Penelope stood at the altar, her plus-size curves draped in the silk gown meant for her sister, facing Colin’s thunderous glare. “You think I wanted this farce any more than you?” she snapped, her voice steady and sharp. Colin’s jaw tightened. “Marina was supposed to be my bride, not the plain spinster who’s trailed after me since childhood.” Penelope arched a brow, refusing to shrink. “Then run after her ghost, husband. I’ll survive your hatred.” The wedding night crackled with tension as they entered the bedchamber. “You’re not touching me out of duty,” Penelope declared, stepping close, her eyes blazing. Colin’s breath hitched despite himself. “You’re insufferable,” he growled, but his hands betrayed him, sliding over her hips. “And you’re hard already,” she countered with a wicked smile, palming the bulge in his trousers. Witty barbs flew as clothes fell—her teasing his reluctance, his retorts laced with reluctant hunger—until desire overpowered pride. Penelope pushed him onto the bed and took his cock in her mouth for a slow, commanding blowjob, her tongue swirling while he panted and sweated beneath her. “God, you’re wet and dripping,” Colin rasped, flipping her only for her to straddle him again, guiding his hard length into her virgin pussy. She rode him with fierce rhythm, ass grinding down as they both came hard, her cries mixing with his shocked groan at her untouched state. He obsessed over the discovery even as they lay tangled. “This changes nothing,” Penelope whispered, already planning her heart’s defense, “or perhaps everything.”
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