#I cannot WAIT for filthy talking part 6 🤤🤤🤤

[iboopedyournose]

Ahhhh the horny newlyweds are at it again 😍🥵 love the inclusion of the playful, romantic breakfast! Sexy af and gives more dimension to the characters 😊

Innocence Pt V

Innocence Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict teaches his new wife how to ride (not horses).

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, sex education, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, vaginal sex, woman on top, a smidge of food play.

Word Count: 3.2 k

Author’s Note: Sorry it's taken a while to get this next installment up. Thanks to @makaylan for the read through. I hope you enjoy <3

You wake up to a strange sensation. Something warm and soft on the swell of your bottom as you lay face down. It feels like… lips? …Kissing?

You blink open your eyes and crane your head over your shoulder. There is your new husband of fewer than twelve hours. And yes, indeed, he is kissing your bare bottom, the sheet pulled back around your calves, warmed by a fire already roaring in your martial bedroom.

“Benedict?” you call softly, your voice laden with sleep.

He stops his actions and tilts his head to look up at you, his hazy hooded eyes so beguiling. 

“Good morning, wife,” his tone is husky and pitched low; it makes a tiny shiver run down your spine.

“What are you doing back there?” you question lightheartedly.

“I am enjoying my wife’s bottom. Does she have a problem with that?” he teases, his teeth snagging on your left buttock as he lightly slaps your other cheek.

You squeal and squirm on the mattress. “No,” you admit. 

He chuckles, then pushes up onto all fours clambering over you until his lips capture yours, turning your body slightly to meet him.

“How do you feel today?” he asks, nuzzling your cheek.

“Mmm, wonderful,” you confess, twisting under him so you face up.

Today you do feel different. Like you are finally a woman. You are married now, and while you doubtlessly have many things to learn, you feel nothing but excitement and wonder about what else may come. It makes you feel emboldened, flirtatious, and ready to enjoy new adventures with this wondrous man who is now your husband.

He settles over you, and you moan slightly at the press of his hot rigid cock between your bare thighs.

“Are you ready to learn more things, or does the lady need breakfast first?” he inquires airily, planting kisses on your jaw.

The mere mention of the word breakfast has your stomach growling loudly, and he giggles at the sound. You barely had a chance to eat at the whirlwind that was your wedding reception; you were also a little too excited for your wedding night to bother.

“Well, I think we have our answer,” he sniggers. “Luckily, I asked my staff to return early this morning.” 

“Can we have breakfast in bed, husband?” you ask; that newfound boldness reveals itself in asking for what you want, “together, naked?” 

His eyes flash appreciatively, and his lopsided grin turns deadly. “I definitely married so very, very well,” he growls, echoing his sentiment from the previous night, reaching over to ring a bell on his bedside table.

He is back on you, kissing a hot line down your neck, when there is a brief knock on the door a few moments later.

“Come in,” Benedict calls out, barely lifting his lips from your collarbone.

You squeak as an older man appears in the doorway; he blanches at first, taken aback but quickly schools his face to one of passive indifference. You attempt to grab the sheet and cover yourself to preserve some modesty. Still, Benedict seems utterly unphased by the gentleman seeing him or, indeed, you, completely naked, entwined in bed together.

“Ahh, Mr Smith. Good morning. Please, can you bring breakfast here for myself and my delectable new wife? Something light but filling, toast perhaps?” he asks casually, twisting to look at the man.

“Certainly, sir, will that be all?” the polite voice rings out.

“Could you throw another log on the fire? I fear I did not set it up well earlier.” 

The man bustles to the fireplace as Benedict’s lips close around your nipple.

“Benedict!” you admonish, your body flexing against him on instinct despite your consternation. “Your valet is right there!” you hiss through clenched teeth, nodding at the back of the man re-stoking the fire.

“Oh my love, we are newlyweds; I fully expect our staff to walk in on us fucking all over the house,” he drawls, running his nose over your pebbled nub, “as I suspect, do they. You should not feel ashamed.”

