and a soft sweater, hair loosely pulled back, that same distracted, thoughtful look she wore at her desk.

He watched as she approached the counter. The barista’s face lit up immediately.

“Hey, you’re back! Cutting it kinda close, though. We almost sold out of the almond croissants.” 

“Not my croissants!” she gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Her tone was playful, easy. The kind that made people want to linger in it.

Colin couldn’t help smiling, eyes drifting over the way she leaned into the counter as she talked, bright and animated in a way she rarely seemed at work. She laughed at something the barista said, a warm, full laugh that turned heads nearby.

The exchange drew a quiet chuckle from Colin before he could stop it. There was something about her—open, genuine, the kind of energy that filled the space effortlessly.

He tried to refocus on his notes, but his pen just hovered over the page.  He tried not to stare. Tried not to listen too closely. But her voice was a magnet—lilting, bright, threaded with something soft.

“Rough week?” the barista asked, setting down a to-go cup.

“You have no idea,” she said with a groan. “I’ve been buried in edits all week. My brain is basically mush at this point. Plus, my work laptop kept freezing up on me, I’ve broken the WiFi, my mouse, and possibly my dignity in front of half the department. I think IT’s starting to hate me.”

Colin bit back a quiet laugh, ducking his head, and smiled faintly into his tea.

“You always look like you’ve got it together.”

She grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s just the eyeliner lying for me.”

“Well, you’ll bounce back. You always do. You’ve got that… chaotic competence thing.”

Penelope chuckled. 

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling wryly. “Emphasis on chaotic.”

There was a spark there. Her sense of humour, the rhythm of her speech. He studied her quietly, as though trying to reconcile the girl he barely remembered with the woman in front of him. The woman standing there now moved with confidence, her edges shaped by experience. 

Her features were more refined now—the softness of youth giving way to a more mature figure. The curve of her jaw, the subtle sweep of her lashes, the kind of beauty that didn’t announce itself but revealed itself slowly if you paid attention. And he was paying attention.

Maybe too much.

Her fingers drummed lightly on the counter while she waited, nails painted a pale neutral that caught the light when she moved. She wore a cardigan that slipped slightly off one shoulder, and he found himself wondering absently when he’d started noticing small things like that again. Those quiet, human gestures that carried more intimacy than words.

“Here you go,” the barista said, sliding her drink across.

“Lifesaver,” she replied. “If I survive the rest of the afternoon, I owe you a muffin next time.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I meant it! I’m just bad at follow-through.”

They laughed together, and she reached for her cup, her smile bright and full.

Then she turned toward the door, eyes catching the afternoon light just so, and for a fleeting second, he thought she looked directly at him. His chest tightened, but her gaze slid past him, unaware.

She pushed the door open, calling over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”

The bell chimed again, her laughter still echoing faintly in the air as she disappeared down the street.

Colin stared after her for a moment, pen idle in his hand, heart oddly light and unsettled at the same time.

The quiet came back slowly.

He blinked, breathed, then let out a soft laugh under his breath. “Well,” he murmured, half to himself, “there’s your spark.”

With a grin, he took an ungraceful, hungry bite of his neglected sandwich, chewing thoughtfully while flipping the page of his notebook. He stared at it for a long time while he gathered his thoughts.

It wasn’t just that she’d shown up out of nowhere on a Saturday, or that she’d laughed that unguarded, sunshine-through-the-glass way that made everything else fade. It was the contrast that got him. The memory of her flustered, apologetic self at work versus the version of her now—soft and real and utterly unaware of how magnetic she was when she wasn’t trying so hard to hold everything together.

That unintentional warmth, that mix of awkwardness and grace. It was exactly what he tried to capture in a slice-of-life audio but never quite nailed. The quiet intimacy of watching someone simply be themselves.

He tapped the pen against the page, thinking.

What if he recorded something about that? About wanting to make someone see themselves in the way that he saw her. Beautiful even in the small, unpolished moments. About wanting to take care of someone. About helping someone let go, stop performing and just… exist in the safety of being wanted.

He jotted down the first line before he could overthink it. The rest came easily after that—fragments of thought, tone notes, the rhythm of breath he’d use when he recorded. By the time his tea had gone fully cold, he’d filled half a page.

He sat back, smiling faintly.

He hadn’t meant to find a muse today. But maybe that’s how it always happened. Not in the dramatic, planned ways, but in the quiet, ordinary moments that lingered.

**************************************************
**************************************************

A gentle creak echoes as the door opens quietly, his gym bag thumping as it hits the floor. He grunts softly as he pulls off his coat and kicks his shoes off. He begins to hum something off-key, his tone light as he wanders towards the bedroom.

“Hmm, what do we have here?” he asks playfully. “My girl… curled up like a cat, nose buried in her book. Didn’t even hear me come in, did you?”

He pauses briefly, then lets out a mock-dramatic sigh.

“Wow. I go sweat it out at the gym, come home starving for affection, and this is what I get? Silence.”

The mattress dips as he plops down onto the bed with an exaggerated flop.

“Guess I’ll just lie here and… die of neglect,” he whines playfully, letting out a wounded pout. “Tragic. So tragic.”

The bedsheets rustle as he rolls over, dropping his head and burying his face, letting out a muffled groan. “I hope you feel guilty when they find my lifeless body draped over you,” he mumbles into the pillow. 

A short pause.

“Really?” he whines dramatically. 

He flops against the mattress hard enough for the bed to creak. 

“Okay, fine. “Goodbye, cruel world,” he cries. “Please, tell my story.”

After a moment, he leans in closer, and exaggerated noisy kisses begin.

“Mwah. Mwah. Still reading?” he asks, laughing between kisses. “Really?”

More kisses.

“What if I kiss you… here. Mwah. Or… here. Mwah. Or…”

Quickly peppered kisses continue.

Mwah. Oh, you’re good,” he insists through his continued barrage of kisses. “Mwah. But I’m better.”

He growls, nipping playfully.

“Mm, there it is. That little squirm. My mission is complete,” he says with a chuckle.

The sheets shift again as he lies down, humming affectionately. He begins nuzzling closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.

“God, I missed you today. Couldn’t get you out of my head, love. Every rep, every mile… just kept thinking about your smile, your laugh, the way you fit against me like this.”

He begins a slow trail of kisses as his hands begin to roam, stroking softly, then pausing.

“Can I touch you a little more? Would that be alright?”

A short pause.

“Yeah? Just… let me love on you a bit, hmm?”

The sheets rustle as his hand slides lower.

“Mmm, there we go… you’re already so warm for me. God, I love how your body just welcomes me in like this. Every little breath you take, every twitch under my fingers—it’s intoxicating.”

His breath is shaky as his hand shifts again.

“Tell me, baby…” he whispers. “How does this feel? Do you like when I circle you here… slow and soft?”

Slick wet sounds begin as his breathing gets heavier.

“Oh, I heard that little gasp. You like that, don’t you? Mmm, then let’s try this,” he suggests. 

The rhythm and the sound increase in pace. 

“That’s it, love. Faster, tighter, right there… oh, yes. Look at you, my good girl, melting in my hands. I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you look like this, how perfect you sound when I touch you just right.”

His kiss is harder, muffled moans escaping between breaths. The rhythm of his hand changes a few times as his fingers begin pumping firmly.

“That’s right, angel. Don’t hold back for me. Give it to me. I want it—every sound, every tremble. You’re so perfect when you let go. I’m right here with you; I’ve got you. Come for me, baby. Come all over my fingers.”

He groans, panting with the effort as he picks up the pace of his stroking with urgency. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Take it, baby. Just like that. I’ve got you,” he whispers.

A long pause, filled with anticipation. Until,

“Good girl…” he growls, his breath ragged. “Yes. God, you’re squeezing my fingers, baby. I can feel you. Fuck!”

Another pause as the strokes slow to a stop.

He moans with satisfaction. 

“Mm, fuck,” he breathes. “That was amazing. You came so hard for me. Just like I asked you.”

He sighs contentedly. His hand slides away, his body shifting into a cuddle as he offers a gentle kiss.

