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“I cannot risk it yet,” Sophie murmurs, drawing back slightly. As much as she wants him to take her again, she’s still just an unwedded maid, and a recently incarcerated one at that. Sophie cannot risk pregnancy, which really means she cannot risk having a third scandal right now.
Benedict—bless him—doesn’t protest for a moment. “Then we will not,” he whispers against her mouth, as if it’s the easiest decision in the world.
Even so, she feels a twinge of disappointment. There’s an ache between her legs that his mere fingers alone cannot fill. And she wants this to be good for him, too. His face, the sounds he’d made when he’d deflowered her… she needs to see it again.
“But…” Sophie chews on her bottom lip and decides to speak. “I do want you inside of me.”
After a moment of consideration, a devilish gleam flickers across Benedict’s gaze. “There are ways we can still manage that. If you are willing.”
Heat pounds between her thighs, and Sophie pushes forward into another deep kiss, ignoring the violent splash of water around the two of them. She sinks against the firm warmth of Benedict’s muscled body as he wraps her in his embrace, drawing her as close as they’ll allow each other to get. His cock drags along the apex of her thighs under the water, twitching near her center, as she’s reminded again of how badly she needs him.
Benedict pulls back from her lips, breathing just hard enough to make her feel a little smug. “Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
The crooked half-smile that she’s grown so fond of his graces his face again. “Turn around,” he commands, and she does.
Benedict gently tucks her wet locks of hair over one shoulder, and Sophie releases a long, shaky breath. Facing away from him, she has no idea what he plans to do and cannot prepare for where he’ll touch next, but she loves him completely. He traces the arc of her shoulders with one light finger, then the hard planes of her shoulder blades, and she breathes into his touch. She’d let him take her however he’d wish.
Benedict’s hands dip lower, growing curious and firmer as they explore the length of her back. Her skin glows under the candlelight, rosy and porcelain amidst orange flickers of light. Her beloved explores the length of her spine, fingertips brushing against each and every bump of bone. He follows the natural curve of her body, lower and lower, until his thumb finally rests in the soft dip of skin right above her tailbone. He doesn’t follow it any lower, and certainly doesn’t brush against the dripping cunt that’s been begging for his touch.
Then, Benedict takes two handfuls of her arse in his palms at once, and Sophie’s breath catches on a sigh. She can’t say she’s not a little surprised about his intentions, but she doesn’t break away from his touch as he begins to massage the soft skin of her bottom. Sophie’s not stupid. She’s been around for enough conversations with maids and manservants who have giggled and gossiped about this specific act. And the Lord knows how many exact details she’s gotten from Alfie about his romps with a particularly cute stableboy.
Benedict lets out an appreciative groan and his fingers dig a little deeper into the meat of her arse. He slides one thumb along the cleft of her cheeks, coming to rest right against the hole, and Sophie jolts at the touch.
“Is this alright?”
“More than,” she sighs. Benedict rubs his fingers against her hole in slow, light circles, growing firmer with each touch. Her cunt twitches, untouched, but in this moment the sensation of his hands against such a sensitive spot is all she needs. Benedict presses the tip of his thumb against her hole and Sophie moans at the slight give, the brand-new sensation of having him inside of her again. She tries to lean back, to seek out more of the feeling. But Benedict lets out a laugh behind her and draws back, leaving her arse completely empty of the welcome heat of his hands.
“Why’d you stop?” Sophie blurts out, with more desperation than she thinks is quite dignified to sound.
“I certainly cannot insert myself dry,” he chuckles. Of course, Sophie knows about this part, too—and the olive oil Alfie had stolen from the kitchen for entirely inappropriate purposes—but her desire for him is making her rather stupid.
Benedict reaches for a small glass bottle lying on the table. Rose-scented bath oil. Clearly mutipurpose to a creative mind.
“Lean forward a little, my dear,” he tells her, wrapping one hand around her hip to urge her forward. Sophie gets on her knees as she rises up slightly, raising her arse above the water and bracing herself against the edge of the tub. Anticipation and nerves flutter together in her stomach as she steadies herself and waits for his next touch.
“Have you ever…” Sophie begins, already swallowing around her own words. “I mean to say, when you said you’ve intimately known other men—”
Benedict is silent for a moment and she immediately regrets asking. She can feel her face flush, and is instantly grateful for the candlelit and the fact that she’s facing away from him.
“Forgive me, that was an inappropriate question.”
Benedict wraps her into an embrace, pressing his chest against her back and his arms around her stomach. “Nothing is too inappropriate to ask,” he says gently, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. “Not from the woman I plan to marry.”
“How… does it feel?” Sophie knows well enough that it should feel good, or no one would willingly do it. Alfie’s said as much, too. But she wants to know why he wants this.
Benedict grins. “Magnificent. The feeling of letting someone inside of you, of filling yourself in such a vulnerable way… it’s irreplaceable. I only hope to give you some of that same pleasure.”
Sophie turns her head to watch him uncap the bottle and pour some of its contents into his hand. Benedict thoroughly slicks up two fingers with oil, then brings the bottle to the cleft of her arse to drizzle some more out. Sophie shivers at the sensation of warm liquid dripping down her hole. She blushes at the thought of wanting more, of drawing out another slick wetness from Benedict in the same place.
Benedict presses one slick finger against her hole and Sophie groans at the feeling. She takes him in with little resistance, and knuckle by knuckle he sinks into her. Benedict draws in and out slowly, letting her grow accustomed to the stretch, to the new, pleasing sensation. Then, he adds another finger. When she’s ready enough, stretched and whimpering and begging for more, he finally withdraws both digits and replaces them with the blunt head of his cock.
