Chapter 26 #3
‘I presume you still suspect he hired me, then?’ Olly said, pulling off his boots and sprawling beside her.
‘I do.’
They lapsed into silence. Ash gave her a conciliatory look, then stood from the bed and began to fiddle with the buttons of his doublet.
‘I must say …’ Agnes sat up, watching him. ‘That suits you very well.’
Ash turned to look at her. He had gone a little pink. ‘Oh?’
‘You really look the part of the desirable earl.’ Agnes turned to Olly. ‘Although I suppose I have you to thank for that?’
‘You do.’
‘How in God’s name did you convince him to dress so nicely?’
‘I made him some favourable promises,’ Olly said, with a sly smile. ‘About the things I would do to him should he look his best.’
‘Did you indeed?’
Agnes turned back to Ash. He looked even more flushed than before.
‘I did wish to make a good impression on them,’ he insisted. ‘But … I will admit, it helped knowing that Olly did not think I looked a complete fool.’
Agnes understood that feeling. It was useful to have an ally – even if was only to tell you that you did not look as dreadful as you felt.
The two men glanced at each other, and she realised that she was intruding.
She should leave – return to her own chambers and wait out the long night before being forced to deal with yet more of her family’s questions.
She did not want to. She did not want to be alone, that much was true, but more so – she didn’t want to leave Ash and Olly. She wanted to be able to stay with them, laughing and talking and drinking them in.
But she could not. They were … they were them. She was an outsider to their happiness.
‘I suppose I should leave, then,’ Agnes said, ‘so you may fulfil your promise.’
The two men shared another look: one which she was learning, now, how to read.
‘Or …’
‘If you—’
Ash and Olly had spoken over each other, as they so often did. She turned to Ash, giving him final say.
‘If you wanted to stay …’ he said, slowly, barely meeting her gaze. ‘That would be— that is—’
‘What I believe my Lord is attempting to tell you,’ Olly said, rolling over to nudge her with his foot, ‘is that while my promises to him were between us alone, I am sure we would be happy to have a witness to ensure I fulfil them.’
‘I—’ Agnes stuttered. Her first thought was to thank them, but that seemed absurdly formal in the circumstances. ‘I would be glad to be such a witness,’ she said instead, feeling her heart thud a little harder. ‘Very glad.’
‘Excellent.’ Olly was on his feet in an instant, and upon Ash in another. ‘Let us be free of this—’
‘Wait.’
Olly stilled, his fingers on the buttons of Ash’s doublet. They looked down at Agnes, perched on the edge of the bed.
She took a deep breath.
‘That is an expensive doublet.’ Her face flushed. Her fingers twitched against the bedsheet. ‘You should remove it slowly.’
Ash’s eyes went wide. Olly’s look of confusion became one of glee.
‘Of course.’
He positioned himself at Ash’s side so she could better see what he was doing, then began to undo the delicate buttons of Ash’s doublet. His dextrous musician’s fingers and lithe, clever hands made slow, delicious work of a job that could be done much faster.
He treated each individual button as if it were as rare and valuable as the finest pearl, twitching them free. Agnes could see the heavy rise and fall of Ash’s chest beneath Olly’s fingers, his eyes darting from Olly, to his hands, to her. His lips were slightly ajar.
Olly moved down Ash’s chest until he reached the final button. He undid it with a deft twist, then reached up, leisurely sliding the doublet from Ash’s arms. It fell to the floor with a muffled thud.
Ash stood in his breeches and undershirt. His neck flushed, making the stark whiteness of his scar even more apparent.
Olly turned to look at Agnes. ‘Well?’
Her heart was thundering in her chest. She was warm all over. ‘That too.’
Olly gave her a nod and a smile as he turned back to Ash. Olly seemed to be enjoying himself, as he looped a finger beneath the first tie of Ash’s undershirt – the one closest to Ash’s throat – and tugged it loose with a flourish. Ash sighed, no more than a puff of air. Agnes tensed her thighs.
Olly dragged the cord through each eyelet, brushing his fingers against Ash’s skin but restricting himself to that touch alone. It was maddening, and Agnes could only imagine how Ash himself felt.
Finally, finally, and with a theatrical embellishment, Olly tugged the cord away.
Agnes let out a long breath. Again, Olly turned to her. This time he said nothing, just raised his eyebrows questioningly. Agnes nodded.
That was all he needed. Olly grabbed the delicate fabric of Ash’s undershirt and pulled it up and over his head. Without the long fabric of the doublet or undershirt, she could see – clear as day – how hard Ash was.
‘What next?’ Olly asked, apparently enjoying the view as much as she. ‘What would you bid me do?’
