Page 6 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady
She sought Simon’s cock, still swollen and turgid. Her fingers wrapped around him and she drew her hand up his length. He exhaled a deep, ragged breath as she stroked. She observed every subtle change in his expression—the way his eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and his lips parted with each stroke she administered.
With her thumb, she spread the liquid on his tip. Using the sounds he uttered as a guide, she quickened the pace of her strokes as he grew closer to release. His face was etched with fervor as his climax neared. His stomach tensed, his hips fucking her hand. And when he finally surrendered to the sensation, his body jerked with a primal force into her hand, his release shooting across her belly.
Xenia watched him rock back on his heels. Then she looked at Owen, who studied her with a smoldering look she’d never seen on any man before. She wished they would lie beside her and cuddle in the contentment of satiation.
Simon took out the handkerchief tucked in the pocket of his discarded coat, unfolding it with careful hands. Xenia watched as he dabbed at her belly, the touch light and considerate, a stark contrast to the fervor that had preceded it. His actions were unhurried, the fabric gliding over her skin, mopping up the traces of their shared abandon.
“Here,” Owen said softly, proffering another handkerchief. He took his turn, his fingers brushing against her sensitized skin between her thighs as he tended to the remnants of their passion, a small smile playing on his lips.
The act was practical, yet there was an intimacy in these moments—a silent acknowledgment of the care they held for one another. It was a different closeness than the lustful heat that had just simmered between them.
With the quiet task complete, Simon’s gaze met Xenia’s, a playful spark igniting within the depths of his eyes. “So, lovely Xenia, who was the more adept lover?”
Her elation sank, dampened by this reminder that what they’d shared had simply been a contest. What she perceived as emotion behind their loving acts was merely a competitive need to best the other man. She quickly swept aside any foolish notions she had that they might enjoy each other another time in the future. She glanced between Simon’s expectant look and Owen’s curious tilt of the head. With a coy smile, she replied, “Why, Simon, I believe you wouldn’t wish to hear if the answer didn’t favor you.”
A chuckle rumbled from Simon’s chest, deep and resonant. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
Owen moved closer, his voice a low whisper that tickled her ear, “Then let us consider it a tie, for now. A rematch might be necessary to make a proper comparison.”
Laughter bubbled from Xenia as relief soothed her tension. There might be another lovemaking session in the future, after all. Or two. She could claim her indecision as long as was necessary if it meant more glorious time naked with her men.
Simon rose and picked up his smallclothes. Xenia sought her own garments as she stood, then pulled on her chemise. When she donned her gown, Owen came up behind her.
“Allow me,” Owen offered, his hands brushing against her back with a familiarity that sent a shiver down her spine. He’d touched far more intimate places just a short time ago, and with such skill. She refused to let her thoughts wander to questions of how many women he’d helped dress.
She only found a few of her hairpins in the grass where they’d fallen, but they were enough to maintain propriety until she returned home, and her mother shouldn’t notice the difference.
“Shall we?” Simon asked when she’d repaired her bun, extending an arm to Xenia.
She took his arm with a smile, her other hand finding Owen’s sturdy forearm. They walked with unhurried steps, and contentment filled Xenia. “Remember, the Harvest Festival is in a few weeks,” she commented.
Owen made a noise close to a growl. “The perfect occasion for round two, wouldn’t you say, Simon?”
Simon laughed. “I might find a moment to escape my duties as magistrate.”
“So, a quick fuck, then. What do you say, sweeting, to a quick fuck at the festival?” Owen nuzzled her neck.
“Hmm.” She pretended to ponder the question. “When it comes to comparison, quickness isn’t necessarily an asset. But it might prove who is better at making me come. Can you satisfy me in a short time?”
“I promise to never leave you unsatisfied,” Simon said.
She offered them a melodramatic sigh. “That might cause some difficulty. I fear I can never have my fill of you two.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Their horse’s hooves drummed a steady cadence as Simon guided his steed along the well-trodden path that meandered through the outskirts of Kinnerton the day after their romp with Xenia. He rode in silence beside Owen, whose usually relaxed demeanor was taut with uneasiness. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the ground, and a tension hung between them, palpable as the heat of the day.
Owen’s horse nickered, breaking the rhythm, and he shifted in the saddle, a clear sign of his internal disquiet. Simon, familiar with his moods, remained silent, waiting for his friend to broach whatever matter weighed upon him.
Owen’s voice eventually pierced the comfortable silence that had settled between them, his words deliberate as they trotted side by side. “I must say, I never expected you to lean in, bold as brass, and taste Xenia like she was a ripe peach, while I was fucking her.”
Simon felt the blood rush to his cheeks at the recollection, a smirk playing on his lips. He hasn’t been thinking clearly at that point of the fucking. Too deep in his desire for her cunny to wait his turn. “Ah, it was an impulse driven by.... Let’s call it an adventurous spirit.”
“Adventurous?” Owen snorted. “That’s one word for it. I’ll admit, it shocked me to feel your tongue there.”
The air hung heavy with the unspoken, the memory vivid in both their minds. Simon glanced at Owen, noting the unusual flush on his friend’s face—a mixture of embarrassment and something else undefined.
“As I was saying,” Owen continued, “it’s best we not mix our pleasures in such a manner if we have the joy of sharing our fair Zee again. No harm done, but it’s not to my taste.”