Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

A Closer Shave (Fic Remix)

Requested remix of my fic A Close Shave (chapter 28)

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"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 reclined chair he is 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.

"I have a better idea," you murmur, running your free hand down his front, all the way to the rigid cock framed by the apex of your thighs, squeezing him through the wool until he is staring at you hungrily and panting.

You hold eye contact with a sly smile as you start to pull open the buttons of his trousers.

"What are you...?" he whispers.

"Shhh, husband," you interject, twisting your mouth into an authoritative pout and raising an eyebrow at him.

He is suddenly quiet and compliant.

You sheath the razor and place it on his chest, using both hands to pull down the front of his trousers.

"Mr Bridgerton, you just never wear underwear, do you?" you chuckle, wrapping a hand around his warm solid cock as he groans loudly but doesn't answer. "Well, all the better for me, I suppose...." you supplement with a teasing lilt as you shuffle your dress around your hips and push up to lower yourself onto him.

You both moan at the sensation, him at the clinging heat and wetness that envelops him, you at the solid searing presence pushing you open—just the right side of painful but so filling as you sink. God, you will never tire of that feeling.

His eyes are closed, and his breathing is heavy as you speak again. "I'm sorry, husband. I will only have sex with freshly shaven men today," you tempt, "so lay still, and if you let me get this done, maybe I will fuck you."