Chapter Text
It was all Eloise’s fault, because of fucking course it was!
Penelope could hardly keep her countenance during dinner at the Bridgerton House that evening. Thankfully they had decided to try some extra spicy Mexican food, but still, she didn’t think she looked up once from her plate of food, just in case someone saw her face and flushed she was and asked about it. Or worse, she caught Anthony’s eye at the other end of the table.
And now, there she was, in the darkened corridor of Aubrey Hall, at midnight, in her oversized T, booty shorts and socks, tip-toeing around trying to decide whether or not to go to the Master Bedroom. And without truly deciding – who was she lying to? She had made a decision, she was just too much of a coward to own up to it – she was now in front of the door, debating if she should knock or just run back to her room and abuse the batteries on her vibrator.
Why did she always end up in these situations?
It all started with Eloise. Again, because of fucking course it started with Eloise.
Her friend had early night, in the middle of the week, after a coffee date/booty call with on again off again flavour of the month. She’d normally waltz into their apartment close to midnight with a pep in her step after some mind-blowing athletic sex – and Pen would have to suffer through the retelling of, half cringing, half living vicariously through her friend because if there was one thing Eloise wouldn’t admit was bad sex and damn if she didn’t know how to choose her partners -. That night, however, her friend had been strangely tight-lipped about what happened, saying only that things were a bit odd between them and that she needed to think. Pen had been dead curious about it but knew better than to push. Eloise would tell her soon enough, she just needed to make sure she knew Pen would always be there for her and if she needed a friendly, judgement-free conversation, all she had to do was say so.
And so, three days later, her friend had asked if they could talk. And - with the curiosity gnawing at her mind - she took a deep breath, pretended she was politely nonchalant about it and said of course.
What followed was a whirlwind to Pen, who despite a somewhat unhealthy attachment to bodice reapers – call them what they are Pen! They’re hot, steamy, anatomically incorrect smut! God! It’s like you’re a nineteenth-century maiden! – and some mind-bending explicit fanfiction – but that was a secret she kept locked under passwords on her phone, only to be accessed in complete solitude, preferably in the sanctity of her bedroom, late at night – Penelope had never entreated reading anything with BDSM.
She had come across it, sure, but it never seemed to catch her eye. She couldn’t even go through with getting a septum piercing, something she had always wanted, because of the countless accounts of things going wrong and how much it hurt, so she couldn’t understand feeling pleasure in feeling pain. The thought of it made her feel queasy – no kink shaming though, whatever floats your boat -, so definitely not for her. And the very idea of controlling someone to the point that they’d everything you tell them to or trusting someone enough to submit to them on that level seemed completely alien and anxiety-inducing to her. It was probably the trauma of her father’s gambling addiction that made the idea of giving up control so foreign to her. And she wasn’t very well versed in sex to even consider taking control of anything. In fact, she wasn’t versed at all in sex. Only Eloise knew about this, but, while Penelope had a very open mind and did do some exploration on her own – frequently and thoroughly – she had never felt comfortable enough to do it with someone else.
There had been some dates here and there, some kisses, some hot and heavy make-outs but that was all. And though she did want to, by the time she was finally free of her monumental crush on Colin, she was wrong-footed, and it sort of felt like she was too late. She didn’t even know how to begin looking for someone she felt comfortable enough doing that, much less how to approach them and talk about it. Because she would need to talk about it. Because she only knew what Eloise told her – and honestly, that felt like some next-level stuff, she needed to graduate to – and her romance stories – anatomically questionable smut – and neither would be a helpful guide on how to get started.
Which was how she got to twenty-six years old and still a virgin. Kinda… I mean, she had been a little too enthusiastic once she discovered the wonders of masturbation and got her first dildo – which she kept hidden in the back of her closet and prayed every day her mother wouldn’t find it – and as a result, she didn’t have a hymen anymore. So, did that make her not a virgin? Or did you have to experience sex with another person to be considered not a virgin? Honestly, she had no idea what the criteria for virginity were nowadays, but the point was: that she had never had sex with anyone else but had thoroughly explored on her own.
