Page 40 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
Xenia watched him leave, and a heaviness hit her heart. For all their talk about her being married to both men, in truth, Owen would be hidden in corners, darting into cupboards if they were about to be discovered in flagrante delicto. She must make an effort whenever he was near to show him how important he was to her.
When Simon opened the door to his dressing room, the warm glow from the newly lit hearth bathed the room in a soft, amber light. Servants shuffled in and out carrying steaming pails of water which they carefully poured into the large, copper tub that dominated the space. Seeing the size, Xenia realized two could easily fit in it if it wasn’t overfilled.
“Is there anything else you require, Lord Kinnerton?” one footman asked.
With a subtle shake of his head, he dismissed them. “Thank you, that will be all for now.”
Once the door closed behind the last servant, leaving only the faint echo of their departure, Simon returned to his bedchamber and rapped on the wall it shared with the one where Owen waited.
Owen strode in with the confidence of a man who knew he was more than just a guest, to Xenia’s relief. He appeared to have washed his face, and he’d taken off his coat.
Simon’s fingers deftly worked the laces of Xenia’s bodice, and it dropped to the floor. Owen, standing beside her, lifted her chemise, his fingertips grazing her skin, igniting a trail of warmth that bloomed across Xenia’s flesh.
Her hair came tumbling down as Simon gently removed the pins that held her bun in place. The locks cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face in a dark halo that contrasted starkly with her pale skin.
“Each time I look at you, I’m astonished at your beauty,” Owen murmured. “And that you allow me to love you.”
Xenia sat and removed her shoes and stockings by herself, then took Simon’s hand for balance as she stepped into the tub. The temperature was perfect, hot enough to relax her travel-weary body without being too hot.
Owen picked up a bar of soap and a cloth, lathering them until bubbles formed, white and inviting. When she settled at one end of the tub, he began to wash her, his motions deliberate and soothing. The cloth glided over her arms, her chest, dipping lower to worship the curves that made her uniquely feminine—the curves both men adored.
Behind her, Simon dragged a chair closer and sat. His skilled hands spread over her shoulders, kneading and rubbing. Slow, purposeful circles transitioned into gentle strokes that traveled the expanse of her neck and back. His touch was magical.
Xenia lounged amidst the warm embrace of the bathwater, the tender ministrations of Owen and Simon having eased her into a state of languid bliss. Soon enough, she realized they meant the bath to be for her alone.
“Simon, Owen, won’t you join me?”
“You appeared so tired when we arrived. I thought for tonight we’d let you rest,” Simon said.
Owen nodded.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowed as she looked from one hauntingly handsome man to the other. “Husbands, this is my first night in my new home. I’m a viscountess now, not simply a baker’s daughter. I intend to celebrate my fortune. Now, undress, both of you, and get in the damned tub!”
Simon drew back slightly, shock showing in his expression, but then he grinned. He tugged off his waistcoat and pulled his shirt free of his breeches.
Owen’s laughter echoed off the walls, rich and hearty. “How could we ever deny you anything, wife?” He set about undressing.
As Simon stepped into the bath, he said, “We’re entirely at your service, dearest.”
The flickering candlelight cast a golden glow over him, turning the droplets on his flesh into tiny jewels. His gaze fixed upon her, his eyes dark with desire, as he drew closer and extended his hand to trace the line of her collarbone with the tip of his finger.
She breathed his name in a sigh, lifting her hand to meet his, fingers dancing across his chest before venturing lower, seeking, finding. Her touch was bold and unabashed as she found his arousal, his primal grunt sending a surge of heat through her body.
With a gentle tug, he lifted her, turning her and guiding her onto his lap, where their bodies aligned in heated anticipation. A shared sigh escaped them as he entered her, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. She arched her back against him, cupping her breasts above the water.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Owen watching, his hand around his cock. There wasn’t room for him in the tub, but she wanted him taking part. She called to him.
He stepped forward, and as he neared the edge of the tub, Xenia stretched her arm out to him. Her hand encircled him, her movements sure and eager as she drew him into the intimacy they all shared. The sound of water splashing gently against the sides of the tub provided a rhythmic backdrop to their synchronized breathing.
Simon’s grasp on her hips tightened, and he slowly lifted her up the length of his cock, moaning. The slow stroke was heavenly, and as he entered her again, his erection rubbed against the place inside her that magnified everything he touched. Her lips were parted to take Owen into her mouth, and a gasp escaped her. “That feels so wonderful, Simon,” she purred, then licked the liquid on Owen’s tip.
Somehow, her men found a rhythm in their awkward positioning, thrusting alternately as she moved between them. Her hands clasped Owen’s bottom to keep him close. Her hips flexed against Simon, and she sucked Owen into her throat.
The tension coiled within them, each sensation amplified by the shared connection that tethered their souls. Xenia exhaled a moan as waves of pleasure radiated from where Simon filled her, the sound harmonizing with the low, throaty grunts that escaped Owen as she drew him deep into her mouth again.
Simon’s fingers dug into her flesh as if to anchor her on him. Quiet, urgent whispers and stifled cries filled the dressing room. And then, as if by some unspoken signal, they shattered together. Simon’s body tensed, his grip on Xenia tightening as he spilled himself into her. Xenia’s own climax washed over her in relentless waves, her inner walls fluttering around Simon, milking him. And beneath her lips, Owen pumped once more before tensing in a guttural cry.
In the aftermath, they clung to one another, the water now cool against her skin flushed from passion. Silence settled, broken only by the ragged cadence of their breathing.