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“Stop that,” Benedict hisses from the seat to your right.
“Why? No one’s looking at us,” you reason quietly, letting your hand trail further up his thigh. “Everyone’s listening to Anthony; no one is paying us any mind.” Your knuckles brush his cock, teasing, and he growls.
“Wife” it’s a low warning.
“Husband,” you drawl under your breath, fingers splaying out but looking away as if enthralled by the same story as everyone else around the Bridgerton family dinner table.
He wraps his left arm around the back of your chair and leans over as if also intent on the tale at the other end of the room.
“You want to act up? Fine. Have it your way,” his breath is hot in your ear as he moves your hand away from his lap. “Pull up your dress.”
“But… that’s too risky,” you protest through gritted teeth, faking a smile.
“You should have thought of that before you teased me. And now here we are. So just do as you are told.”
Slowly you gather the length of your dress into your lap. Laughing at the appropriate moments, along with the others and trying to keep up the charade.
“Open your legs wider.”
“But I…” you begin, mouth behind your napkin as you pretend to dab away a crumb of food from your face.
He grabs your right leg and hauls it over his left thigh. You drop the napkin into your lap.
“Disobedience will only make this worse,” he gruffs, even as his face is the picture of rapt attention towards his brother.
He leans closer, his right arm crossing to wrap around your waist, and he kisses your cheek—the picture of a sweet, devoted husband. Appearances can be deceiving.
“Stay still. Don’t make a sound,” he orders against your face as you pick up your drink.
His hand disappears under the napkin, and two of his talented fingers plunge into you without warning. You splutter into your wine glass.
“You don't play fair,” you protest, attempting to fake a cough to conceal your moan.
Violet glances over from opposite you, concerned.
“Just a touch of seasonal allergies, mother,” he reassures with an easy smile. “Right, my darling?” his lips at your temple, giving a gentle kiss.
“Yes, sorry, no need for worry,” you confirm, coughing again as he pushes deeper. Violet nods and returns her attention to Anthony.
“Is this why I was forbidden from wearing underwear today?” you murmur.
He shrugs. “This, any other reason I might want. Who does this belong to?” he breathes, moving the fingers inside you back and forth.
“You.”
The hand around your chair curls heavy against the back of your neck, “Who?”
“You, sir,” you correct.
“That's right,” releasing his grip. “Now the only thing I think we need to worry about, provided you can keep your pretty mouth shut, is all the delicious noises this drenched cunt is making.” his voice almost silent but the tone conversational.
He drags his fingers in and out languidly; you can hear the suction, the cling of your lips around his knuckles.
“I want to see it,” your hushed confession surprises even yourself.
“Oh darling, you are truly so filthy,” his whisper full of admiration. “You are a marvel. Now I don't think that's wise in front of my whole family, but do you want a taste, hmm?”
Without waiting for your reply, he pulls out of you and grabs a petit four biscuit from the snack plate, using it as a convenient disguise and feeding it directly into your mouth. The sugary biscuit crumbles on your tongue as the tart flavour of yourself follows from his fingertips.
“Oh, I bet that is delicious,” his voice covetous.
You nod and turn your head towards him, kissing him. “Taste for yourself, sir,” He licks his lips and hums in agreement with his assessment.
“Now, if the two lovebirds over there don't mind,” Anthony raises his voice, standing and looking pointedly at you both, “I think a toast is in order.”
You both look at Anthony with innocent smiles, grabbing your glasses to join the toast. You notice Benedict does so with his left hand. Unusual.
“To a future of happiness and fulfilment!” Anthony declares with a flourish.
“Fulfillment here-here.” Benedict echoes brightly, the fingers of his right hand stealing under your napkin and sinking into you again.
“Feeling fulfilled, darling wife?” he leans in, his voice dusky.
Your glass is frozen against your lips in a vice-like grip while he smirks at you.
“Let’s see how quiet you can be,” he challenges, a little bolder as people break out into louder small talk around the table. His fingers start stroking in earnest on that spot inside you, his thumb swiping side to side over your clit.
Fuck.
“Y/n,” Eloise calls out animatedly, “what was that book you were talking about last week?”
“Hmm, yes, whatever was that book, darling?” Benedict asks enthusiastically, the arm on your chair wrapping around your shoulder, his face dancing with amusement while his fingers bear down harder, unseen.
You close your eyes briefly, curse him under your breath and clear your throat.
“Pride and Prejudice?” Your voice is still squeaky. Dammit.
“That’s the one!” Eloise nods. “I can’t wait to read it. Are you ok? You look a little flushed?”
“She looks fine to me,” Benedict counters, turning his face to you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “positively ecstatic.”
You pull a face at him and turn to Eloise “A little too much wine probably,” you jest, waggling the glass still on your hand, winking. She laughs at that and returns to her chat with Kate.
Benedict changes motion, his thumb pressing in harsh clockwise circles.
“Nice girls don’t pull faces at the man giving them pleasure,” he chides.
“Nice girls don’t let themselves get debauched at the family dinner table,” you sass, gripping the side of your chair seat as you start to see stars, “luckily for you, I’m not a nice girl.”
“Very lucky for me indeed,” he concurs. “I do so love my filthy wife.”
“Then make her come,” you challenge, raising an eyebrow as you fight the urge to moan.
“Oh, I enjoy it when you are feisty with me,” he rumbles. His ministrations are hard and fast now.
You exhale forcefully, putting down your glass, afraid it could almost snap in your grip. The inevitable is racing towards you; you stay silent, screams trapped in your throat, your breathing uneven and shallow. You feel every muscle in your body tighten, then it hits you. Waves pulsing in your cunt, squeezing his fingers forcefully, you exhale breathily, feeling a flush from your face creeping down into your gown.
“Well done, so silent but so beautiful,” Benedict praises, looking away as if eagerly listening to Colin regale his latest travel adventures.
“Are you quite sure you’re alright?” Your mother-in-law cuts in again from across the table, “you look a little out of breath, my dear”.
“Do you know Lady Bridgerton, you may just be correct,” you reply, so proud of yourself for keeping your voice even. “Benedict darling, please will you see me up to bed? I’ve had a little too much wine, and I fear it’s made me all aflutter.”
“Certainly, darling,” he replies dotingly, the very model of a perfect husband, all while he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and smears them on your thighs. He pushes your dress down, then stands quickly behind your chair, pulling it out and helping you to your feet.
He pulls you flush against him, “Oh dear, definitely a little uncoordinated, darling,” he lies, pressing his stiff cock into your lower back. “I’ll just have to walk you upstairs, I suppose,” his arms banding around your waist.
You smirk over your shoulder, then join the chorus of good nights as he walks you to the door.
Once in the hallway, you snake a hand behind you and grab his cock through his trousers, squeezing hard.
“Get on your knees right here,” He snarls against your ear.
“I'll do it if you can stay silent,” you bite back.
He grunts at that.
“Didn't think so,” you tease. “But our room is just upstairs…” your voice trails off, sauntering on ahead.
“...Husband,” you add seductively over your shoulder.
“Wife,” he purrs, picking you up and sprinting up the stairs.