She took another breath. She let her imagination rule, let her reason stand aside to ask herself: what did she want?
She caught Ash’s gaze. She held it.
‘Kiss him,’ she said steadily.
‘Where?’
‘Everywhere.’
Olly grinned. ‘My pleasure.’
He started not on Ash’s mouth, as Agnes had been expecting, but at the crook of his neck. Ash’s eyes fluttered closed as Olly placed a gentle kiss there, then another, moving around his body from neck to clavicle to the curve of his shoulder.
Next he dragged his lips down Ash’s arm, over the inside of his elbow, trailing down to Ash’s wrists. Agnes watched enraptured at the sight of Olly’s sharp, pink tongue pressing against Ash’s skin, at the way Ash’s head tilted back, eyes shut, lips open.
Olly grabbed Ash’s hand, placing his lips to the back of his knuckles, before finally pulling him into a hard, desperate kiss.
Ash made a soft little noise in the back of his throat, one that tugged at something deep in Agnes’s core, as Olly gripped him.
Even from where she sat on the bed, Agnes could see their mouths moving together, tongues dancing.
Agnes’s own mouth went dry, her body aflame. She could barely form the words for the next instruction, but Olly seemed to know what she wanted instinctively: likely because it was what he wanted, too.
He undid the ties of Ash’s hose with a flick of his wrist, grabbed both hose and braies and tugged at them, falling to his knees as he did. Ash stumbled as Olly pulled the hose from his feet and tossed them aside, staying on his knees as he stared up at Ash, now entirely naked.
From here, Agnes could not see Olly’s expression, but she could guess at it: hungry, eager.
Ash was staring at him with an expression bordering on wonder, all wide eyes and low, steady breaths.
He reached out slowly, carding a gentle hand through Olly’s hair.
Olly leaned into the touch, and once again Agnes felt as if she were intruding.
Ash’s gaze slid up to meet hers. The force of it was like a physical thing – like rope around her chest, pulling at her. His eyes were dark and hungry but soft, so soft. She swallowed heavily, her heart squeezing.
Realising that Ash’s attention had been caught, Olly ducked forwards, pressed a series of fluttering kisses to his legs, his thighs, to the crease of his torso and one – soft, lingering, closed-mouthed – to his cock. Ash gasped, and Olly was back to his feet, kissing him once more.
Ash’s fingers dug into Olly’s tunic, leaving frantic creases in the fabric as Olly twisted them around, pushing Ash backwards towards the bed. His hands continued to roam lower, gripping and grabbing hard enough to leave little red marks in his wake.
‘Wait—’
Both men paused to look at her. Olly’s fingers gripped tight into the soft pillow of Ash’s backside.
‘Ash …’
Ash turned to face her. His hard cock brushed against Olly’s clothed leg. And that was the problem: he was clothed.
‘Undress Olly.’
Olly’s eyebrows shot upwards. Agnes was suddenly concerned that she had overstepped in this dance of boundaries.
‘If he wishes you to.’
Olly’s look of shock melded smoothly into confidence again. ‘I had not realised you wished for it,’ he said. He appeared to be attempting to cover up his surprise.
Agnes could understand that. The link between them was Ash – lover and husband. It was reasonable for him to think her interest was in Ash alone.
‘I do,’ she said. ‘I want to see both of you.’
Ash and Olly glanced at each other. Another one of those wordless conversations happened. Surprise, but not disinterest. A question. An answer.
Ash turned to her, now. ‘Whatever my—’
‘Our,’ Olly said, with a wink.
‘Whatever our lady commands. To me, you scoundrel.’
Ash started, as Olly had, with his overshirt, sliding his hands down Olly’s chest, catching his fingers on the ties of his tunic.
Olly watched him hungrily, eyes low and dark.
Ash flexed his fingers, then reached up to the first tie at Olly’s throat.
He saw it off quickly – far too quickly for either Olly or Agnes’s liking.
But before Agnes could say anything Olly took Ash’s hands in his own, stilling him. He leaned forwards and kissed him, sliding his tongue boldly into Ash’s mouth. Ash looked at him breathlessly. Agnes, too, felt like her breath had been stolen.
‘Slowly, love,’ Olly muttered.
He released his hands, and this time, Ash moved with more purpose. Olly’s tunic was tied with half a dozen or so knots, and Ash reached for the next, looping the cord around his fingers. As he tugged it free, he looked up at Olly once more and caught him in a kiss.
He moved slowly, as Olly had instructed him, untying each one and letting it hang before finally pulling the tunic from Olly’s arms. Olly’s undershirt was near identical to Ash’s – clearly he had pilfered it from one of Ash’s chests. Ash turned now to Agnes, waiting.
Agnes nodded. ‘And that.’