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fayes-fics · 2 years

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Sonnet #29

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: Your husband Benedict and you have a late night tryst in the billiards room of Bridgerton House.

warnings: 18+, smut, minors dni, vaginal sex, oral sex (m to f), fingering, d/s dynamics, possessive/dirty talk, light bondage, drinking, dangerous use of Shakespeare, Anthony’s gonna need to rebaize that billiards table.

word count: 3.6k

author note: Not betaed. I haven’t written anything in years and this may be riddled with anachronisms, sorry. It also turned out less explicit and more romantic than I thought it would *shrugs*. The swaggering, cigar smoking, whiskey drinking Benedict from Anthony’s stag night, is the inspiration for this fic. Especially that cravat. The title of ‘my lord’ used here is part of their d/s play.

Benedict Bridgerton is missing. It has to be after 1 AM, probably later. You’ve woken to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Throwing on a robe and lighting a candle, you head down the backstairs of Bridgerton House. Keen not to disturb anyone but eager to find your errant husband. You’re visiting his family for the week, and tonight the brothers were celebrating their reunion.

You round a corner into the main hallway, then stop short. A drunken Colin is staggering slowly up the grand staircase, falling back almost as many steps as he advances. You bite back a giggle as he eventually stumbles onto his hands and knees, crawling the remainder of the steps. It must’ve been one hell of a Bridgerton boys' night.

Passing Anthony’s study, you’re surprised to see the door wide open. A quick peek reveals the Viscount passed out, head down on his desk. Light snores puffing condensation onto an empty tumbler in front of his nose, his hand still loosely wrapped around it - another casualty of the night's celebrations.

Still no sign of the one brother you are seeking.

You slip silently down the hallway and into the billiards room you know they had been carousing in. The room is quiet, dimly lit by only a handful of candles. There is a lingering scent of cigars and expensive alcohol. Billiard cues lean haphazardly against disarranged chairs. Quite a party, it would appear.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice makes you gasp.

Benedict.

You hadn’t seen him in the shadows. He leans forward in a chair, the low candlelight now catching his face, a bemused expression tugging at his handsome features. He looks alluring with his sleeves rolled up, a glass held casually in one large hand.

“The bed is cold without you, darling husband”, you chide affectionately, snuffing out your candle and placing it aside.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I was about to come up. Can you believe my brothers don’t have the stamina to celebrate properly?“ he quips, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Care to join me for a nightcap?” He adds, nodding at the decanter on the side table next to him.

Without waiting for an answer, Benedict pours a glass for you and tops up his own. He knows you enjoy a quality whiskey when it’s on offer. And the Bridgertons always have excellent whiskey.

He holds out the glass expectantly, beckoning you over. You move forward and take the drink, straddling his legs and lowering yourself onto his knees with a gentle smile. Benedict responds with his crooked smile, which always catches your breath. His free hand rests lightly on your robe-covered thigh as you take a sip. Smokey, almost caramel notes glide over your tongue. Oh yes, this is the good stuff. You can’t help the hum of satisfaction at the taste.

He raises his eyebrow before taking a slow, deliberate draw himself. He’s slightly inebriated but only enough to be playful. You wonder how he has held his liquor so much better than his brothers. Surely some strategy. You finish your drink lazily, feeling content just perched in his lap.

“We have never spent time here alone”, he rumbles quietly, glancing at the door. His hand becomes a firmer touch. From the slight glint in his eye, you can tell that his thoughts are turning intimate. It’s still surprising that just a few suggestive words have you wanting him. The feeling is so sharp and sudden.

“Indeed we have not”, you murmur, leaning to place your empty glass aside and take his glass to do the same. Your mind flashes an image of you stripping bare for him in this very room. It’s the catalyst to push further into his lap and grab his face, locking your lips onto his. He tastes like cigars and the smoky sweetness of the drink - a delicious combination. You can’t help but deepen the kiss, running your tongue into his mouth and swallowing his slight groan. His hands move to grip your hips and pull you closer.

“Remind me to buy a whole case of this whiskey”, he smirks, trailing his lips down the side of your neck. You reach up into his hair and tug gently; it never fails to make him a little rougher in his ministrations.

“Clearly, I have been neglectful this evening”, he mutters against your collarbone using a slight edge of teeth. Oh yes.

“Please”, you whisper hotly, bringing his face back to yours for a bruising kiss. You hope he can read what you’re asking for.

His hands move, and you feel his thighs flex as he stands. You wrap your legs around him as he carries you a few steps across the room. It seems like no effort for him; the power in his athletic body never fails to impress you.

“Please, what?” He teases as he gently sets you down on the end of the billiards table.

“Talk to me”, you demure, not meeting his eye. Your hands move to release the buttons on his waistcoat.

Benedict lets out a chuckle. “I rather think I’ve said more than you tonight”, his fingers gently tugging the ties of your robe.

“No, I mean… talk to me…. the way you did last week” you feel your cheeks burn as you finally dare to look him in the eye. You see them grow darker, and his nostrils flare. Now he’s catching on. He yanks off the waistcoat you have unbuttoned, then cups your face with both his hands.

“Oh, what did I do to deserve you?” He wonders with a hint of awe, giving you a brief gentle kiss.

Before his whole demeanour changes.

You feel a ripple of excitement in your belly as he sweeps a thumb up to your lips. His grip on your jaw becomes a little tighter.

“Tell me,” he drawls, “just how lonely were you up in that bed, wife?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Did you touch yourself?”

You shake your head as best you can, with his hands around your face.

“Good girl” He looms closer, and you have to brace your hands onto the smooth felt of the billiards table behind you.

“Although, clearly not that good”, he tuts, “coming to me so wantonly. And in my brother's house. Anyone could walk in right now. There’s no lock on that door. Is that what you want? To have my brothers watch as I take you right here?” You whimper at the images he concocts.

His thumb hooks into your mouth, and instinctively you pulse your tongue against it. He growls as you catch it gently with your teeth. He releases his grip and takes a half step back.

“Show me yourself. All of you,” he commands.

This. This is why you crave him so much. He can intuit your deepest desires.

You scramble off the table and quickly wrestle off your robe and nightgown, letting them fall to the floor. You love the sharp intake of breath he takes as you obey. He drops his eyes covetously to take in the sight of you completely nude before him, flexing his fingers. The sinful gaze has you throbbing already.

“Get back up on the table” his words are a harsh staccato. You do as ordered, sitting in the same position as before, perching on the raised edge of the billiards table. He pulls your knees up and apart, stepping between your legs. His kiss is urgent and deep, his tongue pushing and rolling into your mouth. One of his hands is in your hair, guiding your head to angles he wants. The other kneads at your breasts, snagging your nipples between his fingers. It’s possessive; the excitement buzzes right down into your core.

