Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

A Birthday Treat

"Stay silent, my love," he whispers from between your legs, unheard above the buzz of conversation around the dinner table.

You can't reply; you can't give him away.

But it's almost impossible to follow his request. He appears determined to ruin you. Your legs are over his shoulders, your dress pushed up around your thighs, and he's buried inside the layers. Part of you is concerned he could suffocate; part of you wants him to die for torturing you like this.

"Happy birthday, darling!" your mother calls from the other end of the table, quieting the noise in the room.

"Thank you, mother," you squeak as he licks a long line up your slit, pushing your thighs even wider apart, his breath so hot on your soaked flesh.

Your sister holds up her champagne glass. "A toast to my little sister on her 21st birthday! May you have wonderful adventures and a life full of happiness!"

You hold up your glass, but it's shaky. A cheer and call of 'here here' around the table gives you the opportunity to groan lightly. His tongue is spearing hard inside you now.

You take a large swig of your champagne. In fact, you drain your glass; a butler instantly refills it as you nod your thanks politely, hoping they cannot sense anything under the heavy table drapery.

"Where is your suitor, Mr Bridgerton?" Your younger sister teases from opposite you.

Under the table, tonguing you to oblivion is not an appropriate response. So you just clear your throat and attempt to sound normal.

"He's on his way," you assure, "he's busy being a talented artist presently."

You feel rather than hear his chuckle against your inner thigh as he bites you there lightly, signifying he enjoyed your little play on words.

"That's so wonderful," she replies with a sigh, "he's so very handsome."

"Yes, he is." You agree quietly with a blush, biting your lip as if to appear demure when it's to hold in your moan as he shifts to sucking your clit so hard you want to scream and grab his hair.

"Are you ok, my dear?" Your father inquires, "you look rather flushed."

"It's the champagne, father. I fear I'm quite tipsy," you reply shakily as Benedict continues his sensual assault on your body.

Your father smiles. "Well, if a lady cannot be a little tipsy on her birthday, when can she be?" He adds with a good-natured laugh.

You smile sweetly back and feel a palpable sense of relief as the table descends into spirited conversation once more.

Ever the opportunist, Benedict uses the time wisely. Expertly pushing you so far towards a climax. Mostly you are so incredibly proud of yourself for appearing so serene and disaffected as you climb higher under his insistent talented tongue.

When your orgasm crests, you grip the table so hard you are sure your fingers will leave indents. Silent screams echo around your skull. Blood pounding, spots dancing in front of your eyes, your body tensing and releasing in waves.

You slump back in your chair and stare listlessly at the ceiling as the intensity subsides. The next challenge will be getting Mr Bridgerton out from under the table as unseen as he snuck himself under.

He pulls himself away from between your legs and sits patiently caressing your ankles and calves, awaiting the opportunity to escape.

After a few minutes, you stand up and follow your family into the drawing room when the aunt sitting next to you loops her arm in yours.

"My dear, if your husband-to-be must pleasure you at the dinner table, at least ask him to have the decency to distinguish your foot from someone else's," she breezes quietly with a playful smile, "but I must say, given your face you are one lucky lady. I wish you a lifetime of happiness together." She ends with a wink.

You stand there mortified just as Benedict enters the room, announced by your father's valet. There is a chorus of greetings, but especially from the aunt who leans in again and whispers, "y/n, marry him tomorrow. A face like that with a tongue like that? If you don't marry him, I will," she threatens.

You smell yourself on his lips when he kisses your cheek so chaste, it makes you want to throw him on the ground and give him your virginity right here and now. You decide not to tell him you were caught red-handed; instead, you just lean in and murmur in his ear.

"I assume when it's your birthday dinner, I should sneak into Bridgerton House and await you under the dinner table?" you tease.

He growls gently at that, causing a riot of responses in your body.

"If you make that noise at me again, I'll have to drag you into a quiet room right now, and you can teach me all I need to know to bring you such pleasure," you continue.

He growls again. You grab his hand and lead him quickly to the library.

When you re-emerge, your makeup is ruined, but your grin couldn't be wider.