Where was she again?
Oh! Right. The BDSM thing.
So, apparently, the reason why Eloise was all off kilter was because her fling had talked to her about it and how he wanted to try it out with her. He had some experience as a Dom and wanted El to give it a shot to see if she liked it. The Dom – Pen couldn’t remember his name if her life depended on it and dubbed him the Dom in her mind after that info reveal – had laid it all out to Eloise, about how things worked, the lists, the contracts, the safe words, the roles, everything. And gave her some reading material. What had thrown El off wasn’t that she didn’t want to try it out. But she didn’t like the idea of submitting. Which Penelope could see a mile away with gigantic neon signs. What the idiot man could have been thinking suggesting Eloise Bridgerton got on her knees in front of him like a good little girl, instead of wielding a whip with a vengeance, Penelope could never comprehend.
So, El hadn’t been interested in having a relationship with that configuration with the guy, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t been interested at all. The time it took for her to open up to Pen, was time she had used to read what he had sent her and do some research of her own. And she had studied the subject thoroughly. This meant that Pen had been on the receiving end of a master’s thesis-worthy dissertation about the intricacies of BDSM, which would have been fine from a clinical standpoint. She was curious enough to want to know about it. The problem arose with a section of Eloise’s presentation that stirred some feelings beyond curiosity in the redhead. The DD/LG and the praise kink, specifically.
Growing up in her house had been a complicated experience. She wasn’t abused by any means, and she knew her mother would cheat, blackmail and kill anyone who threatened her and her sisters. That was how they managed to survive her father’s stupidity and Portia Featherington had made sure to set the best possible future she could for her daughters. But her mother’s love language was criticism. And that meant Penelope’s self-worth and confidence had taken the brunt of her disapproval, especially during her teenage years, when no matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to lose weight. Portia eventually stopped trying to force new diets and exercise programs on her and Penelope learned to like her body and appreciate it for what it was, instead of hating for what it wasn’t. But the want for approval and compliments never quite left her.
Without a psychology degree, she could infer that the daddy kink was because it felt kinda wrong in all the right ways. She didn’t truly think it went back to her father, himself, but more the role he had been supposed to play. He had never been present in her life, and she barely knew the man. She couldn’t remember simple things about him, like the colour of his eyes or his birthday and to be honest, she didn’t really want to. He had always been there, until he wasn’t, and he left such a mess behind that the thought of him just filled her with exasperation and disappointment. And also, to be honest, she couldn’t understand what her mother had seen in him. Her mom was a babe, and her father was just meh. So, there wasn’t any weird Oedipus complex there.
She couldn’t explain, but the idea, just the thought of having a man, taller than her, stronger, more experienced – older too, she couldn’t lie in her own head – looming over her, teaching her things, touching her in ways she never thought of, bringing her to new heights of pleasure, calling her baby, telling her how good she had been to daddy…
Well, that caused her to run through her batteries at an alarming rate and brought on a research binge of her own.
Which caused this whole mess to begin with.
She and Eloise had arrived at Aubrey Hall earlier than expected. In fact, they had been the first ones there, apart from Violet and Anthony. She knew that Benedict, Gregory and Hyacinth were expected that same day, the rest of the family arriving the next day or the day after to spend the extended holiday. And with Anthony holed up in his study as he tended to be before the entire family was on sight, it had really only been herself, El and Violet.
Eloise had convinced her mother to try a couple of new recipes for dinner – the impromptu Mexican night that had saved her from inquiries about her seemingly permanent red face -. Reviewing the ingredients list and realizing they were missing some ingredients, mother and daughter had decided to go to the supermarket to acquire what was missing and some extras too – Colin was going to be home for the holiday and heaven knows the man would eat rocks if he could -. Penelope, having just received an email notification that one of her fics had been updated, with a preview that promised some – a lot - of steam in this chapter, had declined to accompany them, promising to keep an eye of the cookies in the oven instead, in case the trip took longer than expected. Violet knew she couldn’t count on Anthony to take them out before they burned, so she agreed easily and off they went, promising to return in less than an hour.
