Chapter 28 #2
‘So keen to bed your wife, my Lord,’ he said. ‘Or do you intend to spend into her hand?’
Ash leaned backwards. His eyes were dark, pupils wide, lips parted. He turned his gaze upon Agnes: a question.
‘Kiss her, you dolt.’
At Olly’s words, they both froze. Then Ash did as he was told, capturing her mouth beneath his own.
She still had her hand on his prick as he hummed into her mouth, wetting her lips with his tongue.
She squeezed him a little harder. He groaned again, grabbing at her sides, hands bunching in her dress.
That damned dress. Not only was it wrong on her body, now it was in her way as well. She released Ash’s cock then reached to tug it away.
‘Olly,’ she said, reaching behind her back, ‘the ties—’
‘With pleasure.’
He undid the ties down her back with swiftness – unsurprising, really, considering how adeptly he could undress Ash – then pulled the overdress up and over her head, tossing it aside.
Beside her, Ash was also hastily undressing, pulling off his tunic and undershirt, followed swiftly by his hose, till he kneeled beside her on the bed in only his braies.
She could see him through the fabric, hard and eager.
She wanted him. She heaved herself onto his lap.
He bundled his hands in her underdress and pulled.
Cool air kissed her skin. Ash’s hands went to her hips, Olly’s upon her back, coming around, cupping—
She froze, head spinning, body suddenly fraught and uncooperative. Both men noticed.
‘Agnes?’
‘What is—’
She covered her breasts with her hands, wrapping her arms around her chest, forcing herself flat. She had been fine, she had been happy, and then suddenly the old, familiar, treacherous feeling had struck her like a thunderbolt.
‘My apologies,’ she stuttered, ‘I just … all of a sudden, I feel quite—’
Ash pushed himself up on his elbows.
‘The same as before?’ he asked, not needing to say anything else.
Agnes nodded wordlessly.
‘One moment—’
The bed moved behind her. Olly was up, grabbing for their pile of discarded clothes.
‘Ash,’ he said, holding up an undershirt. ‘How fond are you of this?’
‘I believe that is yours,’ Ash said, frowning. ‘But I suppose—’
His words were drowned out by the sound of Olly tearing the undershirt in two.
‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ Ash said, sitting up so suddenly that Agnes found herself nearly toppling from his lap.
Olly grinned. ‘Helping.’
He slid back onto the bed behind Agnes. ‘Arms up,’ he said.
Every fibre of Agnes’s being was urging her not to listen to him – to keep herself hidden. But he seemed to have a plan, and part of her, a little voice buried beneath the anguish, wanted to see what it was.
She lifted her arms. Olly wrapped the shredded shirt around her chest several times, positioning it just so, then tied it at the back with a deft, easy hand.
‘How—’ She ran a hand down her flattened chest then turned to face him. ‘How did you manage that so quickly?’
‘Practice.’
Now her heart was calming and the overwhelming sense of wrongness was easing, she was returning to herself, the position she was in atop Ash’s lap.
‘Better?’ he asked, his hands pressed lightly against her thighs.
She nodded. She could not speak, could not find the words, so instead kissed him again, hoping he understood.
He kissed her back, hard and desperate, tongue exploring her mouth.
The force of it pressed her against Olly’s chest, and he shifted behind her, placing himself so she was sat between his legs.
He nuzzled into the divot of her neck, his breath tickling at her skin, throwing it into gooseflesh.
He put a hand upon her flattened chest. It felt good, felt right. When she did not twitch away, he took the other, roaming down her stomach to the place between her legs. She made an eager sound against Ash’s lips, unable to bear the tension of it as Olly’s fingers slid lower.
When he touched her for the first time, she was afraid it would feel wrong – the same wrongness that had filled her when she undressed. But all she felt was pleasure, the hot rush, the intense little centre of bliss where he rubbed against her.
‘My Lord …’
He whispered in her ear as he slid a finger inside her. It was already nearly too much. She bucked, thrusting against Ash, arching against Olly, trapped between them in a wonderful vice.
She reached out, this time feeling more confident, pulling aside the loose fabric of Ash’s braies and sliding her hand inside in a single, swift movement. Ash moaned into her mouth, then quickly backed away as he removed those too.
‘Ash—’ It was all she could say. ‘Ash, I— please—’
He was upon her in a moment, his skin warm and slick. She wrapped her arms around him and clung there, holding on to him like a lifeline. His prick rubbed against her thighs.