He grabs both your wrists, running his nose over your pulse points before bringing them together in front of you like you’re in prayer. “Hold right there, don’t move.”

You watch as he pulls roughly on the knot of his cravat. He hastily unwinds the material until it slips away from his neck — the golden silk glinting in the low light. You gasp as he loops the long strip of fabric around your wrists. Loose at first, then pulls tighter as he ties the ends in a bow. The material is soft but unyielding.

This is something new. You peek up at his expression; there is a hunger but also a questioning vulnerability.

“My lord“, you exhale. It’s your permission for his silent request to continue.

“You are so perfect”, he groans, diving in for another hard kiss before pulling your tied hands above your head. He lowers you gently until your shoulder blades are resting against the green felt of Anthony’s billiards table. If only he knew what his younger brother was doing right now.

“Stay there. Do not move until I allow it; keep your arms above your head”, Benedict warns.

He hovers over your prone body. The material of his britches brushing lightly against your open thighs is the only contact you have. You squirm, needing him to touch you somewhere. Anywhere. Instead, he uses his words.

“Look at you, Mrs Bridgerton. I can see how desperate you are for me to touch you.” He inhales deeply, “I can smell your need for me. This is how I want you. Always.” His voice seems impossibly low.

“Benedict…” you pant.

“I want to keep you like this for hours. Naked, at my mercy. Bound in my silks. My muse, my masterpiece.” His speech ghosts air over your skin; this is a special kind of torture.

Finally, he leans down the last few inches separating you and captures your right nipple between his teeth. Your cry is guttural, and he holds your hip bones down harshly as you try to cant up, seeking friction. He soothes the bite with his tongue. He attacks your other nipple with the same fervency. You are so aroused there’s an ache tugging like a hook deep inside.

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you chant, knowing that crude word he taught you will rile him. You need him now.

He groans at your curse but says nothing in response. He drags his mouth slowly and sinfully over your rib cage and stomach. Pausing to swirl his tongue around your belly button, he continues down. You hear his knees sink to the floor as his nose trails into your pubic hair. He breathes deep, animalistic, and so so wanted. He drops lower and licks a sharp line through your folds. You cry out, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to bite at the binding on your wrists.

“Don’t,” he growls. You snap your head back, looking down your body to his face between your thighs. “Don’t you dare look away,” he lightly bites the meat of your thigh, “watch me do this.”

He hauls your legs over his shoulders. One strong arm wraps around your left hip, his hand resting low on your belly. He holds your gaze fiercely as he swirls his tongue slowly around your clit and then applies gentle suction with his whole mouth. By god, he is so good at this. He languidly takes his time, running his tongue all over, varying pressure, pulses, kisses and even little nips against your heated flesh. He never lets you break eye contact. If you try, he stops, and you whine for more. He sucks hard and takes you to the edge, then backs off to gentle kisses, not letting you over. Your whole body burns with anticipation.

“Have mercy,” you breathe.

Two of his long artistic fingers plunge into you. You cry out at the invasion, clenching down on them. He quickly locates that spot which makes you lose all sense. He rapidly strokes, his other hand bearing pressure on the same area from the outside, curled around your public bone. He glows with primal satisfaction as you scream open-mouthed with every stroke.

“Yes, my love, scream for me” his voice is ragged and muffled against your skin “you are so beautiful like this. Wake the whole house; I don’t care. My good girl, mine .”

He runs his teeth against your clit, and it sends you over the edge, calling his name. He holds your hips firmly open as your body spasms, his strength fighting against your bodily urge to close your legs and curl up against the convulsions. He gently kisses your overheated soaked folds as you slowly come down.

Benedict stands up smugly, peeling down his braces, watching your body shiver with mini aftershocks, admiring the whimpering soaked mess he has made of you. He quickly removes his shirt while rounding the other end of the furniture. Just as you come back to yourself, strong hands grab under your shoulders. You gasp loudly as he hauls you bodily to the centre of the billiards table. He can be so strong and overpowering when he wants to be. He leans down and kisses you softly to calm your surprise, stopping to marvel at the view down your body, sprawled naked across the green felt, your hands still bound above your head.

Wanting nothing more than to wrap yourself around his body, you stay lying obediently, just as he had ordered you to. Your eyes track his movement as he stalks back around the table, admiring the flex of his now shirtless torso. It's probably considered scandalous for a lady of good society to be so enamoured with their husband’s body, but you revel in it. He is a beautiful man you have coveted since the day you first saw him. Whenever you have no social commitments to fulfil, at your sanctuary out in the country, your home, you will spend hours wrapped naked around each other, just luxuriating in the pursuit of sensual pleasures and mutual satisfaction. Those are your favourite days.

A hand encircles your ankle, shaking you from your brief reverie.

“I hope you were thinking of me,” he smiles indulgently, the sweet husband breaking past the dominating mask you love that he wears for you sometimes, like tonight.

“Always,” you reply, as easy and truthful as breathing.

After a shared moment, his expression turns sinful as he starts to flick open the buttons of his britches one-handed. You watch covetously, wishing you had permission to get up, to use your hands. To reach out and touch him, help him disrobe.

“I want to touch you”, you whisper plaintively, voicing your thoughts as you watch.

“I know you do, my love”, he smirks, “but not tonight. Tonight you do as I say. You watch me.” You moan as he drops that last piece of clothing from his body. His cock is so perfect and beautiful, standing proud against his body. You want nothing more than to fall on your knees before him and take him into your mouth. He knows he is denying you one of your favourite things by making you lay passively waiting for him. He effortlessly mounts the billiards table, stalking slowly over you on all fours, like a big cat rounds on its prey.

“If only the world could see you now,” he purrs, “my demure wife begging to touch me. You are doing so well, my good girl, not moving those hands, even though I know how much you burn to,” he teases hotly, making sure you look down and watch as he grabs and strokes his hard cock to prove his point. Your breath is so uneven now you can barely make a sound except a pitiful whine. He bows down and kisses your breasts, running his tongue up to your throat, softly biting your earlobe.

“Please, please….” for what seems like the hundredth time, he has you pleading.

Slowly he lowers his body onto yours. The feeling of his weight, the woodsy masculine scent, all his heated skin finally upon yours overwhelms. Your hands itch to move, grab, hold him in place, but you fight it and obey.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are in your submission? It’s like poetry.” he breathes into your neck.

