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Sapphic Seduction

By Lucy Felthouse


Text Copyright 2019 © Lucy Felthouse.


All Rights Reserved.


Smashwords edition.


With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the aforementioned author.


Warning: The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.


This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

The Lady Gardener

Same Place, Same Time

Roadside Assistance

Basic Training

Bedding Down

Close Quarters

Returning Riley

A Most Spectacular View

Not Christmas Shopping

A Change of Heart

When in Devon

The Antisocial Sister

About the Author

If You Enjoyed Sapphic Seduction



The Lady Gardener

Verity’s phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her of an angry—and insistent—bee. Sighing, she pulled the device out and looked at the screen. Rolling her eyes, she rejected the call, then pressed the off button. Fuck her family and their petty dramas—she did enough for them, and they never appreciated it. Let them deal with their own shit for a change. She’d come here for some peace and solitude, and that was what she was damn well going to get.

After showing her membership card to the kindly old lady at the kiosk, Verity passed through the gate and into the gardens of Biddulph Grange. The beautiful stately home, sadly, was private, but the stunning landscaped gardens were open to the public. The place was already off the beaten track—nestled as it was, deep in the Staffordshire countryside—but once Verity stepped inside the huge gardens, she felt a million miles from anywhere.

Closing her eyes momentarily, she pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils, and released it from her mouth. Already she felt better, the stress and irritation seeping out of her and disappearing into the gravelled path beneath her feet. This place was her refuge, her sanctuary. She never told anyone where she went when she disappeared off for a few hours every couple of weeks—more often if her family was being more difficult than usual—and that was the beauty of it. No one knew where she was, no one could bother her. All she had was herself and the cacophony of nature within the garden walls, and that was precisely how she wanted it.

Letting out a contented sigh this time, she shut out all the unpleasant thoughts, emptying her mind, and concentrated only on what was around her. What she could see, what she could hear, what she could smell.

Her favourite thing about the gardens—aside from their being her escape—was the fact they seemed to look different every time she visited. Nature took its course: trees and bushes grew, plants flowered, leaves turned and dropped. New plants were introduced, old or diseased ones were removed.

The wildlife was wonderful, too. A huge variety of birds fluttered, swooped and hopped around, tweeting, twittering and singing. Butterflies and squirrels also made frequent appearances. They never failed to make Verity smile, and today was no exception. A further weight was lifted from her as her lips curved into a grin, and she breathed in deeply through her nostrils. The air smelled fresh, yet something lingered, hinting at something to come.

Verity tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Hmm, that could be it. There was a thick covering of cloud, not particularly ominous-looking, but then that was British weather for you. It could, and did, change in the blink of an eye.

Shrugging, Verity carried on walking. She was here now—she wasn’t going to leave just in case it rained. Even if it did, so what? A little rain never killed anyone. It could actually be kind of refreshing.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she followed her nose through the landscape, admiring everything she saw, and exchanging polite nods and smiles with the handful of people she met. And it was only a handful. Perhaps others had checked the weather forecast before coming out and had been deterred. More fool them.

On the other hand, though, she thanked them. It meant she had the place pretty much to herself. Smiling, she allowed her imagination to run away with itself, painting a picture of a scenario where Verity owned the stately home currently hidden from view, and was wandering in her own private gardens. Every tree, every bush, every flower, every blade of grass was on her land, and she loved it. Having such an amazing place to call her own... well, she knew how lucky she was.

She was snapped out of her grand and wonderful fantasy by something that didn’t look quite right. Blinking, she focussed on whatever it was over to her left-hand side that seemed to stand out like a sore thumb. She frowned and stepped closer, still not entirely sure what she was seeing. Though it definitely wasn’t a thumb, sore or otherwise.

When her brain caught up, rearranging the shiny red rubber with blue polka dots from this mysterious thing to the pair of wellington boots it actually was, Verity gasped. Shit—someone had fallen over and landed in the undergrowth! All she could see now was the footwear, and a portion of the dark-green trousers tucked into them.

