Page 13 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

We both square our shoulders and walk in.

Oz looks up from his seat where he’s been staring at that bulging diary of his with Chewwy at his side, as normal.

He offers us his wide smile that always seems to me to have the sweetest edge to it.

It’s almost lost in the wicked sparkle of his eyes, but the soft curve of his lips gives it away every time.

I falter slightly, and Niall gives me a very knowing look.

“Alright there, Silas, or did you start drinking early tonight?”

“All the better to eat dinner,” I mutter and Oz shudders.

“Last night was bad,” he whispers.

I nod emphatically. “You can say that again.”

“Last night was bad,” he dutifully says, and I shake my head at him.

He grins and gets up. Chewwy immediately leaps to his feet like they’re connected by an invisible rope.

“Wait. Where are you going?” I ask in a far too panicked voice.

He looks at me strangely. “To tell them they can serve dinner.”

“Oh. Okay,” I falter. “Yes, that sounds good. Thank you.”

Niall snorts and I send him a death glare. “Shut up,” I mutter.

“I certainly will. Not talking will allow me to enjoy this whole thing so much more.”

“What whole thing?”

“You two. It’s like watching elephants mate. Dangerous, messy, and uncomfortable, but ever so slightly sweet.”

I shake my head, but the door opens and Milo appears holding two plates, one of which he slides in front of me. I cross myself. “Deliver me from–” I begin to say and stop dead. “What the hell is this?” I breathe.

Milo looks in a puzzled fashion at my plate. “It’s seafood pie,” he says in the manner of a person talking to someone slow, or in the manner of Oz. He then blushes profusely. “I’m so sorry, Lord Ashworth. I mean it’s seafood pie.”

I smile up at him. “Silas please, Milo. What I meant to say is this looks like–” I look towards the kitchen door. “It looks edible,” I whisper.

He looks even more confused. “If you say so, Lord… I mean S-S-Silas. I suppose so.”

I look down at the dish where the pie sits steaming fragrantly.

The fish is cooked in a creamy sauce packed with prawns shining pinkly, while the piped potatoes are topped heavily with cheese.

Then I look at Niall. “Is this some sort of alternate dimension we’ve entered?

” I hold up my hand. “No, don’t say anything.

You might yank us back to the dimension where Mrs Granger can’t cook. ”

“Oh, Mrs Granger didn’t make this,” Milo says happily.

“Who did?” I ask.

“Maggie,” comes Oz’s voice from the door. He hands Milo a plate and sits down with his own.

“Maggie, the maid?” I ask, suddenly realising that she isn’t serving dinner.

He nods and takes a bite of his food. He gives a low groan and I shift in my chair slightly while ignoring Niall’s raised eyebrow.

“Wait. Maggie can cook?”

He nods slowly.

“But what about Mrs Granger?” I stiffen. “You haven’t sacked her, have you?” I whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.

” He pauses. “Well, I would totally sack people and I did sack two of the cleaners when I found them eating biscuits in one of the beds upstairs and watching The Jeremy Kyle Show , but no one else at the moment. Anyway, that would always be up to you.” I relax back into my chair and he smiles.

“Mrs Granger is going to head up the baking in the kitchen in the visitor’s centre. ”

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “That’s fucking genius.”

He nods. “I know,” he says modestly. “She’s very happy.

She makes wonderful cakes, and homemade baked goods go down really well with the general public.

We can offer cream teas and things like that.

We should make a mint. Meanwhile, Maggie has taken over in the kitchen.

I’ve been watching her and she cooked lunch for us once when Mrs Granger had gone for a lie down.

” He shrugs. “It was an easy decision to make. Mrs Granger will stay on her money but I’ve offered Maggie some more.

” He looks at me quickly. “Was that okay?” he whispers.

“It was genius,” I say again. “Of course she should have more.”

“I was worried,” he says, darting a glance at an oblivious Milo.

“It’s fine.”

