Double Bind || Anthony and Benedict Bridgerton

Forbidden

You've almost made it to your guest room, sneaking up the backstairs, stealthy as you can, in nothing but Anthony's shirt. You round the last corner elated you are almost safe when you collide bodily with a tall solid mass.
Reeling back, you recognise the face, the piercing blue eyes. It's the man you met earlier tonight, the one that made you question, just for a second, what you have with Anthony.
"Oh, it's you," you breathe.
He smiles crooked, and something in your insides shifts. "Yes, it's me; hello again."
"I'm umm actually not supposed to be talking to you," you admit quietly.
"Let me guess, he told you to stay away from me?" he says sardonically.
"How did you know that?" You are surprised.
"I know my brother, and I know how he can be," he shrugs, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder casually against the wall.
"Wait... Your brother?"
"Oh," he chuckled, "So he didn't tell you that part then? Hmm, interesting. I'm Benedict," he says by way of introduction.
"Wait," you grab onto his forearm without thinking, "Benedict Bridgerton? As in 'Sunset over Suffolk' Benedict Bridgerton?"
His face lights up. "You... you know my work?"
"It's my favourite in the National," you smile gleefully. "Oh, It's such an honour to meet you," you want to shake his hand but suddenly look down at yourself and blanch, whipping your hand from his arm. "Oh my Gosh, I'm so sorry; I've just realised how I look; please forgive me."
"You look just wonderful to me," he says quietly, playful, his blue eyes dancing with something decadent.
"Oh. I see why Anthony warned me about you now," a wry smile growing slowly. "You're dangerous."
"Says the woman running through a ball in just a man's shirt," he lobbies, then leans forward, "and no underwear." That line he murmurs in a way that leaves no room for doubt.
It's there again. That tang of temptation, the strong urge to take this man's hand and run away with him. Anywhere.
He watches your face closely, cataloguing your flushed appearance. "The mystery here is, why do you look like an unsatisfied woman?" He rumbles.
You bite your lip, the long-denied orgasm flaring just from his words.
He crowds near you. "Did he not...?" He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to.
You just look up at him, enchanted and shake your head slightly.
"That bastard," he whispers fervently. He's not touching you, but your bodies are inches apart; you can feel the heat emanating through his shirt.
"It was... what I asked for, sort of," you rub your temple, a little overwhelmed by everything. "I don't know I..." you trail off, the feel of him so close derailing you.
"Do you want me to leave?" It's quiet but sincere.
"No," your response is a reflex, an honest one.
"Do you want me to help you?" It's a silky whisper.
"Oh fuck yes," slips out of your mouth, unbidden.
His pupils dilate. "God, I love a woman who curses," he breathes. He grabs your hand and pulls you along. "Which is your room?"
"This one," you twist the handle behind your back, not wanting to turn away from him as the door opens behind you.
There's a moment's hesitation, then you're backing into the room, and he follows. Your lips collide as he slams the door shut with a flick of his foot; he reaches back and flicks the lock without looking.
He kisses like fire—hot and wild. Something primal surges through your body stronger even than with Anthony. The thought of whom makes your insides roil with the sting of betrayal. Until Benedict's tongue quests into your mouth and obliterates any thoughts you have of anything except this and him and now.
He backs you up slowly until you hit the bed. His hands are holding your face as he just keeps kissing.
"Lay down," he whispers against your lips, releasing you from his hold.
You smile and lean back, whipping off the shirt you're wearing—Anthony's shirt.
He stops still and looks down at your naked body like a starved man.
"Oh fuck," slips from his lips unedited.
"I love a man who curses," you parrot his words back at him, and his eyes flash.
Suddenly you are lifted off your feet, his hands' band around under your bum and his mouth is back on yours insistently. He practically throws you down onto the bed from his embrace, and you bounce with the impact. Then he crawls on top of you. All your senses flair as he moves to kiss you again. The look in his eyes up-close before he kisses you. The tingles where his frilly shirt collar drags against your flesh. The sound he makes in his throat as he kisses you, little moans and sighs. The smell of his natural scent, cologne and lingering tobacco. The taste of his tongue on yours with strains of whiskey and smoke.
"Please take this off," you whine when he breaks the kiss, pulling at his shirt.
He chuckles and pulls up slightly, removing it quickly; he doesn't have chest hair like Anthony, but he's just as sculpted, broad-shouldered. He settles back over you—so much warm, toned skin against yours.
His lips slide down your neck slowly, kissing tenderly and making you squirm. He's being so gentle; it's such a contrast to what you experienced earlier.
He kisses down your collarbone, shifting lower against you, trailing a wet path to your left breast. When his tongue runs around your nipple, you make a soft cry that turns guttural as he sucks it hard into his mouth and clamps down with teeth; oh fuck yes.
You feel him smile smugly against your skin as he does it again, then swaps to the other side for the same treatment.
You're panting now—the denied pleasure from earlier pushing you so close with so little stimulation.
"Benedict I..." you stutter.
"Oh, I know," his tone is warm. "Be patient, sweet girl. I'll make it good for you, I promise."
You exhale gustily, loving that statement.
He lazily kisses his way down your body, taking his time to explore your skin—tasting, licking, nipping. By the time he's running his nose into your public hair, you are panting so hard; desire coiled so tight.
You tense a little realising you've not had a chance to refresh yourself since Anthony, but he doesn't seem to care.