“Shh… just breathe, love. You did so good. That’s all I wanted—just to make you feel good tonight.”

A few slow, deep breaths as the urgency fades.

“Mm, that was so quick, too, baby. Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice lighter. 

“Oh yeah? Were you waiting for me to get home and touch you? You having dirty thoughts about me while I was gone?” 

He laughs, then plants a few firm kisses, humming with amusement as he cuddles close again.

“Mm, I got myself all worked up watching you come,” he admits, chuckling. “That was so hot, baby.”

The sheets rustle.

“Uh-uh. Don’t. No. Don’t you dare.”

The sound of wandering hands.

He laughs.

“Stop—” he whines. “No, baby, I mean it. Don’t. You know I can’t resist you when you beg… ugh, god, don’t make that face. You’re evil.”

A playful scuffle, pushing met with mock wrestling noises.

He giggles as the play fighting continues. 

“Fuck—stop tempting me…” he groans with exaggerated exasperation, burying his face. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

A pause.

He tries to soothe with gentle kisses, his tone softening.

“Not tonight,” he insists. “I mean it. Tonight was just for you. You can thank me later… in whatever deliciously wicked way you want. But not now.”

He grunts as he squeezes his arms tighter, his laugh still soft, affectionate.

“Mm, you’ll drive me insane tomorrow though, won’t you? I know you. Trouble.”

He chuckles.

“Yeah? You want to know what I want you to do to me?”

A thoughtful hum.

“Okay… Umm…” He pauses, his voice dropping to a low murmur. 

“Maybe… I’ll have you straddle me on the sofa tomorrow. Or… maybe I’ll bend you over the counter while you’re pretending to cook.”

The sound of a playful smack.

“Ow!” he mocks dramatically, laughing. “Abuse! This is not the reaction I deserve after giving you mind-melting orgasms.”

There’s more playful scuffling, wrestling on the sheets, and laughter, ending in a muffled grunt.

“Ah, caught you,” he teases with a kiss. “Got you right where I want you now. Your wrists pinned under my big hands. Mm, don’t look so smug—you know I always win.”

A deep, hungry kiss.

His moan slips out; tension thickens for a beat before he breaks it with a laugh.

“Alright, alright. Calm down. No more. Be good… for now. C’mere, kitten.”

Sheets rustle as he shifts. 

“No,” he warns. “You know I always get to be the big spoon.”

Another gentle kiss as he settles, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Shhh, close those pretty eyes. That’s it, love. Just let me hold you.”

Breathing becomes slow and steady.

“You’re safe.”

Kiss. 

“You’re mine.” 

Kiss.

“And tomorrow…” he whispers softly, “well, tomorrow you’re in trouble.”

He laughs quietly, then leans close for a final kiss.


**************************************************
**************************************************

He was halfway through a lukewarm coffee when her name flashed across the IT help queue—again.

Projector not connecting. Presentation in ten.

Colin smiled, shaking his head. “Of course it’s her.”

It wasn’t irritation, not really. If anything, he’d started to look forward to her tickets. They’d become a running joke in the department. Technology seemed personally offended by her existence. But to him? She was becoming… well. A bright spot in an otherwise dull day.

By the time he reached the conference room, Colin could already hear her sighing softly to herself. The projector light was blinking a stubborn red.

He leaned against the doorframe. “Need a hand?”

Penelope looked up, startled and then laughed when she saw him. “Oh no… you again.”

He grinned. “Hey, I don’t control the tech demons. You’re the one summoning me.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose. I seem to just repel technology.”

Colin crossed the room, crouching beside the projector. “Mm-hm. That’s what they all say.”

The faint scent of her shampoo hit him as he leaned forward—soft, clean, a little citrussy—and he had to refocus on the tangle of cords just to keep his thoughts straight. The soft click of her pen and the faint rustle of papers filled the air behind him.

He risked a glance up and caught her watching him, just for a second, before she looked back to her laptop like she’d been caught.

He smirked. “You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”

Penelope’s laugh was quick and quiet. “Trust me, I’d love that. But if my luck continues, you’ll probably be back before Friday.”

He couldn’t help teasing, “Not the worst thing that could happen.”

“Entertaining, am I?”

He shrugged, pretending to focus on the HDMI cable. “Let’s just say you’re a more enjoyable client than the people who think the cloud runs on wishes and threats.”

She laughed again, that soft little snort she did when something actually amused her. He liked that sound. Probably too much.

After a few minutes of tinkering, the projector flickered to life. “There,” he said, standing and brushing his palms on his trousers. “Try it now.”

Penelope clicked the remote. The slide advanced smoothly, colour spilling across the wall.

“You’re a miracle worker,” she said, grinning up at him.

He couldn’t resist the comeback. “I prefer ‘saviour’, but I’ll take it.”

Her brow arched. “You’re probably so sick of my endless tech issues. Seriously. Thank you. I’m sure this won’t be the last time.”

Something about the way she said it—grateful, a little self-deprecating—hit him in the chest. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“I don’t mind. I kinda like being your saviour.”

And then his brain caught up with his mouth.

Her eyes widened, and he felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck. “Oh god, that came out wrong,” he blurted, laughing under his breath. “I heard myself say it and knew it was bad the second it left my mouth. Sorry. I, uh… I gotta help Mich wrestle the new printer into submission before she declares war on it.”

Penelope smiled, amused, easing the tension. “Well then, you’d better hurry before it eats her alive.”

Colin chuckled, grateful she wasn’t making it worse. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He started toward the door, hands shoved in his pockets. But something in him didn’t want to leave it like that—the flustered joke, the awkward exit. He paused in the doorway and glanced at her.

She was still watching him, eyes soft, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, he debated with himself, hesitating, then turned back to her with a crooked, almost shy grin. 

“Until next time,” he said, quieter than he meant to.

The words lingered longer than they should have, and when he finally walked out, he realised he was smiling like an idiot.

Chapter Text

She’d been psyching herself up for the drive all morning.

It was the same mental pep talk Penelope gave herself before every family gathering: Just smile. Be polite. Get through the afternoon.  

The drive over had already set her teeth on edge. The same winding road, the same peeling mailbox at the end of the gravel driveway made her stomach flutter with anxiety the closer she got to her destination. Portia Featherington’s house hadn’t changed in fifteen years; even the curtains were the same lace ones that filtered the sunlight into a nostalgic haze that somehow always made her feel like a little girl again.  

She was already regretting accepting the invitation by the time she pulled into her mother’s driveway.

Sitting for a moment, hands still on the wheel, she stared at the familiar little house with its bright flowerbeds—a reminder of how her mother could put so much effort into keeping a flourishing garden but never seemed to have the same energy for her own daughter. 

She could already hear the voices of her sisters’ bright, chatty tones as she opened her car door and forced a deep breath before getting out.

“You can do this,” she muttered to herself, grabbing the bottle of wine she’d brought as a peace offering.

Inside, the air smelled like roast chicken and lemon cleaner. It was the scent of her childhood home, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. It hadn’t for a long time now.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” her mother called from the kitchen. “Come in, dear. We were just talking about you.”

Of course they were.

She set down her purse and took a breath. “Nice to see you too.”

They didn’t even notice the sarcasm.

“You could have been on time for once. It’s not as if you have that far to drive.”  

She bit her tongue. “Traffic was bad.”  

Portia hummed in disapproval but said nothing else. Prudence was perched on a stool, swirling a glass of wine, all crisp blouse and perfect posture. Philippa leaned against the counter and began chatting animatedly with their mother about her kids’ school.

“I brought wine,” Penelope offered, holding it up.

Portia took it with a faint, distracted smile. “Lovely. You can help set the table.”

Penelope nodded and busied herself with plates and cutlery, grateful for the small distraction. The conversation behind her rolled on effortlessly, Prudence talking about her husband’s promotion, Philippa about the family vacation they’d just returned from.

“That sounds amazing,” she said over her shoulder, trying to sound engaged.

“Oh, it was,” Philippa replied. “You should take a trip sometime. Get out of the city. You work too much.”

