Benedict Bridgerton Modern AU Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Rhythm

You are dancing, correction, gyrating in time to the pounding music, your back pressed up against his front. He's a tall solid presence, and there's a large hand almost branding an imprint onto your stomach through the delicate layer of your dress. The smell of warm bodies and overpriced alcohol lingers in this hot, sticky nightclub. His name is Ben. He's a friend of a friend—Kate's brother-in-law. Anyway, you are tipsy and horny, and he is gorgeous with hazy eyes and a troublesome smile. You push back into his crotch and roll your hips, the message unmistakable. Uncaring who is watching, the rest of your friends have already left.

"Are you always so forward?" the voice that rumbles in your ear is resonant, well-spoken and tinged with an edge of something that fizzles right to your core.

You twist your head to place your lips near his ear. "No, there's just something about you... sir," knowing that the last word is loaded, you are provoking him, seeing if he'll be into playing. It's been ages since you had a night of passionate kinky sex, and he looks like sin incarnate in expertly tailored trousers and an even better-fitting shirt.

"So, is that what you are into? Hmm?" His other hand grabs your throat, forcing your head back so you look up at the ceiling. "I could give you exactly what you need right now," he intones, the delivery now more gravelly.

You throb inside your underwear, and your nipples pebble hard, rasping your bra with delicious friction. Oh, hell yes, he is into it.

"Tell me more," you stutter out, utterly enthralled, the pressure on your windpipe just the right amount of danger to make your body sing, bodies rubbing deliciously against each other. He has read you like an open book.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, warm and plush.

"If you call me sir, I assume you want a name too? And I think I know what you like to be called," he begins, his voice pitched low so it reverberates in his chest pressed into your spine; that hand slides away from your neck to your bare shoulder. "I think you like to be called a good girl," his fingers trail down the length of your arm, igniting little tracks of fire over your skin. "Especially when you are doing unspeakably filthy things. If I'm right, press your fingers between mine," he adds as his hand covers yours at your side.

He huffs victorious as you lace your fingers into his.

"Oh, good girl," he praises as you shudder and shift your stance wider, wrapping your other arm backwards, looping your hand around his strong neck, fully rotating your hips in circles with the beat, hypnotised by the potent crackling energy between you.

"I felt that delightful little shudder," he murmurs, his breath so hot on your ear. "Let's see if we can make you do it again, shall we?" your bodies moving together in a sinful, sinuous motion.

You just nod gently.

He tugs at your dress so it is tight over your breasts. "Look at your gorgeous nipples, so hard. Are they aching? Does every move of fabric over them make you want to moan?" His voice is deadly, making them pebble almost painfully under the restrictive pull he has created. You want his tongue to soothe them. "Oh, such a sensitive one, eh? Do you like light brushes of thumbs, or do you prefer to have them squeezed between fingers, hmm?" He pauses, waiting for your response,

"Squeezed," you admit on a deep exhale.

He makes a noise. "Mmm, I thought so. You like just a little bit of discomfort, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Hard sucks rather than gentle licks," he guesses, again correctly. "Perhaps some teeth too. Do you want me to bite your nipples?"