Page 11 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
That type of activity was fine now, he admitted, while he was young, but he needed a woman of his own to bear his children.
Xenia’s father being a baker placed her worlds apart from the noble or gentile lineage his grandfather insisted upon. But her spirit, unconfined by title or wealth, ensnared him far more profoundly than any pedigree could. How could he tether his life to another when every fiber of his being clamored for Xenia?
Somehow, he needed to find someone he could love as well as Xenia. Although, it wouldn’t be fair to his wife if he imagined the dark-haired beauty each time he bedded her.
A better idea would be to convince his grandfather to accept Xenia. Simon inhaled deeply, schooling his features into a mask of attentiveness. The resolve within him coalesced into a silent oath. He wouldn’t mention her today. Instead, he would craft an argument so compelling that even this bastion of tradition before him would have to concede. After all, love was a force that even the most rigorous of pedigrees could not ignore.
He absorbed his grandfather’s words, each one a chisel shaping the future he was expected to carve. “I understand the gravity of the situation, Grandfather,” he said.
“Good.” The earl leaned back in his chair, satisfied with the apparent submission. “We must ensure the succession. There is no room for dalliance.”
“Of course,” Simon replied.
“Very well,” the earl concluded, oblivious to the storm he had stirred within his grandson. “I trust you will act accordingly.”
“Indeed, I shall.” Yet his thoughts already drifting to the moments he would steal with Xenia, with or without Owen.
“I shall write after I’ve spoken with Sir Edward.” The earl’s voice cut through Simon’s reverie.
Simon rose, his posture impeccably erect, betraying none of the tumultuous desires that raged within him. With a respectful nod, he left.
Outside, the crisp afternoon beckoned, offering a reprieve as Simon mounted his horse. He welcomed the familiar creak of leather and the soft snort from the horse beneath him. With a gentle nudge, they set off toward home, the rhythmic cadence of hooves upon the path a soothing balm to his frayed senses.
As the landscape unfolded, villages nestled between grassy fields, Simon’s anticipation swelled. His thoughts raced ahead to next Sunday by the river, where he hoped to see Xenia again. In his mind, her laughter mingled with the burble of the water, her eyes alight with mischief.
He was surprised by how erotic seeing her nude in the sunlight had been. No blind fumbles after the candle was blown out for her. She’d looked and touched as much as he and Owen had, and not once was she shy or missish, even when the two men had spread her legs, fingering, licking, fucking...
The thought of another Sunday, another stolen moment with her, set his blood afire. Jealousy, that gnarled root within him, lay dormant at the prospect of sharing her again, but he thought the act of another man being with him in those acts had multiplied his enjoyment. It made little sense, unless his more prurient side was stronger than he thought. Also, knowing Owen cared equally for her made a difference. He wouldn’t want to deprive Owen of pleasure.
With each mile closer to Kinnerton, Simon’s resolve solidified. He’d spend as much time as possible with Xenia, and perhaps she would come to decide she’d rather be with him alone. Owen would still be hurt, but that couldn’t be helped. If it was Xenia’s choice, they’d have to honor it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Xenia’s pulse quickened as she approached the riverbank, the soft murmur of the flowing water synchronizing with the thrumming in her veins. The idyllic scene before her was momentarily undisturbed. Simon and Owen remained oblivious to her presence, their lines cast into the gentle currents. Yet, it was not the fish that stirred her today, but the need that burned within her.
“Simon, Owen,” she called out, her tone laced with mischief and resolve. As they turned, her hands were already tugging on the ties in the back of her gown. “Let’s see which of you can stir my heart and body to greater heights.”
The fabric of her gown brushed against her skin as it fell away, pooling around her feet. Her shoes met the grass with a soft thud. Her stockings followed. In no time, Xenia stood there, naked before her two friends.
Simon’s eyes widened, the surprise painting his visage as starkly as if he’d been plunged into the cold river beside him. His fishing rod slipped from his fingers, forgotten, as he gazed upon her.
Owen halted mid-cast, his mouth agape, the rugged line of his jaw slack with astonishment.
“Xenia, I didn’t expect you to join us today,” Simon said.
Xenia’s heart fluttered like a trapped bird against her ribs, her bravado flickering in the face of their stunned silence. She felt exposed, not just in flesh but in spirit, the vulnerability of her request wrapping around her tighter than any corset. In a defiant act to reclaim her boldness, her fingertips brushed against the peak of her breast, teasing the sensitive bud into a firmer prominence. Her eyes challenged them to respond.
Simon recovered first, his eyes alight with a flame that matched the intensity of his forge. A grin curled his lips, and he rose to his feet, his movements initially clumsy as he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat. With each piece of clothing he shed, his confidence seemed to grow—his toned chest bared to the sunlight, and the muscles of his thighs flexing with each movement.
“Allow me to show you, Xenia,” Simon said, his voice husky with desire as he closed the distance between them. “I’ll prove my worth in ways that words cannot express.”
He bent before her, his breath warm on her skin as he took her nipple gently between his lips, sucking with a fervor that promised deeper pleasures. His tongue flicked across the sensitive nub, eliciting a soft gasp from Xenia as she threaded her fingers through his hair, anchoring herself to the moment.
“Trust me to bring you more pleasure than you’ve ever known,” Simon said against her flesh, his voice vibrating through her.
Owen watched Simon’s mouth on Zee’s ripe pink nipple, the way she arched into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. The sight sent a surge of jealousy through him, but it was quickly followed by a stronger wave of arousal.
As his shirt joined the pile of garments on the grassy riverbank, he approached the others with measured steps, his gaze never leaving the intimate scene before him. Her body was exquisite, from the rosy areola on her full breasts, the soft pad of flesh on her belly, and the black curls at the juncture of her hips.