Chapter Thirty-One
Ben: "Yes, even when you do not have any teeth."
Griff: "And if I suffer from terrible, uncontrollable flatulence?"
Ben, with an exceedingly patient look: "You are too much a proper miss to even allow me to endure that, but regardless, I would say yes. I would love you even with that olfactory offence."
(B & G conversation on Affection presently)
"I have a confession."
Amy wiggled against him slightly, turning in his arms to pin him with a curious look. "Another one?" she asked, then nestled herself against his shoulder once more.
Oliver buried his nose and lips into her soft tresses, nuzzling softly against the sensitive skin behind her ear. She was, of course, referring to the countless confessions of love he had murmured during their bout of lovemaking not moments before.
"Mmm, though you may not relish this one," he admitted.
In his arms, Amy made a sound of dismissal before turning the page of the heavy book he was propping up so that they both could read, comfortably nestled together like spoons. Well, she was reading. She couldn't be sure how much he was able to discern even with the spectacles he now wore almost all of the time, thank goodness. "Uh oh."
"Truly, I am aggrieved."
She huffed a sigh and reluctantly pried her gaze away from the literature positioned in his long-fingered, marvellously adept and passion-wringing hands to pin him an irked look over her shoulder. He wore a rather uneasy grimace on his visage and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. His 'confession' was no doubt wrought from something playfully devious he had committed, which was no small surprise considering he was still Oliver even though he was now betrothed to her. Indeed, she couldn't refute that she adored everything about him and that would surely include his wayward boyishness, his affinity to anything ridiculous in the form of societal misconduct. "Shall I prepare to demand you vacate my bed?" she bemoaned in a teasing falsetto, "or toss you from the window?"
"You tease me yet I am doing my best to be an upstanding citizen," he chastised, dipping his lips to the side of her neck and nipping her lightly. He dropped his arm to the pillow beside their heads, momentarily allowing the book to close while they conversed.
"I do not desire you to be anything but yourself, and we both know that an upstanding citizen would never befit you, Benny."
The use of the bothersome nickname earned her a slightly harder nip and she gasped, not from pain but from the pleasure that rippled through her anew.
"Very well," she said, a bit breathlessly, "what is it that you have done?"
His lips were moving along the contour of her shoulder before one hand abandoned the book entirely to sweep up her waist, his large fingers settling over her breast. Heaven help her, she could hardly concentrate with him playing her body like a willing and primed instrument. "Have you decided when you wish for us to be married?" his voice purred into her ear, his warm breath stirring the curls of hair against the skin of her cheek and temples.
He wished to discuss their marriage now? While he was intent on tweaking her nipple, sending shockwaves careening through her wanton body as if he hadn't wrought a soul-shattering release from her but moments before? Lord, she may need to banish him to Gravewood up till their nuptials if this continued for she could not seem to satiate her need of him and his body and his wickedly lascivious mouth, fingers... everything.
"Snow would be lovely, do you not think?" she murmured, arching into him and wondering at how ardently he responded to her as his already hard cock ground into the flesh of one of her oft buttock. "Perhaps January- Oh, Ben!"
His dark chuckle brushed against every crevice of her ear and neck as his cock slid between her thighs, pressing against her tantalisingly. She was heady and wet yet from their previous session since he had clambered through her window, as per usual, the very night after he had proposed, and truly it felt as if they were unable to prevent themselves from touching the other. By dropping her robe the night before and crossing this very specific line that distinguished friend from lover, Amy had unwittingly opened a veritable untapped well of need and desire.
Thankfully, the weather had been pitiful enough to ensure a poor turnout at the festival earlier, and merriment was short-lived, resulting in people retiring earlier than normal or mostly seeking solace at the Lucky Apple. Throughout the duration Amy had lingered in the village square, Oliver had been plastered to her side, and when he thought no one was looking he slanted kisses over her mouth, drifted lazy fingers along her lower back... even once pushing her backwards and up against the cart that contained the tonics, stepping between her thighs, cupping her face and thrusting his tongue into her mouth with wild abandon.
"You could be with child well before then, my love," he pointed out.
"Ben, I cannot-" she made a sound of frustration and then twined her fingers with the ones toying with her nipple, holding them still against her. Amy half turned her body against him so that she could enforce a stern look to shadow her eyes, but the expression on his face... she loved him. He was so amused, so boyishly smug with a smile curling his wide lips, his verdant green eyes half-mast and homed in on her with an intensity that left her breathless... and the spectacles. Perhaps she ought to remove them, to make him less appealing and less destructive to her sensibilities. "A child," she murmured.
"That is how these things go... though that is not my confession, though I must confess, I am hoping it would hasten your decision slightly. But you must know, I would accept anything you decree, my queen."