He reaches down to push your legs wider apart. You press your hips and breasts up hard against him, chasing all the touch you can. You feel him nudging at you and almost want to weep in relief. The moment he pushes into your body is everything—the solid weight stretching you, curling your toes. You let out a long keening sound, shutting your eyes to concentrate on the heavy sensation.

“Look at me”, he orders as he inches in further. Your eyes flutter open to meet his. They are blown wide with lust and devotion. One hand cups your jaw.

“Haply I think on thee…” his voice cadence changes; it’s a gentle lilting sound. His eyes don't leave yours as he bottoms out inside you.

“…and then my state, like to the lark at break of day….” he slowly withdraws almost all the way. You realise faintly he is reciting actual poetry. A sonnet….?

“From sullen earth sings hymns…,” His beautiful words settle over you, sinking into your thoughts, heightening every feeling. He kisses you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth as you feel every inch of him slowly push back into you, dragging along all the right spots.

“At heaven’s gate….” he slowly increases the pace and strength of his thrusts, peppering your face with kisses. You moan threadily, pushing your body up against his, kissing wherever you can, twisting your hands against their binding, snagging in your hair.

“Oh god, Benedict”, it’s a plea for more, everything. The hand on your jaw moves, and he traces your lips with his thumb. As he looks down on you, a sheen forming on his brow, you fiercely wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking hard on the fleshy pad. He growls and thrusts into you harder, deeper. You feel yourself climbing as he hits that spot repeatedly, the one that makes you feel electric, a live wire of pure lust. You desperately want to grab his hips, impale him so deep he can't leave your body.

“For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings….” His voice is wavering now. He hooks both arms under your shoulders and rests his forehead on yours, never breaking eye contact as you both pants heavily into each other's open mouths. He’s taking you so hard, hitting that place where it hurts so good with every stroke. You beg for more, wanting to feel this ache lingering tomorrow, a physical reminder of this, of him, you will carry secretly.

“That then I scorn to change my state with kings.” His voice breaks into a long groan as he finishes his sonnet. Without stopping his movements, he reaches one hand up and, with an expert tug, releases the knot binding your wrists. You sob a relief and instantly move, wrapping your arms tight around him, clinging to him, digging your nails into his back muscles, cresting your legs high around his hips. Your desire coiled tight.

“Please, my love,” he implores needily, “please come for me; I need to feel it.” The brash character he played for you earlier slipping away; it's just Benedict. Your husband, the love of your life. He moves one hand down to your clit and rubs tight circles. You know you are crying out loudly now, uncaring of anyone overhearing you.

Your orgasm hits you hard like a blinding light, fracturing and reassembling. Liquid hot and throbbing everywhere, from the static on the back of your head, through the fingers you are scraping over your husband's back, to the waves of wet warmth where you pulsate with a vice grip around his cock. You hear Benedict roar your name, losing all sense of finesse in his movements, and in your heightened state, you hiss encouragements, a litany of things you would never admit to saying, sucking the fingers he had between your legs. He snaps, stilling suddenly, his slack mouth hooked onto your chin. The feeling of him coming is visceral. He curls his body in and around you, still pulsing hard inside you, its warmth spreading.

“Fuckkk, I love you”, he curses, panting hard, not wanting to pull out.

“I fucking love you too,” you counter lightheartedly, revelling in the use of taboo vulgarities, still intoxicated by your high. You bask in his responding laughter, feeling it inside too as he slowly pulls out of your body. He plants a kiss on your forehead, still chuckling deeply.

You lay limbs tangled for more than a few minutes, getting your breath back and enjoying the afterglow. Gently Benedict helps you climb off the billiards table and assists you into your nightgown and robe. Unseen by him, you pocket his cravat, your souvenir. He pulls up his britches, looping the braces over his shoulders, barechested, grabbing the rest of his clothing and bundling them over his arm. He grabs your hand, gives it a tender kiss and guides you out of the room into the hallway.

Straight into the path of Anthony. Arms crossed, looking foreboding and much soberer than last time you saw him. However, there is an intense blush on his cheeks. He scowls at Benedict, but he won't look you in the eye.

“Brother, I suggest next time you feel the need to exercise your… spousal duties, kindly consider exactly where the secret door from my office leads to”, he hisses. “And check it’s actually closed.”

tagged by request: @mothdruid @foreverlonginguniverse

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murdockparker · 11 months

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Foolish Endeavor - Part 7

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony confronts Reader and Benedict in his study. Benedict has a proposal for his beloved.

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI (I will haunt you)

Warnings: SMUT, mentions of pregnancy, soft tooth-rotting fluff per usual

A/N: I’m back with an update!! The smut is... well it is what it is. It’s what I was so caught up on this chapter and gave me the worst writers block. Anyway, enjoy the long(ish) chapter!

first part - previous part - next part

“Well?”

It was the first time Anthony had spoken in the twenty minutes they had spent in his study, his arms crossed and body leaned up against his desk. After a seemingly uneventful dinner—to the rest of the group, anyway—Anthony called upon Benedict and (Y/N) to meet with him privately to discuss certain… revelations he had made that evening. The nerves wracked her to her core, trying to convince herself that there was little to no way that Anthony Bridgerton could have put all of the pieces together—she was courting an artist, after all, it was only natural that paint would adorn her clothing too, no?

“Brother, I thought we were to have a night cap, yet you pull Lady (Y/N) into this—”

“Oh, trust that I will be drinking, Benedict,” Anthony said quickly, turning to his glass decanter and pouring a rather healthy glass. “I would offer you a glass, but I have the strongest feeling I’ll be needing most of this.”

“Well, now you’re just being dramatic,” Benedict scoffed as he grabbed a spare glass, holding it out for Anthony to fill. His brother only glanced at the empty crystal cup before setting the decanter back down onto his desk.

“If you were planning to have a chat, I can retire for the evening,” she offered quietly. Both Bridgerton brothers turned their attention onto the girl, each staring at her with a different velocity; Anthony in a way that said ‘no chance in hell you’re getting out of this’, Benedict’s gaze more telling of ‘don’t you leave me here alone with him’. So, she stayed, her toes digging into the ornate carpet.

“I must say Lady (Y/N),” Anthony swirled his glass, “you’re hardly the messy type.”

“I’ve been known to be clumsy from time to time,” she countered, “mess usually accompanies such a thing.”

“This is true,” Anthony nodded, “why, for instance, Benedict was rather clumsy today. Spilled paint all over himself and had to take a rather long bath to get the mess off, did you not, Benedict?”

Benedict moved his head a fraction of an inch, a hardly noticeable nod to his brother’s question. He knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

“Oh? Is that so?” She tried to play dumb, hoping that it would stick. “Is that why you weren’t there to greet me when I arrived today?”