Which was more than enough time for her to reread the chapter before the new update, to set the mood, get in on the new one and have some time to wind down from the whole DD/LG steaminess her two favourite characters of one of her favourite TV Shows explored.
She was halfway through the new chapter, just as the second round was about to start, when, in between a sip of ice-cold water – to offset the heat that had her pressing her thighs together - she felt the overwhelming need to pee. Which was known to happen to her sometimes, when she was really focused on something, she didn’t always listen to the clues of her body. So, now she had to practically run to the nearest toilet, hopping in place as she cursed the button on her jeans not disengaging as fast as she needed.
Thankfully, she made it in time and there were no incidents, so after throwing some water in her face to cool off a bit, she practically skipped back to the kitchen, eager to pick up where she left off. To her absolute horror, she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Anthony, eyebrows impossibly high, eyes widen, mouth open, a strong blush on his cheeks and ears, with her phone in his hand.
Penelope was so lost in her own mind, deep in the horror of what he was reading, contemplating if she could simply take a quiet step back, sneak out of the house, reach the nearest airport and book a flight to Australia or Timbuktu, or something, when the door closed softly behind her and Anthony’s eyes snapped up, laser-focused on her.
Before either of them could say anything, the sounds of his younger siblings fighting about something, while Benedict mediated made its way through the halls, into the kitchen. After an eternity – half a minute, actually – staring at her, Anthony moved, stalking his way towards her, like a tiger hunting his prey. And Penelope could do nothing but watch, frozen, her entire body now hot for a completely different reason. Humiliation. She’d never live this down. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again. God, what would he think of her?
“Who would’ve thought it, Miss Featherington,” he purred, offering her cell phone back, which she promptly snatched from his hand, and held it against her chest, trying not to tear up in front of him. She couldn’t think of anything to say to him, she couldn’t even look up. As the voices grew near the kitchen, Anthony crowded her against the door, a hand on her chin, lifting up her head. “If you are looking for a daddy,” she whimpered, she knew she had because his eyes grew darker and his grin widened, “come to my room tonight, baby girl.” He placed a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth, just off of her lips, before squeezing by, pressing his entire body against hers, as he left the kitchen and her behind to deal with Benedict, Gregory and Hyacinth. That had to be the sleaziest thing anybody ever said to her. She should’ve laughed it off, it was so awkward, but by God, her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest and a steady, throbbing beat between her legs that made her knees weak.
In the end, it was Benedict who had saved the cookies. Had it been left to her; they’d have burnt to a crisp.
There had to be something wrong with her, because after escaping Benedict’s inquiries about her well-being, saying she was PMSing or something flimsy like that, Penelope had locked herself in her designated room and not half an hour later, had finished the chapter and with the written words and memories of the brief encounter in the kitchen mixing together, she was holding herself up against the tiles of the shower, the hot water trailing down her body and the soft buzz of her vibrator steadily leading her to a squirming orgasm.
So here she was, in front of Anthony Bridgerton’s bedroom door, after the family went to sleep, pushing her thighs together as she thought about that afternoon. She was just convincing herself to turn around and go back to her room when the door opened and there stood Anthony Bridgerton, dressed in comfortable-looking pyjamas, tussled hair, barefoot, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and a satisfied grin on his lips.
“Miss Featherington. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”
So yes. This was all Eloise Bridgerton’s fault!
If she hadn’t given her a how-to lecture on BDSM, none of this would’ve happened. Then, if she hadn’t come up with the stupid Mexican dinner and left her alone in the house with her brother, this certainly wouldn’t be happening. Penelope was not the one to blame here. It was Eloise’s fault and that was final.
“Well… Come on in, darling.”
She was pretty sure she whimpered again. She was so screwed.
Well, hopefully, she would be.