"You need an heir, Ben," she murmured, tracking the movement of his fingers. His thumb and forefinger were rolling her tautened pebble of a nipple teasingly, slowly, with mesmerizing motions that were hard to keep track of. Her breast seemed to sensitize the area to his touch, a heaviness settling against the weight of his palm against her flesh.
"My father needs an heir, and he has me. I need you."
"Then where does your concern lie? If I am carrying your child-"
"Our child," he corrected thrusting into her thighs for emphasis, latching onto her throat so that she arched back against him. Dear Lord, she only need lift her leg-
"You assume an old maid-"
"Tsk." He swept his hand down, over the swell of over belly, then curled his fingers into her thighs the same time he tilted his chin further into her shoulder, angling his head for a better view.
A groan so visceral, so utterly needy, reverberated from his chest against the arch of her spine, the sound served to coiled her tight, almost unhinging her entirely at his own clear desire. "Ben," it was a pitiful sound, a desperate sound that he knew well enough by now. She needed him again; she needed him to fill her, which he was teasing at... circling the head of his cock along her entrance and then swiping deep, but up, pressing and parting her folds, wet and hot and exquisite.
"God help me," he growled, his hand sweeping up to grip her hip, clamping it tight to still the undulating movements she was unconsciously inflicting on them both, so that she was pressed frozen against him. "Give me your attention."
"Give me your cock."
He seethed in a breath, grinding against her once for emphasis so that his cock slid so very invitingly between her folds, but he lingered only lightly, teasing and playful and not at all fulfilling, and she knew that she would have to acquiesce to attain it. "I have a wager, Griff," he admitted through gritted teeth.
She paused her relentless squirming. A long, composing breath escaped her and she pressed every part of her body against him, though she was incredibly intrigued how the tip of his rigid member pressed against the entrance to the body, teasing the edges back and forth. "What is it?"
"Our marriage date."
She hummed at that, her thighs clamping together. He groaned softly, his fingers digging into her flesh where she clenched, and then slipped deeper into the seam of her legs. "We have a date?"
"No."
"Interesting." She was lying. The only thing she found interesting was what his fingers were doing to the sensitive node at the apex of her channel, straddling and stroking to no end. Delirious. Her head tilted back, her hair heavy and cumbersome against her temple. Oliver dropped his lips there at the same time his finger stroked deeply against her.
Oliver made a gruff sound and he stilled his fingers, compelling Amy to let out a completely desperate sound of loss, gyrating her hips against him regardless. "I have a wager, my love. With Southill and Blackwood. Southill believes we are to be married in October. Blackwood- December."
Amy hesitated. "And what did you wager, my lord."
She felt his smile against her skin. She felt his teeth. His essence, every part of him, was ingrained to her now. She loved it. "November."
Oh, Oliver. "When did you make this wager?"
"London. The night of the ball."
Every part of him was still, awaiting her reaction. Amy swelled. She wondered how she had become so damn lucky- that he loved her, that he appreciated her steadfastness to her dreams and desires without attempting to encroach on her endeavours. That he had intended to make her his bride before she had even contemplated the possibility of such thing- sweet, romantic, impossible Oliver.
She lifted her thigh and braced it, thrusting backwards so that she rested against his hip. "How much?" she asked, shifting her hips back and up against him.
Oliver took over, his fingers curling under her thigh and holding her high. His cock teased her slit, sliding against her wetness back and forth, moving their hips with aching sensuality. "Two hundred pounds lost," he breathed, "if we were to marry in October or December."
Amy spread her thighs wider, pressing her hips against him, seeking more. "Then we best get married November first."
Oliver made a low, serrated sound of praise, then he thrust his hips up and penetrated her entrance with such exquisiteness her eyes watered. She reached back, gripping him to her and ground her nails into his skin. She felt him deeply and he positioned her skilfully, rolling into her with a fluidity that ensured she was aware of all the new places he touched, so wonderfully sensitized to the feel of him that she stuttered with a strangled breath.
"How did I become so fortunate?" he murmured into her ear, his fingers caressing the length of her throat as she arched against him and he thrust into her. "Do you know how good you feel? I can feel everything-" His sensuous words made her clench spasmodically around him, causing them both to groan. He thrust harder, her body jerking with the movement, and then Oliver moved out of her suddenly.
She uttered a wordless sound of protest, but he was already positioning her, grasping her hips while he kneeled behind her and forcing her trembling limbs to support her body.
Her hands and knees sunk into the mattress of her bed and he covered her with his body, kissing her shoulders, nuzzling her neck and spine. Large fingers spread her thighs and she felt him nudging her entrance, testing and teasing. He was so hot against her, almost smothering, while the temperature from outside was chilling the air in her small chambers. Amy shuddered, leaning back against him encouragingly. "You are perfect, Griff," he whispered, sliding into her slick passage once more, embedding himself as deep as possible. "I want to spend the rest of my life worshipping you, just like this-" she felt him twitch within her, wringing a gasp from her lips. "-and so, so much more." He withdrew slowly and when he entered her again, his hands covered hers, entwining their fingers together while his chest curled into her- a protective cocoon.
