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Sophie was doing fine, one step at a time.
Really fine. She’s been working at the Bridgerton house for a couple of months now, and it has been great. Greg is such a good kid; he had difficulties in chemistry and biology at first, but he’s always willing to learn, which makes teaching much easier. Also, his mother, Mrs. Bridgerton, is such a lovely lady, always bringing snacks after lessons — and paying her really well. But his brother’s eyes, searching for her across the room, were making her job more difficult each time.
Known on campus for never missing a party and always being with someone different, Benedict Bridgerton always comes to study in the library when she’s teaching his little brother. Sometimes helping her explain an equation or encouraging his brother through a particularly difficult topic. But he never makes a move on her, which she’s grateful for. She doesn’t know how she would react if he did…
“The last question is letter ‘E,’” Greg says, bringing her back to Earth.
“It’s right! You did well.” He smiles at her proudly.
They’re sitting at the wooden table in the library. It’s almost sundown, a warm yellow light spilling through the big windows and illuminating the bookcases. Sophie can see the beautiful yard outside, always perfectly maintained, while she helps Greg pack his materials.
“Hey, Sophie,” that familiar voice says, making her turn.
Adjusting the sleeves of his shirt with a smile on his face, Benedict Bridgerton looks unfairly good in a tailored white button-up and dress pants. “Our cook was dismissed tonight because of Dr. Danbury’s birthday, so I’m responsible for your snacks today.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Let’s go, teacher,” Greg says, already on his feet. “Mom bought those cookies you liked.”
“The ones she only lets you eat after lessons?” Sophie teases.
Greg makes a shocked face, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended.
“Come on, Sophie, give us the honor of your presence,” Benedict says with a smirk.
Damn him.
Sophie rolls her eyes and follows them through the house.
On weekends, the dining hall at uni is closed, so she usually eats a homemade sandwich with Hazel for dinner. But today her roommate is with her boyfriend, John, which makes a free snack even more appealing.
Their kitchen alone is bigger than her dorm. With a wide marble island in the middle and custom-designed cabinets, it looks like something out of an architecture magazine. But her favorite part is a blue painting of the countryside on the tile wall.
“What do you want to drink?” Benedict asks, opening the fridge.
“Can you do the thing?” Greg asks, handing the cookie jar to Sophie.
Benedict makes a face. “It’s too exciting for the lady, boy.”
“What’s so exciting?” Sophie arches an eyebrow.
“It’s just a side skill I’m developing.” He grabs three cans and tosses them into the air, making Sophie hold her breath, already imagining them crashing onto the beautiful wooden floor. But Benedict catches them smoothly, juggling them in controlled, effortless movements. “You know, just a backup plan if AI takes our jobs, right, Sophie?” He finally places them on the island.
Sophie realizes her mouth is slightly open while Greg claps enthusiastically. “How did you learn that?”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He winks, handing her a soda. “I joined a circus during my gap year before med school.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m joking. It was a freshman challenge,” he says, then turns and points at the painting. “But I did learn a little painting during my Eurotrip.”
Sophie looks at the painting — blue brushstrokes forming a garden with a faceless lady, as if you’re looking out a window into a dreamlike world. “That’s really beautiful. Where is it?”
“It’s the view from our countryside condominium,” Greg says. “It’s really nice to play there.”
So it’s that house — the one where they first interacted outside of uni. In med school, the classes are huge, and the workload makes it hard to socialize. Even if they greet each other, they never really talk. Not until that day.
Her eyes meet his, and his pupils seem wide, focused only on her.
“Yeah, but… did you do anything before med school, Sophie?”
Not a Eurotrip, that’s for sure. Besides washing dishes and cleaning, she didn’t do much except study like crazy.
“Oh, no. My mother always dreamed of me going to university, so I just studied and went as soon as I could.”
Her mother died shortly after she started medical school, saying her greatest sadness was not seeing her daughter become a doctor. Benedict furrows his brow; he knows about her loss.
“She must be really proud of you,” he says gently. “Mine thinks that the gap year made me more…”
“Libertine?” Greg interrupts.
“Free thinker,” Benedict corrects, raising a finger.
Sophie laughs. “I used to love sewing with the staff at my father’s house. I still do small projects when I have time.”
She doesn’t mention that her mother was part of that staff — that’s why her father and his wife always treated her differently from their daughters.
