Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Fated

Author's Note: This is my first A/B/O (aka omegaverse) fic. 

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"Leave..." he barks forebodingly.

"Why?" You whisper, unable to look away, something boiling in your blood the likes of which you have never known.

As soon as you arrived at tonight's ball, your very first, you scented him. The most potent unbonded alpha you have ever encountered, the only one that has ever felt inescapable—a siren song to your body. Instant fever breaking out over your skin, a want to drop to your knees and prostrate yourself before him, without even having seen him.

Powerless to resist, you took the first opportunity to escape the clutches of your family and followed that delicious aroma all the way out into the hidden gardens of Danbury House, far away from the gathered throngs, almost as if he were hiding from you.

And now you know your fate is sealed. Tall, athletic and a face of beautiful lines, glowing in the pale moonlight. But with something untamed lurking beneath the veneer of an impeccable, dapper gentleman that perhaps only you, the yin to his yang, can detect.

He holds up a halting hand as you take a tentative step towards him, a tremor in the flex of his fingertips that belies his words.

"DO. NOT."

You take another cautious but defiant step. A clarion call that feels elementary, ancient, fated.

His breathing is ragged as you reach his outstretched palm, running the tip of your nose slowly across it, his scent so irresistible. Woodsy, smoky, but also citrus. Like a lemon tree ablaze.

"Why on earth would a good family not ensure their omega debutante is suppressed?!"

His question is pure exasperation, snarling lightly as your lips trace his thumb, your scent obviously affecting him just as much.

"They do..." You respond, daring to meet his fiery gaze as you purse your lips to his warm, fleshy pad.

You squeak as that thumb presses between your lips and hooks over your lower front teeth, pulling you fractionally towards him, his fingers curling under your chin.

"Then why could I scent you all the way across Grosvenor Square?!"

"I have not taken them for two days," you divulge under his glowering, your words slightly garbled around his invasion, the taste of charcoal and strawberries bursting on your tongue.

"Why??"

He appears irked by your rebellion; even as you can see the fight in every fibre of his being, desire muzzled by conditioned gentility.

"Because I do not want to hide what I am," you proclaim, instinctively pressing your tongue to his knuckle, unable to be anything but truthful with this captivating man.

"That was spectacularly foolish," he chides, withdrawing from between your lips. "You are lucky the majority of the Ton are betas."

"You are not," you blurt.

"No, I am most definitely not," he snaps, retreating a step, his jewel-toned waistcoat pulled taut around his ribs with each laboured inhale. "And I cannot be held responsible for my actions if you continue to be in my presence."

"What if that is precisely what I desire?"

Your words are definitely running away from you, something tidal crashing through your being. To say nothing of what is sluicing down your trembling inner thighs.