Again, Benedict nodded mutely, taking a small sip of the whiskey he had poured for himself—no thanks to Anthony.

“You two should never apply yourselves to the theatre,” Anthony groaned, downing his glass in one go, “both terrible actors, the lot of you.”

“I… I don’t think I understand what you’re implying Anthony?”

“You’re a bright lady,” he mused, setting the now empty glass onto his desk, “you surely cannot be that thick, to not know what I’m alluding to, no?”

“No,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, “I want you to say it.”

“I—what?”

“Say it,” she repeated, “surely if you’re going to accuse Benedict and I of anything improper you have the courage to admit it yourself instead of hoping one of us will loosen our lips and spill something you dread to hear—if that is to be the case, of course.”

“Fine,” Anthony huffed. His posture stiffened, nearly growing an inch from his straight back—he needed to look intimidating and imposing. “You have paint on your dress—a new one apparently, the countess admitted—seemingly the same paint as our lovely Benedict was dressed in earlier this afternoon.”

“I’ve been known to wear paint from time to time, especially since Benedict and I have begun our courtship—”

“Which would normally be the case,” Anthony rose his free hand, silencing the girl in lilac, “but I must say, Benedict, when we had our chat earlier, I had noticed something… odd.”

“Odd? Other than the fact you decided to have the chat whilst I was in the tub?” He crossed his arms decidedly, trying to have a leg up in the conversation. By the look of Anthony’s steely demeanor, it wasn’t working.

“Now, I have no proof of such an accusation,” Anthony began, softening the blow of sorts, “but I could have sworn I heard something else—someone else—in the washroom with us. A breath, perhaps, behind the door. Not to mention a peculiar water trail leading to the very spot.”

“The estate is old, brother,” Benedict sighed, “the house settles, floorboards creak, honestly it’s a wonder that you even came to such a conclusion—”

“Whatever the case might have been,” Anthony held his hand up, “I know the two of you were alone in some capacity today, washroom or not, the two of you are courting now. I know that the both of you are wise enough to know that being without a chaperone is highly improper and if you were alone in the washroom—”

“Anthony, you must take a breath, you look akin to a tomato,” she gently suggested. He listened, gently following her words. “Now, as you said, you have no proof of such an accusation?”

Anthony nodded hesitantly, his nostrils flaring. He obviously had no intention of admitting such a thing, but the liquor clouded his judgment.

“So there is no ground to accuse Benedict or I on such a matter,” she said simply. “Even if we were together alone, it couldn’t be the most improper thing to come of this family, would it?”

The viscount opened his mouth quickly, hoping to get a word in before Benedict cut him off. “She makes an excellent point, brother,” he hummed, “why must you meddle in our courtship? Don’t you have the Sharmas to woo this week?”

“My plans for this week are none of your concern, brother.”

“I would highly disagree, considering the lovely Miss Edwina is rightly whom you plan to make the next viscountess, leading her to be the next woman of the house, is that not right?”

“I feel now as if I am intruding on a conversation that does not warrant my involvement—”

“A disagreement to that too,” Benedict nodded at the woman beside him. “Considering you are very well likely to be a part of this family someday.”

She could feel the heat creep up her neck, the color evidently rising to the tips of her ears, too. “O-oh, well,” she mumbled, clearly taken aback, “I don’t think that—even if that were the case to be made—Benedict—”

“Christ, Benedict, you’ve nearly melted the poor girl’s brain—being so brazen about your intentions,” Anthony rolled his eyes. “Do you have no shame?”

“At least I am fixed on my feelings for Lady (Y/N),” Benedict said, his demeanor still and unwavering. He looked akin to a painting in this manner, in this lighting, only the few candles that lit up the rather spacious study illuminated his features. If she had any artistic bone in her body, she’d try her hand at sketching the sight—to document this moment into something greater than a memory. “She is very well aware of my intent to marry her, if she wasn’t…I suppose she is now.”

“Are you saying I do not feel such an inkling for Miss Sharma?”

“Take it for what it is, brother,” Benedict said solemnly, “the truth.”

“But,” (Y/N) nearly squeaked, gathering the attention of both Bridgertons, “that is not to say that you cannot garner that sort of affection for her in the upcoming week, or even lifetime, is that not true?”

“There is no need for me to gather any feelings or fool myself into loving Miss Sharma,” Anthony said simply, “love is not a requirement in my marriage—in fact, I would greatly prefer it to be without.”

“That’s…” she was at a loss for words. Lady (Y/N) knew of the viscount’s barbaric view on marriage—on not needing a love match to find a bride—but to hear it herself? To really chew on his words? “Anthony.”

“Well,” Anthony stood from his desk, his hands shuffling a stack of papers to the side, “I feel as if we’ve talked about as much as I’d wish to this evening—as unhelpful or untruthful as some of it may have been.”

“Oh, come now, Anthony,” Benedict scoffed, “you can’t be getting offended of the truth—”

“There is no offense,” he assured soundly. “The spirits have simply done what they needed to and I find myself in desperate need of sleep.” With a quick tug of his coat sleeves, readjusting their length, he turned to the lady in lilac. “In the sake of what the truth may be or might have been this afternoon, do use your best judgment going forward—I do not wish to know of any scandal between the two of you, Daphne’s season was quite enough.”

“Of course, Lord Bridgerton,” she curtsied, tipping her head down, “I wouldn’t wish soiling your great family name, nor my own.” Benedict bit back a grin, his laughter kept neatly at bay—Anthony seemingly too tired to gather her rather obvious sarcasm.

“And Benedict,” he turned to his younger brother, “If you are so keen on a proposal to Lady (Y/N), I suggest making that formality sooner than later, lest any word gets out before such a matter can occur.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I suggest we all retire for the evening,” Anthony nearly yawned, “Lady (Y/N), I’d be pleased to have our staff escort you to your room.”

“Oh, I know my way to the guest chambers, there’s no need—”

“I insist,” he nearly seethed.

“Well,” she turned to Benedict slowly, “I bid you a goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he nodded, glancing back to his brother, “I think I’ll enjoy another drink before retiring for the eve—should you let me, of course.”

“Yes, very well, I’ll insure it is replaced it in the morning.” Both Anthony and (Y/N) left the study, turning separate ways down the hall, leaving Benedict to contemplate silently in the oak room, nearly mulling over the options set before him.

—

“Lady (Y/N), you look rather exhausted,” Agnes, her lady’s maid noted quietly as she undid the loops of the lilac fabric. “Should I run you a bath?”

“No, Agnes, I don’t think that’s necessary,” she hummed as she watched the gown drop to the floor. “I think I am just in need of a good sleep, the traveling really drained me.”

