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The apartment was dark when Benedict finally stepped inside, the quiet pressing in like a balm after the noise of the evening. He dropped his keys onto the console with a soft clatter, shrugged off his coat, and let out a long, low breath.
He was exhausted, body aching from too many hours on his feet, tie loosened, shirt rumpled. The gallery event had run late. Wine, handshakes, compliments, forced charm. The kind of night that looked glamorous on paper but left him feeling like a hollowed-out version of himself.
All he wanted now was a shower. Bed. And Eloise curled against him.
He toed off his shoes, rolled his shoulders, and padded softly down the hall toward the bedroom.
The door was ajar, light off. Just the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains, painting soft lines of silver across the room.
He stepped inside quietly.
She was already asleep. Sprawled across the bed, one arm above her head, the sheets tangled loosely around her legs. Her hair was a mess of dark waves across the pillow, her breathing slow and even.
He smiled without meaning to. God, she was beautiful like this.
He leaned down, meaning only to kiss her cheek before heading to the shower.
But then he paused.
Something caught his eye.
She was wearing the black nighty.
It clung to her just so, hem riding up the curve of her thigh, one strap slipping slightly off her shoulder.
He stood there, unmoving, his eyes sweeping over her slowly, tracing the shape of her through the sheer fabric. The curve of her hip. The swell of her breasts. The bare stretch of leg visible in the silver spill of light.
His breath hitched.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
A slow, hungry smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
The shower could wait.
Quietly, slowly, he stripped.
First his shirt, pulled over his head and dropped to the floor. Then his belt. The button of his trousers. The soft slide of fabric down his legs. He stepped out of them, then his boxers, until there was nothing between him and her but the air.
He moved onto the bed.
Kneeling beside her, he gently peeled the sheet back, exposing more of her body to the low, silver light. The nighty had ridden up, barely covering anything.
His fingertips brushed the inside of her thigh, then drifted lower to her knee, gliding along soft skin with the lightest pressure. Just enough to tease. Just enough to make her stir, but not enough to wake her.
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her thigh. Then another. Slower. Higher.
One hand slid over the outside of her hip, across the curve of her waist, up to the swell of her breast. His palm moved gently over the sheer fabric, feeling the heat of her beneath it, the way her nipple tightened under his touch.
He groaned softly at the sight of it, at the way her body responded to him even in sleep.
He took his time, touching every inch of her he could reach. The gentle slope of her stomach. The line of her ribs. The rise and fall of her chest beneath his hand. His lips followed, leaving heat in their wake, up her inner thigh, her hip, the softness of her belly.
He pressed a kiss just below her navel and lingered there, breathing her in.
Then his hands found the hem of the silk and slid it higher, over her thighs, until he could see just how bare she was beneath it.
His fingers traced along her inner thigh, then higher, spreading her gently. His thumb brushed against the damp heat waiting for him there.
She was already wet for him.
She sighed in her sleep, hips shifting slightly toward his touch.
Benedict grinned to himself.
She’d always been a heavy sleeper. He’d learned that early on. How deeply she could fall, how long it took to wake her. Especially when she was warm and tangled in soft sheets like this.
It gave him time.
He moved lower, settling between her thighs, his hands bracing gently at her hips. His breath ghosted over her center, and she twitched beneath him.
He kissed her softly, just above where she was already slick and waiting. Then again. And again, a little lower each time.
Until he reached her.
His mouth opened over her slowly, his tongue flicking out in a long, deliberate stroke.
She stirred, barely. A soft sound caught in her throat.
He licked her again, longer now, firmer. Then closed his lips around her clit and sucked lightly.
She moaned, still somewhere in that space between dreaming and waking.
He groaned against her, the vibration making her hips twitch.
God, she tasted good. Sweet and warm and familiar.
His tongue moved in slow, rhythmic circles, his lips dragging across her with patient precision. Every flick, every stroke, was designed to pull her closer to the edge without quite waking her.
Her breath hitched. One thigh flexed beneath his hand.
Still, she didn’t wake.
He smiled to himself, licking her slower now, just to see if she’d make that soft, gasping sound again.
She did.
He loved it.
She stirred beneath him.
A soft inhale. A subtle shift of her hips. Her hand twitched against the sheets, and her breath caught, just slightly, as his mouth dragged slow and steady over her clit.
“Evening, love,” he murmured against her, his voice low, husky.
Her body jolted in surprise, but he didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down. Tongue stroking, lips sucking gently, keeping her right on that edge.
She blinked blearily down at him, her fingers tightening in the sheets.
