Page 39 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
Her heart raced at the idea of bedding them every night. Her pulse pounded, throbbing in her clitoris. Eventually she would grow tender, she imagined, and might beg for a night with just cuddling, but even that.... oh, her life was so delicious.
Owen resumed his movements, fingertips drawing circles around her now slick and sensitive flesh, while his other hand filled her. She arched toward him, inviting more of his touch, craving the fulfillment only they could provide.
The carriage hit a bump, and the sudden jolt sent a shockwave of pleasure through her. A gasp escaped her lips, louder than intended, and her cheeks flamed knowing that beyond the thin walls of their private world, the coachmen might hear. But it was too late for modesty.
“Almost there, love,” Owen said, and she knew he wasn’t just referring to their destination.
As if on cue, the carriage wheels slowed, the rhythmic rolling that had been their accomplice in sin now ending. With one last flick and press of Owen’s fingers, Xenia tumbled over the edge. Her climax washed over her in an overwhelming wave, just as the carriage came to a complete stop outside the looming silhouette of the manor house. Unable to contain herself, she cried out in the sudden stillness.
Heat warmed her face, and she ducked her head, pushing Owen’s hands away as she straightened the skirt of her gown.
“Xenia,” Simon said gently as he prepared to exit the carriage. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
She couldn’t reply, her breath coming in short pants, her body still shimmering with the aftershocks of her release. The sound of the manor door opening brought her back to reality, reminding her that the journey—this part of it, at least—had ended. But another was about to begin.
Owen chuckled beside her, deep and unabashed, as if the world outside their intimate cocoon mattered little.
“Imagine the tales our coachman could tell,” Simon teased, eyes twinkling with mirth as he glanced upward toward the driver’s seat, invisible beyond the confines of their shelter. “The envy of the town he would be, knowing the treasure we’ve claimed.”
“True,” Owen agreed, the timbre of his voice laced with satisfaction as if he’d orgasmed alongside her. “But what’s ours is ours alone, isn’t it, Zee?”
She nodded, caught between embarrassment and pride. The men’s words were a balm to the heated flush on her cheeks, turning her mortification into a secret thrill. They did not care for propriety, they reveled in their possession, in their shared love for her.
Simon’s hand found the door handle, and he swung it open with a graceful motion, stepping out into the cool night air. He turned back to her, extending an arm like a lifeline. His silhouette framed by the doorway was both a promise and a temptation.
“Come now, my dear,” Simon said. “You wouldn’t want to tarry and miss what awaits you inside.”
Her heart raced at the anticipation of what was to come, a playful smirk dancing on her lips despite the lingering tremors of her recent pleasure. She placed her delicate hand in Simon’s, allowing him to assist her from the carriage. As she stepped down, the brush of her skirts against her sensitized skin was a reminder of the imprudent acts they had indulged in, acts she longed to continue within the privacy of the estate’s walls.
“Swiftly, love,” Owen urged from behind her, his hands skimming the small of her back, propelling her gently forward.
And with a last glance at the silent coachmen working to unload their bags, whose ears had borne witness to her ecstasy, Xenia allowed herself to be led away by the two men who had claimed her body and soul.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Xenia stretched languorously before ascending the staircase, her body aching from the long carriage ride from Staplegrove to Kinnerton. Somewhere mid-stretch she realized that was likely something she wasn’t supposed to do in front of the servants, but at that moment when she was still flushed from the coachmen hearing her orgasm, she thought stretching was a minor sin. She laughed under her breath as she turned to Simon. “I find myself in dire need of a bath after our tedious journey. Is it too late to ask the servants to prepare one?”
He turned back to the butler, who was directing the servants where to put Xenia and Owen’s belongings. “Andrews, please have a bath prepared for Lady Kinnerton immediately,” he instructed.
As an afterthought, he added, “Advise the staff to gather here tomorrow at noon, to meet the new viscountess.” Xenia shivered at the announcement. She was a viscountess now.
“Very good sir,” Andrews said.
When they reached Simon’s bedchamber—now hers, too, she imagined—Owen continued down the hall to the bedroom he would use when he stayed overnight. Or the bedroom where he’d muss the bedclothes, since the whole point of his staying was to be with Xenia.
Once they were alone in the chamber, Simon turned his attentions back to Xenia. He drew close, gliding the flat of his hand down her side in a tender caress that made her want to melt into him.
He suddenly straightened, his arm wrapped about her waist, keeping her tight against his body. “I don’t have a lady’s maid for you. The woman who assisted my mother left to be closer to her family. I’ll have to contact the agency.”
His hand slid upward, covering her breast, and he bent to nuzzle her hair. “In the meantime, I shall take on the role myself, with Owen’s assistance, of course. We’ve gotten quite proficient at removing your clothing.”
Xenia laughed. “I’m to have two handsome, strong lady’s maids. How very fortunate am I.”
Owen, who had been lingering in the shadows of the doorway, grinned. “At your service, m’lady,” he said with a mock bow, his brown eyes alight with camaraderie.
Simon glanced at the door to the dressing room before saying to Owen, “I don’t believe the bath is ready. Come back in half an hour.”
With a gesture of compliance, Owen retreated. His footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor.