Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Inspiration

He huffs a sigh for the second time.

"What's wrong, my love?" you ask, closing your book and going to stand behind him. He is perched on a high-backed stool.

"This piece," he taps the canvas, "it's just not coming together right," he frets.

You gently squeeze his shoulders and place a kiss on his jaw. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

He briefly places a hand over one of yours. "Thank you, my love, that's very sweet of you, but I don't think so. My mind is just not in the right place, and it shows. I think it's just lacking some passion, some spice, something" he gestures while he speaks, then taps the end of his brush again against the canvas, frustration evident.

"Do you think if you were feeling those things yourself as you paint that it would help?" you proffer, an idea forming in your mind.

"What do you mean?" he frowns.

"I mean, if you were feeling perhaps a little passion, it might help your painting?" you kiss him again, lingering. You press your body into his back, pushing your breasts against his shoulder blades. "Perhaps I can help with that; I have an idea," you murmur, toeing off your shoes so you are barefoot.

"Oh, do you, now? I am all ears," he says, his voice laced with intrigue.

"Undo my buttons, Mr Bridgerton," you murmur, slipping between him and his easel with your back turned.

You feel warm fingers slowly slide each button loose, his breath dusting your back as he does so. He gently kisses between your shoulder blades as he finishes the task.

You peel the gown & chemise off your shoulders and let them fall heavily to the floor.

"Now unlace me," you breathe.

Silently, he unpicks the laces of your stays, loosening them from your body. You push the straps off your shoulders, glancing back at him as you allow that to drop from your body too. He has a slight smile on his lips as he now runs his hands down the expanse of your naked back, all the way to your bum cheeks.

"No underwear today, Mrs Bridgerton?" his voice husky.

"I wanted to be ready. For you," you tease and grab his thighs as they frame your hips, pushing your naked body back against his crotch.

Large hands crest around your hip bones and guide your movement. Grinding you against his trousers rhythmically. You feel him harden against your body as you gyrate slowly.

"I'm not sure I can paint and fuck you at the same time, darling," he chuckles ruefully.

"Oh, you don't have to do that, my love," you reply and feel behind you, starting to unbutton the trousers at his hips.

"Your actions suggest otherwise," he huffs, amused, not stopping you but not helping either.

You pull down the front of his trousers and free his cock. Holding it with one hand, he groans quietly as you squeeze gently.

"What on earth are you planning, my love?" He murmurs.

You climb backwards onto the foot rungs of the stool he sits on, then slowly guide yourself down onto his cock. You both moan at the sensation, you at the invasive stretch, him at the warm tight wetness that envelopes him.

Fully seated inside you, he feels wonderful. A solid hot presence holding you open. Just the right side of aching. Perfect.

Slowly you move your legs one at a time, so they are outside of his. Your knees bracing his, your feet dangling so you are totally open to him. You lean back against his body, resting your head on his shoulder. Knowing he can see down the plain of your body if he wants, see your peaked nipples.

"Paint Mr Bridgerton," you exhale, reaching a hand behind your head to hold around the back of his neck. It's a wanton open position you have placed yourself in.

"You are just going to sit here on my cock Mrs Bridgerton?" he growls lightly, his tone impressed.

"Yes, my darling, I'm going to keep you nice and warm while you work." You whisper, "and if you feel you need a little extra stimulation, just...."

Your free hand demonstrates for him - tweaking your nipples, causing your cunt to clench on him. He groans hard.

"...do that to me," you conclude breathily.

"What a muse," he breathes awed, reaching forward to drag the easel closer.

At first, you close your eyes, but curiosity gets the better of you as you hear the gentle strokes of his brush on canvas and his slightly heavy breathing. You watch him work for a while.

"You, my love, are a genius," he flatters, "this is working wonderfully," his tone enthused as he refills from his palette balanced on his left arm and starts long fluid strokes of paint, building his picture.

"I'm so happy to help," you demure and move your face to kiss his jaw. He turns his head as you pull away and captures your lips with his. He deepens the kiss, and you feel a hand holding a brush curl around your cheek. You moan into his mouth as you feel his cock pulse inside you.

He breaks away to breathe but nuzzles his nose against yours, inhaling each other's air.

"I want to paint you," he says breathily. Run my paintbrush down your body. You can be my masterpiece."

"Do it if you want to," you encourage, "whatever you desire."

"I desire you," he groans, "so very, very much," smearing the hand from your face down your front until it reaches your breast. He tweaks your nipple, and you clench down onto him.

"Fuck," he gusts against your lips, "you feel so good."

"Use that, my love," you advocate, "channel it onto your canvas."

He nods and returns to working anew.

You dutifully sit on his cock, speared open, wanting nothing more than to be fucked hard. Your clit pulses with every heartbeat. But this is not about you, so you stay silent and still, happy to provide just enough stimulation for his work. You close your eyes and rest against his shoulder.

After about twenty minutes, him still so hard inside you, you feel him reach to put down his palette.

"Look, my love," he coos, and you open your eyes. "I think I'm done."

"It's beautiful," you assure.

"It wouldn't be possible without you," he praises, "you have been so good to me," he purrs. "I think it's time I was good to you, no?"

Fingers trail slowly over your torso catching your breath until suddenly they sweep down into your soaked folds and catch against your clit. You cry out and clench down hard on him.

"Oh yes," he hisses, "come on, my darling, please come for me."

Already so aroused, you writhe in his lap, moaning loudly as he expertly pushes you fast towards your peak. He rumbles beautiful words in your ear as you spiral higher, breathing hard, desperate to close your legs against the pulls you feel deep inside, but instead, he pushes your knees further apart, holding you so open.

"That's it," he goads through gritted teeth as you fracture, everything feeling liquid hot as you pulsate around him, "oh god, yes, that's it," he stutters. You feel him spear a little deeper, and a shudder wracks his frame as he comes apart, deep inside you, his warmth filling you up.

Breathing hard, you both slowly come back to yourselves. The room smells like sex and fresh oil paints.

"Next time, perhaps I am naked too," he suggests, and you giggle.

"Next time, perhaps you do use me as your canvas instead," you smirk.

"Happily, my wife, my wonderful muse" he exhales and kisses you deeply.