Prudence sneered. “Very true. That job keeps her chained to her desk,” she said. 

Portia clucked her tongue, turning and addressing Penelope directly. "You know, if you didn’t work yourself to death, you could make time for family once in a while.”

She swallowed a sigh as she carried a large bowl of salad to the table and set it next to the tray of chicken her sister had just placed in the centre.

Lunch was a minefield.  

Compliments about Prudence’s new client. A story from Philippa about her kids’ science fair. 

She smiled. Nodded. Let it all roll off. Or tried to. She’d learned to survive this way—politeness as armour. But it was the same routine every visit.  

Her sisters traded stories about husbands and kids and promotions, all while her mother looked on proudly, Then the slow, inevitable shift of conversation toward her as Portia turned to her with that familiar sigh.

“So,” Portia said, cutting through the small talk like a knife. “How is work going for you then, Penelope? I take it you’re still doing… that thing? Whatever it is you call that job that keeps you so busy?”  

Penelope paused mid-bite. “It’s fine, Mum,” she managed, stuffing her forkful of salad into her mouth and chewing aggressively to avoid grinding her teeth in frustration.

“What is it you do again?” Prudence asked, tone deliberately innocent. “Something with computers?”

They always did this. They knew that Penelope had worked at the ad agency for years. And yet, they still managed to forget every detail no matter how many times she described her job to them. She knew they didn’t respect her, and certainly not her career, but their dismissiveness always stung a little bit more every time they had the same conversation.

“Advertising. I’ve been at the same company for three years,” she said, keeping her voice light. “You know this.”

“Oh right,” Prudence said, as if the detail had completely slipped her mind. 

Philippa tilted her head. “Wow, three years doing the same thing? You must really love it.”

Penelope smiled tightly. “It’s stable.”

“That’s good,” Portia replied in the careful tone people used when they didn’t mean it. 

“Still not management though, right?” Prudence chimed in with a sneer, taking a sip of wine.

Penelope set her fork down. “No,” she said flatly.

“You always were content to stay in the background,” Portia said. 

Penelope frowned, picking her fork back up and stabbing her salad a little too forcefully. 

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” Philippa said with a laugh. “We’re just saying, you’ve got all this potential, but it’s like you’re afraid to use it.”

Her jaw tightened. “Sure. That must be it.”

Portia sighed. “It’s just… you work so much, and I hate to see you spinning your wheels, but you’re not exactly climbing the ladder, are you? Maybe it’s time to think about your next step.”

Her stomach twisted. They didn’t know about the promotion she didn’t get. The one she was genuinely fine with—Michaela had deserved it, and she hadn’t been bitter about that. But they wouldn’t understand that. So she kept it to herself.

Philippa chimed in, perfectly smug. “Some people just don’t have that drive, and that’s okay! Not everyone’s ambitious.”

Penelope laughed under her breath. “Thanks, Phil. I’ll cross that off my list of personal failings.”

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic, Penelope,” Portia scolded. “We’re just saying, you could do so much more if you really applied yourself.”

Penelope fiddled with her napkin. Her pulse was starting to climb. “I am applying myself, Mum. I pay my bills. I live on my own. I’m doing fine.”

Prudence leaned back with that condescending smile she’d perfected decades ago. “You’re always so defensive. We’re just worried you’re getting… too comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” she repeated flatly.

“There’s more to life than just paying your bills and living alone, Penelope,” Portia chided.

They all smiled as if they hadn’t just slapped her in the face.  

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Penelope said, her voice tight.

After another tense moment, the conversation moved on without her. Penelope sat in silence, hoping the wine would steady her pulse and she could go back to pretending to be interested in Prudence’s fertility treatments.

Until— 

Prudence speared a piece of chicken. “So, Penelope, are you still single?”

She clenched her jaw. “Still, yep.”

“You know, you really should put yourself out there,” Portia said. “You’re not getting any younger.”

Philippa smirked. “Do people even date anymore? Or is it all apps and hookups now?”

“I’m sure she’s not doing that,” Portia said quickly, as if the idea were scandalous. “Right, dear?”

Penelope gave a hollow little laugh. “No, Mum. Not exactly.”

“You could meet someone if you wanted to,” Prudence said. “But you’d have to actually go places. Do things. You can’t just work all the time and expect a man to fall out of the ceiling.”

“I’m fine being single. I’m not really looking right now,” she said.

“Oh, Penelope,” Portia said, voice dripping with concern that wasn’t concern at all, “you say that every year. It’s okay to admit you’d like some company. You can’t just throw yourself into your job forever.”

“I’m fine,” she said again, a little sharper this time.

Philippa grinned. “Maybe you should let me set you up. I know someone at the gym—”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, louder now.

There was a short silence. Portia sighed, setting down her fork. “You don’t have to get defensive. We’re just trying to help you find a little happiness.”

Her laugh was humourless. “I am happy.”

Prudence arched a brow. “Are you? You work too much, you don’t date, and half the time you look exhausted. That doesn’t sound happy to me.”

Something in her chest twisted—that familiar mix of anger and shame that always showed up here. She took another sip of wine, which didn’t help.

“Maybe I just don’t need the same things you do to be content,” she said quietly.

Portia gave her a pitying look. “Everyone needs someone, dear. It’s not healthy to be alone all the time.”

Philippa nodded sagely. “That’s probably why you’re so tense. You need a little… release.”

The table went still. Prudence snorted into her napkin.

The fork hit the plate. Hard. That was it. The spark. The one that caught on all the old resentment sitting like dry tinder in her chest. She looked up, the room suddenly very still. 

“That’s enough,” Penelope said, her voice low but sharp.  

Her mother frowned. “Excuse me?”  

“You heard me. This—this is exactly why I don’t like coming home. Because no matter how old I get, no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you. For any of you.”  

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Okay, you know what?” she said, standing abruptly. The chair legs screeched against the tile. “I can’t do this today.”

Philippa blinked. “Do what?”

“This.” She gestured between them. “Every time I come home, you all act like my life’s some kind of group project you get to grade. I’ve been at the same job for three years because it gives me stability. I like being able to pay my rent without asking anyone for help. I like knowing what I’m doing. Maybe it’s not flashy or world-changing, but it’s mine.”

Portia’s eyes narrowed. “No one said you weren’t capable, dear. We just think you could—”

“—do better. I know,” Penelope cut in, voice trembling now. “That’s always the message, isn’t it? No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

The silence was thick.

She set her napkin down carefully, hands trembling. “You know what? I think I’ve had enough family bonding for one afternoon.”

Her mother frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’re just talking—”

“No, you’re judging. Like you always do.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “Every time I come here, it’s the same thing. You pick me apart like this. My job, my love life, my choices. None of it’s ever good enough. I work hard. I take care of myself. I’m single because I want to be. I’m not some charity case in need of your advice.”

“Now don’t start—”

“I’m not starting, Mum,” she snapped. “You are. Every time. I’ve been a fully functioning adult for years, and somehow I still feel twelve when I walk through this door.”

Silence. Even the clock seemed to stop ticking. Three stunned faces staring at her. 

“I’m living my life. I’m happy, or at least I was, before I walked through this door. But somehow that’s never going to count, is it? You’ll always find something to pick apart. Something to make me feel small.”  

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Anyway, this was… great,” she said, her voice trembling between fury and exhaustion. “Really. So great to see you all again. Super fun catching up. It’s been too long since someone reminded me what a disappointment I am. Can’t wait till next time.” 

She reached the door and paused, hand on the knob. “Enjoy the rest of your lunch,” she added dryly, and walked out before anyone could say another word.

Her chest was tight, pulse hammering behind her ribs as if she’d just run a race.

Cool air hit her face when she stepped outside—sharp, almost painful after the stifling warmth of the dining room. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The sound of their voices still echoed faintly through the open window: low, startled, disbelieving.

Her heels clicked too fast on the path. Her keys felt slippery in her hand. When she reached the car, she fumbled them once, twice, before getting the door open.

The air inside was stale. She shut the door and sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady her breathing. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung.

Don’t cry yet. Just go.