“Ready?” He asks, rutting lightly against her arse as he waits. Neither of them can keep their hips still.
“Please.”
As Benedict enters her, she’s already pushing back onto him. Slowly, he slides in to the hilt with a long groan, then steadies himself as she gets used to the feeling. It’s… odd, to say the least, but certainly not unpleasant. And no more painful than losing her virginity was. More than any other sensation she feels full, stretched to the brim, like the feeling of finishing a hearty meal or being stuffed with his cock for the first time. She stays still, until the slight ache of discomfort gives way to a hunger for more.
Behind her, Benedict sounds like he’s nearly dying. He breathes in with heavy pants, fingers fluttering against her waist as he starts to dig in to the flesh.
“Can I… can I start—” he manages and Sophie nods. His relief is so great she lets out a light giggle. “Thank you, thank you,” Benedict whimpers, and starts to move.
He starts with slight, gentle thrusts, not much different than the first time they had lain together. Benedict Bridgerton, always a gentleman through and through. And, like a gentleman, his hands continue to explore her body even as he screws her. He reaches around to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking over her hardened nipples as she sighs. His hands dip lower, tracing the curve of her stomach and hips, finally landing at her thighs to find the sensitive nub at the crux of them. Its been too long since he’s touched her there, and she nearly cries with relief. The sensation of his cock in her arse is a slow, subtle, intrguingly novel burn, but the pleasure of his hand on her clit is white-hot and familiar and desperately needed. Benedict tries to tease her with slow, gentle circles around where she needs him most, but Sophie grinds herself against his palm immediately.
She needs more. She needs pressure, she needs speed, she needs heat.
For once, she wants to be greedy. And for once, she allows herself to want it, because Benedict Bridgerton has never denied her anything.
So she uses her words. “More,” Sophie begs, practically commands, “I need more,” and like any man in love, he gives it to her.
Benedict speeds up, thrusting into her propely as his fingers shift lower between her legs. Two fingertips tease her dripping entrance, and she nearly sobs at the feeling. There’s no patience, not like their first time in the stairwell, no spit to ease in. Benedict slides both digits to the hilt in one go, and her cunt welcomes them eagerly. Sophie lets out a desperate moan, walls twitching around his hand in needy, fluttering pulses even as her arse clenches around his cock. She wonders if he can feel the press of his own cock inside of her. She’s so full of her beloved, of every part of him, and she must be the most selfish person in the world because it’s still not enough. She desperately needs everything he can give her, and then some. He has offered her the world and she’s finally ready to take it.
“More,” Sophie demands again. “Faster, please, I need you.”
Benedict laughs, a choked, desperate noise. “My love, I will not last—”
“I do not care,” she says firmly. He tries to pause for a moment, but she presses back into him, fucking herself on the length of his cock, unabashedly desperate in between his feeble attempts at restraint. Benedict gives up and finally ruts into her with ruthless abandon. Sophie lets out a pleased moan as he screws her hard, seeking his own pleasure with each rough thrust. He grips the side of her hips with force, fingernails digging into the soft, supple flesh of her arse. When she groans at his rough touch, at the first delicious taste of pain, he gives her what she’s always asked for—more.
Benedict starts with a gentle slap on the behind. Then Sophie moans, and before she can beg for it again, he spanks across the other cheek. Harder and harder, he repeats it, slowly testing where her limits are and never quite managing to find them. Benedict grips the fat of her arse roughly between slaps and draws his hand back as far as it’ll go. The sharp shock of pain blooms into a new form of heat and Sophie whimpers helplessly. In between slaps, Benedict rubs his thumb over the tender, oversensitive flesh in gentle circles, soothing the marks of his own hands with his touch. A gentleman and a rake, apparently.
More, more, more, she thinks, until the pleasure forces the words from her throat, until there’s nothing she can do but beg Benedict to fuck her harder and faster and rougher.
Sophie throws her head back in pleasure, dark hair cascading messily down her back again as she moves around. Benedict wraps one hand near the base of her skull, but instead of brushing her locks out of the way again, his fist closes around her hair and he pulls. This, too, is a wonderful new taste of pain. He manhandles her, yanking her head back until his lips brush against the crook of her jaw. Benedict kisses the length of her neck, capturing her earlobe between his teeth and biting down gently.
He laughs again. For all of the gossip she’d overhead, Sophie had never known intercourse to be so full of laughter. “I meant it, my love, I can’t hold on for much longer.”
Even nearing his pinnacle, Benedict does not forget to be a gentleman. He crooks his fingers inside of her cunt, pressing and fluttering his fingertips against her most sensitive spot, grinding the heel of his hand against her aching clit. Asking, insisting, without words that she reach the height of her pleasure along with him.
With a cry, Benedict finally breaks, slamming into her arse with one last thrust and wrapping his body against hers as he collapses. The heat of him, his heaving chest against her back, the weight of his cock as he pulses inside of her, the shaky moans pressed right against her ear, the steady twitch of his fingers in her cunt suddenly prove to be too much. Sophie reaches her pinnacle with a breathless shout, biting down hard on her lip as she shakes in Benedict’s grip. He holds her through it, circling the nub between her legs with his thumb through each wave of pleasure, steadying her hips so she doesn’t splash right into the bathwater as her legs tremble helplessly.
After, he helps to lower her right back into the bath, cradling her in his arms as the warm water laps around the two of them.
“Turn around,” Benedict says to her again, and kisses her until the bathwater runs cold. Sophie wants to live in this moment for as long as she can—the start of their forever.