Chapter Twenty-Four
Griff: "Dare you to poke it with a stick."
Ben, considering the hornet's nest for a moment: "All right."
(B & G conversation on wisdom 11 years prior)
Heather Griffiths harrumphed wordlessly, a sound that conveyed much vexation, before folding her arms across her bosom and considering the two adults sitting on the kitchen bench before her like guilty children.
"Nothing really changes with the two of you, does it?" she said, her words flavoured with disapproval.
Oliver could hardly suppress his amusement. Even if his skin was burning and itching with thousands of red welts from a nasty plant, he was hard-pressed not to grin especially with Amy beside him looking so damn contrite and mussed. She squirmed uncomfortably, also covered in the damning red welts from the venomous plant they had tumbled into, though her composure was far less subtle than his own.
"This is exactly like that time the two of you had the brilliant idea to disturb that hornet's nest," Heather said scoldingly, "and now look. You'll be sporting these welts for days to come, no matter what salve I provide you to relieve the discomfort." She looked pointedly at Amy then. "And it is quite clear what the two of you were doing."
She blushed furiously and squirmed some more, her hands clasped together tightly against her thighs. Rumpled, her dark curls tousled irreparably, lips swollen from his kisses, and most damning of all, the bodice of her gown hung loosely from her shoulders, creased and slightly open against her breasts. She looked rather delicious.
"Mother," Amy whined softly. "This is rather embarrassing."
"Indeed!" Heather scoffed. "Would you care to explain how you came about those rashes then? And you better think of something plausible other than what is obvious before my very eyes."
Oliver recalled the events of their morning, the memory pleasant and notched up to one of his best yet with Amy, even if they had the unfortunate luck of rolling into some sort of prickly, vicious foliage in the woodlands that had not reacted too kindly when it made contact with their skin.
He had come across Amy that morning reading Paradise Lost to the chickens outside the coop at the back of the cottage (according to Amy, a read aloud 'calmed' the hens) and promptly been accosted by Henevieve. After a brief tussle, Oliver coaxed her away on the premises to meet with his guests at Gravewood, but instead of escorting her directly to his estate, he led her into the surrounding woodlands at the back of her property, towards the stream where they would often skip flat stones in their youth.
It hadn't taken Amy long to realise they were alone and he had contrived it so. Something marvellously devilish and mischievous had come over her, and he was hardly one to compel her otherwise.
She had drawn to a halt suddenly, laughing as she leaned back against the trunk of a large oak. Her eyes were glinting and beckoning, her lightly freckled cheeks high with colour, and she folded her arms behind her back while she considered him. In that moment, she had quite possibly taken his breath away. It was wonderfully liberating cavorting and flirting with her, and Amy appeared to indulge in it as much as he.
She wore a fetching white frock with a forest green pelisse, teal ribbons cinching her waist and coiffuring her hair. And as he stepped into her, her hands slipped against his flanks, fingers trailing over the golden brocade of his waistcoat and slipping under his coat. Her touch, now more than ever before, made his skin flex and shiver with sensation and he marvelled over the changes.
"You have a look about you this morning, Griff," he remarked smoothly as he braced his hands on either side of her head, the bark of the tree coarse and abrasive against his palms. "A look of no good."
The corners of her lips curled. "Me? Never."
He dipped his head slightly, bringing their foreheads together. They were splendidly alone, save for the few errant birds singing in the branches above their head and the sound of the stream trickling nearby, and with the events soon to transpire over the next few days he knew these moments would be few and far between. Oliver knew he was patient, especially when it came to her, but if she was about to initiate something lascivious, he would never deny it. And he was enjoying this side of her, carefree and flirtatious, as much as he adored everything else about her.
"Indeed, no," Oliver agreed on a soft murmur. "Having trouble abiding by your contractual stipulations, Griff?"
Her eyes flashed and she gnawed on her bottom lip, while her fingers shifted over his sides, dipping into the small of his back. "You certainly do not make it easy," she admitted slyly. "Are you?"
"I am finding it remarkably pleasant to court you."
Her lashes lowered and her gaze dipped between their bodies, drawn to his erection ridged eloquently against the fabric of his trousers. A little excited breath left her and he felt it against his lips, encouraging him to brush them lightly against hers.
"Clearly," Amy said slyly, raising her eyes once more to his. Her smile was sultry, causing his heart to stir, and then she moved one hand and pressed it boldly against him.
He groaned, unable to prevent the way his hips rocked into her brazen caress. "You are determined to end me," he muttered, catching her lips again. This time he kissed her roughly, letting her know just how wildly he desired her, pushing her wide and capturing her tongue with his. Her response was enthusiastic, a soft moan meeting his ears, and his cock grew harder against her insistent caress.
Lord, he wanted her. He burned for her, and Oliver could not conceive of ever wanting a woman with as much ardency before. The sounds she made, the responses of her body to his touch, the taste of her, drove him mad, enchanted him.
Suddenly, her fingers were busied with the buttons of his trousers, working through the placards of the front flap before the line down the front. His stomach clenched with need and he caught her hand, tearing his mouth away from hers. "Griff," Oliver rasped, "my control is a brittle thing as is. Perhaps that is not a wise idea."
She glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed but her eyes were wide and inquisitive. "Do you not desire my touch?" she asked him and he briefly admired her boldness, kissing the tip of her nose with a low chuckle.
"I desire it very much. However, if I am to remain a sane man for the next nineteen days, you may wish to refrain."
Understanding and amusement dawned on her countenance, followed by the swift return of that sultry confidence. Desire flashed in her eyes before she wriggled her hand from his and slid her fingers down the front of his trousers, curling them around the base of his shaft with testing gentleness. He seethed in a breath, the muscles in his abdomen flexing in response.
"Do you trust me, Ben?" she asked seductively as she carefully extracted him from his confines.
"With everything that I am." He glanced down and the sight of her fingers wrapped around his turgid cock made his breath stutter from his lips and he dropped his forehead to hers, his arms straining where they supported his weight against the trunk of the oak tree on either side of her head.
She relaxed her grip, her fingers teasingly and ever so softly exploring his length by trailing her fingertips up and down his length. "You have shown me your appreciation time and time again over the past few days," she told him firmly, "allow me the same honour."
Christ, it would surely kill him. "I can deny you nothing."
Her forefinger toyed lightly with the head, her gaze dipping with a mysterious smile against her lips, and then she found a vein to trace back down to the base of him. When she clasped her fingers around him once more, her grip was firmer, tighter, and extracted a soft sound from his throat that promptly turned into an agonised groan when she dropped to her knees in the foliage as the base of her tree. Her skirts pooled around her as she stared up at him, achingly lovely and sweet, her innocence a curious juxtaposition against the devilish intent of her actions.
"Griff, you do not have to do this," he told her raggedly, dropping one of his hands to tenderly stroke her cheek.
"Do you not think I desire you as you desire me?" she teased, then pointedly dropped a kiss to his tip.
"Jesus."
"I know everything about you, Ben," she said, her grin displaying her intrigue at the reaction she had enticed from him, "except this. This... thing between us is new, for me at least. I think I should know what you taste like, what touches make you crave more, or what drives you to the edge."
"You only need to look at me in a certain way and I am already there," he grumbled, but his thoughts were scattering with every delicate squeeze of her fingers. She stroked him languidly, mimicking what he had shown her in the carriage all those days ago, her eyes tracking the movement of her fingers along him. Her grasp was tentative, not as tight or as firm as he would have applied, but the experience was her own discovery, to learn about his body and sate her curiosity, and he'd endure it even if his sanity left him completely by the end of her experiment.
Her pressure increased when she found the head of his cock, curiously spreading the moisture that gathered against his tip in response to his rampaging arousal at her caresses. "Is this... good?" Amy asked, raising her eyes to him once more. Oliver's voice was a hard knot lodged in his throat, so he nodded brusquely instead, his hair flopping over his brow with the jerky motion.
Satisfied, Amy lowered her gaze once more, studying the movement of her hand as she retreated to the base again. When she leaned forward and lapped her tongue, licking him from tip to bottom with torturous slowness, his breath hitched and his hips jerked in response.
Oliver was not sure of his capability to withhold his release for long, having spent the last few days expending his efforts on her and her alone while denying himself. It had wrought him insensibly starved for it, and if she put her mouth on him-
"Oh, God, Griff-"
A groan ripped from his chest when her lips wrapped around him, her mouth so warm and wet, the soft pressure of her tongue as she drew him deeper- too good, it was almost too much.
He clenched his eyes shut, concentrating on his tenuous grasp of control, sure that he was seconds away from expelling his release against her tongue and unsure how she would process that sordid act. She was drawing him in as deeply as she was able, until he would not fit anymore and met with the resistance of the back of her throat, her fingers curled around the length of him that remained. Amy made a short humming sound that conveyed her own desire, her own appreciation and enjoyment of what she was inflicting, and it compelled him to open his eyes again.
Instantly, Oliver knew it was a mistake.
He did not think he would ever forget the sight of her on her knees before him while her mouth wrapped wide against his cock, her eyes so thickly lashed and the colour of cinnamon, shining with desirously wicked intent.
His body drew tight and his climax began to throb with insistence- he was close to losing it before she had even begun. Entwining his fingers in the silken hair at the nape of her neck, he hoped to stall her movements, but Amy had other ideas entirely.
The same achingly slow way she had pulled him into her mouth, so she applied the same diligence when moving him out, the textures of her lips and tongue so pronounced an agonized, close-lipped moan reverberated from through his throat. The edges of her teeth lightly nicked the ridged tip of his cock, though hardly unpleasant, and then she was pulling him into her again.