She jammed the key into the ignition, missed, tried again. Her fingers were trembling so badly she had to stop and press both hands flat against the wheel.

Breathe.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. 

Again.

Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked pale, eyes glassy. She gave herself one tiny nod, turned the key, and the engine caught. Relief flooded through her. She wasn’t calm, not yet, but steady enough to move.

The driveway blurred past. The house shrank in the mirror. Penelope didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until she hit the main road and finally exhaled.

A kilometre later, the adrenaline gave out. Her hands started shaking again, this time harder. The tears she’d been choking back swelled up fast, blurring the lines of the road.

She blinked furiously, sniffed, and then swerved into a quiet pull-off near a field and put the car in park.

The first sob hit before she even killed the engine. Small at first—a shaky, embarrassed sound that broke into something deeper. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and let it come.

All of it.

The guilt for snapping. The anger for being pushed that far. The ache of never being understood. Of trying so hard to prove herself only to still feel like the family disappointment.

Her breath hitched until it became shallow hiccups. Then, slowly, it started to ease.

The sobs came slower now. Quieter. Each one smaller than the last until they dissolved into shaky breaths.

She leaned her head back against the seat, eyes closed, the ache behind them pulsing. Her chest still felt too tight. That familiar jittery panic in her stomach hadn’t quite left. She rubbed her palms together, trying to warm them, but they still shook faintly.

After a while, the only sound was her breathing and the tick of the cooling engine. She stared out at the stretch of road ahead, washed in late-afternoon light.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of his voice from one of the audios she’d listened to last week, the one she’d fallen asleep to by accident. The one that always made her feel safe.

Breathe with me, love.

She exhaled, almost a laugh. Then obeyed.

In through the nose.

Hold.

Out through the mouth.

Her fingers followed his imagined cues, one hand over her chest, feeling the rise and fall. The other pressed lightly to her thigh, grounding herself in the here and now.

“Good,” she whispered, echoing the voice in her mind. “That’s good.”

She thought about how he always guided the listener back to their body after intensity, his tone slow, low, sure.

Feel your feet on the floor. Feel where your body meets the bed. You’re safe. You’re here.

Her hand slid down to grip the edge of the seat, anchoring herself. The car wasn’t moving. The road was empty. She could hear birds, the faint hum of a lawnmower somewhere far off.

Her breathing steadied.

The tightness in her chest softened a little with every exhale. She let herself sink into the seat, eyes closed, imagining the warmth of his hand tracing small circles against her back, that quiet reassurance:

You did so well. You’re safe now. I’ve got you, love. Just breathe.

A shaky sigh escaped her. She felt foolish for crying in her car but less alone. The words in her head were just words, but they helped. They always did.

She reached for the water bottle in her bag, took a long drink. The coolness hit her throat, grounding her further. She rested the bottle between her knees and sat for another minute, just breathing and letting her pulse settle. Her reflection in the rearview mirror looked raw but calmer. Eyes red, nose blotchy, but she could look at herself again.

Her voice trembled once, but it didn’t crack.

“Okay,” she said softly. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

She started the car again. The sound of the engine was steady, like her breathing now.

This time, when she pulled back onto the road, she didn’t look in the mirror at all.

As the afternoon dragged on, Penelope’s hurt and frustration evolved into anger. She always reluctantly accepted every single lunch invitation from her mother in hopes that this time it would be different.

It never was.

It was always the same old shit—not understanding what she did for work, not caring enough to learn. Working too much. Not working hard enough. Being chronically single, though that criticism was always veiled under verbiage like “not prioritising her social life.”

Penelope was smart. She knew what they meant.

And so what if her idea of a good time meant watching AbFab reruns and spending the weekends lost in a novel? What did it matter? Besides… she did things. She loved going to museums and taking long strolls through the park. Some days, she’d plop herself down under a tree in Hyde Park and spend hours peoplewatching—jotting down observations, crafting flowery descriptions of the nature surrounding her, sometimes even taking photos of little vignettes that inspired her. For what, she wasn’t sure. Maybe for a future campaign idea. Maybe for the book she was definitely someday going to write. But for now, these quiet moments filled her days and she was happy… -ish.

As she headed into the kitchen to set her load of laundry to dry, their words played on repeat in her mind.

You’re not getting any younger.

Her breath quickened.

You work too much.

Her face felt flushed.

You don’t date.

Her fists clenched.

You don’t look happy.

“Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Penelope let out a primal scream, for once not caring if the neighbours heard. “Fuck off! What the hell do you know about my life?”

She turned the knob harshly and the machine started its tumble cycle. Penelope stomped off to her room, ruminating on the fact that her mother and sisters had no idea what it was like to work to support themselves. They had no idea what it was like to be responsible for anything of consequence. Her mother was living off of an inheritance from a wealthy aunt who took pity on her when Penelope’s father had died and left Portia with nothing. Prudence worked, but didn’t need to. She didn’t take her job seriously at all, knowing she always had her husband to fall back on. Phillipa stayed home with her children, which normally Penelope would never begrudge, however, with a full time nanny and a chef that came in once a week to make meals for the family, Penelope wondered what exactly it was that Phillipa did all day.

Once in her room, she collapsed onto her bed in a huff. Penelope turned to her nightstand to look at the time. Half six. She’d spent hours fixating on that stupid lunch, and to what end?

She stared at the ceiling and blinked rapidly a few times before one of Phillipa’s comments echoed in her mind.

You need a little… release.

Well, Phillipa was certainly right about that. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through Lord Whistledown’s back catalog. She knew just the audio that would make her feel better.

**************************************************
**************************************************

“There you are, beautiful girl. You’re late. I almost thought you weren’t coming,” he says with a light chuckle. “But now that you’re here, my love, you’ll definitely be coming. You do know what is going to happen tonight, right?”

“Unless… you forgot?” His voice lifting playfully with the question. “How could you forget, baby? It was your idea.”

A slight pause.

“Don’t fret, love. I’ll remind you. You told me that you wanted a night where you could completely let loose. A night where you didn’t have to make any decisions.” His voice lowers and he almost growls, “A night where you do what I tell you to do.”

“Mmm, now you remember don’t you? I see that glimmer in your eye.”

“I know you’re stressed, baby. Sick of making tough decisions. Sick of even the easy ones. What did you call it again?”

“Oh, that’s right, decision fatigue,” he chuckles softly. “That’s a real thing, and don’t you worry. Tonight, you won’t have to make any decisions. Just do what I say… Like the good girl I know you are.”

“Can you do that for me?” He purrs.

“Good.” He lets out a soft breath. “Come here then. I want to feel your lips on mine.”

There is the sound of vigorous kissing.

“Oh my, you are eager, aren’t you? Slow down, darling. There’s no need to rush.”

“Mmm, yes, that’s it. Keep kissing my neck just like that. You know I love that.”

There’s a sharp gasp of breath and a soft moan.

“Fuck, I love it when you tug on my earlobe like that with your teeth. It makes my knees weak.”

Kissing sounds continue until he adds:

“You know what else makes my knees weak? The sight of you on your knees.”

There’s a soft plop of fabric against the floor.

“A pillow for you, sweetheart. I want you to be comfortable when you take my cock in your mouth.” 

A belt buckle clanks against the wood floor.

“Fuck. Look at how hard I am already. Just a few kisses, and I’m rock solid. That’s all because of you. You do this to me. Every time.”

“God, look at you, darling. Wide-eyed and trusting as you look up at me. My cock is already leaking and you haven’t even touched me yet.”

He chuckles. “Oh my, listen to you whimper. Do you want to touch it? Do you want to glide your delicate little hands up and down the length of me?”

“Look at you, nodding. Mmm, so eager to please me. Take it in your hands, and drop down a little bit of spit to get it wet.”

“Fuck, that’s it. You follow directions so well. Now stroke me with those soft hands of yours.”

His gentle panting starts picking up pace.

“That feels so incredible, baby. But slow down a bit, yeah? We’re not in a hurry, are we? No. We have all night, don’t we?”

He gasps softly, and his voice escapes in a low murmur. “Mmm, yes. Keep going slowly, but grip me a little firmer. Oh yes… oh, baby. Fuck. That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Uhhhhh, don’t look away from me, now. God, you’re so beautiful. You’re a fucking goddess down there on your knees making me feel so good. And you do. You always do.”

He emits a sharp, surprised gasp and then laughs.

“I didn’t say you could take me into your mouth yet, did I? Hmm, I don’t think I did,” he taunts playfully. “It’s okay though, I’m not upset. How could I ever be upset with you? Why don’t you pause for a just moment and hold out your tongue. Let the tip of my cock rest there for a moment.”

“Yes, that’s it. Fuck baby. Now look up at me, so I can see how much you want me.”

He moans, softly at first, but he quickly grows louder.

“Do you want more of it?”

He lets out a light chuckle.

“You want all of it?”

“Mmm, you always have been insatiable. I bet you can’t wait to feel my cock in your throat. But first… take the tip of your tongue and caress the underside of my head, nice and lightly. Uh, yeah, just like that baby. God that feels amazing. Do you taste that precum? That’s just for you.”

“Do I taste good? Do you want to taste more of me?”

A delighted laugh.

“So, so eager. You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” He laughs, his tone kind and encouraging.

“I’m going to slide in deeper now, slowly, so we can both savour every second.”

“Oh, fuck!” he exclaims. His voice raises in pitch and his moans become whimpers.

“God, your mouth feels so good around me. Fuck this turns me on so much. Moan for me, baby. Can you moan with your lips wrapped around me?”

“Oh fuck, yes, that’s it. Hearing those gorgeous sounds while I’m in your mouth is driving me fucking wild.”

“Oh, baby,” he says in a high-pitched whine. “You’re so good, such a good listener. Doing exactly what you’re told. Making me insane.”

His voice lowers to almost a growl before adding: “Now I’m going to bury my hands in your hair and fuck your throat. Is that okay?”

“Good. And remember, if it gets to be too much, tap my thigh. We can stop at any time. I need you to know that. Do you know that?”

“Good girl. Okay, baby, here we go. Are you ready?”

There’s nothing but wet smacking sounds. They quickly speed up and are mixed with rapid, ragged breaths.

“Bloody hell, you feel fucking amazing. Your throat is like velvet. You’re taking me so well. You’re so good for me,” he groans.

“Your face is exquisite, staring up at me with with those gorgeous fucking eyes. Wait, are they watering? Are you okay? I’m going to slow down now, and you just take as much of me as you feel comfortable with. Your pace, okay baby?”

His breath starts to regulate, no longer coming out in frantic gasps.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. This is better, now, isn’t it?”

There’s a soft smacking sound as he pulls out.

“Oh fuck, my cock is sensitive. I was so close, baby — I need a little break. I don’t want to come in your mouth anyway. You know why? Because I want to come in the perfect pussy of yours.”

“Climb onto the bed for me,” he commands softly. “On your hands and knees. Face the headboard.”

“Yes, that’s it,” he croons. “Spread your legs a little wider.”

“Fucking hell! Look at you. So pink and puffy and… soaked. That’s all for me, isn’t it? Mmm, clearly you get off on being told what to do.”

The mattress creaks as he shifts onto the bed.

“You know darling, it’s taking every ounce of restraint I have not to drive right into you. It’s torture only rubbing the tip of my cock against you like this, but I want to enjoy every moment.”

“Hey now, don’t push your hips against me. I said I was going to take my time.”

There’s the sound of a playful smack, and then:

“First I’m going to reach my hand around like this and rub your clit like this. Mmm, and then slide my fingers into you, like this. Fuck baby, do you like that?” He laughs heartily. “It certainly appears so. You’re so fucking desperate for me and it’s making me even harder, though I don’t know how that’s even possible.”

“Now darling, you said you wanted me to make all the decisions tonight, but seeing the way you’re grinding against my hand, you seem to have decided that you just want me to fuck you. Am I right?”

A chuckle rumbles low in his chest. “Well fine then. We can change the rules. Who am I to argue with a woman who knows what she wants.”

The mattress shifts again before, “Oh fucking hell, your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock like this. You’re so fucking tight, I can’t hardly stand it.”

“Faster? You’re sure? We are just getting started.”

Lewd smacking sounds grow more urgent.

“Alright, then. I can tell you just want to come don’t you, baby? You want to come all over my cock?”

“Ugggggh, oh my God. You feel fucking incredible. Let’s come together then, shall we?” he asks between heavy pants.

“You want it harder? Yeah? Harder and faster? Let me find your clit again. There we go… Ughhh… Oh fuck. You’re gonna come for me soon, aren’t you? You’re gonna be such a good girl and come for me.”

“You’re gonna fucking explode all over my cock aren’t you? And I’m going to fucking explode inside of you. I’m so close, baby. You’re gonna come when I tell you to, okay?

The sound of thrusting grows more urgent.

“Three… two… one… Come for me baby.” He emits a low, strangled, growl amidst a barrage of heavy breaths. “Oh fuck, yeah, that’s my good girl— doing exactly what she’s told.”

Quick panting slowly morphs into relaxed, measured breaths and he laughs.

“Woah, sweetheart, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life. That was… wow.” He pauses momentarily, before adding, “You are incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

“For what?” He asks, indignantly. “For giving yourself over to me like that. For putting your trust in me to take care of your body. To take care of you. It means the world to me.”

“It does! I feel safe with you to explore my desires, and I’m glad that you feel safe with me to do the same.”

He sighs contentedly, and hums for a few beats. Finally, he breaks the silence and says, “I’m going to order Nandos for delivery. Yeah, that grain bowl you like with the garlic sauce. And then we can cuddle up on the sofa and watch Countdown.”

“Of course, I have it all planned out. You said no decisions tonight, so I thought I’d even make the easy ones, like what to eat and what to watch.”

“Because you’re everything to me! And I want you to relax. Completely. You go start the shower, and I’ll join you in a few minutes. By the time we’re clean and comfortable, dinner should be here.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You know I would do anything for you."

**************************************************
**************************************************

Penelope sighed inwardly as she watched the stream of coworkers scoop cake onto their plates. She balanced her own plate, glancing at the small slice, and cringed. She hated this sort of thing. It was exhausting. She usually tried to find a corner and pretended to be somewhere else entirely.

“I hate these stupid things,” she muttered under her breath, stabbing her fork repeatedly into the sponge.

“Oh… me too,” came a low voice beside her. “Obligatory social torture, am I right?”

Her heart stuttered. Of course it had to be him. Why was he always around at exactly the wrong moment?

She froze, cheeks warming. “I—I don’t mean I hate this… specifically,” she rushed to clarify, waving at the table with the awkward grace of someone who was clearly trying to cover herself. “I just mean… you know… office parties in general.”

Colin grinned at her, that easy, teasing smile that made her forget her rehearsed small talk entirely. 

“Oh, same. I get it. Compulsory birthday wishes are a bit naff, aren’t they?” he said, voice low enough that it felt like it was just between the two of them.

He tilted his head, smirking, a spark in his eyes that made her heart do a little flip.

She felt dumb, caught, but also… a little thrill of amusement. Her eyes flicked to his, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Totally naff,” she said, trying to sound casual.

He leaned slightly closer, tilting his head as if reading her thoughts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Lowering his voice in that magnetic, half-private tone, he said, “But you’re here anyway, surviving the fake cheer?”

Her laugh was quiet but genuine. “Surviving,” she admitted, rolling her eyes. “Barely.”

He chuckled, and it was soft, conspiratorial, like they were sharing a secret in the middle of all the chaos. “You’re doing surprisingly well, all things considered,” he teased. “Honestly, you should have gotten a bigger piece of cake. You deserve it more than anyone else here.”

Her eyes widened. “What?” she said, laughing nervously. “That’s ridiculous."

“Ridiculous?” He leaned in just enough that their arms brushed; his voice barely a whisper. “Nah. It’s called being rewarded for surviving office nonsense. You’re doing it right now.”

She snorted softly. “Evidently, I’m a natural then.”