Niall snorts. “I’ll say so. I knew you were the one for the job when you mentioned guarding the aristocracy’s possessions.”

“What?” I ask, but Oz chuffs slightly.

“Nothing. Dinner’s getting cold.”

We all immediately turn back to the food. Silence falls for minutes while we eat and then gradually conversation starts up again the way it has since Oz came. He’ll mention a TV programme or a film or relate some humorous incident from the day, and everyone will spark off it.

I sneak a look at him sitting in a pool of evening sunshine.

The light enhances his dark hair and plays over his high cheekbones, making them look like they’re washed in gold.

At that moment he looks up at me and for the life of me I can’t tear my gaze away.

Our eyes hold and time seems to slow around us.

Milo breaks it by asking a question, and when Oz looks away I notice his chest rising and falling sharply.

I look out of the French windows, endeavouring to control my breathing and trying hard to think of something terrible that will make my erection go down.

I think of last night’s dinner and feel my cock wilt. Thank God for Mrs Granger’s cooking.

The next second all my thoughts fly out of my head when a man wanders past the windows. “Who the fuck is that?” I ask and everyone looks up.

Oz immediately jumps up. “Oh, that’s Josh. He was supposed to go home hours ago.”

“Who is he?” I persist, looking at the young man who’s bending over my flower beds.

“That’s the apprentice gardener,” Oz says and walks out of the doors to speak to the lad.

I turn to Niall. “ Apprentice gardener ?” I mouth.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.” He turns to Milo, who immediately blushes bright red. “Who is he?” he asks.

“That’s Josh. Oz contacted the local agricultural college last week and enquired about apprenticeships and whether they had any keen young gardeners.” He looks at me. “He said something about Sid’s bad back.”

My mouth quirks. “Clever bastard,” I say admiringly.

Milo blinks and looks up as Oz comes back through the door.

“He’s really keen,” Oz says, sitting down at the table again. “He says Sid’s taught him loads already. Apparently, he knows lots about rare types of plants.” He looks at me and winks. “Maybe he found them while he was lying on them in the orchard.”

I can’t help my grin and I shake my head. “Are there any other staff here that I don’t know anything about and don’t appear to be paying much for?”

“Well,” Milo starts to say, “there’s–”

“Nooo,” Oz interrupts somewhat unconvincingly. “Not that I can think of.”

“Well, you’d know,” I say slowly. “You know everything.”

“Do you mind?” he asks, his expression serious for the first time.

I shake my head. “No. That’s your job, after all.” I look at him. “I trust you.”

“You do?” He seems almost startled.

“Yes, you’re still here after a month and we’re not sleeping together and you haven’t thrown crockery at me yet,” I laugh.

He laughs too but the flash of heat in his eyes kindles the one in my balls.

Oz

Later on that night I close my bedroom door and collapse on the bed.

The scent of lavender fills the air in the room from the open windows, but I feel stiflingly hot.

Sitting up, I tug off my shirt and throw it across the room.

It’s followed quickly by my jeans and briefs.

Naked, I spread out on the bed, feeling the heat run under my skin like a river.

I open my legs and feel the cool air wash over my balls.

They’re tight and high and I feel one stroke away from coming already.

I sat across the table from him tonight and every time I looked up I’d feel his eyes on me, the look in them dark and hot. I’d fought a hard-on all night and now I need to let loose.

I reach over to the bedside drawer, and, rooting around, I draw out a bottle of lube and my trusty companion, Ted. I look at the flesh-coloured dildo glistening in the moonlight on the mattress and swallow hard.

I grab the lube and pour a stream into my hand.

Coating my fingers liberally, I reach down and send them flirting round the edge of my hole.

I screw my eyes up tight and moan harshly.

The touch feels incredibly good on the nerve-rich exterior.

I rub against the opening, teasing myself and hearing my breath heavy in the air.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, I tap the hole with my index finger and wriggle it gently.

I work it into the hole, screwing it gently against the tight opening.