“Did your afternoon nap not suffice your exhaustion, my lady?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled into a tight line. “No, I’m afraid not.” Pin by pin, Agnes pulled her hair down from its skilled design, put in by the very same woman earlier that day before the travel out to the country. The maid simply kept her mouth shut and on the fact her hair seemed untouched by sleep, nearly still perfect from the morn. “I find that naps really don’t serve me well as of late, it seems.”

“Perhaps some tea will help?” Agnes offered, placing the pins in a bowl beside her. “I can go fetch a pot if it will suit your needs.”

“No,” (Y/N) yawned, “that is quite alright.” Her lady’s maid placed a simple nightgown on the chair next to the vanity, one of many that had been packed for the trip to Aubrey Hall. “I can dress myself for bed at this time, thank you Agnes.”

Agnes nodded, bowing lightly. “Of course, my lady. Have a restful sleep, I’ll awake you in the morning.”

Not even a moment after her lady’s maid exited her chambers, (Y/N) pulled on the night frock haphazardly—she was never skilled at finding the arm holes in such a manner—and practically ran over to the candle on the vanity. It was a rather impractical shape, she couldn’t walk through the dark halls of Aubrey Hall with this particular candle, she’d have to find a different candlestick. Beside her bed, she could’ve recalled, was a rather ornate brass holder—with a convenient loop for her walking needs.

“I could probably forego a candle,” she muttered quietly. “Make my way back without…”

Her eyes met her own in the mirror on the vanity—she did look exhausted, dark and purpling circles making their presence faintly aware under her eyes. Was she mad in trying to find Benedict again? With how she abruptly left the study—with how he decided to stay behind—he was expecting her to come back, right? She could always feign innocence if she were caught by the staff, claim she needed a midnight snack or something of the sort.

Lady (Y/N) thought it best to leave the candle after all, the halls couldn’t have been darker than the ones at their Tonbridge estate—hardly any windows lined the walls. She would be fine and make do, allowing and trusting her eyes to adjust properly. With a nervous rake of her hand through her hair, she allowed herself to take a deep breath before pushing open the ornate door to the hall.

An immediate right, a left at the vase with painted roses, three doors down to the stairs, a right and another left.

She quietly repeated the pattern as she went—afraid she’d miss the vase or possibly take a wrong turn. But, the insistence paid off, she made it to the viscount’s study—candle light still visible from under the door. A soft knock was all it took for Benedict to answer, his posture softening at the sight of the lady in the hall.

“I knew you’d make your way back,” he murmured, ushering her into the study.

“And leave you to drink on your own?” (Y/N) smiled, walking over to the desk and eyeing the decanter. “May I?”

“By all means,” he nearly laughed, pointing to the empty glass. “Though, I do wish you’re here for more than just a free drink.”

“Well,” she filled her glass hesitantly, “your brother does have a fantastic taste in his liquor. But, you’d be right. I thought it would be best if we were to chat about… well, everything?”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“I do not think we have enough hours in a day to discuss everything,” Benedict smirked. “But, if you wish to discuss the events of this afternoon—”

“This afternoon, yes,” she nodded quickly. “That would be a good place to start. Are you sure Anthony has gone to bed?”

“We shouldn’t have anyone bothering us,” Benedict assured her. “But, just for good measure…”

He locked the door—the only way into the study.

“It would be a shame if he were to intrude yet again,” she hummed in thought, enjoying yet another sip of the brown drink in her hand. “The viscount is awfully good at that, so it seems.”

“Always has been,” Benedict nodded, “even in our youth.”

“I can imagine…” she trailed off, her attention focused solely on the bookshelves that lined the walls behind him. Ledgers and texts on the estate, mostly. “Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean—”

“What you said to Anthony,” she clarified, coughing lightly. “Earlier… in here.”

“About...?” he inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. “Oh. Of course you’d want clarification—”

“No clarification,” she held up her hand, “you were clearer than crystal with your words. I just wish to know if you meant them—if you were honest and truthful to your brother about your intentions with me. Us.”

“Am I usually taken as a man who is untruthful?” Benedict mused, finally finishing his drink. He chose not to pour another. “I would’ve preferred to have had a conversation with you privately on the matter—I was planning to do such on a promenade tomorrow—but Anthony forced my hand. I hope it wasn’t an unwelcome thought.”

“Benedict,” she nearly melted with her words, “we are courting—the intent usually is to wed—I wouldn’t expect you to think anything less of our courtship.”

“So it is suffice to say you feel the same?”

She took another swig of the liquor in her glass—it was likely whiskey, she only guessed, having little expertise in different liquor types. “I never wished to be married,” she said honestly, “but as an only child—only daughter—it’s my duty to do such a thing.”

“So you would only marry out of duty?” Benedict nearly felt his heart shatter. “For no other reason at all?”

“You’ve known me for a long time, Benedict,” she sighed, “we’ve frequently discussed my distaste for marriage, touching on your similar feelings on the matter.”

“Feelings change,” he said bluntly.

“They do,” she agreed, finishing her glass. “However, I don’t believe you allowed me to finish my thought—”

“Do you not wish to be wed?” Benedict stood up from the desk, tall and proud. “From my understanding of this conversation, it’s clear to me that you don’t foresee a marriage between us—not one deriving from anything but a duty you have to your family, is that not correct?”

“Christ, Benedict,” (Y/N) laughed humorlessly, “how much have you had to drink before I arrived?”

They both looked at the decanter—it had been suspiciously more drained than she expected it to be.

“I’m not a drunkard,” he pointed. “I simply enjoyed a few drinks on my brother’s behalf—”

“Did I call you a drunkard?”

“You implied.”

“No,” she spat, “I was merely trying to find a reason to why you’ve been rudely cutting me off. You’ve been jumping to wild conclusions without even allowing me the decency to explain myself. I care little about your drinking habits.”

“Oh,” he slumped, “I didn’t realize—”

“Now,” she took a step closer to him, “if you wouldn’t mind.” She waited a moment, allowing the silence to fill the room entirely before continuing her thought.

“You have to understand that I have gone practically my entire life wishing to live a life of solitude, not to have a husband to own my every waking moment the rest of my days,” she paused, looking down at her nightgown. The disappointment was practically radiating from him across the small space—it was almost drowning. “But, you also have to understand that I have been the happiest I have ever been since our courtship begun, Benedict. While I’m still hesitant on the idea of marriage, if we were to wed, it would not be a marriage of duty.”

She took a deep breath.

“It would be one of love,” she nearly stood beneath him, staring at him intensely. The three damning words were hanging on the tip of her tongue—daring to spill, but never escaping.