Colin chuckled, clearly enjoying her energy. “I can see that. I like that about you. A little rebellious in the face of mandatory fun.”

She felt a thrill of delight at the way he seemed to read her without knowing her at all. “That’s me alright. Rebellious.” 

He laughed.

“Actually,” she admitted. I’m not all that unruly. Just… realistic.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, voice low, teasing. “I’ll take realistic. It suits you.”

Penelope paused, mid-bite of cake, and realised with a jolt, “Whose birthday is it anyway?”

He arched an eyebrow, lip twitching. “You don’t know?”

“No,” she said, flustered. 

“Haven’t you worked here for, like, three years?” he asked, his tone playful.

Penelope blushed, realising Colin was paying enough attention that he seemed to know more about her work history than even her own family did. 

“I don’t really… spend much time talking with coworkers outside of… you know. Work stuff. So I don’t really keep up with things like that.”

“On account of you not wanting to be here, right?” he said, chuckling.

“I—” 

Before she could answer, Michaela appeared at Penelope’s side, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Alright then, team?” she asked, glancing between the two of them.

“Alright,” Colin echoed with a smile.

“Yeah,” Penelope answered awkwardly. “Fine. Good.”

“Right,” Michaela said, leaning closer to address them in a lower tone of voice. “Enough of this shit, yeah? We’ll do this right and go for birthday drinks at the pub later, eh?”

“Sounds great, Mich,” Colin said casually.

“Pen, you’ll come along too, right?” Michaela squeezed Penelope on the shoulder.

Her stomach dipped. Before she could even pretend enthusiasm, she blurted, “Oh… No, Mich. I don’t think so. It’s not really my thing.”

“Nonsense,” Michaela barked. “You’re coming.”

“Honestly, Mich. It’s been a long week. I just want a quiet night. Wine, bad telly, early to bed…”

Colin smiled down at her, still too charming for his own good. “You should come,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “It’ll be fun.”

Before she could protest again, Michaela interrupted. “Great! See you both there at six.”

Penelope turned to Michaela, exasperated. “Mich, seriously. I really can’t.”

Michaela ignored her entirely, turning and patting Colin on the shoulder affectionately. “Happy birthday, mate,” she said.

Penelope’s heart dropped. Oh god.

“Ah,” he replied, voice low, amused. “Thanks.” 

Michaela winked, then retreated to the dessert table to mingle with some other employees.

Colin nodded, all polite gratitude, and when he looked back at Penelope, his eyes sparkled with mirth. 

Her mouth went dry. “I—I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t realise…” she stuttered, completely flustered.

He quirked a brow, but said nothing—just continued to watch her with a delighted look on his face.

Penelope’s face went hot. “You… you didn’t say it was your birthday.”

“I didn’t?” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Huh. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

She groaned softly, covering her face. “I spent the entire time complaining about office parties at your office party.”

He laughed softly, warm and unbothered. Leaning closer, he said, “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me tonight by buying me a birthday drink.”

“I really shouldn’t,” she tried to argue.  “I have a lot of work to catch up on…”

“Mich is gone,” he teased. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

“Come on,” he cut in, nudging her with his elbow. “Just one drink. After that, you can leave if you want and go home to your wine and bad telly.”

Her eyes widened, caught between embarrassment and amusement. 

You really should go, a quiet voice in her head said.

Her mother’s words from that disaster of a lunch visit echoed uninvited: You work too much, you never go out, no wonder you’re alone all the time.

She hated how easily they stuck. But standing here, with him smiling at her like he genuinely wanted her company—not out of pity, not obligation—she realised maybe there was a kernel of truth buried in the criticism.

Maybe she was a bit lonely.

And Colin was funny. And nice. And, apparently, the birthday boy.

“I… okay,” she whispered, shyly nodding. “One drink. Then I’m going home.”

“Deal. Though, I have a feeling,” he added with a teasing smirk, “that once you’re there… you might change your mind.”

Penelope shook her head and let out a soft chuckle as she opened the pub door. The place was louder than she expected. Neon lights blinked from a half-dozen arcade machines, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of classic game sound effects. 

It did not surprise her in the least that Colin picked a retro arcade bar for birthday drinks. Of course this was the kind of place he’d choose. It seemed to suit him perfectly—playful and cool on the outside and filled with geeky charm on the inside. Retro enough to be ironic, noisy enough to drown out any real conversation.

She lingered just inside the door for a beat, scanning the space for Colin and Michaela, simultaneously admiring the original brick walls lined with vintage games. Pac-Man, Centipede, Donkey Kong… all of the classics were there, as well as an array of pinball machines and projection screens for playing Nintendo, Sega, and Playstation.

She noticed him then, legs curled under him on a leather sofa, laser focused on the wall in front of him. He looked so boyish with his tongue sticking out as he battled Michaela and another woman in Mario Kart. A few other guys from the IT department surrounded them, nursing their beers as they watched the battle.

He was laughing, properly laughing, with that kind of whole-body joy that made the room feel smaller. Penelope hung back a bit, watching as the three battled it out on Rainbow Road. Colin, as Bowser, was in the lead, Michaela, as Luigi, a close second, and the woman she didn’t recognize, as Daisy, was almost a full lap behind, having just fallen to her demise. 

With seconds to spare, Luigi slipped on a banana peel, leaving Bowser victorious. Colin jumped to his feet and raised his arms above his head—just like his digital counterpart on the screen before him—and turned to face his friends whooping in victory. 

Then he looked up—and froze for a beat.

Their eyes met across the room. For a split second, he looked almost sheepish, as though realising he'd just been caught mid-celebration looking like an overgrown kid. 

A flush of embarrassment flickered over his grin... then softened into something brighter. He waved with a ridiculous flourish that made her roll her eyes even as she smiled.

"Hey, you made it!" he called, his voice cutting through the noise as he jumped over the back of the sofa to greet her.

 Not quite knowing what to do, he awkwardly reached out his hand and placed it on her bicep.

“Yes, well, um… I said I would,” Penelope fumbled her response, suddenly feeling a little bashful from his excitable welcome. A man had never jumped over furniture for her before.

“I was starting to think you were standing me up,” he said, chuckling.

“Stand you up?” she echoed, brow raised. “This isn’t a date, birthday boy.”

Colin clutched his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Straight for the jugular.”

“Don’t act wounded. You’re surrounded by people who clearly adore you.”

“That’s just because I have the high score on Tetris,” he said solemnly.

From across the room, one of the guys called out, “Had the high score.”

“Ooh,” Penelope said, grinning. “So the legend falls.”

“Et tu, Brute?” Colin shot back dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart.

She snorted. “You did not just quote Shakespeare over an arcade game.”

“Hey, I contain multitudes.”

“Usually bad movie quotes and caffeine,” she quipped.

“Speaking of,” he leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile, “how’s your ‘one drink and then I’m leaving’ plan going so far?”

“I’d have to have a drink first before I can answer that question,” Penelope confirmed.

“Right, so, yeah—Let’s get you that drink then!” 

Penelope wasn’t sure why, but her stomach fluttered a bit as Colin placed his hand on the small of her back and led her toward the bar.

“What would you like? They have a great beer list and make great cocktails. Their espresso martini is killer.”

“Killer, huh?” she teased gently. “Too fancy for me. I’m just a gin and tonic kind of girl.”

“Got that, Petra?” Colin called out to the bartender. “A gin and tonic for the lady!”

“On it, Col!”

Penelope eyed him curiously. “Col?”

“Petra and I used to bartend in Scotland together. We go way back. And I hang out here way more than I should.”

“I see.”

“And oh! These are for you!” Colin reached into his jean pockets and pulled out a little baggie of coins. Penelope took note of his T-shirt as he did so. She made a mental note to go back to that.

“What’s this for?”

“Quarters, for the arcade games.”

“Quarters?”

“All the machines run on good, old fashioned American quarters. I mean…the place is called Four Quarters, after all.”

Penelope smiled. She couldn’t help but think how sweet it was of him to have saved some coins for her. “Maybe I’ll try Pac-Man. I can’t say I’m very good at video games.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re good; just that you have fun.” Colin smiled broadly, the kind of smile that lit up his whole face. Even his eyes. Especially his eyes.