Hurrying over, she fumbled in her pocket for her mobile, thinking to ring an ambulance, or a doctor at the very least. However, the restrictive material of her jeans would not give up the device as she moved. Swearing to herself, Verity decided to check on the person first—likely a woman, in such funky wellies, and they were too big for a child—and see if she could make her more comfortable before she tried again for the phone.

Her heart pounded as she left the path and stepped onto the grass, then over to the dirt border. She was probably damaging something, but figured helping an injured person was way more important than preserving grass and rare plants.

A slight movement of the red and blue boots reassured and panicked Verity in equal measure. Although reassured that the person was able to move, she panicked that doing so could be injuring them further. “H-hello?” she called out. “It’s okay, please don’t move. I’ve come to help you. Just relax, I’m here to help.”

She was now mere inches away, but the thickness of the bushes meant she could still only see the boots and now a bit more of the green trousers. She stepped onto the mud, then crouched down beside the feet, carefully pushing the foliage aside so she could see what the hell was going on, and figure out what she was going to do about it.

The view opened up, and Verity, far from seeing a helpless person lying on the soil, was presented with a green-clad arse reversing hurriedly in her direction.

“Hey!” she said, letting go of the branches and shifting back so abruptly she ended up on her own arse on the grass. “Bloody hell, be careful! Are you all right?”

As the body continued emerging, Verity slowly came to realise her mistake. Dirt-covered trousers, a filthy black waterproof coat, gloved hands, and a head topped with a floppy hat were soon visible. Slim white cables trailing from each of the woman’s ears and disappearing into the collar of her coat explained why Verity hadn’t been heard calling out, or received a response.

This woman hadn’t hurt herself. She was a fucking gardener!

Frozen in her uncomfortable position, Verity wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Perhaps as revenge for her landing on it so hard. But she had no such luck. Instead, she heard, “What on earth are you doing down there? Are you all right?”

Struck dumb, Verity nodded and took the now glove-free hand that was offered to her, allowing the other woman to help her up off the grass. “I-I’m fine,” she finally forced out, breaking the brief eye contact and making a show of brushing herself down, though it was probably only her bottom that was dirty. Her cheeks blazed, and she took a step back, hoping to beat a hasty retreat.

“Well, I’m glad. But it still doesn’t explain what you were doing down there.” The ear buds now hung down the woman’s front, and she was apparently poised, awaiting a reply.

Verity shook her head. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

Narrowing her eyes, the gardener said, “Try me.”

Christ. Just to add insult to injury, it seemed she was now suspected of some kind of wrongdoing, too. “I-I was over there,” she pointed to where she’d come from, “and I saw your wellies poking out from the bushes. I panicked because I thought someone had fallen and hurt themselves. I came over to try to help. I did call out to you, to see if you were all right. But all I could see were the boots and a little bit of your trousers. I had no idea what was going on. Much less that you were the bloody gardener and remained oblivious to what I was up to because you had headphones in! I crouched down and pushed the bushes aside so I could see you better, and the next thing I know you’re shuffling back towards me. I shifted out of the way and ended up tumbling over on my bum.”

It seemed her story was too amusing to be anything but true, because the gardener grinned widely, then clapped a hand over her mouth momentarily. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you, honestly. But I guess I can see why you thought that. Thank you so much for coming to check on me, but it really wasn’t necessary. All I was doing was fighting with a particularly vicious weed.” She pointed at an uprooted plant at her feet, then widened her eyes. “Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Twisting to try to look at her bottom, Verity brushed again at the seat of her jeans. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit of muck and grass stains, I think. Nothing that won’t come out in the washing machine.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad. I feel bad enough as it is without thinking you’ve hurt yourself or ruined your clothes, too.”

“No, I’m good. And I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Silence hung between them for a few moments. Then Verity took another step back. “Right, well, I’d better get going, anyway. Nice to meet you.” She turned to go, but the other woman’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey, wait. No need to rush off. I’m just about to go on my tea break. Want to join me? Perhaps a brew will make up for it?” Her green eyes—apt, for a gardener, Verity thought—sparkled with humour and intelligence, and for the first time, Verity realised that, underneath the grubby gardening gear and large hat was a very attractive woman.