“You… love me.”

“I do,” she nodded, “I think I always have, really—loved you, I mean.”

The grand clock in the study ticked away.

“I-I don’t know what to say—”

“One usually says it back, should it be reciprocated, of course,” she teased, her voice shaking ever so slightly. He couldn’t have noticed, not even if he tried.

“Darling,” he grabbed her hands, “I don’t believe there are even words in the English language that exist to express just how deeply I feel for you. If I were a poet, I wouldn’t be able to scribe a sonnet nor haiku, if I were a musician, I couldn’t bring myself to string any symphony to even remotely compare to just how much I love you.”

He nearly believed she didn’t hear him with how still she stood. “I love you,” he repeated, hoping it to stick.

She blinked back tears. “I-I heard you,” she sniffled, “you say all of that as if you are no poet.”

“Well, it certainly was no sonnet,” a wet chuckle escaped his lips—when had he teared up?

“Better than Byron, then.”

“You wound me, my love,” he scoffed, “my bum can make better poetry than Byron.”

“Benedict?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

He hadn’t the need to be asked twice.

Benedict reached down to grab her face, gently, oh-so-gently bringing his lips to hers. She tasted of the same whiskey he had been remedying for the better part of the evening, the sour twinge of alcohol only adding to his passion. (Y/N) had moved her hands to his chest, gripping his shirt with everything she had—he was everything she had—afraid to even part for a fraction of a second.

“God, I love you,” he mumbled into the kiss, pulling his arms around her tightly. She gasped at his grip around her waist, the breath nearly escaping her lungs—their lips never fully parting from one another. “I love this dress.”

“It is nothing extraordinary,” she nearly groaned, reluctant to pull away from him, “a rather simple nightgown.”

“Oh but this is far from simple,” he mused, peppering kisses on her face—down to her neck. “Why,” another kiss, “I rather love this neckline.”

“It’s a bit risqué, is it not?” She moved her head to the side, allowing Benedict better access to the skin that resided there. “Mother always said it was a bit much.”

“No,” he determined, paying close attention to her exposed collarbone, “it is quite enough for my needs.”

“Is it?”

“Now that you mention it,” Benedict stopped his ministrations on her neck, looking deeply into her eyes—his own blown out with lust, “it might be too much.”

“T-too much?”

“Too much,” he agreed, fingers dancing up her back, “fabric.”

Her breath hitched.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said seriously, “and I would never want to do anything to you without your explicit consent—but you’ve made it terribly difficult to keep my wits about me.”

“If,” she swallowed hesitantly, “you believe it is too much fabric… perhaps you are correct.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I want this, Benedict,” she placed a hand on his chest—right above his heart, “I want you, Benedict.”

“You have had me, my love,” he smiled brightly, placing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “you have had me for as long as you’ve known me—I’m yours.”

“Please, Benedict,” she mewled.

A low chuckle emanated from his chest, eyes checking the door once more, to insure it was locked. “You do understand what you are asking of me—if anyone were to find out—”

“I don’t care,” she pulled him in and closed the gap once more, hungrily clashing her lips against his own. With a quick spin Benedict had her pinned to the edge of the oak desk, a hand on her waist and another on her jaw—kissing her as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did. Her hands made quick work of his shirt, undoing the few ties it had. Her fingers were quickly met with a dusting of dark hair—she couldn’t decide if it was merely the low lighting or a trick of her eyes, but the hair on his chest seemed darker than the hair on his head.

“I suppose,” he popped, licking her bottom lip, “you did not get a chance to see my chest in earnest earlier today?”

(Y/N) shook her head.

“Well,” Benedict shrugged his shirt off, “take all the time you need, my love.”

“That,” she pressed another kiss to his jaw, “won’t be necessary. I was merely admiring you for the moment.”

“Is that right?”

She hummed in response, her lips not leaving his skin—not if she could help it. Her own shoulders rolled hesitantly, almost afraid to ask for what she truly wanted. Benedict, being ever observant, gently tugged the ribbon on the front of her frock, loosening the fabric from her skin. Not entirely, but just enough to keep her satiated.

“Do you not wish to admire me more?”

(Y/N) looked up at him through her lashes. “I wish to do all that and more, Benedict Bridgerton. I plan to admire you for as long as you’d allow.”

“Funny,” a low chuckle escaped him, “I was about to say the same thing.”

With a wordless nod, Benedict slowly pushed the nightgown off of her shoulder, allowing the creme fabric hang from her form—the top of her breast peeking out of the opening. Her skin looked softer than the finest of silks, it looked practically kissable.

“What’re you—oh!”

He really didn’t plan on startling her in such a way, but he had admitted that his wits were going to be hard to keep about himself this evening. Suckling on the newly exposed skin on her chest wasn’t what he exactly imagined the night would turn to, but with the way she moaned—Christ how she moaned—it was seemingly just as pleasurable to her as it was to him, so it wasn’t a terrible turn of events.

“That feels…” her hand wriggled itself into his hair, feeling his lips capture more of her skin on her breast—he was sucking lightly, enough to where it didn’t feel painful, but the sensation alone lit a fire in her body.

“If you think,” Benedict looked up at her through the curls that fell in his face, “that feels good, just you wait, my love.”

He palmed her breast through her dress—as thin as the material was, he knew it would be even better if he were able to just… rip it off. But, he was still a gentleman, so he had to hold himself to a better standard—that, and the thought of her trying to explain to her lady’s maid how exactly her nightgown came to such a state was just too horrifying. So, he had to settle for the ribbon on the front to loosen the fabric. Like a waterfall, the dress accumulated onto the ornate rug beneath them, pooling at her feet. What once felt like a burning heat, the air of the room suddenly chilled her to the bone—her state of undress becoming more apparent.

“You are…” He managed to pull himself away, just for the moment, to fully drink her form in. “Simply exquisite.”

If her body hadn’t been on fire before, the simple act of his hands on her lit a flame inside, one only his touch could extinguish. She nearly expected to feel bashful for him to see her this way, her entire top exposed for the world to see—exposed for her world to see, anyway.

“I’m no more exquisite than the models at the academy,” she said breathlessly.

“You’re right,” Benedict hummed, pressing kisses from her jaw to her collarbone, “you’re unequivocally more so.”

She gasped at his lips on her breast, finally reaching the destination he had in mind. It was a strange feeling, the suckling on her hardened nipple, but the warmth that bubbled from the source to her core was intoxicating. “I didn’t…” Another gasp. “I didn’t realize one could—besides nursing babes, that is…”

Benedict released the skin from his lips, grinning like a cat upwards at his lover. “I think you’ll find nearly everything this evening to be just as surprising, my dear.”

