Page 36 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
Xenia chuckled softly. “I daresay the blacksmith believed Owen was my brother, intent on forcing your hand in marriage.” Her laughter rang clear in the quiet space. She offered her back to Owen. “Will you help me undress?”
He quickly came to her aid. “Simon, I cannot express my gratitude enough. For your trust, for this... inclusion.” His eyes flickered from Simon to Xenia, the unspoken words lingering between them like the delicate touch of fingers on skin.
Simon merely nodded. It was clear in the slight tilt of his head that he valued Owen’s presence as much as Xenia did. This night was a defining moment for them all—a chosen path that went beyond the bindings of tradition.
“Xenia, you’re so beautiful,” Owen murmured, low and intimate. When her gown loosened, he held it as it fell, allowing her to step out of it before hanging it from a hook on the wall.
As Xenia lifted her chemise over her head, Owen quickly undressed. Standing in just her stockings, she hesitated a moment, unsure if either man wanted the honor of removing them. Sometimes the three of them tore at each other’s garments in their haste to take to the bed, but other times the men preferred to draw out the unveiling of her skin. She thought they were silly about it sometimes, but then she’d see Owen’s torso bared inch by inch as he removed his shirt, or watch Simon’s lower torso, cock and all, revealed like a gift when he unbuttoned his fall.
Simon took the matter into his own hands, gathering her into his arms and kissing her as if she was his everything. And perhaps now she was. She felt Owen’s cock brush against her lower back just before his lips warmed her shoulders.
Simon’s lips traced a fervent path across her collarbone, his breath hot against her flushed skin. His kisses ignited a fierce desire that pooled deep within her. Owen’s hands were a comforting counterpoint, sweeping over her back in broad, soothing strokes before moving to encompass the soft curves of her breasts. As he kneaded the flesh there, Simon sucked on her nipples.
Each nip of Simon’s teeth sent a jolt straight to her clitoris, and she whimpered with desire.
As Simon took one nipple between his lips again, Owen’s hands slid lower, parting her buttocks gently. The slickness of the oil he applied there was cool at first but quickly warmed to her body’s heat, a single finger circling the sensitive spot before pressing in slowly. Her legs weakened. She wanted to stretch on the bed so all her attention could go to their explorations. She moaned.
Owen whispered assurances to her, his tone thick with his barely restrained need. “Shhh, love, we’ll take care of you,” he soothed, even as his finger withdrew, only to be replaced by the firm pressure of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance.
Simon suddenly lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, as he aligned himself at her core, his erection a heated promise against her slick folds. The two men entered her in unison—Owen filling her from behind, while Simon claimed her with a gentle but insistent thrust.
Tightening her legs on Simon, Xenia could rock on their cocks. She laughed at the sensation. As they moved within her, she was sandwiched between the strength of Simon’s chest and the solid warmth of Owen’s body. It was as if they were one entity, all hearts beating together, all breaths coming in tandem, all focused on her pleasure.
Her world narrowed to the slide of skin on skin, the building pressure that threatened to consume her. Their coordinated thrusts pushed her higher, taking her to the precipice of ecstasy before holding her there, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
“Xenia, let go,” Owen growled against her ear, his voice tight as if all his effort was required to wait for her release before he could come. Simon’s grip tightened on her hips, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he sought his own climax. Together, they crested the wave, Simon’s seed spilling into her as Owen filled her from behind, their combined heat marking her as theirs in the most primal way.
As the tremors of her orgasm washed over her, Xenia knew without a doubt that she belonged to both men—body, heart, and soul—and they to her. In this unconventional union, she found an unexpected wholeness, a sense of completion that defied propriety but fulfilled every hidden desire she had ever harbored.
They remained in a tight embrace for a long minute or two, everyone breathing hard, then Owen pulled out. He lowered the coverlet on the bed to allow Simon to lay her down, then went to the ewer to clean himself. He rinsed the cloth, handing it to Simon before lying on the far side of the bed.
Simon tended to himself and Xenia, kissing her shoulders and torso absently while running the cloth over her tender places. While he finished, she scooted closer to Owen. His smile as she neared him was a gift, revealing exactly what was in his heart. “I love you, Owen,” she said, kissing him.
The kiss started out gentle, nearly chaste as her lips met his, but his lips parted to allow her tongue inside. She rolled onto her back and he hovered over her, his thrusting tongue tangling with hers. When the mattress shifted under Simon’s weight, Xenia broke the kiss, lying back on the pillow. She pressed her hand on Simon’s chest, her other hand stroking the curve of one of Owen’s muscles.
She lay nestled between them, a tangle of limbs, while satisfied sighs filled the air. Simon took her hand in his and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His breath caressed her neck. She nuzzled her nose in his thick hair. “I love you, Simon. Lord Kinnerton. Husband.”
That last brought a smile to his lips.
Owen’s hand cupped the fleshy part of her tummy, flexing gently, a comforting touch. She closed her eyes, stifling a yawn, and let herself doze.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Simon watched the passing landscape as the carriage rolled toward Staplegrove. Beside him, Xenia’s head lolled gently with the rhythmic motion, her breathing even and calm. He noted the shadows beneath her eyes—evidence of the whirlwind that had swept them to Gretna Green and bound them as husband and wife.
He broke the silence that filled the small space. “We shall stop at Staplegrove. I must apprise my grandfather of our nuptials, and Xenia needs rest.”
She stirred, a delicate frown creasing her brow as she processed his words, then nodded without protest.
Owen, who sat across from them, offered a supportive smile, but said, “Are you certain this is wise? Will he accept Xenia without objection?”
“He won’t say anything untoward in front of you two. I believe that upon seeing our lovely bride, he’ll agree she’ll make a lovely viscountess,” Simon said.
She pressed a hand to her hair, attempting to tame the wild curls that had fallen free on their long journey. “I wish I could make myself presentable before meeting him, but I suppose putting the introduction behind us will relieve some of my worries.”
With a small smile, Simon turned his gaze out of the window again, allowing himself the privacy of his thoughts. The decision to marry Xenia without announcement, no reading of the banns or purchase of a license, was out of character, he acknowledged. Yet, he’d done so out of an all-consuming love for the girl who had grown up alongside him, transforming from playmate to confidante, and now, to his beloved wife.
The past few days had been frenzied—the rush to Gretna Green, the exchange of vows, the press of her lips against his outside the smithy in their first kiss as man and wife. He’d put Xenia through so much, but she kept smiling.