“Ben…” she gasped, her voice caught somewhere between a whimper and a plea.
He didn’t stop.
His tongue licked slow and deep, dragging through her folds like he had all the time in the world. His lips sealed around her clit again, sucking gently, and her back arched off the bed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that.”
His hand splayed against her thigh to hold her open. His other arm braced around her hip, anchoring her to him as his mouth worked steadily, methodically, like this was something sacred.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered between licks. “Always do.”
She let out a choked noise, her hands reaching blindly for something, anything. The sheets. His hair.
He gave her more. Flattened his tongue, licked broad and slow, then followed with soft, focused flicks over her clit that had her trembling.
“So soft,” he murmured. “So sweet.”
She was panting now, her thighs starting to shake.
“You gonna come for me like this?” he said, lips brushing wet against her skin. “Barely even awake and already falling apart.”
“Ben—oh—”
“Look at you.” His voice dropped, low and dark and full of heat. “So fucking perfect. All mine.”
He kissed her inner thigh, then latched back onto her clit with just enough suction to make her cry out again.
And still, he didn’t stop.
He circled her clit again, just enough pressure to make her hips twitch, but not enough to push her over.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he murmured between licks. “Wearing this to bed.”
She whimpered, back arching.
“Talk to me, El,” he said, voice thick with heat. “This how you wanted to wake up? Me, on my knees, tasting you before you’ve even opened your eyes?”
She moaned, her breath coming quicker, chest rising beneath the thin fabric of the nighty.
He flattened his tongue against her and dragged it up, then circled her clit with maddening precision.
“Making you come before you can even speak.” he said, his voice dark, indulgent.
She let out a half-gasp, half-moan, her thighs beginning to tremble.
He groaned into her, loving the way she melted beneath him.
He flicked his tongue lightly over her again—once, twice—then stopped. Just long enough to make her squirm.
“Or…” he murmured, breath hot against her, “…was there something else you wanted?”
She shook her head. Then nodded. Too far gone to find the words.
“Use it,” he said softly, kissing the inside of her thigh. “That pretty mouth. Tell me.”
His mouth returned to her clit, tongue circling, stroking, pushing her closer to edge but not letting her fall over it.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, her voice trembling. “Ben…” she begged.
He pulled back again just as she was about to fall apart.
“Tell me and I’ll let you come,” he said, voice low, steady. “What did you want me to do to you when I came in?”
She whimpered, desperate. “I wanted… wanted to wake up with you inside me.” She took a shaky breath. “Wanted to wake up to you fucking me.”
He groaned. Visibly shuddered.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her skin. “You filthy little minx.”
He didn’t give her time to recover from the words.
His mouth was back on her, devouring her now, relentless, focused. He sucked her clit between his lips and flicked his tongue fast, his hands holding her down as she arched and cried out.
She came with a gasp, body shaking, thighs clenched around his head, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave she couldn’t fight.
He held her through it, licking her gently as she trembled beneath him.
As she came down, he pressed soft kisses to the inside of her thigh, her hipbone, her stomach.
He wasn’t done with her.
She was still trembling when he moved.
With slow, steady hands, he flipped her onto her stomach, guiding her down gently as her cheek hit the pillow, breath still ragged.
He took a moment to admire her. Skin flushed, legs parted, the nighty bunched at her waist, beautifully exposed to him.
He ran his hands down her back, smoothing over her spine, over the curve of her ass. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade, then lower, letting his mouth trail lazy, possessive kisses across her skin.
Then he straddled her thighs.
She gasped softly beneath him, shifting, trying to press her hips back, but he placed a hand at the small of her back, steadying her, keeping her where he wanted her.
“Easy,” he murmured. “Let me.”
His cock was hard and heavy between them. He spread her ass cheeks with his hands, and slid himself between them, thrusting just slightly, groaning at the friction and heat of her skin.
“Fuck,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Then his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself lower. He dragged the tip slowly over her soaked center, rubbing between her folds, teasing her opening without pushing in.
She whimpered into the pillow.
He leaned down, bracing on one forearm beside her head, his chest pressed to her back.
“This what you wanted, love?” he whispered, his voice a low growl. “This how you wanted to wake up?”
Before she could answer, he thrust into her in one deep, smooth stroke.
She cried out, body jolting forward as he filled her completely.
His hand came up to her shoulder, grounding her as he bottomed out, buried so deep inside her he could barely breathe.
“Jesus,” he groaned. “You feel like fucking heaven.”
He started to move.