And his words rang true. With a fell swoop, he hoisted her up onto his brother’s desk, her behind was like coals against ice on the countertop. It was a feat, to try and not make a mess of Anthony’s things, but in the end, the couple simply couldn’t have given it a second thought, especially when Benedict’s mouth was at her core. A forbidden kiss, he had mumbled.

“Oh Benedict,” she moaned quietly, suddenly remembering where they were at. The kitten licks against her dripping wet cunt was nearly too much to bear.

Benedict slurped up her wetness, licking his glistening lips before responding. “No need to be quiet, my dear. If my family hears us, it is all the more reason for us to be wed.” The idea alone nearly sent her over the edge. It seemed that this evening was a true awakening of quite a few things for the earl’s daughter.

“There has to be more than this,” (Y/N) said, pulling her love upwards from her legs, stealing a searing kiss from his lips. “I know there’s to be more than this.”

He laughed lightly, pressing another kiss against her hot mouth. “In my many nights dreaming of this moment, I don’t think the thought of taking you for the first time on my brother’s desk was one of the fantasies.”

“You’ve thought of this?”

“Of course,” he purred, pressing his forehead against her own. “They normally happened in my studio, during a portrait session. I dreamed of the day you’d commission one from me and, well…” His face grew red at the memory, many a night had he spent himself into his hand at the idea of having her—taking her for the first time. “I’m afraid if I think too terribly much of it again I may not last very long.”

“Last?” Her brow quirked up in confusion. “Can you not continue to go as long as you’d like?”

Benedict barked out a laugh before realizing she was dead serious. He had to remember that she was new to all of this, a virgin to such an act. “Trust that you will be satisfied, my love, but no, most men cannot last as long as they’d like to, especially in the presence of the most alluring of women.”

“And the women? Do they last as long as they’d like?”

He huffed, trying to find the words to describe exactly what the experience was like. “My love, rest assured that you’ll last as long—if not longer—than you’d like while I’m with you. I will continue to please you until I take my last breath.”

“How chivalrous,” she teased, feeling his hand snake back down to her dripping cunt. His fingers danced across her entrance, feather-light touches tickling the center. “You don’t think that they’ll…?”

“Fit?” Benedict snickered lovingly, gently pressing a digit into her core. The tightness nearly sent him over the edge—the idea of her warmth wrapped around him like this was nearly too much. “I think you’ll adjust fine, my love. Though, it may be a bit painful the first time.”

She gasped for air, feeling him wriggle his finger in a hooking motion, touching a spot she hardly knew existed. “Painful? I can’t imagine anything like this to be—”

It was in that moment that Benedict Bridgerton snuck a second finger inside of her, working them both up to a leisurely and pleasurable pace. He didn’t want to overwhelm her, nor jump into the main event without thoroughly working her up to it—it was simply a barbaric thing to even think about. He knew that if he were to sheath himself inside of her in this moment, she’d be ready, but something inside of him was nagging him to finish her off before he did such a thing. “My love, would you like my mouth on you again?”

Her eyes shot open—when did she shut them? “And stop what you’re doing?”

He kissed her gently, smirking at her genuine response. “I never said that, my dear.”

Benedict sunk back down to her core, only removing his fingers for a moment to readjust himself. He licked his lips hungrily before diving back into the wetness, slurping up any dripping he could find. Idly, he wondered if any of his brother’s paperwork would need to be burned, having his love make a mess over most of his counter. “You taste so sweet, my sun.”

She bit back a scream when his fingers re-entered her at a frivolous pace. He was working towards something, and she knew it, with the unrelenting movements he was making? The suckling and little swipes on her clit? He was merely a carpenter, building and building to completion. The joined sensations of his fingers hooking inside of her, reaching that spongey spot and his tongue against her hardened nub was nearly too much. A blinding hot feeling grew exponentially in her core, threatening to spill out. “Benedict, you must stop, I feel—”

He didn’t stop, not with the way her words were cut off with a delicious moan. “You’re nearly there, my love. Cum for me, let yourself go.”

The blinding heat turned to white, her vision growing bleary with pleasure. She felt it, the snapping of a band, the release he was begging for, it felt like the practical energy from her body was being drawn out in a single moment. Coming down from her high, she felt like she had been running for hours, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. “That… what was that?”

“Something you’ll get to know very well with me, my sun,” Benedict smirked, rising up to kiss her sweetly. He thought she’d be revolted by her own slick against his lips, most women he had the pleasure of being with were, but she fervently kissed him back. “What do you say we work together for another one?”

“Another… you can do that again?”

“And again,” Benedict kissed her lips. “And again.”

“Do you ever get to feel that? That release?”

He only nodded, knowing how serious of a question it was. “I do. I’d like to feel that with you, if you’d let me.”

“Please,” she smiled softly. “Show me.” His hands snaked to his trousers, pulling the fabric down enough for his hard cock to spring forward. It was daunting, to see such a thing for the first time. Of course, she had seen at least the idea of what it would look like in oil paintings and sculptures by the greats—nothing quite similar in size or shape, however. “Oh… wow.”

Benedict tried to not let her comment go right to his head, but he knew the effect his cock had on women—usually stunned speechless—so this was hardly any different. No, it was different. This was the woman of his affections, the woman who he will have the pleasure of bedding for the rest of his days, should she agree to it. “Don’t worry about it, my love,” Benedict said, nearly reading her mind. “As I said before it may hurt for only a moment or two, but you’ll certainly be begging for more.”

“A bit full of yourself, are we?” (Y/N) teased, trying to feel more grounded.

Benedict chuckled. “Usually am, my dearest.” He moved between her legs, feeling them open voluntarily against him. He wanted to make this perfect for her, to insure she’d have a pleasant experience to look forward to the next time they join together. Tentatively, he stroked his cock against her slick folds, feeling the way she shuddered against him.

“Oh!” (Y/N) yelped, feeling him enter her slowly. The sensation wasn’t as unpleasant as Benedict made it out to be, but when he pushed only a fraction deeper, she felt the sting. True to his word, it only lasted for a moment.

“I know we have,” Benedict groaned, feeling her tight around him. “Joked, in the past about me ruining you. But I’m afraid for it now to be true.”

“I was always yours to ruin, Benedict.”

He couldn’t help himself from moving, not after her declaration. She yelped again, feeling the pain melt and shape itself into the pleasure she had been yearning for. Benedicts movements were slow to start, he was nearly beside himself at the restraint he had in the moment, to not completely overwhelm her right away. Within an instant, her arms wrapped around his neck, allowing her to hold herself up closer to him. She could practically feel his shallow breaths against her skin, he was having a hard time keeping his wits about him.