Still, an excuse was on the tip of her tongue—she had come here to be alone, after all—but fate intervened. Or the British weather did, anyway. A handful of fat raindrops fell onto her, followed by a few more. Then, the heavens truly opened.

In milliseconds the rain was torrential, falling so hard it bounced off the ground.

“Come on,” the gardener said, grabbing Verity’s hand and tugging her along. “We’ve got to get out of this or we’ll be soaked to the skin!”

As she jogged along behind the other woman, Verity came to the conclusion it was too late. Already her jeans felt moulded to her flesh, her feet were decidedly damp, and she dreaded to think how her hair and makeup looked. Still, it was stupid to just stand in a downpour like this and get even wetter. Hopefully the place where the gardener was heading for her tea break was nearby.

Soon, the other woman stopped in front of a large outbuilding and began rooting in her coat pocket for the key. Brandishing it with a cry of triumph, she then hurriedly opened the door and ushered Verity in, following quickly behind. “Bloody hell,” she said, slamming the door on the inclement weather and flicking a switch beside her on the wall.

The dim room they were in illuminated as the bulb pinged into life, and Verity looked around in curiosity. It was a mish-mash of things—part staff-room, part store-room, the area contained a kettle, fridge, table and chairs, as well as gardening tools, seeds, and bags of compost.

“Welcome to my domain,” the gardener said, then laughed. Striding over to where the kettle sat on a worktop, she switched it on and removed two mugs from a cupboard. “By the way, I’m Beatrice, though I prefer to be called Bea. Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please. And it’s nice to meet you, Bea. I’m Verity.”

“Nice to meet you, too. How do you take your tea?”

“White, three sugars. Thanks.”

As the kettle started to boil, Bea busied herself with taking off her hat and coat, hanging them up, then moving over to switch on an oil-filled radiator. She wheeled it as close to the table as the electric cabling would allow, then gestured to Verity. “Sit down, sweetheart, and try to warm up. Can I take your coat?”

Fortunately, Verity’s coat was a decent one—fully waterproof on the outside, with a nice fleecy inner lining. Her head, legs and feet might be damp and chilly, but at least she was warm from neck to hips. She shook her head. “It’s okay, thanks. It’s lovely and dry on the inside, and is keeping me warm. It’s the rest of my clothes I could do with taking off!”

As Bea turned to see to the now-boiling kettle, Verity could have sworn she smirked, just a little. But she couldn’t be sure, so she said nothing.

Clinking, and the opening and closing of the fridge door and the bin lid, were the only sounds for a few moments, as Bea made the two cups of tea. She picked them up and walked over to the table, then handed Verity a steaming mug with a smile. “Here you go. Hopefully that’ll warm you up a bit.” She put her own drink down and reached a hand out towards the radiator. “Though that seems to be kicking in, too.”

“Thank you,” Verity replied, cupping her hands around the mug. The scorching heat was too much for her hands, really, but she relished the warmth and willed it to whizz around her body and into the parts that needed it most.

“So,” Bea said, fixing Verity in her keen gaze, “what brings you to Biddulph Grange Gardens?”

Verity shrugged. She didn’t want to get into all that annoying, depressing crap. Especially not with a stranger. A sexy stranger. “I come here fairly often, actually. I just like taking some quiet time out. It’s pretty here.” Then, in an attempt to steer the topic elsewhere, she added, “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you here before. Have you been working here long?”

Screwing her face into a thoughtful expression, which made adorable crinkles appear on either side of her nose, Bea said, “Um, a year or so, I think. I’m surprised we’ve never met before, either. But then, this is a big place.”

“True. Where are the other gardeners? I thought they’d have taken refuge, too, given it’s still throwing it down with rain.” She indicated the small window, beyond which the deluge was still in full flow.

“It’s just me today, through several freakish occurrences. One day by myself won’t do any harm, though. Gardening is such an ongoing thing that whatever I don’t manage today will still be there tomorrow. And once I get to the end of my to-do list, it’ll be time to start all over again.” She grinned, showing that it wasn’t a complaint.