Olly moved his hand away. Agnes gasped as he did, desperate for more. Ash pressed closer. His cock nudged at her legs, at her mound, at her cunt. She spread her legs a little more, Olly’s hands upon her knees.
Ash ducked down, kissing her hard against Olly’s chest. She moaned into his mouth.
When he entered her, it was slow and sure and deep. Agnes hissed, her breath coming in a low gasp. She pawed at his back, nails digging into his flesh. Behind her, Olly made a little noise. She felt his cock digging into her arse.
Ash breathed out her name. ‘Agnes—’
‘Yes.’
He thrust into her slowly, surely, his face buried in her neck, mouth open against her skin. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think – the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of him inside her, the heat of his skin against hers, the brush of his lips.
He settled into a rhythm – although a little unsure, a little unpractised. She moved with him, trying to match him. They were both unpractised, she realised. She let him guide her, matching his speed. He thrust deeper; she wrapped her legs around him.
Ash’s speed built, his movements becoming more urgent, his pacing faltering. Agnes gripped onto him, her nails biting into his back, her own pleasure building and coalescing. She gasped out, so close, so close.
‘Ash—’ She grabbed him harder, legs twitching. ‘Ash …’
He made a rumbling noise against her throat, shuddering into climax. He thrust into her one final time, body jerking into a sudden stillness as he spent. He breathed against her, gasping for air, slumped against her chest.
Agnes’s body was still taut with unspent tension as Ash slowly pulled out of her. She tingled all over, her body aflame, eager for more.
She had almost forgotten Olly still behind her, even as she lay almost atop him. He moved beneath her with a low sort of laugh. His cock pressed against her backside.
The feel of it urged the flame in her stomach even fiercer, the heat in her core.
She ground back upon him, his clothed prick rubbing against her arse.
He gripped her tight, his legs twitching where they bracketed her in.
He peppered her skin with little kisses, a drag of teeth, a huff of air as he laughed.
‘My Lord,’ he drawled, reaching out towards Ash. ‘Would you mind terribly if I fucked your wife?’
The sound Ash made was barely even a word. His eyes were wide, pupils blown. He looked debauched.
‘Only if she will have you.’
Olly grinned. ‘Well, Sir Angus? Would you mind?’
Agnes’s mind was sparks and lightning. Her throat and tongue were thick. ‘Not in the slightest.’
‘Wonderful.’
Olly took the lead, which suited Agnes fine. He shuffled beneath her – pulling his prick from his braies.
‘You tell me if I displease you, my Lady,’ he said. ‘My Lord.’
Agnes nodded silently. Olly reached beneath her buttocks, hoisting her up. He was strong: she had not realised quite how strong before. The thought thrilled her even more.
He shifted, positioned her, and then – with a low noise – lowered her down onto his prick. Ash was watching them, entranced. What was he thinking, watching them like this? What was going through his head, to see his wife and his lover entangled, Olly’s prick buried deep inside her?
‘Agnes …’
He put his hand on her arm. He was there, as he always was, supporting her, holding her. Olly moved into her. Agnes moaned, the sound mirrored by Ash. She leaned forwards and grabbed his shoulders, shuddering as Olly thrust into her again and again.
She felt full and hot, her pleasure building, growing within her. She needed release, needed it out, needed it like she needed air.
‘Ashel …’ Olly stuttered, his voice cracking. ‘Ashel, touch her …’
Yes. Agnes caught Ash’s eye – please. He reached between her legs, one hand still supporting her, feeling for the sensitive nub above her entrance.
When he found it, touch light, Agnes let out a little cry.
Encouraged, Ash pressed harder, letting his fingers slip wetly over her.
Agnes felt herself tightening, Olly cried out behind her.
Her climax crashed over her with such fierce pressure that her vision swam. She gasped, falling against Ash’s chest, Olly still thrusting into her. He continued to move, Agnes’s mouth hanging open, her breath punched out of her with each thrust.
She let out a long curse – a curse mirrored by Olly who, at last, spent with a final, jerking thrust.
For a long while, there was nothing but heat and silence. When at last Olly pulled from her, it was as if her whole body had turned boneless, her energy spent, her skin prickling. She slumped against Ash’s chest, Olly swift to join them.
They lay against the covers, breathing together. No one spoke. No one needed to.
It was Ash who awoke first. He rose and dressed swiftly, cursing and complaining as he went. Agnes watched him as he fettled around the room, Olly snoozing quietly beside her.
When dressed, Ash made his way to Olly’s sleeping form. He gave him the lightest touch, Olly’s eyes flickering open.
‘Is it morning?’
‘It is. I must go. I will return soon.’