Page 26 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady

Simon nearly groaned as visions of certain acts he still looked forward to flashed vividly in his thoughts. For all his years of learning to control his demeanor, Xenia was a taxing challenge. “Sunday.”

“Sunday,” Xenia echoed, her voice laced with anticipation. “It shall be our day.”

The men stood, and Simon placed Xenia’s hand on his arm. “I’ll escort you home. We’ll leave Owen to his work.”

While his mind sighed with relief that the handling of this matter had ended in satisfaction all around, the rest of his body wished for a deeper satisfaction, the kind he only found buried fully inside Xenia’s warm, wet sheath. Three days. He only need wait three days.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

On Sunday, Simon welcomed Xenia into his home. “We have the place to ourselves. The servants have their leave.”

Something felt different. This wasn’t the casual visit like when she came to help put together the baskets for the poor. She felt like a true guest.

He led her into the drawing room, where the curtains were all pulled back and sunlight poured into the room. Owen watched them enter with a playful glint in his eyes. He leaned against an ornate mahogany bookcase, arms crossed over his broad chest, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Simon urged her to a sofa sitting opposite two chairs. She felt him fiddle with the back of her gown before the neckline loosened. She caught the fabric with a hand to her breasts to keep it from falling. This was as subtle as her tearing off her clothes at the river, she thought wryly. She glanced from one man to the other.

“Undress for us.” Simon’s words were calm but laced with authority, resonating through the hushed ambiance of the room. He sat in one of the smaller chairs just a few feet from her. Owen came to take the other seat.

The words hung in the air like a spell, and Xenia felt the weight of them settle upon her shoulders. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage, a staccato rhythm that matched the tremor of her fingers. With deliberate slowness, she let the gown sag, baring her chemise-covered breasts. She could feel Simon’s gaze upon her, heavy with desire, and Owen’s too, his breathing shallow and measured.

She took her arms from the sleeves, held it in place for a second longer as her nipples hardened, then let it go. A nervous giggle threatened to bubble up within her, but she smothered it with a gulp, focusing on the task at hand.

Simon and Owen watched silently, their eyes never straying. Simon’s lips were parted ever so slightly, his breaths measured and controlled. Owen shifted the growing hardness in his breeches.

As she lifted her chemise over her head, she felt momentarily vulnerable. Being told to bare herself to them rather than doing so of her own accord felt different. This was just as wicked, but not in her control. She enjoyed feeling in control. The reactions of her men were the same, that she could see, but part of her felt like she was submitting to their urges, not her own.

So ridiculous, when she’d sought them out for a tryst just days before and had left frustrated. Her eyes locked with Simon’s, a silent exchange passing between them. There was admiration there, but something deeper too—a reflection of the burning need that equaled her own.

Dropping the garment, she pressed her shoulders back and put a hand on her hip, tilting her pelvis slightly as she posed for them. “Is this what you two want?”

“Sit,” came Simon’s velvet command.

The heat from the fireplace did little to calm the shivers that swept over her limbs. She backed up to the sofa and perched on the edge, the cool fabric of the upholstery on her skin reminding her of her lack of clothing.

Simon licked his lips. “Touch yourself. Show us how you prefer to be aroused by us.”

Xenia hesitated, her eyes flitting between Simon and Owen. Again, being told to do something was so different from when she sought to tease them. She lifted her hand to her skin, a petal-soft touch against the column of her neck. She felt her skin tingle under her fingertips, emboldened by Simon’s approving nod. Her movements gained confidence, tracing the curve of her collarbone, then lower, to the swell of her breasts.

Simon reclined slightly, his posture relaxed but his attention anything but casual. He watched Xenia through half-lidded eyes, his hand moving subtly over his breeches, betraying the intensity of his arousal.

Owen mirrored Simon’s stance, though his desire was less cloaked in reserve. His fingers pressed firmly into the fabric covering his thighs, outlining the strain against the material, his gaze never wavering from Xenia’s self-discovery.

Her breasts swelled as she kneaded them with both hands. At home, she would close her eyes and imagine those hands belonged to one of them, but she kept her eyes open, enjoying the rapt attention she held.

When her hand slid down to part her slit, she noticed Simon’s lips twitched. Was he imagining his tongue in place of her fingers? She spread her thighs wider, wetting two fingers before pressing them inside. Now her eyes closed, but only for a moment. Her breath hitched.

Having them watch was erotic. They didn’t need any instruction, she knew from their lovemaking, but her mood was falling into see what I’m touching and you’re not?

Simon broke through the thick tension. “Now, taste your fingers.”

Xenia lifted her hand, her fingers slick and shimmering in the filtered sunlight. With deliberate poise, she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to obey. As she savored herself, she’d swear neither man breathed, her eyes never leaving Simon’s. She was so sinful. She’d be damned to hell for displaying herself like this.

“Beautiful.” Simon’s eyes softened with something akin to reverence.

Owen simply growled and adjusted himself again, as if instructed not to touch her.

The moment lingered, and she dipped her fingers into her moisture once again and sucked them into her mouth.