Not fast, just deep. Slow, grinding thrusts that stretched her open and filled her to the hilt with every roll of his hips.
She gasped into the pillow, hands fisting in the sheets, her body arching to meet him.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her ear, his voice dark and low. “Take it, El.”
His hand slid up her back, fingers dragging along her spine, then down again to her hips as he thrust deeper, groaning as she clenched around him.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “How tight you are like this? So fucking deep. You’re squeezing me so hard.”
She whimpered beneath him, muffled and desperate.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “So wet for me. So good. My good fucking girl.”
He thrust again, slow, deliberate, grinding at the end just enough to make her cry out.
“You wore that nighty to bed knowing exactly what you were doing,” he growled. “You wanted this. Wanted me like this. On top of you, inside you, holding you down.”
“Ben…”
“Say it,” he said, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “Say it, Eloise.”
She trembled under him, hips pressing back greedily against his next thrust.
“It’s what I wanted,” she gasped. “I wanted you like this. Wanted to wake up with you inside me. Holding…Holding me down.”
His groan was guttural, shaken and wrecked.
Next time, he thought, breath catching.
His hand slid around to her breast, squeezing firmly as he thrust into her again, deeper now, grinding into her with slow, punishing rhythm.
“You’re so fucking filthy,” he whispered. “And so good. All mine.”
He kept fucking her like that, deep, slow thrusts that dragged moans from her throat and left her trembling beneath him. His body was pressed flush to hers, his cock filling her over and over with devastating precision, his hand gripping her hip, anchoring her.
Every time he pushed into her, she gasped. Every time he ground in just right, she cried out.
“You take me so well,” he whispered against her neck. “Like you were made for me.”
She whimpered, nodding helplessly.
“I could stay here all night,” he breathed, voice thick. “Right here. Inside you. Just like this.”
But then he paused, his rhythm faltering.
He pulled out slowly, and she whined at the loss.
“Ben—”
“Shhh,” he murmured. “I need to see you.”
He flipped her gently onto her back, hands firm but careful. She let him guide her, breath catching as she looked up at him. His flushed skin, his wild hair, his blown pupils with want.
Then he was between her legs again, guiding himself back to her entrance.
He pushed in with one slow, smooth thrust, groaning at the feel of her all over again.
“There she is,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss her.
This kiss was different, less filthy, more reverent. His mouth moved over hers slowly, like he was rediscovering something precious.
Her hands slid up his back, nails dragging lightly over his skin as he began to move again.
“Look at me,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers.
She did, eyes wide, blown, and utterly undone.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”
He moved over her, each thrust slow but purposeful, his hips grinding into hers with every roll. One of her hands clung to his shoulder, the other tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as their mouths met again and again, breathless and needy.
She kissed him like she couldn't get enough of him. And he gave her everything he had.
His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing slow, tight circles in time with his thrusts.
She gasped, body jerking beneath him.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me feel you.”
She tightened around him, her whole body beginning to shake.
“Come for me, El. Just like that.”
He kept his eyes on hers, watching every flicker of sensation as her orgasm built.
And then she was falling apart. Crying out his name, clutching him close as her climax ripped through her, her hips stuttering, legs locking tight around his waist.
Benedict groaned, still moving inside her, trying to hold on. He didn’t want it to end.
But she reached up, cupped his jaw, and looked straight at him and said the words that broke him.
“Please, Ben,” she whispered. “Let go. Need it.”
Her voice was wrecked. Soft and urgent and pleading.
“Need to feel you fill me up.”
His restraint shattered.
“Fuck—Eloise—”
He buried himself deep, hips grinding as he came with a rough, broken moan, spilling into her as she held him close, whispering his name like a prayer.
He stayed there inside her, head resting on her shoulder, wrapped in her arms, their breaths syncing.
Eloise ran her fingers through his hair. She sighed, content and boneless beneath him, her body still shivering from everything they’d just done.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Then another, behind her ear.
“Mine,” he whispered.
She turned her head just enough to find his eyes. Smiled, sleepy and smug.
“Always.”
He smiled back, slow and full, and realized he didn’t feel tired anymore. Not even a little.
After a minute, he leaned back and looked down at her, at the slick mess between them, the sticky skin, the rumpled nighty still bunched around her waist.
“Well,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek, “we should probably get cleaned up.”
She groaned. “Too far.”
He chuckled, then slipped his arms under her, lifting her easily.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
He carried her toward the bathroom, already planning to bring her back to bed after.
To sleep, he told himself.
Knowing perfectly well they weren’t sleeping any time soon.