“That explains why you can make ugly wounds look nicer,” Benedict says, and she rolls her eyes. “Do you still go there to sew?”
“Not after he passed.”
At least the old man helped her get into university before he died.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” His expression softens in a way that almost hurts. “I know it’s hard and—”
“It’s okay. After that, I just avoid the house.” And because her stepmother kicked her out. “But we still go out sometimes, and I really enjoy living with Hazel now.”
He smiles — a really pretty one — those big blue eyes almost unfair across the island. She forces herself to break eye contact. She is not in a position to stare at the biggest womanizer on campus who also got her a job.
Absolutely not. She needs to cool down.
A drink might help, so she opens the soda—
“Teacher!” Greg shouts.
Six months earlier
Sophie really didn’t want to be at that party.
It wasn’t modesty or shyness. She felt a deep unease that would normally require a lot of alcohol to dull—something she couldn’t afford.
The event was held outdoors in a condominium’s party area, surrounded by a large green lawn near the parking lot. It must be lovely by day, but at night, with only a few colored LED lights, you could barely see anything.
“When are they going to play a proper song?” Hazel asked, still clutching the only drink they’d bought ages ago. “I’m already feeling the buzz wearing off.”
Sophie laughed; she’d had enough of parties where nobody danced. “We could go to that club Alfie mentioned and—”
“Hey, sexy,” a man said, grabbing Hazel’s arm. “Want to have a good time?”
“Get off me!” Hazel shouted, flinging her cup at him.
The cup only made the man angrier; he grabbed her hair while two friends laughed behind him. Sophie felt her blood run cold. They were a little apart from the crowd, closer to the parking lot than the bar. Her mind raced: it was dark, the music was loud—maybe no one would notice.
She shoved the man away from her friend with everything she had; making him hit the ground hard.
“What a bitch!” one of them yelled.
Hazel moved to Sophie’s side, scanning for the other two men who were already getting closer.
“Hey!” a tall man said as he stepped between them, palms raised toward the aggressors. “Calm down.”
“Oh, fuck off, Bridgerton!” the man who’d been pushed spat, getting up.
Bridgerton? The rich boy who showed up at every party?
“You already got a ‘no’ and you still want to bother the girls?” the tall man asked.
“These whores are—” another began.
But Bridgerton shoved the man back, sending him stumbling until his friends steadied him.
“Watch out!” Sophie warned, but one of the men smashed a bottle against Bridgerton’s face.
Blood ran into his eyes, but he didn’t stop. He wiped his face, turned, and drove a punch into his attacker’s stomach, dropping him to the ground.
“Run!” Hazel cried, grabbing Sophie’s hand and pulling her toward the parking lot, while the Bridgerton boy moved ahead of them.
The soda foam exploded across her shirt. Sophie slapped at it, but the spray soaked her trousers before it finally stopped. She stood there, mortified, the sticky mess spreading across the polished wood floor.
Memories of her stepmother scolding her over every little mess during her childhood rushed into her mind. “Sorry, I’m going to clean it.”
Benedict closed the island and looked her over, concern knitting his brow. “Eloise has some old dresses in the laundry you can borrow,” he said.
“No, it’s fine. I can change at home. I just need a mop.” Sophie’s voice trembled a little.
He ran a hand over his forehead and took a breath. “I think there’s a mop in there.” He headed for the laundry next door. “Greg, go change for the birthday!”
Greg waved goodbye, looking sorry for her, as Sophie followed Benedict into the laundry.
The room felt like an extension of the kitchen, but it was cluttered with cardboard boxes and canvases stacked in a corner. As she reached for the mop, Benedict pulled one from a box labeled Eloise and set it on the counter, rummaging for something else. He emerged with a dress and handed it to her.
Sophie froze. It was a baby-blue summer dress — midi length, a low neckline, embroidered with tiny flowers, still with the tag attached. Romantic and girlish, nothing like the jeans and T‑shirt she wore every day.
“You usually wear blue,” Benedict said. “My sister’s gone more tomboy lately, so—” He offered the dress. “Just try it on and see if it fits.”
He took the mop back to the kitchen, leaving Sophie holding the fabric, words failing her.