“But…” your protest dies as he surges up and catches your lips in a deep kiss, his fingers teasing that same damp nipple as he does so. You can't help the moan into his mouth as he does it.

“Yes darling, that's it,” he gloats, “in fact, I hope they will still be finding us doing this in forty years,” he smiles against your lips. “I plan to fuck you every day that I can,” he hums as you hear the door to the room click quietly closed with his valet’s departure.

“You are a menace,” you assert, lightly slapping his shoulder in rebuke.

“I’m your menace now, Mrs Bridgerton,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pushing them onto the pillow, glancing pointedly at your wedding rings, “and there is absolutely nothing you can do about that. You, I'm afraid, are stuck with me,” he chuckles, lips once again attacking your neck. You sigh in faux annoyance, settling into his sensual assault, your eyes closing from sheer pleasure.

A few moments later, as you are still exchanging endless sensuous kisses, there is a knock at the door, and Mr Smith re-enters with a tray of food under silver cloches. 

“Excellent,” Benedict exclaims gleefully. “Please leave it on the ottoman at the end of the bed there, Smith.”

His valet does as bidden, and with a brief nod of “Sir, my Lady,” which makes your cheeks redden, he departs.

“Oh god, I’ll never get used to being the lady of the house,” you exclaim.

“You had better, my darling; all the staff will be looking to you for how you wish the house to be run,” Benedict laughs as he crawls down the bed and picks up a cloche.

“It's your house, Benedict,” you frown.

“Not anymore, my love,” he reminds, a warm hand encircling your ankle and tugging gently. “Now get down here and eat some of this food—I need you energised for what comes next.”

As elegantly as you can, you spin around and join Benedict at the foot of the bed. He pulls you flush to his body and feeds you a corner of deliciously buttered, still-warm toast.

“What comes next?” you ask brightly after you chew and swallow the bite.

“You, my darling, are going to learn to ride,” he smirks. “Me, that is.”

“Oh.. is it like riding a horse?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He snorts. “I hope you find it rather more pleasurable. And there is something to keep you mounted nice and squarely,” he leers, pressing his cock to your hip as you shake your head at his innuendo, even as a bemused smile tugs at your lips.

“Do I get a whip to keep you in line, just like a real jockey?” you quip in jest, again that new sense of being a wife and a woman making you say things you never thought you might.

His mouth falls open slightly, and his eyes have an appreciative gleam. “Oh darling, do you want there to be?” his voice dropping to a smokey rumble.

“Depends on if you are going to behave, my good stallion,” you murmur, loving the banter, raising an eyebrow as you take a triangle of toast for yourself.

“What happened to my innocent little thing?” he counters, a warm hand caressing your bottom, “and who is this delightful minx who replaced her?”

“You corrupted her with your wiles Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, tossing your hair in a way you hope is coquettish. “A good teacher cannot complain when an eager pupil advances under tutelage.”

“I am a good teacher, am I?” he purrs, the hand stroking lazily over your lower spine.

“The very best,” your flattery sincere, “one day, this student wants to learn to talk as her teacher does. Such wonderful filthy things.”

“Well then, that can be your next lesson,” he suggests, nuzzling your hair.

“Excellent,” you enthuse. “Now, am I going to eat that jam there on toast… or from somewhere on your body, dear husband?” you tease, pointing to a pot of preserves.

He groans and grabs you. “You cannot say things like that,” rolling you on top of him, “and expect me to do anything but want to be inside you.”

“You are the one who said we needed to eat,” you giggle, reaching for another bit of toast and jamming it into his mouth rather inelegantly as you lay atop him, his warm skin delightful under your own, his cock persistent, branding against your belly.

He guffaws around the slice and rips it with his teeth, pushing some between your lips. “I can eat and be inside you at the same time, my love,” he utters in a sinful tone.

“Well, then do it,” you challenge, swallowing your bite of food.

He raises an eyebrow and shuffles under you, surging his hips upwards, his rigid cock sliding between your thighs. “I will,” he threatens playfully.

“Please do,” your whisper enchanted, licking an errant toast crumb from your lip.

