Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Hormones (Short Drabble)

"Wait, I think that was someone... I really think we should maybe... ohhh", with a squeeze of internal muscles, you manage to shut him up.

"I don't care if someone is there", you answer, breathing hard. "We are doing this", dragging yourself forcefully up and down in his lap.

"Okay... just you know, let's do it quietly", he implores with a pleading look in his eye, holding your hips loosely.

"You'll have to gag me if you want me to shut up", you warn testily.

"Fine, but just don't bite me this time, please", his sigh almost weary.

—

You never expected to become that person.

But four months into your first pregnancy, that is precisely the person you have become.

Anything, and you do mean anything, can make you horny. Last week just the look of a peach had you storming across the house to pull down his trousers bossily.

Your husband is not sure what to make of it, frankly. At first, the novelty was a real turn-on, and now weeks later, you swear he has taken to hiding from you on occasion.

Today there's not even a particular trigger. It's a warm sunny day, and you are tending to some roses when the urge appears, intense and sudden. You inhale quickly, drop your pruning shears, tear off your gardening gloves and stride purposefully around to where you last saw him.

He's still there - painting the rolling hills of the countryside, idly flicking some flower detail into the bottom right corner of the picture with a fine brush.

"Hello love", he starts ", how are y...mpffhh."

His words are cut off by your lips landing on his forcefully.

"Grab my face", you order between kisses.

"My hands are covered in paint", he protests as you briefly let him up for air.

"I don't give a f....", you dive back in, and he does as asked, smearing paint along your jawline and cheeks. He knows better than to argue when you're like this.

"What was it this time?" he asks as you attack his trouser buttons with an enthusiasm that suggests they cause you personal offence. "See a particularly nice piece of fruit? A suggestively shaped vegetable?" He laughs to himself at that one.

"Get on the fucking ground Benedict, right the fuck now", you growl.

"Okay, okay, fine, give me a chance, will you", he laughs again, always genuinely baffled by how furious you can be when you're horny. He has decided to categorise it as adorable. Slightly terrifying but adorable.

"This baby is your fucking fault", you grind out through gritted teeth as you gather up your dress and straddle him. "Now fuck me hard, or you don't get any naming rights. I'll call it Ethel. Especially if it's a boy."

He pulls a face. "You wouldn't; that's bordering on child cruelty."

"Then you better do a good job."

"Yes, ma'am."