Penelope’s stomach fluttered again. She remembered him to be a cute boy, but he’d grown into a very handsome man. Dark curls, navy blue eyes, his body tall and lean, but not at all imposing.

“Here you go, a Brixton IPA and a gin and tonic for this woman who is way too good for you,” Petra said with a wink, smoothly taking the card Penelope had slid in her direction to pay for the drinks.

“Oh, we’re not… she’s not…”

“We work together,” Penelope answered since Colin apparently couldn’t complete a sentence.

Petra handed Penelope back her card with a smile then began to clear some empty glasses off of the counter. “In that case, cheers, mates!”

Colin held up his beer in salute, then took a long sip from the bottle. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, shifting his gaze back to Penelope who had leaned over the bartop, and was taking a sip of her own drink through the cocktail straw.

“Hey, you said I owed you a birthday drink. I keep my promises,” she scoffed.

“Okay then,” he said, clinking his beer bottle against her glass. “Thanks for the drink.”

“So,” Penelope began as she took her drink in her hand. “It’s a shame that I forgot to bring my Razzles.”

“Your what?”

“My Razzles. The candy… Your shirt?” Penelope waved her hand at him exasperatedly.

“Oh, gods. I totally forgot I was wearing this,” he groaned, running his hand over his torso which read ‘30, flirty & thriving’ in glittery purple.

“So, big 13 Going On 30 fan, then?”

“Actually, yeah. I would say it’s one of the last great rom-coms.”

“Hmm.” Penelope scrunched her eyebrows together in thought. “You might be right about that.”

“And, I mean, it has Mark Ruffalo. Who doesn’t love him?”

She snorted a laugh, not expecting Colin to compliment the male lead. “Also right about that.”

“It was a gift from my baby sister Hyacinth. I promised I would wear it, and my other sister Frannie is here so she would rat me out if I didn’t.”

“Your sister is here,” she said, mildly surprised. 

“Yeah,” Colin said as he led Penelope with him back toward the sofa where the group was congregated. “Hy’s too young. Was still pretty much a baby by the time your family moved. But Fran… do you remember her at all? I know it was a long time ago.”

“Francesca, right?” Penelope said awkwardly. 

Colin nodded, then pointed at where she was sitting next to Michaela, chatting animatedly.  “She doesn’t get out much, but she and Mich always seemed to get along. Between you and me,” he murmured in her ear, “I’m pretty sure Mich is in love with her, but… we don’t talk about that.”

Penelope laughed awkwardly. 

“I see,” she said, nodding along. “I’ll be sure not to bring it up.”

Colin chuckled. “And the rest of this lot you already know from work, yeah?” he said, raising his voice as they approached the group.

“Oh look! It’s the woman who keeps stealing you away for IT emergencies,” one of the men called out causing a round of laughter.

Penelope blushed. “I swear I only break things by accident.”

Colin smirked then plopped back down on the sofa, patting the seat next to him. “That’s what they all say.”

Penelope followed him and sat down beside him, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh thank god you’re here, Pen,” Michaela turned and grabbed her by the arm. “Back me up here.”

“What am I backing you up on?” she asked, cocking her head.

“We’re debating which movie deserves “best rom-com of all time.”

Penelope laughed. “Uhhh…”

Colin leaned close to her ear, speaking in a hushed tone. “Careful. You’re about to witness my very strong opinions on When Harry Met Sally.”

Penelope gave him an appraising look. “Oh? I was gonna say 10 Things I Hate About You.”

He looked mock-offended. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s iconic. But Harry and Sally is the blueprint. Banter, emotional repression, terrible sweaters—”

“Fake orgasms in diners?”

Colin nearly choked on his drink. “Okay, maybe that too.”

Michaela rolled her eyes. “Please, if you two start quoting it, I’m leaving.”

Which, of course, meant they both said at once:

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

Michaela groaned and grabbed Francesca’s hand, dragging her off, muttering something about children.

Colin and Penelope burst out laughing at the same time.

She turned to him, still giggling. “Do you just… live your life in movie quotes?”

“Basically. Half my personality is Princess Bride references,” he admitted.

“Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder today.” She barely made it halfway through before cracking herself up.

“Mawage,” Colin chimed in, “That blessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam…”

Penelope held her stomach as she doubled over in laughter.

“Someday we should all aspire to find wuv, twu wuv,” she said through her giggles.

Colin pointed at her, impressed. “See? You get me.”

She was still laughing, covering her face. “I can’t believe I just did the voice.”

“Oh no, that was perfect, he said, laughing with her. “You’ve officially earned my respect.”

Penelope smiled into her drink as she took another sip. Colin grinned at her.

“So are you more Westley or more Dread Pirate Roberts?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased with a smirk.

Yes. Yes I would, she thought.

A chorus of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as the group scattered across the arcade. Penelope tried a round of Pac-Man and got eaten by a ghost within seconds of missing the bonus cherry.

Colin laughed—the kind of unrestrained laugh that made her grin in spite of herself.

“Tragic,” he said. “You didn’t even make it past level one.”

“Excuse me, some of us don’t spend our weekends in dimly lit bars reliving our childhood glory days.”

“Wow. Harsh words from someone who was just bested by fruit.”

“Ghosts are tricky opponents.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “You’re right. Deadly. I’ll show some respect next time.”

“Thank you,” she said primly, crossing her arms—then broke into a laugh. “You’re such a dork.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Penelope smiled, then followed Colin toward the pinball machines, watching as the neon lights painted his face in shifting blues and reds.

He rolled up his sleeves, smirked at the machine, and said, “Prepare to witness greatness.”

“Oh yeah? You one of those guys who takes pinball way too seriously?”

“I prefer the term competitive hobbyist.” He pulled the lever with dramatic flair, the ball shooting into the board with a satisfying clack.

She leaned against the side of the next machine, sipping her drink, pretending not to be impressed as he nudged and flicked his way through the first round. “I bet you’ve spent years perfecting this.”

He chuckled. “Actually, no. I used to be terrible. Mich made me practice. Said it was a vital life skill.”

“She does seem the type to prioritize professional development.”

He laughed, glancing toward the bar where Michaela was loudly beating someone at darts. “We’ve known each other forever. She was my uni roommate’s cousin. She’d show up at our place all the time, pretending she needed help with coursework, when really she just wanted to hang out with the cool kids. Eventually, I think we gave up trying to get rid of her.”

“Sounds like she made herself indispensable.”

“She did. We ended up having a lot in common and kind of leaned on each other when…” he trailed off, then shook his head.

Penelope noted his expression had changed and wondered what he had stopped himself from saying, but she chose not to push it because he clearly seemed to not want to talk about whatever it was. 

“Anyway, years later now, she got me this job when I came back home.” His tone softened, quieter. “I’d been… kinda drifting, honestly. Spent a few years not really sure what I was doing, or who I was supposed to be. Figured it was time to start, you know… adulting.”

She smiled faintly. “I can relate to that.”

He looked up from the flashing lights. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, watching the ball ricochet across the board. “I left home as soon as I was old enough, tried to build something stable. Mostly just wanted to get away from my family, if I’m honest.”

Colin shot her a sidelong glance, gentle but curious. “Rough crowd?”

Her shoulders tensed a little, her smile turning tight. “Something like that. We just… don’t get along. I probably sound like a terrible daughter, though.”

“Nah,” he murmured, still half-focused on the game. “Not everyone’s meant to get along with their family.”

She hesitated. “You and yours always seemed close. Are you still?”

He hummed, pressing a button. “Yeah, more or less. Families are complicated.”

“Tell me about it.”

She leaned on the pinball machine, smiling to herself as she returned to watching him play. His focus was comical—brow furrowed, tongue caught between his teeth.

“You really are taking this seriously,” she said.

“Hey, there’s a lot at stake here.”

“Uh-huh. Eternal glory?”

“Obviously.”

She snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“True. But you’re still watching.”