“Oh, I was going to get that,” he pouts.

With a raised eyebrow, you reach for a spoonful of jam, and he watches as you smear some over your lips.

“Then come and get it, Mr Bridgerton,” you murmur, looking down into his rapidly dilating eyes.

“Oh, Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles, his lips chasing yours, his tongue lathing over your lips, sucking and gathering all the jam there, swirling its sweetness into your joined mouth as you kiss. Then you cry into his mouth as he effortlessly thrusts his hips, surging into your body. He feels just as he did last night, so huge and invasive. You stutter a breath as he just holds you there, allowing you to adjust to the feeling of him inside you again.

“Benedict…” you sigh, some of your bravado slipping away with the pure tide of sensation you feel being so viscerally invaded.

“Are you ready, my darling,” he questions, his voice velvet and decadent. “Try sitting up on me,” he adds, his hands grabbing yours to offer leverage.

With him still feeling heavy and so large inside, you slowly slide your knees on either side of his thighs, then draw them up so they are close to his waist, moaning as the sensation of being hunched over him changes the angle of his cock, a pull that is utterly delicious.

“Yes, that's it,” he encourages, “now pull up off me.”

You unfurl your body and sit upright; again, the tug of his cock inside feels almost painfully good, and your clit brushes over his public hair, the tickle so rousing.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, gyrating slightly to feel how good it feels to be speared onto his cock, but you have complete control over the motions.

“You like it, my love?” He knows the answer.

“You feel huge,” you answer honestly, and he groans at the compliment.

“Now try moving, my darling,” he urges. “Push up with your thighs and then sink back down,” he tutors, his hands guiding yours onto his torso as he moves to grasp your hips.

You push up and feel the drag of his cock along your walls, and it feels exhilarating. Then you sink back down, and your eyes go wide, and your lips fall open with a loud moan. It feels exquisite. Something about the angle and the way your swollen clit snags against his body as you rock down is so compelling and powerful.

“Oh my god,” you curl your fingers and scratch along his abs as you rotate your hips just a touch, “this is wondrous.”

He smiles a devastating grin, “I knew you would like it,” he preens. “Now giddyup my love, ride me,” he dares you, and something wild and fiery cracks open in your chest, a smouldering heat that burns. You want to ride his cock until you are both screaming.

Pushing up and sinking, you establish a steady rhythm that works for you, encouraged by his little noises and grip on your hips. He feels divine sliding in and out of you, just the ache you want to feel. Like last night, but somehow better, somehow familiar now. You experiment with pace, enjoying a lingering slow downstroke and a quicker snap-up.

“You are enjoying this, aren't you?” he murmurs, impressed.

“Yessss,” you chant, head thrown back and eyes closed now. His body feels searing between your thighs, under your fingertips and deep inside you.

You lean back a little and move your hands to his thighs, grasping the strong muscle there and open your eyes to look down at him, his mouth slack, his eyes laser focussed on you, on your face and darting down to your breasts as they jiggle with every drop. You lean further back and emit a huge groan as somehow you have found a spot that feels so good; little sparks go off in your head like fireworks. You start to move harder, faster, greedy, so greedy, for more.

“So… fucking… good,” you rasp a word with each downstroke as his fingers band tighter over your hipbones, your knees chafing the bedding, dropping without thought for anything but the feeling coiling tighter and tighter in your gut.

You grab one of his hands and press it to your breast, leaning forward into his hold and changing the angle of your hips, making circular motions, shuddering as he seems to nudge every spot inside as you grind down, selfishly stalking your pleasure. 

“My wanton little wife, look at you,” his voice velvety, clever fingers tweaking your nipples as you groan loudly. 

His body flexes delightfully under you as he reaches behind for the pot of jam, dipping his fingers in and reaching to paint a swirl over your breasts. Without breaking your rhythm, you place a firm hand on his chest and halt his hand. He frowns until you seize his jam-covered fingers and instead bring them to your mouth, lasciviously licking them clean as you rise and fall, lathing the warm, sweet, sticky pads of his fingers over your tongue in time with your movements. The noise he makes is inhuman, and you feel a surge of power through your body as he pushes up into you, desperate for more. You just smirk at him and press him harder into the mattress, allowing his hand to drop away from your mouth.

