Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

A Close Shave

"Stop that", you admonish playfully as his hands run heavily down your sides and grasp your hips, pulling you onto the growing bulge in his trousers.

"Then don't sit on me in such an appealing way, my love," he smiles crookedly, a clump of shaving cream sliding down his neck at the movement.

"Benedict, are you really trying to distract a woman holding a cutthroat razor?" you raise an eyebrow waving your hand slightly to show the weapon you wield.

"Your offer to shave me was not meant to include you straddling me like this," he answers drolly.

"How else am I supposed to do it?" you frown, looking at the chair he is reclined in and your surroundings.

"Stand behind my head?" he chuckles as if the answer is obvious.

"But then your face would be upside down, and I wouldn't be able to see under your chin; that's a stupid idea," you sniff dismissively.

"Well, I'm quite sure a barber would not be allowed to practice if they tried this technique," he jests gently, his hands wrapping around your back, running fingers across your spine.

"What a shame for them. It's really a rather nice seat," you smirk and lightly gyrate your hips, pressing down on his rapidly hardening cock.

"You are just doing this for sport, aren't you?" He shakes his head slightly in disapproval but doesn't exactly look upset about it.

"Maybe," you singsong, "but hold still, darling. You want to look nice for the ball later, do you not?"

"I want to fuck you more," he says casually, but with a tone he knows flusters you every time.

"Benedict Bridgerton!!" You exclaim in mock outrage. Then lean down and whisper in his ear, "you had better. I'm not wearing any underwear today."

His groan is lewd, and his hands flex on your body. "For god's sake, remove this shaving cream at once. We need to go to bed right now," he asserts, pushing his pelvis up against you so much your feet leave the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry, husband. I will only have sex with freshly shaven men today...." you tease, running a hand up the sheet covering his chest. "So lay still, and if you let me get this done, there will be time before we have to get ready."

He is suddenly quiet and compliant.

You take a calming breath, then start to shave near his left ear. Little gentle motions as you hear his stubble rasp under the blade, wiping the cream onto the damp rag to your side. You make steady progress and just listen to the sound of his breathing, humming gently to yourself to maintain focus. But after a while, you just can't resist a little flirtation, a slight tease.

"You are a very handsome man, husband," you sigh as you watch more of his face being revealed.

"Don't", he warns, muffled, trying not to move his lips or face too much as you pass the sharp instrument over the round of his chin.

"What? I just speak the truth," you shrug, lowering your face right over his. "Can I not tell my husband how attractive I find him? How much he arouses me?" You are goading him now.

His breath is a harsh exhale of hot air across your lips, and there is a pained noise from the very back of his throat. "Stop teasing me," he grouses, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, husband, that's not a tease," you chuckle. "A tease would be telling you I sat in the window and touched myself watching you fence with your brothers earlier. So very commanding with your epee."

He growls and roughly pushes away the hand that holds the razor, and in surprise, you lose your hold on it, and it clatters to the floor loudly. He grips your wrist, breathing heavily, staring at you, lips parted slightly. "You did what?"

"You heard me," you reply, feeling a little triumphant.

He roughly tugs your dress upwards around your thighs, grabs your hips, and you squeak as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion, wrapping your legs around him. He commandingly strides out of the bathroom and towards your bed. You feel his chest heaving against yours, his cock branding hot through his trousers at your inner thigh.

He throws you down on the bed, his face still half-covered in shaving cream. Crawling over your body.

"I believe I said I would only fuck a freshly shaven husband," you point out, but your panting reveals the lie behind the words.

He gives up fighting the layers of your dress and just grabs the material and rips it all the way to your hip with a heated snarl.

"Sorry darling, half-shaved will have to do. You can't tell me you touched yourself and not expect this," his tone low and dangerous. You wind your arms tight around his shoulders, hands clutching the back of his neck as he unbuttons his trousers roughly and spears into you hard, hot, and so very invasive.

"Fuckkkk," you call out with a gusty exhale, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. God, you will never tire of that feeling.

An hour later, when Eloise asks why you have whipped cream on your neck, you realise you missed a cleanup spot. Benedict's smirk is priceless.