His hips rolled, the action quickening her intended motion, and she gasped with surprise around him. It was too much when she began to tentatively suck and lick him curiously at his response, and everything in his lower abdomen pulled taut, straining and desperate, and Oliver began to extract from her mouth.
"Griff, I can't-"
She flared with understanding and gripped him tighter, resisting as she pulled him deeper against her tongue. Oliver swore and flexed his fingers against her hair, holding her still as his hips pumped inside her warm, silken mouth, the sensations so exquisitely erotic that he was coming so quickly and so vehemently into her, and she held him tight, unwilling to allow him to pull away from her as she took all of him, spilling nothing he gave her.
It was one of the most sensual moments of his life.
His release was torrential, his entire body wracked and trembling with the force of it, a low, ragged groan echoing around them while his hand pressed against the bark of the tree, the wood biting into his skin. It took long moments for it to subside, for his thoughts to stop marvelling at the exquisiteness of his climax, the marvellousness of her as she gently released him.
He was panting, Oliver realised, and Amy sat back on her heels and grinned up at him indulgently, as if she had simply won some sort of challenge between them, a challenge he hadn't even been aware of in the first place.
"What an interesting way to express my appreciation for the evening before," she mused, satisfied. "I rather think you enjoyed that, Ben."
He almost blurted out right then and there his love for her, but Oliver forced the words to rescind and dropped to his knees before her and wrapped her in his arms. When he pressed his lips to hers, he murmured, "Allow me to express my appreciation then," before lowering her to the ground.
He was kissing her lavishly, lost in the feel and sensuousness of her, and his hand strayed to her breasts and exacted torturous caresses to her nipples when he dipped inside her bodice, her back arching against him delightfully, and it was then that he began to feel the burning sensation against the side of his neck.
When he swiped at it absently, his hand brushed at an abrasive leaf, and then he became aware of more places on his body that began to burn and itch and sting. At the same time, Amy had stilled beneath him, her squirming that had been spurred on from her reaction to her desire now turned to irritation and discomfort.
"Ben," she mumbled against his lips and Oliver lifted slightly, frowning.
"Shit."
And that was how they found themselves bursting into Amy's cottage in hopes of finding a salve to sooth the relentless torment taking place upon their skin, only to come across Heather who took one look at Amy's dishevelled bodice and Oliver's untucked shirt and loose waistcoat, before depositing them both on the kitchen bench and lambasted them like the wayward adolescents they had once been.
Presently, Amy shifted an irked glance at him out the corner of her eyes. "We, uh, fell, mother," she told Heather, her fingers twisting together. Guilt was etched vividly on her countenance. He wanted to tug her against his side and laugh into her hair, but he rather feared that would make the situation worse and Heather would demand they marry out of decency and propriety alone, and that was one thing Oliver was hoping to avoid- he hardly needed for Amy to believe that he was wed to her under duress, though after the events of the afternoon that may not be something he feared at all.
A satisfied smile curled his lips and Amy caught it, narrowing her eyes in warning. "A bit of an innocent tussle, Mrs Griffiths," Oliver said smoothly, sobering. Oh, he could be charming when he wanted to be and it was easy enough with Amy's mother considering the older woman adored him. "Griff stole my sandwich and ran off during our hike. I managed to wrestle it back from her, naturally, however we did not realise we had tumbled into some sort of vindictive plight of nature in the process."
Heather rubbed the bridge of her nose, snorting her disbelief. "Really, Amy, you are fortunate nobody saw you."
Amy cast him a scathing look, the effect ruined when she squirmed and shifted against her irritated skin. "Yes, mother."
"Seems as if you have rolled into some sort of stinging nettle," Heather explained, her voice tight as she studied some of the welts forming on her daughter's face. "There is a salve to relieve some of the discomfort, though I do not imagine the marks will disappear in time for the festival, and then you will have some explaining to do."
Oliver considered her and had to bite back another smile. If they were both sporting identical rashes from the same plant, some very lewd insinuations would be drawn, especially once Jason and Nathaniel saw them.
"I shall find the salve for you," Heather continued, shuffling off to the other side of the kitchen, "be warned, though- it is quite pungent." The last was uttered with a note of amusement as she disappeared momentarily.
"Whoever shall put the salve on my back?" Oliver teased, nudging Amy meaningfully. "It is quite dreadful over there. I suppose I shall have to remove my shirt."
"Wretched man," she groused, idly scratching up and down her arms. "She thinks the worst of me and of course you come across as a veritable angel, as usual."
"Of course, why wouldn't your mother love me? I am a delight." He reached for her hands, clasping them between his to halt her agitated movements and to prevent her from worsening her rash. "Would you like me to put the salve on your back?"
At his devilish expression, she rolled her eyes and chuckled, leaning her head against his shoulder so that he could wrap his arm about hers. "You'll ruin us both yet, Ben."
"In the best of ways, I assure you."