She inhaled slowly. It might be silly, but she loved trying on new clothes with friends; it made her feel more confident in her own skin. She slipped out of her damp shirt and into the dress, barely noticing the knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Benedict paused in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other still holding the mop. He wasn’t a picture of movie‑perfect composure, but his eyes… they widened as they traveled over the dress and then back to her. Maybe that was why she found him so disarming: the way his pupils dilated, the small, involuntary attention he gave her.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, making him blink and return his gaze to her face. “Eloise has good taste.”
“Yeah… it’s all new,” he replied, awkwardly. “Take the box if you want.”
If the offer had come from his mother or Eloise it would have felt simple and kind. From him, it felt intimate — or perhaps she was overthinking a generous gesture.
“Maybe another time,” she said. “I don’t go out much, and you can’t use these dresses at the hospital.”
“We could go out.” He sounded surprised at his own words, as if they’d slipped out. He set the mop down, inhaled, and turned to her. “I mean — if you want to grab a coffee or see a film. I’d like to spend more time with you.”
A list of reasons not to — the ones she’d been rehearsing since that night at the party — ran through her mind. She started with the obvious. “I work for your family.”
“This won’t affect your job,” he said with a sigh. “We’re not in the 1800s anymore.”
“But we still come from different circumstances.” She bit her lip and glanced at the faint scar at his temple, remembering how close they’d been that last time. “You’re old money, and I’m a scholarship student who—”
“—is pretty and damn smart,” His eyes dropped to her lips, his brow tightening as if the words cost him. “My heart races when you’re in the room. I look forward to the moments I get to see you. Sophie, I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same, but if anything worries you, tell me so I can—”
She cuts him off by kissing the unfinished sentence from his mouth.
Impulsive. Reckless. Completely inevitable.
The boys didn’t follow them. The place was large, and the streetlights brightened the road as they ran. Once they could no longer hear the men’s insults, they found themselves in the middle of the parking lot. Sophie was out of breath, Hazel exhausted at her side. That had been horrible — the man was from their university; they needed to be more careful now ans…
Benedict was bleeding; his face was streaked with blood from a wound on his forehead.
“You should go to A&E,” Hazel said.
“Huh?” He looked confused, still gasping, fingers pressing at the blood on his face. “It’s fine. I have suture thread in my car.”
If he really planned to stitch himself up in a parking lot instead of going to a hospital, the situation was worse than they’d thought.
“Where’s your car?” Sophie asked.
He pointed to a vehicle a few spaces away, and they followed him to a brand‑new SUV.
Benedict opened the door, grabbed a backpack — not a first‑aid kit so much as practice materials — and pulled out a suture set. He handed it to her while he stayed in the driver’s seat, door open, legs out on the asphalt, facing her.
Sophie stepped between his knees as Hazel switched on her phone flashlight to illuminate the wound. It was a three‑centimetre cut, shallow but bleeding heavily.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to—?” she began.
“If I go to A&E like that…” He trailed off. Close up, she could smell alcohol on his breath and see lipstick on his collar. “Professor Danbury will call my mother, and I don’t want to see her disappointed.”
Sophie put on gloves and began to clean the wound, making him flinch. “So you’d rather show up tomorrow with a scar?”
He smiled. “You did an internship in the emergency department, right? I’m hoping you can make it a pretty scar, at least.”
She had stitched up the heads of several drunks during night shifts, but none of them had been so — annoying.
“Please, let me show my gratitude.” He looked at her with a pleading expression, like a pump. “What can I do for you?”
Every time her bus carried her to the hospital, Sophie saw him on the billboard, the polished face of a luxury men’s brand, a reminder of how far apart their worlds were.
“A job,” she joked, and Hazel laughed. Hazel had been helping Sophie look for work lately; it was hard to find anything that fit around a full‑time course.
“I have a brother who needs a tutor… Ah!” Benedict said as she began to suture.
The way he kisses her awakens the yearning she tries so hard to hide. Sophie feels dizzy, floating, like they’re wrapped in a haze. Her fingers run through his hair, trying to hold on to something solid. There’s no room for anxiety, because her mind can’t conjure anything besides his lips on hers, his hands holding her firmly by the waist, as if she might fall.
“Greg!” Mrs. Bridgerton calls from outside the house, making Sophie break the kiss. “Get in the car, we’re coming!”
Of course, the birthday! What is she doing? Making out with a man in his mama’s laundry?