You hear his knees drop to the floor at the end of the bed, and he wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you lower towards him and opening you wide.
The first swipe of his tongue all the way from your pussy up to your clit makes you moan so loud you feel it echo around the room.
Just then, there's a knock at the door. "Is that you, my girl?" Anthony's voice calls muffled through the wood.
You freeze, as does Benedict. He peers up the plane of your body from between your legs, looking to you for guidance on what you want.
"I'm touching myself just as you wanted," you call out a lie. Benedict just raises an eyebrow holding your gaze not moving.
"Oh, my love," Anthony sighs, "I won't disturb you, but can I listen? I want to hear you cum so badly."
You close your eyes to process what to do. You're glad all the other rooms around you are empty, everyone else still downstairs loudly carousing at the ball. Not able to hear what is transpiring. When you reopen them, Benedict's face is the very picture of sin. With his eyes locked on yours, he slowly peaks his tongue out of his mouth and lowers himself until all you see are his eyes. He spears the tip of that tongue suddenly against your clit, questing hard, pushing side to side. Up and down.
You cry out loudly at the powerful stimulation. Anthony was fucking right. You should never have gone near this dangerous man; he's going to make you climax while his brother listens at the door.
"Oh, you sound so wonderful," Anthony groans through the door "fuck I want to watch you."
"No!!" You yell out, and Benedict laughs, chuckles quietly against your body, kissing his way down to your pussy, his nose bumping against your clit. "I umm like you just listening; it's hotter," you scramble, trying to think of a suitable excuse while you are so wonderfully distracted. Also, immensely grateful Benedict locked the door behind you.
"Ok darling girl," Anthony purrs, "let me hear it."
Benedict surges up from the floor and lands on you, kissing you intensely, your taste strong on his lips.
"Ready to give him a show, sweet girl?" he whispers almost silently "don't forget - no shouting my name," he preens with a smug smile.
"You are something else," you whisper back.
"I know, that's why I'm dangerous," he winks, and you giggle.
"What's so funny?" Anthony's voice rings out.
"I found a ticklish spot," you respond loudly, shrugging at Benedict as if to say What? Can you think of a better excuse?
"You'll have to tell me exactly where," Anthony chimes, "that sound is a delight."
Benedict slips back down stealthily between your legs and tickles your inner thighs with light finger caresses. You giggle more but mouth at him to STOP IT.
"Darling girl, you should continue," Anthony calls out.
You heard him, you mouth cheekily at Benedict. He raises an eyebrow and then bites the meat of your inner thigh, causing you to shout...
"Mmmmm fuck."
"Yes, darling, that's it," Anthony coos.
Then he stops teasing. And you couldn't stop all the noises if you tried. And you don't even think to try. Your world contracts to the feel of his mouth on you and his hands; one is questing up to pinch your nipple, the other burying fingers deep inside you.
"Oh my girl," you barely hear Anthony over your own noises. "What are you doing to yourself? You sound like heaven."
"It feels so fucking good, sir," you call out for him between panting breaths.
Benedict looks up sharply, stopping his ministrations. Sir? He mouths questioningly. You just twist your lips into a pout and nod. His mouth falls open, and you see a new heat in his eyes. Oh, he had no idea.
He dives back in and then sucks hard on your clit. You run your hands down onto the back of his head and open your legs wider. You are chasing your high with fervour now. His breath hitches hard as you grab his hair, pushing your pelvis up against his face.
Please, please make me cum, you mouth at him.
In response, he pinches your nipple and drags his fingers hard against that spongy spot inside that you can never reach yourself.
"Oh fuckkkkkkk," you cry, "Yes, yes yessssssss."
You are teetering on the edge now. Fingers flexing hard against Benedict's scalp. Legs fighting to close against the stronghold he pins you down with.
The suction, the heat, his fingers. You are hurtling fast now.
"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, right there, yes, yes, oh fuckkkk," you babble, your whole body tense and every fibre of your being strung taut.
"You talk to yourself so fucking well, darling girl," Anthony growls against the door "are you imagining me eating you."
But you don't respond; you just let out a lingering scream as your vision whites out, and finally, the tension releases into waves of convulsions travelling up and down your whole body. You feel his strong arms holding you open to him, his tongue still questing hard. Fuck if he isn't just drinking you in. You pull hard on his hair and mouth no more, please, and he takes pity on you. Smirking and gently withdrawing his fingers, giving your pussy one last kiss.
He crawls up your body as you come back down and whispers in your ear, hot and deadly, "you taste like heaven. I could feast on you forever."
"Oh my darling, that was the hottest thing I have ever heard. Thank you." Anthony's voice is laden with affection and longing.
Suddenly, your traitorous actions weigh heavy on your heart. How can you want both brothers so much?
"Darling girl, I'm going to leave now, but I can't wait to see you tomorrow," Anthony calls, his hand resting on the door. Benedict just nuzzles against your neck.
"Okay," you respond, not sure what else to say. "Goodnight, sir."
"Sleep well, my girl," and then you hear his footsteps echo down the wooden hallway.
"Leave him," Benedict pleads, "Leave him, and I'll give you everything he can and so much more."
"I..." you don't know what to say. The temptation is so strong; the pull of this man for you is magnetic.
"Just think about it, please, for me," he sighs.
"I will," you promise.