The power of this position, to have him so vulnerable under you, is a potent toxin, your thighs burning from the exertion, your blood simmering as you spider a hand up the now-damp centre line of his breastbone and grasp his chin between your thumb and fingers.

“Are you enjoying this, husband?” you tease breathily.

His response is a nod and low growl; you love how riled up he is. Shuffling your knees wider, you lean over him, the warmth of his belly rubbing yours as you keep fucking onto his cock, slower now, your lips ghosting over his, still holding his chin tight.

“Tell me in detail, darling,” with a triumphant arched eyebrow; you echo the words he used the first night he stole into your room. 

Awe and surprise are written across his features, pupils blown wide, mouth opening a fraction. 

“I am a good teacher,” he gusts out, and you just twist your mouth into a smirk, awaiting his answer. He licks his lips, and you feel the hot breath from it, his hands sliding over your bottom. “I want you to fuck me hard, wife,” he begins. “Ride me until your body is shaking and screaming. Make yourself come on my cock, milk me, darling,” that silken tone makes a shiver race down your spine and your cunt clench around him.

He grunts at your vice-like pulse, and the need to follow his advice vibrates your very being. You kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as your tongues dance, your hand curling his jaw as you kiss over and over, still rocking gently on him, unable to stop. Sitting up again, grasping his hands in yours, lacing your fingers, you rise and fall in a new quick pattern, starting to pant and fuck yourself roughly. He moans through gritted teeth at your new onslaught.

One of his hands guides yours down your body to the apex of your thighs, where you are roughly fucking onto him. Without words, you know what he is suggesting, and when your joined fingers slide against your clit, you feel hurtling straight towards oblivion, wound so tight. 

A strong pulse runs up your spine, causing you to buck hard over him. He surges up strongly into you, meeting you on your downward thrust, fucking himself so deep it feels like a new ache tugging a line inside, something making you mindless, crushing your fingers between your bodies as they furiously circle your throbbing clit. 

“Don't stop,” he chants as you close your eyes and ride so fiercely the bed squeaks slightly. He groans loudly and stares up at you desperately, a bead of sweat forming on his brow that you ache to lick off. 

Then with a scream that feels like it rips your lungs, you convulse around him, slumping deep, your thighs trembling, blood rushing in your ears, vibrations coursing through your body from a tingle in your scalp to spasms in your toes.

Strong fingers sink deep into the flesh of your thighs as he calls your name and curses long and low as his fingers sink into the meat of your thighs, and as you flutter around him, you feel that same bloom inside, his warm release coating your walls.

You collapse on top of him, exertion and satisfaction making your muscles feel languid and weak. Your head rests on his collarbone as his hands release their grip and sweep gently over your back, mapping the notches of your spine as you recover with deep, ragged breaths.

“Well done, darling,” his voice sounds wrecked and scratchy, his thighs twitching under yours as little aftershocks spasm through your frame. You feel him soften inside your body but don't want to move, and he seems reluctant, too, his arms holding you down onto him in a tight embrace. “I don't want to leave your body,” he admits in a whisper, “that was too good.”

You chuckle, feeling a lightness spread through your body, a mellow fizz under your skin. “Mmmm, then don't, husband,” you buzz quietly. “Just stay inside me until we are ready to go again.”

He laughs softly into your hair, kissing your scalp. “That may be a while, my love,” he confides.

“I have all the time in the world, husband,” you smile, twisting to look at him, landing a kiss on his stubbly jaw.

“Hmm, that is very true,” he concurs, his eyes sparkling with tender mischief as he holds your gaze. “After all, this is only the morning of day one of our honeymoon. There are another nine to go; just imagine all the things we shall get up to,” he murmurs, his tone laced with sensual promise as his fingers trace up your back.

You can hardly wait.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet