Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

Oliver nipped her gently. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? The devil himself was between her thighs and determined to wreak havoc, it seemed.

"Why did you not tell me you were courting Oliver Hollingsworth?" Clarabelle demanded, plunking her hands on her hips and giving Amy a condemning look.

"Clarabelle, perhaps we could talk-" Amy stifled a whimper as he moved his finger, slowly withdrawing from her. "-later," she managed to finish, her stomach clenching while she pinned a stiff smile to her lips.

"To think," Clarabelle went on, "I have only just heard the news from your mother. And you have been courting him for days!"

He pushed into her again, this time with another finger joining the first. "Oh, dear God."

"And here I thought we were close friends," Clarabelle continued with petulance, though her tone was slightly more playful now.

Oliver helped evoke the next response from Amy with the use of his insistent tongue. "Yes!" She blushed furiously. "We are friends."

"I must say," Clarabelle said warmly, lowering her arms, "though you were quick to reassure us all countless times of your lack of interest for Oliver-" that earned her an utterly wicked movement of his fingers deep within her- "-we all had our suspicions of just when the two of you would realise your feelings for the other."

"Mmf."

Her eyes dropped to the countertop, catching on the rose that Oliver had deposited moments earlier. "Oh, is that from him? How romantic! I have not seen Lord Hollingsworth today yet."

The man was determined to see her unravel before one of her friends and her abdomen convulsed while his tongue worked over the part of her that began to throb insurgently... slowly, diligently, endlessly. "You wouldn't have," Amy gritted out, her face pained. "He is, uh, preoccupied with other pursuits today. Um."

Clarabelle's eyes narrowed as she swivelled her face to gaze speculatively at Amy's mien. "I say, are you well? You look rather... pinched."

A rather high-pitched sound of agreement and pleasure swept past her lips and she could only manage a jerky bob of her head. Whatever twisting, insistent pressure Oliver was making with his fingers embedded deeply within her was ensuring that vocalising coherent speech impossible.

"Hmm." Clarabelle was thoughtful for a long moment; Oliver was incorrigible. "Oh, I do believe Mr Huntley and Miss Smithies are in the square. I should think they would love to have a word with you, I shall call them in briefly and return!"

Oh, God. Before Amy could voice a protest, Clarabelle had spun to exit the store as dramatically as she entered, and the moment to door slammed closed-

"Ben-" The sound stuck in her throat as he pushed into her deeper, grazing his teeth ardently against the top of her sex until he laved her with quickened motions of his tongue.

Perhaps it was the urgency and anticipation of someone stumbling unto them together in such intimate act of pleasure, perhaps it was that she was equally as wicked as him and the thought of their illicit actions was equally as arousing as his caresses themselves, perhaps it was simply that it was Oliver who was bestowing them and that she knew and trusted him more than any other person before, but her climax erupted quickly and devastatingly through her body.

Leaving her a quivering, quaking mess.

Oliver, clearly more composed than she, gently lowered her quivering thigh from his shoulder, and stood, attentively straightening her skirts. Amy could only lean her elbows on the counter and place her heated face in her hands. "Hmm," he began thoughtfully, "it seems as if you could use some help with your love potion bottles."