Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

A Work of Art

"Benedict," you call out as his tongue lashes against your soaked flesh. You reach down and lace your fingers with his, digging your nails into his palm.

"Yes, that's it," he urges, his voice deep. The middle finger of his other hand dragging hard on that spot inside, making you lose all sense.

You cry loudly and writhe against his face, his jaw and cheekbones pressed hard against your inner thighs as you fight to close your legs against the overwhelming sensation. He drops your hand and takes his finger out of you. He grips your knees, pushing them wide apart against the bed, exposing your cunt even more to his assault.

"Keep your legs apart," he commands. "Put your hands behind your head."

You do as asked. He redoubles his efforts, tongue pressing hard and insistent against your bud, plunging his long finger back inside you, moving frenziedly. Just as you see spots dancing in your vision and feel the rippling that signals your orgasm approaching, he jumps off you.

"No! Come back!" you cry out desperately as you hear his footsteps move away from you.

"Do not move an inch," he orders from across the room.

You lay there breathing heavily and so unfulfilled but obeying. You're flushed hot, and your clit is swollen and pulsing at your denied orgasm.

He drags a chair heavily across the polished wood floor and sits in it at the end of the bed.

"What are you doing?" You pant, craning to look at him without moving your body.

"Drawing you," he drawls as you spy a sketch pad and charcoal in his hands.

"What?!" You utter in disbelief.

"You are a work of art like this," he explains with an edge of a growl, licking your juices off his lips, "flooded, swollen, flushed, panting"

"It's all for you, my love," you simper, hoping it will tempt him back to you.

"That's why I have to draw you," he groans "this one is just for me; I want to remember you like this forever," you watch as he adjusts his cock, straining against his trousers. It makes your fingers flex, desperate to touch it, taste it.

"Please, Benedict," you whine, one of your hands snaking down your belly unconsciously.

"No! Don't touch yourself," he forbids. "Put your hands back behind your head right now."

You moan hard but do as told. "Please, I'm aching here."

"Oh, I know," his voice is dark, "tell me just how much. Use your words, darling."

"I... I'm so close," you begin, "I'm so wet for you. I'm so swollen."

"Mmmmm," he hums as you listen to the scrape of charcoal on paper. "How does it feel?"

"Like something is tugging hard inside me, and only you can remedy it."

"Yes, only me," his tone possessive. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want your cock. I need it, please." You beg.

"Oh yes, darling," he replies, then his eyes focus on your cunt "you are actually dripping at the thought, aren't you? I can see it."

You feel moisture trickle down your bum cheek onto the sheets beneath you.

"Yes," you stutter, desperate for friction, relief.

"I'm drawing your swollen cunt right now. Oh, darling, you are the most bewitching thing I have ever seen," he palms himself again, pushing himself up against his sketch pad.

"I want you to fuck me so hard," you repeat on a moan "please, please come back over here." You're begging now. Unashamed.

"You'd do anything right now, wouldn't you?" His voice is like velvet as his sketching continues.

"Yes," you pant.

"Tell me the most debauched thing you would do right now. The naughtiest filthiest thing you can imagine." His voice is deep and settles over your skin like a silk robe.

"I'd crawl on hands and knees to you and take your cock down my throat right now, rub my clit on your foot as I choke on you. I want you to hold my head down as I struggle to breathe, drooling over you." You admit through gritted teeth the first thing that comes to mind.

"Oh fuck, darling," he stops sketching and stares at you slack-jawed, "you mean it, don't you."

"Yes, I do." It's your turn to growl.

"Fuck I want that," he bites out; you watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard.

You go to move off the bed.

"No! Stay right there," he orders.

"But..." you trail off, "you just said you want it," you whine.

"And you want me to walk over and plunge my cock into you right now and fuck you so hard you can't walk tomorrow," he answers; your cunt clenches around nothing at his words. "But sometimes, darling, it's much more delicious to deny yourself just a little longer. To want something so much you can taste it," his hand move in loops as he draws on.

You huff in frustration, listening to his sketching, wanting to cry from the denial, staying still as he asks. He's quiet now, his face a picture of concentration.

After what seems like an eternity, he puts down the charcoal and wipes his hands on a rag.

"Thank you, my love," his voice gentle as he folds up his sketch pad. "You can move now."

"You won't let me see it?" you pout.

"You want to see?" He asks suddenly, a little shy.

"Of course I do," you confirm, pushing up onto your elbows.

He turns around the pad and shows you his work. It's an angle you've never seen yourself in, but even you can't deny it's a powerful, alluring image.

"Wow," you exhale.

"No one will ever see it but me," he assures. "When I go travelling, I miss you so much. This way, I can carry you with me everywhere I go," it's an urgent whisper.

"You'll look at this and touch yourself?" you stutter; the thought hurtles you so close to climax again.

"Yes, my love," he breathes, standing up and stalking over you slowly, roughly tugging open his trousers. Fuck, that catches your breath.

"Now I believe you said something about fucking you so hard?" He purrs, pushing you back down onto the bed, pulling your legs onto the hook of his arms, your knees almost to your armpits as he plunges into you, the stretch almost painful. You scream so loud you are sure the whole neighbourhood can hear you, and you couldn't care less. It takes two strokes and his sinful voice to have you convulsing so hard you almost blackout. A work of art indeed.