“Well, you and the rest of the team do a marvellous job. It’s beautiful here, and so peaceful.” She blew on her tea and took a couple of tiny sips, finding it cool enough now to drink.

Bea nodded. “Thank you. I must admit, it doesn’t feel like a job, not really. I’m just helping to make the place the best it can be. So it’s nice to know folks appreciate it.”

Raising her eyebrows and indicating the window once more, Verity quipped, “Bet nobody’s appreciating it right at this second. But yes, generally speaking, I’m sure people very much appreciate it. I certainly do.”

Smiling, Bea supped at her own drink, and the two women fell into a companionable silence, their gazes fixed on the windowpane and the veritable monsoon beyond it.

As she drained her mug, Verity hugged her coat tighter around herself, already shuddering at the thought of going back out into the cold rain.

Bea must have clocked her movement. “You don’t have to rush off, you know. I’m certainly not picking up my tools again until this has blown over. So if you want to stick around a while, that’s fine by me. I’m going to try to get my clothes dried out a little, too, so you’re welcome to do the same. I’m sure I’ve got some overtrousers you can put on for a little while. Not exactly high fashion, but they’ll spare your blushes.”

Verity’s gaze strayed towards the door. “Umm...”

“No one will come in, honey. There’s no one else here. But I’ll lock the door, if it makes you feel better.” She jumped up and crossed over to the door, then inserted her key into the lock and twisted it. “Okay? It’s just us girls.”

Verity hesitated. It was all a bit odd, but if her only option was to sit it out here until the clouds stopped emptying themselves, then she should at least be a little more comfortable. If she sat in these wet jeans and shoes any longer, with her hair sticking to her neck and face, she was going to end up with a cold, or worse. “All right, thank you. I don’t suppose you have a towel I can use for my hair?”

With a nod, Bea disappeared into a cupboard and emerged with two towels, handing them both to Verity. “Not exactly luxury, but they’re clean. Get yourself as dry as you can. I’ll find those overtrousers. Then when we’re sorted, I’ll get the kettle on again.”

“Thank you.” She took the towels and placed them on the table for the moment. Then she set about taking off her shoes and socks, placing them next to the little radiator. They wouldn’t be dry by the time she had to put them back on, but at least they’d be in a better state than they were now.

A glance across the room told her Bea’s attention was elsewhere—she was digging around in yet another cupboard. So, after shucking her coat and hanging it on the hook beside Bea’s, she set about removing her jeans. The length of her coat meant—thankfully—that her underwear wasn’t wet, so she didn’t have to bare her bottom. She laid the sodden jeans on the floor beside her other discarded items, then gave her feet and legs a rough rub down with one of the towels, bringing merciful warmth back to the flesh as well as removing the dampness.

She was just about to wrap the towel around her waist and grab the other one for her hair when an exclamation drew her attention.

Bea stood there, black material in her hand, presumably the overtrousers, her eyes wide, and her gaze fixed on Verity. “Shit,” she said, turning her back. But not before Verity had seen the blush staining the older woman’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I should have made sure you were decent. Here you go.” Still facing away, she reached back, aiming the trousers in Verity’s direction.

Allowing herself a small smile at the other woman’s embarrassment, Verity took the garment with thanks and slipped them on. “Okay,” she said, “I’m decent now.”

Turning around again, Bea gave a tight smile, a charming pinkness still adorning her cheeks. “That better?”

Verity nodded. “Much, thanks. I’m just going to dry my hair the best I can. It’ll feel better when it’s not dripping down my damn neck and back.”

“Do you need a T-shirt, too?”

“I’m okay. Go ahead and get yourself dried, too. I don’t want you catching cold, either.” Verity then towel-dried her hair, figuring she’d just have to finger-comb it once she was done. Painful, but better than heading back outside looking like she’d been dragged through a bush... multiple times. Or maybe Bea had a brush or comb she could borrow.

Turning, she opened her mouth to ask, then promptly closed it again. Bea had taken refuge behind the open cupboard door to change her trousers, but as she’d bent to towel her feet and legs, her bottom stuck out from behind the door.

And what a bottom it was. Hidden beneath grubby, baggy trousers all day, no one would ever guess what a peachy arse the lady gardener possessed. Firm, high cheeks, bisected by a black thong, which only served to highlight the paleness of the skin. No surprise, really, given Bea’s red hair.

A warmth that was nothing to do with tea, the radiator, or the rub down, began trickling through Verity’s body, building especially between her legs. She sat back in her chair with a thump. God, really? Not so much as a sniff of attraction to anyone in months, and now she was perving on this green-eyed, red-haired, probably straight as a die, gardener? Maybe the cold and damp had gone to her head.

But still, she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Bea had straightened up by now, but a tantalising slice of naked skin was still visible from behind the door, and Verity couldn’t resist moving her chair—if asked, she was moving closer to the radiator—to get a better view.

Her mouth dry, she observed the gorgeous woman slipping into another pair of baggy gardening trousers, and silently lamented the covering up of that delightful arse. But she contented herself with committing the image to memory. She could always wheel the image out later, when she was alone, perhaps in the shower, or in bed, and assuage the increasing ache between her legs with a vigorous rub down of an altogether more intimate kind.

“Need a hand?” came Bea’s voice from right beside her.

Verity started. She hadn’t even realised she’d closed her eyes.

Without waiting for a reply, Bea took the towel from Verity, moved behind her, and began to gently squeeze and dab at her rain-soaked hair.

The movement, the gentle tugging at Verity’s scalp, caused yet more heat to zip between her thighs, and her clit began to throb, increasingly eager for contact. Shifting slightly on her chair, Verity squeezed her legs together tightly, hoping for some relief.

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” Bea said, rubbing a little harder now. “So long and thick.”

“Yeah,” Verity said dryly. “But it’s a pain in the arse in situations like this. Takes bloody forever to dry.”

Bea’s chuckle, so light and carefree, made Verity’s stomach flip. Fuck, she was going to have to get out of here, before she said or did something completely inappropriate. “Well, I’m doing my best with what I’ve got to hand here. I’ve got a brush and some hair ties. I can plait it, if you’d like. It’ll at least keep it under control until you can get home and get in the shower or bath.”

“Thank you, that would be great.” The unwise words were out before Verity could stop them. Bloody hell—how was having her hair brushed and plaited going to stop the inappropriate thoughts, and the throbbing in her clit?

As Bea moved off to get the brush and hair ties, Verity threw a panicked glance over to the window. Fuck’s sake—it was still raining! There was no escape. She’d just have to keep a lid on it until she could leave. At the rate she was going, she’d be masturbating in the car, never mind waiting until she got home.

Seconds later, Bea returned to her place behind the chair and began brushing Verity’s thick mane, apologising almost constantly as she gently worked out the tangles. The sharp pains, far from killing Verity’s arousal, seemed to stoke it further. She closed her eyes, trying to occupy her mind with other thoughts, anything that wasn’t what was happening in the here and now.

It worked to an extent, as she only realised that Bea had finished when her voice came from in front of Verity. Verity opened her eyes just in time to see Bea reaching out to tidy strands of hair around her face, tucking them behind her ears.

The contact felt intimate, somehow, and a gasp left Verity’s lips before she could stop it. Their eyes met, and almost immediately, inexplicably, the atmosphere changed. All thoughts of messy hair and wet clothes disappeared from Verity’s head as Bea continued to stroke her hair, then shifted her hands down to cup her cheeks.

“It’s not just your hair that’s beautiful, you know,” Bea murmured.

“Umm...” was all Verity could manage. Her brain had short-circuited, leaving her speechless and wondering if she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming.

When Bea next spoke, she’d moved so close that Verity felt the other woman’s breath caressing her skin. “Just tell me, Verity, am I barking up the wrong tree, here? If you’ll pardon the pun.”

Still frozen into silence and inactivity, Verity finally managed to shake her head.

Bea sighed in relief. “Oh, good.” With that, she closed the remaining gap between them and pressed her lips to Verity’s.

After a beat, Verity’s clit dialled up from throbbing to screaming, kicking Verity into action. She reached out and pulled Bea onto her lap, and began to return the kiss in earnest.


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