Her eyes find his, all dark now, like a hungry creature with solemn lips. For her misery, something twists inside her seeing how much it affects him. But she can’t do this. Sophie runs her fingers through his hair, trying to fix it. “You’d better go.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“What?” He grabs her wrists, preventing her from stepping away. “No.”
He leans down, placing open-mouthed kisses along her neck, making her body move on its own, responding to each touch. Shivers run down to her belly, a physical synchrony that turns her mind into a hot mess, ready for more. That’s bad. She needs to think.
“You’re gonna be late.” It sounds weak even to her own ears.
“Don’t worry.” He lowers his lips, kissing her collarbone with the same reverence players kiss the field. “Let me take you upstairs.”
She rolls her eyes. “So the other employees can see us?”
He sighs and walks toward the door. Great. Now he’s come to his senses and it’ll all be over. Just a messy kiss they’ll pretend never happened. So why is she already missing his heat?
Sophie takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to look composed.
But then he closes the door, locking them in, and turns to her. “Happy?”
The washing machine starts its spin cycle, loud and shaking. Benedict steps closer, one hand on her cheek, almost comforting, a small smile on his face as he makes her look up at him. What an unusual place to be this horny. “I’m happy to do it any way you want.”
She could feel ashamed of her desire, but she’s too seduced by his pleading eyes to care. “Kiss me again.”
He kisses her slowly this time, holding her face between his hands like a frame. His tongue explores her, moving away from time to time just to leave her open-mouthed, starving for more.
“Such a pretty girl.”
She opens her eyes to see him looking down at her, all cocky.
So she grabs him by his bent arm, pulling him closer. “Are you just all talk?”
A fire sparks in his eyes. “Wanna find out?”
Benedict kisses her forehead, then lifts her onto the washing machine. Her whole body vibrates with it; at first she doesn’t understand why. But when Benedict places a hand on the inside of her thigh, Sophie raises her eyebrows, cheeks flushed. “You’re not serious.”
He smirks, and all her protest dies in her throat when he starts sucking gently at her ear, kissing every inch he can reach. His rich perfume makes her feel even dizzier, so she barely notices his hand sliding higher up her thigh.
His thumb brushes the line of her panties, testing. “Oh, God, so wet,” he praises against her ear, making her shiver.
His fingers circle her through the fabric, awakening her pleasure and amplifying it with the vibration beneath her. It’s a new sensation, but it makes her catch her breath. Benedict watches her closely, studying her reactions, his face a mirror of her own desire.
“Go on,” she almost moans.
He pushes her panties aside, and the sensation vibrates through her whole body.
Her hands grab his biceps through his shirt, marking him with her short nails like she’s afraid to fall. Her entire body feels like it’s burning, about to explode. Sophie bites her lip to keep from moaning. The last thing she wants is an employee knocking on the door.
“Don’t hold back, love, they can’t hear you.” He licks her neck, sliding one finger inside her. “So damn hot.”
Sophie bites his shoulder—not too hard, but enough to make him moan prettily, and her composure flies out the window. “One more,” she asks.
He obeys, filling her further. “Good girl,” he murmurs, lowering her neckline to take a nipple into his mouth. “Why did you keep this away from me for so long?”
Sophie could list a number of reasons. His family is so damn rich that he’ll probably get a job in a famous hospital right after graduation—or open a clinic of his own. Even though they’re in the same class, they live in different worlds. While he was traveling around Europe, she was taking freelance jobs just to survive. His family, even if she becomes a doctor, might never see her as an equal.
“You never showed you wanted me,” she says simply. Which is true. He never made a move. Always respectful. Until now.
“So let me show you,” he replies, kissing her like a starving man.
His three fingers curl inside her while his thumb circles her clit, the vibration intensifying everything. It’s so overwhelming she feels like she might explode if she doesn’t come. It clears her mind like a wave, pushing every worry aside until there’s nothing left but heat building tight in her belly.
“Come for me, love,” he demands.
And everything explodes in fireworks. Her body collapses into white light. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms around his shoulders as if she might drown and he is her only salvation. He keeps touching her, watching her face like he’s admiring a painting he made.
Until it becomes too much, and she taps his arm to make him stop.
She holds him, trying to catch her breath. “I never thought about having sex on a washing machine.”
His perfume fills her lungs; she wants to memorize it. He’s still breathing fast, placing soft kisses on her shoulder.
“A friend once talked about it. I thought he was exaggerating,” Benedict says with a smile. “But I’m glad you impressed.”
Sophie frowns. “Don’t be smug.”
He kisses her again and whispers against her lips, “So let me show you more.”
Then Benedict grabs her by the waist and easily turns Sophie around. Her belly and palms press against the washing machine, still vibrating beneath her. With her tiptoes barely touching the floor and her hips raised, she feels exposed.
“What are you doing?” she asks, turning her head over her shoulder.
“Trying to impress you.” Benedict pulls her dress up to her waist. “Fuck, look at you.” He squeezes her ass with one hand, the other resting on her lower back.
She feels her face burning. “Dirty mouth.”
He lowers himself until she feels his hot breath against her. “Your wet cunt likes it.” Then he drags his tongue slowly through her folds, making her tremble from the aftershock. “Yummy.”
Even through the embarrassment, his dirty praise reassures her. Sex feels less humiliating when the other person is just as desperate as you. Right now, she doesn’t feel anxious—only desired—while he slides her panties down her legs.
“Just a second,” he says, taking his wallet out and putting on a condom.
“No problem,” Sophie replies, resting her elbow on the washing machine and supporting her face with one hand—almost comical given the circumstances.
She’s been so caught up in becoming an adult. Work, studying, trying to stay healthy, making time for friends. Right now, she just doesn’t want to think too much in a gorgeous man’s arms. Maybe tomorrow she’ll try to forget, and they’ll pretend it never happened. But tonight, she just wants more.
He positions himself at her entrance, hands gripping her hips, and leans down to kiss her shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She turns her head to kiss him as Benedict slowly pushes inside her, filling her inch by inch.
The fullness is so sweet it steals the breath from her lungs, every nerve catching fire. Benedict groans low in his throat, gripping her hard enough it might leave bruises. Even the stretch feels good with him.
“Move,” she whispers.
He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, harder. The vibration ignites the flame in her belly, and Sophie feels herself tighten around him, making Benedict gasp. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
His hands roam—grabbing her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. The pleasure is overwhelming in the best way, heat spreading through her whole body. She pushes her hips back to meet him, and the only thing keeping her steady is the pressure of his body against hers.
“My cock good enough for you, love?” he teases.
Sophie is too far gone to roll her eyes properly. With all her studying, work, and family drama, this feels like the best antidepressant she could ever take. But Benedict doesn’t need to know that.
“I don’t know yet,” she says, even as she feels herself grow wetter while he thrusts harder.
Now she understands what being cock-drunk means.
Every nerve in her body responds to him. Benedict opens her up again and again while the vibration magnifies the sensation in ways she never imagined. She feels out of her mind, held down only by his hand at her lower back and the rhythm of his hips.
The only rational thought she can form is that sex really is a dangerous tool. Now she understands why people end up in embarrassing situations because of it. She’ll never look at him quite the same way after this.
“So good,” Sophie cries, her legs trembling.
She must look like a desperate mess, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he likes it.
“Cum for me, love, I’m close.”
Before her hand can even reach her clit, the orgasm crashes into her. She screams, waves of pleasure rolling through her like unexpected thunder. Her body tightens deliciously, clenching around him, amplified by the vibration beneath her. She hears Benedict moan against her shoulder, still thrusting until the last wave fades.
Her limbs feel heavy when Benedict finally pulls away and sits on the bench. He draws her down beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her leg draped over his. He disposes of the condom, pulls his pants back up, then gently fixes her dress and hands her panties back to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am.” She takes a deep breath. “It was…”
“The best sex of your life?” He raises an eyebrow near the scar at his temple.
“More like a hurricane.”
It’s still complicated. He’s a lovely man, the kind who makes her heart skip every time he walks into a room. And having sex with him was… intense. Maybe irresponsible. She’ll have to organize her thoughts later. Right now, she just waits for the soreness to pass.
“We can take things slow, Sophie,” he says, standing and offering his hand. “Come on. Let me make you dinner, and we can talk.”
She remembers her mother. Her brokenhearted friends. The women she treated in the ER after trusting the wrong man. Sometimes being a woman feels like walking a tightrope—you never know when you might fall.
But she takes his hand.
Because she always catches herself.