T he heat of anger or frustration flooded Simon’s body when Xenia reentered the assembly room, leaning lightly against Owen.
Her cheeks were rosy, her breath slightly uneven, judging from the rise and fall of those luscious breasts—signs not missed by any man versed in the language of desire.
Simon’s jaw clenched, knowing that Owen had seduced her, and worse, knowing he had no right to complain.
He took in every detail. The way her black hair, earlier neatly coiffed atop her head, now had a few rebellious strands framing her face.
How her eyes sparkled with mischief and satisfaction, more than at ordinary times.
The curve of her smile, suggesting secrets only she and Owen shared.
Each observation was a thorn in Simon’s side, stoking the embers of jealousy into a blazing inferno.
Yet, beneath the jealousy, a deep longing twisted his heart—a yearning not just for Xenia’s body but for her affection, her laughter, her everything. He couldn’t sit back and watch her find happiness with another man.
Was that wrong of him? To wish to interfere with her happiness? He didn’t want to take away her joy, but merely change its source. He longed to be the one who brought joy into her life.
“Xenia,” he called out. She turned, her gaze finding his, and for a moment, time seemed to pause. When she smiled, his breath caught.
“Simon, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence on the dance floor?” She laughed lightly.
“Only if you’ll do me the honor,” he replied, offering his hand with a bow.
“Of course.” She placed her hand on his. The contact sent a jolt up his arm.
As they took their positions amidst the other dancers, the music began—a waltz that allowed couples to draw nearer than the country dances.
Simon placed one hand on the small of Xenia’s back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her gown, while the other held her hand gently aloft.
He drew her closer than was proper, aware of every point where their bodies nearly touched, each breath she took, and the intoxicating scent of her perfume.
They moved together, steps practiced and precise, yet charged with unspoken emotions.
The space between them crackled with tension, words unnecessary when their bodies communicated all too clearly.
Simon searched her face for signs of the thoughts whirling behind those captivating eyes, but she was an enigma.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked.
“Immensely.” Her lips curved into a smile that might have been innocent if not for the gleam in her eye.
Simon’s resolve hardened. He would show her that he, too, could elicit such responses from her—that he could match whatever Owen offered and more. He focused on the dance, knowing how much she enjoyed dancing.
As the final chords of the music played, Simon held her gaze, willing her to see the depth of his feelings. But Xenia, ever inscrutable, merely smiled, leaving him filled with doubt and desire.
Simon extended his arm with a subtle bow. She took it with grace, her hand light upon his sleeve as they moved away from the throng of dancers. Needing to speak to her without an audience, he led her toward the door. “Let’s take some fresh air.”
Her polite demeanor had him worried that something he’d done had upset her.
Was she distressed about their time at the river?
Admittedly, he and Owen had taken advantage of her.
He couldn’t think of anything else he might have done to distress her.
“I must apologize for my demeanor on Sunday. It was not gentlemanly of me.”
Her laughing response both soothed and unsettled his warring emotions.
She paused, turning to face him fully in the shadows of the building.
“Oh, Simon, I believe you and Owen have been reading from the same script.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Nothing happened that I didn’t wish for. We are all still friends.”
He studied her, noting the playful tilt of her head and the way her lips quirked up at the corners. She was enjoying this, the game they were all entangled in.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but I find myself desiring to be more than friends. You must know that.”
“Must I?” she teased, her gaze bold and unflinching. “Then tell me, what would you think if I said I found great pleasure in both your company and Owen’s... together?”
The words jolted through him like a lightning strike, igniting a fire of jealousy and desire. He was normally quiet, thoughtful, not given to flights of fancy or fits of passion, but Xenia, Xenia could unravel him with a mere look.
“You are a bold woman. I suppose I hadn’t realized just how bold.” That trait was one of his favorites of hers, a list that grew each time he thought about her.
“Life is too short for timidity, don’t you agree?” She stepped closer, her breath a warm whisper against his cheek. The scent of her hair—was it merely lavender?—was intoxicating. “And I must admit, the idea of being courted by two of Kinnerton’s most handsome bachelors is rather exhilarating.”
Simon’s heart hammered in his chest. She spoke of courtship, yet her eyes hinted at secrets and shared rendezvous.
Did she want him at that moment as badly as he desired her?
He clasped her arms, his thumbs brushing over her ripe breasts.
She inhaled a gasp, and her nipples hardened beneath his gaze.
She leaned into him, her smile deepening, her eyes alight with challenge and promise. “Careful, my lord. One might suspect you’re trying to compromise me.”
“Would you stop me if I were?” His voice was a husky growl. He held his breath, awaiting permission to continue, although they needed to go somewhere less open. Anyone could walk outside the assembly and see them where they stood.
“Perhaps,” she whispered back, her breath hitching as his hand stilled. “Or perhaps I would simply enjoy the scandal.”
His cock jumped at her words. He would enjoy seducing her, but without the scandal.
Taking her hand, he led her along the street.
A soft breeze whispered through the leaves of the old elm tree that stood sentinel outside her family’s bakery.
Its branches hung low, providing an adequate screen if they stayed close to the trunk.
When he stopped, she turned to face him, her face shadowed. Her lips curved in a knowing smile, and for a moment, Simon wished he had light to see her eyes.
“Simon?” She tilted her head, a lock of raven hair slipping from her bun to caress her cheek.
He took another step closer, so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. He brushed back the stray strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that belied his racing pulse.
“May I?” he whispered, though what he sought permission for, he couldn’t quite articulate—not with words.
Her nod was slight, but it was all the consent Simon needed. His hands came up to frame her face, fingers trembling slightly as he caressed the softness of her cheeks. He leaned in, his eyes flitting between her lips and her eyes, seeking reassurance, finding it in her steady gaze.
Their lips met, and the world narrowed down to the sweet pressure of her mouth against his.
The kiss was a crashing wave of emotion—passion laced with desperation, as if he could convince her of his worthiness through this single act.
His touch was tender, almost worshipful, yet undeniably possessive, as if by holding her just so he could claim her heart and banish the specter of his rival.
“My Xenia,” he spoke against her lips, the words a prayer, a plea, a proclamation. With each brush of his lips, he willed her to understand the depth of his longing, the silent vow that he would be the one to cherish her above all others.
She moaned when he turned her to face the tree, and she braced her hands against the trunk. His groin tightened at the need in her voice. She wanted him.
His fingers worked with swift efficiency, freeing his cock from the confines of his breeches.
He was achingly hard, screaming for release, for the sweet surrender of her warmth.
Lifting her skirts, he bunched the fabric around her waist, revealing the soft curves of her bottom to his hands.
He cupped the warm flesh, squeezing and caressing her soft skin. He truly loved her bottom.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, though he knew not whether he sought forgiveness for what he was about to do or for wanting her so desperately that it bordered on madness.
And then he was inside her, sheathing himself fully with a single, potent thrust that tore a gasp from her lips.
He paused, savoring the exquisite sensation of being enveloped by her, before setting a rhythm that was frenzied and passionate.
Each movement was a claim, a declaration that she belonged to him, that no other man could possibly ignite her senses as he did now.
Simon’s hands roamed over her hips, gripping her firmly as he drove into her, each thrust punctuated by the soft sound of flesh meeting flesh. The intensity of the moment spiraled, wrapping them in a cocoon of pleasure so all-consuming that nothing else mattered.
He could feel the pressure building within him, a tidal wave of desire ready to crash over them both.
His movements became less measured, more primal, as he sought to brand her with his touch, his passion, his very soul.
And through it all, he wished for time to halt, for this stolen moment to last forever.
She breathed hard but didn’t sound like she was close to an orgasm, so he reached around and found her clitoris, which was as hard as his cock. He moaned at the feel beneath his stroking fingers, and she echoed the sound.
“Yes, that’s it, Xenia. You’re so wet. Feel my cock thrusting inside you, feel how much I desire you. This is all for you.”
Her back arched, and she flexed her hips to take him deeper. “Fuck me, Simon. Make me cry out in ecstasy.”
He growled and rocked harder against her, timing the flicks of his finger on her clitoris to match his thrusts. Her little cries, muffled as he imagined she must be biting her lip, rose in pitch and he felt her tighten around his length inside her.
He bent over her, pressing a kiss on her back. He was so close, about to shatter, but he needed her to finish first. It was all he could give her in the moment, the promise that her happiness was more important than his.
Spreading her wetness from where his erection entered her, he continued fingering her.
Circling that sensitive bud, her answering pulsation around him was going to be his undoing.
He straightened, looking down at the beauty that was his cock and her cunny together as one.
Her tight opening above flexed, and his cock jumped.
How he wanted to take her there, but not tonight. Still, he brushed his thumb across the wrinkled flesh. Xenia cried out, her hips rocking, so he pressed there again. He spit on his fingers and spread the moisture on her skin, mixing with her juices, then pushed just the tip of a finger inside her.
Again she cried out wordlessly, so he kept it there as she pushed back on his cock, body shaking, muffled whimpers matching the thrusts of her hips.
Undone, Simon could only hold her hips in place and watch the erotic dance that milked him as he pumped into her. His release was unlike any he could recall, stealing all thought and leaving his body weak.
Without removing his finger from her bottom, he stroked the skin of her buttocks with his free hand as he grew soft inside her. His mouth was dry, and he needed a drink. He needed to kiss Xenia.
He needed to strip her bare in a well-lit room and make love to every inch of her.
As she sagged, breathing hard, he stepped back and cleaned her with his handkerchief. Unable to stop himself, he bent and kissed the tight opening that was still slightly spread from his entrance. She moaned and tipped herself up to him.
Chuckling, he patted her bottom. “No more tonight.” He lowered her gown.
Xenia straightened and turned to him, reaching her arms around his neck. “Soon, then?”
“Very soon.” He caught her shoulders and pulled her into a kiss that showed her everything else he wanted to do to her. With her. Without Owen, although including him occasionally was something he hoped to continue.
As he fastened his breeches, his eyes searched her face, laden with expectation.
His heart pounded, not solely from the fervor of their tryst, but also hoping she would reveal a preference for him over Owen.
However, she merely brushed a stray curl behind her ear and regarded him with an enigmatic smile that set his pulse racing anew.
“Let me walk you home.” He offered his arm. They walked in silence, and he wondered at her lack of giddy energy that she usually displayed. “What I did... is that acceptable?”
She squeezed his arm to her side. “I can’t imagine you doing anything that isn’t acceptable. Unless you wish to not pleasure me anymore.”
That was unlikely to happen, ever. Even if he couldn’t find a way to marry her, he’d want to make love to her.
“Never fear. I don’t think I can ever have my fill of the sounds you make when I touch you.
Especially there.” He broke his arm free of hers to squeeze her bottom, then continued to smooth his hand across one side, then the other.
He stopped himself before reaching between her legs again.
“I didn’t expect it. Owen touched me there, but not like you did,” she said.
“Would you like me to do so again? I can show you how much pleasure it can bring.”
“Oh, my.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “If I decide I don’t care for it, will you stop?”
The question hurt him. “Of course, I would. Any time you’re uncomfortable with the way I touch you, you must tell me. And if Owen doesn’t stop when you ask him to, you must tell me.”
He felt her relax. “Thank you. Then yes, Simon, I will enjoy learning what you can teach me.”
They arrived at her home, where movement and voices showed her mother had returned from the assembly. Simon wondered how long he’d kept her after they left the others. Her father wasn’t scouring the streets in search of him, so it must not have been too long.
“You should go inside. Thank you for dancing with me tonight.” He couldn’t bring himself to thank her for the rest. He bent and kissed only her forehead, in case anyone inside was watching.
“Goodnight,” Xenia whispered. She went up the steps and inside.