A moan sounds in the dark room and I realise it’s me.

Panting, I add another finger, enjoying the burn and hearing the slick sound of fingers in my arse.

Before I know it, I have three fingers up there and I’m writhing on the bed.

I feel heat and electricity in the base of my balls and I know I’m close.

Taking my fingers out slowly, I gasp and reach for the dildo.

After coating it with lube, I stand up and head towards the low table by the window that I’d earmarked for this a while ago.

I attach the suction base of the dildo to it, and after checking to make sure it’s secure, I crouch over it, feeling the head against my opening.

I wiggle it into position, and then slowly lower myself down, gasping loudly as I feel it slide into me, the slight curve of the dildo hitting me just right.

Fumbling for the remote control, I turn it on and the buzzing is loud in the room.

It almost sounds like the lavender bushes out there at midday.

I gasp and give a thin cry, throwing my head back at the feelings coursing through my passage.

I click the button a couple of times to get the speed I want, then widen my legs and lean back so it sits full in me.

I close my eyes as the dildo goes to work exerting wonderful vibrating pressure on my prostate.

The breeze is cool on my body, but my attention is between my legs.

I search for the trusty go-tos in my spank bank, but instead, Silas is there front and centre.

I jerk my eyes open immediately. Shit no, that’s a step too far .

I arch my pelvis and the toy kicks against the space inside me, rubbing and rubbing deliciously and lighting me up.

“Yes,” I gasp, kicking my head back and reaching up to twist my nipple sharply.

The pain makes me cry out, a thin high sound in the dark, but all modesty and caution has gone.

Instead I ride the dildo, one hand on the table by my side for balance while the other pinches my nipple and occasionally lowers to cup and tug at my sac and fist my cock.

I rut down hard, feeling the flare and burn, and finally let my thoughts go.

Silas lies under me naked, all that olive skin shining.

Sweat glistens on his lip and amongst the chest hair.

In my mind I lean back and rest my arms on his thighs, and the dildo becomes his cock forcing his way inside me, thrusting deep and battering against my prostate.

In my head he writhes underneath me and I see myself slamming onto him faster and faster as his big hands grab my cheeks and pull them downwards to make the penetration deeper.

I feel his whispers of heated praise in my head as his fingers travel between my cheeks and taps my hole full of his cock.

He ruts deep and heavy, his beard harsh on my face as I kiss him and he pounds up and into me, panting and groaning.

I jerk my cock hard, the slick sounds loud in the silence of the room, then give a choked scream of “ Silas ” as all the pressure races down my cock and I clench my buttocks around the shaft inside me and shoot streams of come over the worn floorboards in front of me.

For a long few minutes I hover over the dildo, panting and feeling the sweat and come cool on me, until I rise up gingerly and my body pushes the toy out almost pettily.

I breathe in, and for the first time I notice a sweet scent of pipe tobacco and leather in the room, but when I stand up it vanishes.

I shake my head and, picking up the dildo, I move towards the bathroom, intending to have a shower and wash the toy.

Something makes me deviate to the window and I stand in front of the tall mullioned window looking down onto the dark garden and enjoying the breeze blowing through. Then I stiffen as a shadow detaches itself and I gasp as I look down into Silas’s face.

He’s standing below my window and I have no doubt that he heard everything.

It’s so quiet here that any sound travels.

I stare at him. Moonlight conceals most of his features but I can see his chest rise and fall quickly and the breath falling heavily from his open lips.

He raises his fingers to his lips and the red end of a cigarette glows like a firefly.

We stare at each other for a long moment and for some reason I make no attempt to hide myself from him.

The moon shines full on me and I wonder if it’s affected me the way peasants in the Middle Ages used to claim that they’d been moon addled.

It must be that, because I display myself openly in the moonlight to him while he looks his fill until finally he catches my eye and raises his fingers to his temple in a sort of salute.

Then he’s gone, and I stand there for long moments watching the garden fall back into stillness and wondering if I just imagined that encounter.