“You feel,” Benedict breathed deeply, “enchanting, my sun.”

“And you feel—” she groaned, the pain only now subsiding.

Benedict shushed her with a kiss, passionately meeting in the middle of his paced thrusts. He kept a steady tempo, waning and waxing with the small movements from his beloved, urging him to continue on—for as long as he could anyway. “My love, I’m afraid you make me feel like a green sixteen, I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

“I make you feel that way?”

“I’m afraid so,” Benedict laughed. “Christ, you’re so tight.”

A part of her should be flattered, she assumed, by Benedict’s comment. Another part of her felt nearly disappointed that this tryst would be over before either of them would like. It was only then Benedict pressed his fingers carefully against her still-sensitive clit, gently massaging it into precious circles. Her vision went hazy, her legs nearly becoming marmalade.

“If I am to finish, I promised I’d take you with me,” he huffed, rutting into her harder. “And I never go back on a promise.”

She nodded in agreement, mind lost to the pleasure of it all. Idly, (Y/N) wondered why she had heard whispers from wives and her maids on how uncomfortable the marital act was, seeing as it was nearly not even close to the sort. Not in her experience anyway. Perhaps it was dependent on the person? The passion between the couple? She knew in her heart of hearts that Benedict and her shared a deep understanding, trust and love. Perhaps that is what truly mattered after all.

“Benedict, if you keep doing that—oh!”

“Yes my love, get closer for me, I’m nearly there,” he grunted, angling his hips up just a fraction more—his beloved moaned at the new contact. Her legs instinctually wrapped around his waist, caging him in and keeping him close. Whatever was to happen next, she wanted him as close to her as possible, to share their combined release together. “I think, Christ, I’m going to cum, my sun.”

“C-cum for me,” (Y/N) cried, feeling that same white pleasure take over her body, the source coming right from her core. He hadn’t the need to be asked twice, Benedict began to cum directly inside of her—something he hadn’t had the plan on doing, but it thrilled him all the same. Had he thought about it too long, he may just rise to the occasion and be ready to go yet again.

“I—my love, I am sorry,” Benedict began, finally cooling down from his high. “I didn’t mean to… inside.”

(Y/N) blinked up at him, trying to fight the daze she was currently in. “Are you not supposed to? It felt good enough.”

Benedict reluctantly pulled out of her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s not that I am not supposed to, quite frankly that is the whole point of this, but I’m afraid it is something I was trying to avoid.”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you know how a woman becomes with child, (Y/N)?”

“Of course,” she laughed nervously. “I’m not as green as you—oh. So, if you didn’t cum inside of me…?”

“Because I did I fear you have the chance of becoming pregnant, yes,” Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It is not… the most unsavory thought.”

“No,” she hummed in agreement. “I suppose it’s not. Though I’m sure if I were to be with child, it would be best if we were wed, a plan I’m sure you already have in place, no?”

Benedict chuckled at her honesty. “Of course I do. I would not have taken you on my brother’s desk had I no plan for such matters. In the end, I reckon it doesn’t matter, permitting your agreement to the engagement.”

She sighed happily, still coming down from her post-sex high. “Of course I agree, you simply need to ask properly.”

“I will get right on that,” Benedict smiled.

“Your brother’s desk…” (Y/N) pointed, pulling her discarded dress back onto her shoulders. She looked and felt disheveled, something she had a feeling she’d get used to, having a life with Benedict Bridgerton.

“We can burn whatever we may have… soiled,” Benedict snickered, pulling his own clothes back on and in a mostly proper manner. “I’m sure he did not leave anything of great importance just out and about.”

(Y/N) nodded, trying to read the dirtied papers she had sat on—most of the sheets were old ledgers or testing blots from Anthony’s quill. She made quick movement to throw them into the dwindling fire across the room. It was nearly just to the coals, not having been stoked in quite some time, but the papers caught the heat quickly and disappeared into the cinders. “Benedict?”

“I’m sure they weren’t important,” he waved, trying to pull his trousers back up. “Anthony won’t miss them.”

“No, it’s not that,” (Y/N) shook her head, something clearly on her mind. “Earlier, when you… well, when we were together, you called me your sun.”

Benedict paused, turning to look at his beloved, a halo of warmth radiated from the dying fire behind her. She looked ethereal. “Yes,” he said simply. “You are, in the simplest of ideas, the very center of my world, the thing I cannot fathom to function without. In a way, I have always rotated around you, my love, around your life to be near you and with you. For you are my sun,” he grabbed her hands lightly, “the light and love of my life.”

Tears dotted her eyes. “I should’ve known you’d say something beautiful,” she sniffled. “Now I seem a fool for not having a term of endearment as lovely for you.”

“‘Love’ works just for me,” he chuckled.

She thought for a moment, feeling his hand smoothing her hair against her head lovingly. “Well, if I am to be your sun, you must be my moon.”

“Your moon,” he repeated.

“Lighting the way in the darkest of hours, gentle, constant,” she said thoughtfully. “A-and because I think it’s rather endearing to have matching… endearments.”

His face practically glowed with joy, a smile rivaling the very moonlight she had mentioned grew across his lips. “You, Lady (Y/N) are my sun and I am your moon. I simply cannot think of anything more perfect.”

“Neither can I,” she smiled, leaning into his touch. He took the opportunity to guide her lips to his own in a featherlight kiss, an ending note to leave the night on. “I should sneak back to my quarters before anyone notices, I suppose.”

Benedict groaned softly. “I suppose you must.”

“Do not fret, my moon,” she said, the term flowing easily from her tongue, “we have tomorrow and a world of tomorrows awaiting us.”

“A world of tomorrows… yes, I think you’re quite right.”

She smiled sweetly. “Should I be expecting your company tomorrow?” Benedict nodded once, his grin not wavering from his face. “Goodnight,” she said quietly, curtsying teasingly before opening the door. Benedict quickly made is way behind her, his breath hot against her ear.

“Do wear your best dress, my love, I suspect tomorrow’s events will call for only the finest.”

She nearly ran up the stairs to wish for sleep to come over her—bringing tomorrow faster to today.

TAGLIST

@nikkisilassheep, @cavghtbythewind, @chaotic-onigiri, @440mxs-wife , @mymyma , @perdynerd , @wotcherboo , @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake , @babyhoneystvles , @korol-lantsov , @riddlerloveb0t

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #reader insert #children DNI i will haunt you #thanks for the patience i know it's been a while folks #i hope to finish this story sooner than later!

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