Chapter Text
"Colin, what do you think you're doing?"
"I, er..." He's very aware of their proximity in the dark room: how intoxicating he finds the bergamot and cedar of her perfume; how her eyes sparkle with mischief as she looks at him; how he is sure it's because she knows he's struggling to stop his gaze from drifting down to the dangerously low dip of her silk gown.
"Pen, I—"
"For fuck's sake, Colin Bridgerton, are you going to kiss me or not?"
She doesn't give him a chance to respond before she's pulling him closer, crashing his lips onto hers, and he's sure he's dead.
He has died and found the back door to heaven, because lord knows he wouldn't be let in through the front gates given the lewd thoughts that have plagued his mind about his childhood best friend for months (years).
Her lips are soft and warm against his, and she tastes of peppermint and Bailey's and something so uniquely Pen.
Her hand pulls on his hair—hard—and he'd be embarrassed by the moan it ellicits from him if he weren't so focused on her teeth pulling and nipping and—
He gasps, tasting blood.
"Oops." She blinks unapologetically, trailing her tongue across his lips.
His eyes roll back, and it takes all his self-control not to finish the second she starts sucking on the cut she's inflicted on him.