Page 68 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

“We should probably head back now,” I say, shivering and looking up. A dark cloud passes over us, casting pale shadows over the Hollow.

“I think that’s a good idea–” Morgan’s words are cut off by a loud and rather worrying cracking sound.

The ground vibrates beneath our feet, and we all stumble back a few paces as the Hollow suddenly tears asunder, the two sides parting, but as the rupture reaches the roots of the tree, it doesn’t stop. We watch in horror as the earth itself splits open like a gaping wound, and the jagged opening stretches a couple of feet towards us and then stops.

For a second, there is nothing but silence and the sound of heavy, adrenaline-filled breaths. Then everyone starts talking at once.

I turn to Morgan and see his expression is as troubled as mine. He whispers harshly, “What the hell was that?”

* * *

I smoothmy suit down and smile at Mr and Mrs Taylor-Jones as they make their way past me and into the ballroom. They weave their way through the chairs we’ve set up in front of the makeshift stage and sit down next to the Schäfers, whom they seem to have become quite friendly with.

After the strange events at the Hollow earlier this afternoon, the atmosphere is one of anticipation and excitement. Although there were one or two people who suggested that the tree splitting was entirely a natural phenomenon caused by the weight of the snow on the dead tree, it didn’t explain the massive, jagged crack in the ground that Thad and his team thoroughly documented, measuring the depth of the split at nearly six feet. Curiously, the exact depth of most graves.

Something I really don’t want to think about. I just hope Tristan can come up with some sort of solution because we have a really big problem on our hands. Trying to shake the unease from my mind, I give our little makeshift theatre the once-over.

Everyone else is settled in their seats, including Thad and Warren, whose gazes, despite them being seated on opposite sides of the room, keep clashing. Mr Pennington, dressed in his black beret and matching polo-neck sweater, gives me a nod, and I lower the lights.

A hush falls over the audience as the shabby red velvet curtains edged in frayed gold tassels are winched open by Mr Pennington in short, jerky movements accompanied by a squealing sound.

Maybe we should have oiled the curtain runners.

Finally, the curtains open and the stage is set. From my angle, I can see Rosie, playing the part of Lady Clare’s father, waiting in the wings dressed like a town crier from the olden days. I can also see Wally beside her, waiting for his cue. He’s once again wearing his cloak, but this time the hem has been raised several inches so it hangs somewhere under his knees, which hopefully, fingers crossed, should stop him from tripping over it again.

In the middle of the stage is Dilys, standing stock-still, wrapped in a layer of brown painted foam and holding a twig in each hand. Suddenly, John the Maid comes gliding onto the stage, extremely gracefully for a man his size, wearing a heavy brocade gown and corset and a long dark wig covering his usually bald head.

I jump slightly when I feel someone grab my hand. Turning, I faintly see Morgan in the dim light. He smiles and raises a finger to his lips, then beckons me, giving a gentle tug on my hand.

Not needing any more of an invitation, I follow him. We sneak out of the ballroom and into the snug leading off the bar area. We don’t speak, as we bypass the bar and head through the lobby, along the corridor, and into the barely used billiards room.

“What are we doing in here?” I ask curiously as he flips on the low lights and locks the door behind us.

“I thought we could steal five minutes for ourselves before all the craziness starts up again. With all the weird stuff going on right now, we need to take the time where we can find it. Everyone’s busy with the play, they won’t miss us,” he says as he leads me over to the billiards table. He lifts me up and sets me down on the velvety surface of the table, then reaches for my belt buckle.

“Mr Ashton-Drake,” I chuckle, “whatever are you doing?”

“I would have thought that was obvious.” He unzips my trousers and, reaching into my boxers, pulls my cock out. Before I can utter a single word, my cock is engulfed in delicious hot, wet heat.

I groan loudly. Planting my palms on the table, I lean back and enjoy the sinful pleasure of his mouth.

“Oh god,” I cry as he slides his tongue along the underside of my cock and then tightens his mouth in the perfect suction. “Ohhh.” I reach down and tangle my fingers in his hair. “If you keep that up, I won’t last long.”

He chuckles and I feel the vibrations along my dick. He takes my breathy statement as a challenge. He seems determined to make me lose control in the shortest amount of time possible, and seriously, that’s not going to be a problem. The pressure on my cock, the feel of his lips and tongue, the way he slips his hand into my boxers and massages my balls.

My whole body tenses up, and lightning shoots down my spine. My balls tighten in his grasp, and I come hard. He hums happily and swallows.

I shudder, my cock overly sensitive as he pulls off, and I shove him back, not even bothering to tuck myself away as I drop to my knees.

I make quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans, dragging them down his hips along with his underwear. Fisting his cock, I aim it at my mouth and swallow him deep. Following along with our challenge, I try to make him come even quicker than I did, but I have to give it to him, he’s clearly got more stamina than me. I’m always too greedy, too impatient for him.

I grip his sexy arse and encourage him to fuck into my mouth. My jaw aches and my lips are swollen, but he tastes so good. Eventually, he gives a loud groan and pulses on my tongue, his flavour filling my mouth. After swallowing a couple of times, I pull off, breathing heavily.

He pulls me to my feet and kisses me, and I can taste both of us. But, however much I want to stay wrapped in him, we should rejoin the others. Reluctantly, I pull back and tuck myself into my trousers, re-zipping and buckling my belt while he does the same.

Once we’re both looking presentable, he traces his thumb over my lips and gives me one more lingering kiss to tide me over until we can be alone again.

Hand in hand, and smugly satisfied, we head back to the ballroom, but as we open the door and step inside, we both stop dead, mouths falling open at the sight that greets us. The huge crimson curtains are on the floor, the runners hanging half off the ceiling. John the Maid, Aggie, and Rosie are piled on top of one another in a huge heap of tangled limbs. Part of the stage has collapsed, and the backdrops have fallen into the audience, sending the chairs scattering in all directions. The guests are all picking themselves up off the floor, laughing and dusting themselves off.