That made her blink, caught off guard—not by the flirtation, but the quiet confidence beneath it. The easy honesty.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to lose,” she said lightly.

He grinned without looking up. “You’ll be waiting a while.”

And then he did lose, spectacularly—the machine flashing GAME OVER as he muttered a curse under his breath.

“See?” she said, triumphant. “Told you.”

“That was your fault!”

“Was not!”

“Was so. You distracted me. I call foul. You owe me a quarter.”

She laughed and fished one out of her pocket. “Fine. But you’re buying the next round of drinks.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “Next round, huh? So does that mean you’re staying to play?” 

She blushed when she met his eyes. 

Is he flirting with me again? The way he looked at her when he said it made her feel like maybe he could be.

“Maybe just for a bit longer,” she said. “Otherwise who will make fun of you when Mich completely roasts your ass at Guitar Hero.”

“Eh. I was never any good at guitar. I prefer the piano.”

“Ooh a music connoisseur? Am I speaking to the next Beethoven?” she teased.

“Hardly. It’s just a hobby,” he shrugged. “But I’m not half bad.”

“I’ll have to get you to play me something sometime,” she suggested with a smile.

He grinned. “Yeah. Maybe.”

**************************************************
**************************************************

He lets out a heavy sigh, the sound of sheets rustling as he settles himself down onto the bed.

“So I’ve been really horny all day,” he says, voice quiet but intimately close. “I’ve been thinking some really naughty things and I wanted to share them with you while I touched myself.”

His breathing is slightly heavier, a soft groan escaping as his body shifts positions.

“It was almost torture, thinking about you and knowing I couldn’t do anything about it until I was home. I need this so badly. I can’t stop thinking about your hands touching me,” he breathes, his voice low and urgent. “I decided I wanted to record this so you could enjoy it with me.” 

He moans softly, the sound of his hand sliding over skin.

“I just…” he groans, words broken as he strains to keep his composure. “I just really wanted to… ahhhh…” he pants, his body shifting again. “I wanted you to know what thinking about you does to me.”

The sound of a bottle cap clicking.

“So I’ve just got some lube and—” he gasps. 

The sound of the bottle squirting.

“Oh fuck! That’s cold.” 

He chuckles as the sound of slow stroking begins.

“Mm. Okay. There we go. I’ve just started stroking my cock and it feels…” he sighs deeply, “so fucking good. God. Finally. I’ve been wanting this all day. Wanting you all day.”

The steady sound of stroking continues, the hand moving smoothly through the lube.

“Mm… I hope you can hear that,” he hums. “I’m just stroking myself slowly right now. I’m so fucking hard thinking about how it would feel to have your hands on my cock.”

The stroking begins to slowly pick up the pace.

“Ahhhhh, fuck yes,” he moans between ragged breaths. “I keep picturing you. You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. In that way, like… you don’t even realise how much it turns me on.”

He pants, groaning in pleasure as the stroking continues.

“I wish you knew the things I love about your body that just drive me insane,” he says. “How fucking sexy you are to me… fuck!” 

He gasps, the sound of stroking picking up pace for a moment. 

“Mm… fuck yeah,” he rasps. “My cock is throbbing right now. I’m just picturing myself grabbing your hips, baby. Grabbing them and pulling your curvy body against me. You’re so soft,” he whispers. “I love how soft you are.”

The stroking slows down to a steady pace.

“Ahhh,” he moans again, low, and it turns into a growl. “Fuck! I’m just picturing that…” he gasps again, “tiny little sliver of skin at your waistline when you stretch and that gorgeous little belly peeks out from under your shirt. God, I could just—”

He whimpers, the stroking picking up pace again.

“I wish I could taste you there,” he murmurs. “I want to worship you with my mouth, baby. I wish I could bury my face between your thighs and just worship you the way you deserve.” 

His breathing begins to pick up pace as the strokes continue to pick up speed.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m so fucking turned on thinking about how it would feel to have my tongue inside you, just savouring you. God, I bet you taste so good, baby. Fuck, I wanna come so bad. I don’t know if I’m gonna last.”

He moans as the sounds of stroking take over for an extended silence. The only sounds are his ragged breathing and the steady strokes.

“Fuuuuuck, baby, I’m so close,” he pants. “I want to wrap my big hands around your waist, my thumbs digging into your hips, and just fill you up. I just know you’d feel so good for me, baby. So good. Ahhh—”

His voice cuts off as he gasps, a growl escaping as the sound of his hand pumping harder gets louder.

“Oh god, I need you,” he whimpers. “I need to be inside of you. I need to fold you over and fill you up with my big cock. Would you like that, baby? Huh?” 

Breathing hard, he begins to moan again, as the sound of rigorous stroking takes over. 

“It’s all I want, baby. I’d pound into you so good.”

A long, drawn out symphony of increasingly desperate moans interspersed with shaky breaths.

“Mm.. oh yeah, baby. I’d just fuck you into the mattress with this fat cock. And you’d take it all, wouldn’t you?” he says, his breathing ragged.

“That’s right, take it, baby,” he growls. “Fucking take it all. Fuck!”

The intensity of the stroking and the moaning increases yet again.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, then whimpers. “I’m gonna—”

His breath catches for a long moment, the stroking temporarily rapid, then abruptly pauses as he groans loudly, his breathing becoming shaky as he whimpers.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he gasps. “Ahhhh fuck, I’m coming, baby. Oh god, yes. Fuck. I’m—aaahhh fuck.”

A few slow strokes happen before all sounds of stroking stop and the only thing left is his heavy panting as he tries to catch his breath. He hums in satisfaction as he continues breathing hard.

“Mm, fuck, that felt good,” he groans, then takes a deliberate deep breath. “Did you like that, baby? Did you enjoy listening to me come for you? Did you join me? Mm, that would be so hot. I would love it knowing you touched yourself for me like I touched myself for you.”

After a long pause, he sighs again in satisfaction. 

“Ahhh, yeah, I definitely needed that after being so hard for you all day. But now I’m…” he chuckles. “Fuck, I’m covered in cum now. I came so hard for you, I made a mess. God.”

He shifts again, the bed creaking beneath him.

“It’s fucking everywhere,” he laughs again. “Mm… okay, baby. I’m gonna have to go shower now. But I hope you had fun with that. I know I did. So, I’m gonna leave this here and I hope the rest of your day is amazing.”

He takes another deep breath, then blows a kiss.

“Until next time…behave yourself. Unless being bad keeps you thinking of me.”

**************************************************
**************************************************

Penelope lay still in the quiet afterward. The silence felt thick, like the room was still holding its breath with her. She'd left the pub in a surprisingly lighthearted mood, her evening turning out to be much more fun than she anticipated it would be spending time with her coworkers. 

For a few hours, they hadn't really felt like coworkers and it felt... nice. And Colin was ridiculously charming the entire time. She found herself so distracted by his flirtatious banter that she missed the last train and ended up having to take an Uber home. Colin had insisted on paying for it since he'd made her break her promise of leaving after only one drink.

She'd smiled and thanked him before saying her goodbyes, and as she settled into bed for the night, the smile was still on her face. She hadn't expected to enjoy herself so much. She hadn't expected to enjoy him so much. But he was definitely growing on her.

She was feeling rather relaxed after several drinks and a night of flirting, so she decided to indulge in one of her most guilty pleasures—the ramblefap. There was just something about the idea of listening to someone in their most intimate moments that was so overwhelmingly sexy to her. Lord Whistledown had only done a handful of them, but they did not disappoint. She lay there, completely flustered as the audio's closing words, his signature, drifted through her headphones—a soft chuckle in his voice right before he said it: "Until next time, behave yourself… unless being bad keeps you thinking of me.”

Her lips curved faintly. The pleasant afterglow still humming under her skin. But then, as her breathing slowed, something about the phrase tugged at her memory. 

Until next time. 

The tone. The rhythm. She'd heard someone say it recently—offhand, casual, almost teasing.

She frowned, rolling onto her side, replaying the sound of it. It wasn't just the words, it was how they were said—warm, amused, threaded with something that lingered. She could almost see a grin behind it.

Where had she...?