Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

A Treat

"You are beautiful," he whispers, his arms looping around your waist, pulling you down onto his warm body after discarding his jacket. He has stolen you away from the party into his private rooms, onto his bed.

You move to bury your face into his neck, flustered by the praise.

"Stop," you demure.

"I will not," he chuckles, nudging your face against his "I only speak the truth."

"Bennnn," you whine, knowing your cheeks are burning.

"Oh, is that my name now, hmm?" his good-natured gentle teasing is in a low voice, pitched to make you even more flustered, his lips moving over your cheeks, peppering little kisses.

"Benedict," you correct yourself, giving him a little pout.

"Hmm, I think I like 'Bennnn' better," he sighs against your ear, hands sweeping up tenderly over your back, "especially when you sound so breathless, like when I do this...." He gently bites your earlobe, making your breathing stutter with a faint moan.

"Oh, that sound," he breathes, "I could listen to you all day."

"Won't people wonder where we are?" you deflect, trying not to get lost in the situation, in him.

"This is our engagement party, my love," he reasons, lips running down your neck, "they almost expect us to sneak away."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," he moves to look into your eyes. "But don't worry, your honour is safe with me," his smile turns sinful after a pause, "for now."

That causes all sorts of a riot in your body: butterflies and tingles and a warm ache between your legs - dear god.

"Doesn't mean I can't give you some wonderful treats until the day we are finally married," he declares, his hands slipping to your rear and pulling you down onto him—more kisses over your face, so many kisses.

"What sort of treats?" your voice inquisitive, feeling something hard and persistent against your hip.

"Exceptional ones. Tell me, are you wearing anything under your dress today?" his voice silky.

"Benedict!" you admonish

"You are my future wife; I can ask these questions," he assures, "and you can answer me. So tell me, are you wearing anything under this lovely dress?" a finger gently tracing the neckline down over your left breast, your heartbeat speeding up from the lightest touch.

You bite your lip in a way you hope looks tempting, raising your eyebrows slightly and slowly shaking your head.

His pupils dilate fast, and his fingers move to grip your jaw. "Y/n, if you make that face at me, I can't guarantee to keep my promise," he warns lowly, thrusting his hips up against you. You are so captivated by thoughts of what lies beneath his trousers that persistence you feel prodding against you.

His lips find that spot below your ear that makes your whole body shiver. "Pull up your dress and show me", he exhales hotly into your ear, guiding your hands down to your skirts.

You climb backwards off him and stand near the end of the bed, slowly gathering the layers of your dress into your hands, revealing first your stockinged knees, then your thighs, the top of your stockings.

He watches with rapt attention from the bed, pushed up onto his elbows. Nodding at you to continue when you hesitate, knowing what you reveal next is intimate. His inhale is sharp with a growl as you feel the cool air of the room swirl around your intimate parts. You see his fingers flex; his face is a storm of desire.