Everything about him consumed her in that moment and she became overwhelmed- overwhelmed with how deliriously wonderful it felt to have him buried deep inside her, how thoughtful and enigmatic a man he was and that he belonged to her- unassuming, with little claim to knowledge, wealth or lineage her, yet he loved her. And she loved him, though she had not spouted anything of the type yet and the knowledge that she was withholding from him almost undid her entirely. She had been waiting, she realised, for the perfect moment to profess her devotion to him, more tentative with her words and confessions than Oliver was with his, but Amy realised there would never be a more perfect moment than this one.
His hips rolled into hers, nudging her thighs wider and gliding into her deeper with each sure thrust. "Ben," she breathed, and when he ground into her harder her arms trembled and collapsed, unable to maintain her weight. Her cheek pressed against the linen and he followed her gently, nuzzling her skin even as he maintained the devastating rhythm he had created. "I love you!"
His movements lost slight momentum but he recovered soon enough, the sounds of their bodies meeting loud and evenly repetitive once more. Then his lips curled against her shoulder. "I know."
An indignant, half-amused gasp escaped her and she shifted, intending to let him know what she thought of his audacity. Before she could, he reached a hand between her legs, stroking her fervently even while he pushed into her more vigorously, his movements becoming tense and urgent. It was that added caress, the combination almost too much for her thoroughly tormented sensibilities to withstand, and then her climax exploded through her.
Her body clenched and convulsed around him, stifling her moans against the fabric of her bed. He continued to nudge her with his fingers, prolonging her release until her thighs were shuddering and her body jerked in response to being over-sensitive, and she was forced to beg him to stop. But it wasn't long before his fingers bit into the flesh of her hips, crushing her back against him until he was spending his own warm release deep within her body.
She gripped him tightly throughout, revelling the agonizingly reverent sounds he made and the intimacy of him finding his own end within her sent pleasurable coils trickling through her. The knowledge that it was her who could make him come undone, could come apart until his thrusts were uncontrolled and wild entirely, filled her with primitive feminine pride.
Oliver collapsed over her, panting and slick with sweat, and his arm trembled with the exertion to keep his weight off her entirely. She found it comforting and doubted she'd find him unpleasant to withstand. After several moments, he extracted himself carefully and rolled to his side, rolling her into position against him and wrapping her in his arms.
Other than the sounds of their loud breathing, the rain that pelted her window outside was the only other noise to meet her ears. A soft glow from a candle provided light that they had been reading by, though the shadows and gloom of the night clung to the corners of her chambers. It would have felt lonely and encroaching any other evening, but with Oliver's arms around her, Amy found it to be the cosiest evening imaginable.
"One month," he sighed. There was amused contentment in his voice and she wondered at it.
A languidness settled over her limbs in the aftermath of their lovemaking, their second time that evening, and she smothered a smile at it. She couldn't imagine more, though the notion was appealing and she wondered if he would find the challenge as appealing as she did.
Probably. He was her Ben, after all.
"One month," she agreed.
"If you desire a lengthier betrothal, you need only say."
"Mmm." She snuggled against him, running her fingertips in slow, leisurely motions down the swell of his upper arm that draped over her waist. "And if I desire to wait until next summer?"
Spasmodically, he tightened his hold on her. "I've told you before I would wait more years yet, however many you desire. I'd wait another lifetime just to have you."
The poignancy of his words touched her. She turned in his arms until she faced him and plastered small, lingering kisses against his lips. "November is perfect. You are perfect. I am yours, I always have been, no matter how many months or years we need wait."
"Will you still love me when I am old and can no longer see, walking into walls and falling down steps?"
Amy leaned back and tentatively stroked the side of his face, tracing the thin wire arm of the spectacle that lay against his temple. "I'll be your guide," she promised fiercely. "I will even read your tedious clauses and legal documents when you need me to."
"So magnanimous," he teased, turning his head and pressing his lips against her palm.
"Indeed. I have one condition about our November wedding, considering my agreement has ensured your notable winnings of the wager."
"Anything," Oliver murmured, pressing lingeringly kisses to her wrist and edging his way down her forearm.
"Henevieve is to be bridesmaid."
An imperceptible moment of shock passed over him before he had pinned her onto her back, his hands finding every ticklish crevice that he knew so well.
Her peals of laughter were smothered with his lips and soon died down altogether as he settled over her. And when he pulled away, his forehead tilted against hers as his lips curled into that infinitely boyish smile that never failed to hitch her breath, Amy knew that as long as she had his friendship and his love, her life would be insurmountably complete.