T he bell above the bakery door chimed a welcoming note as Owen stepped inside, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries enveloping him. His gaze swept the cozy space, searching for the one person who could set his heart into an erratic gallop.
“Good day, Mrs. Arbuckle,” he greeted with a nod.
“Owen,” replied the matronly figure from behind the counter, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “Xenia’s in the kitchen.” She gestured with a flour-dusted hand toward the back, where trays of pastries awaited their turn in the oven. “Go on back.”
With a grateful smile, Owen made his way past the shelves laden with loaves of bread and sweet buns. As he pushed through the door into the warm kitchen, he called out, “Zee?”
She turned from her task of drying a bowl, a few stray locks of black hair escaping her bun to frame her flushed face. Blue eyes, bright as a summer sky, locked onto his, and she straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron. “Owen! What brings you here?”
“I thought you might fancy a walk,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual so she wouldn’t know it was primal urges that brought him looking for her.
A playful glint sparked in her eyes, and she tossed aside the cloth. “I’m just finishing here. Let me ask Mama.” She left him alone, but returned quickly. “Shall we go?”
As they left the kitchen together, Mrs. Arbuckle looked up from her work, a knowing grin spreading across her features. Her gaze followed them as they exited the bakery. “Have a lovely walk.”
Owen glanced back, acknowledging her well-wishes with a brief nod before turning his attention to the woman by his side, ready to spend some time with her alone.
He steered Zee down the lane that led away from Kinnerton Manor, improving the chances they could spend the afternoon without the company of Simon.
His gut clenched at the thought of having him join their outing.
While he enjoyed the trysts the three of them shared, Owen needed this time to show Zee who he really was as a man, as a lover. To show her how he felt about her.
“Remember when we used to race up to Old Miller’s bridge?” Zee’s laughter floated on the breeze, pulling Owen back to a simpler time when love was a game children whispered about.
“I could never beat you,” he admitted, a grin spreading across his face. “You always knew the shortcuts.”
“I still do,” she teased, nudging him playfully with her elbow. “Though I imagine you’ve gained other strengths since.”
“Perhaps. But some things haven’t changed. Like how the Harvest Festival is coming up. I hear your parents are planning something special for the baking competition this year.”
“My lips are sealed as to what Mama’s planning. She’s sworn me to secrecy. Though I can say it’ll be a treat for the senses.”
“Everything that comes out of the Arbuckle’s bakery is,” Owen said earnestly, his words laced with an admiration that encompassed more than just the baked goods. “Just like the woman standing before me.”
Zee blushed, the rosy hue matching the vibrancy of the poppies scattered along the roadside. Their conversation meandered as the road did, touching upon memories of shared summers and village lore. As much as he loved talking with her, her nearness was driving his cock mad.
“Would you... would you come to my house? I want—no, I need to be alone with you. Not in the shadows or on the side of the road near the river, but properly, in my bed.” His cheeks blazed with a heat that mirrored the fire of his forge, but his gaze remained locked on hers, unwavering.
A moment passed, thick with tension. Then she stepped closer, her eyes alight with a daring spirit that had always drawn him to her. “I’d enjoy that.”
They turned around, and Owen had difficulty keeping his pace as casual as a few moments before.
As they approached his home, the afternoon sun cast shadows across the walls of the buildings on the lane.
His hand trembled slightly as he led Zee to the entrance.
He glanced over his shoulder up the lane, which was empty.
“I should bring you in the back way, shouldn’t I, to keep the neighbors from seeing you. ”
“Good thought, scandalous talk might ruin me,” Xenia replied with mock severity, playing along.
“Why, if anyone says anything, I might have to marry you to save face.” He paused at the door and met her gaze. “I’d do so in a minute, even without the gossip.”
He realized how close that sounded to a proposal and wondered what Zee thought.
She said nothing. He ushered her into the dimly lit main room, where the windows offered some sun still, casting a warm glow over the simple furnishings.
He paused for a moment, the air between them charged with anticipation, and asked, “Would you care for a drink? I have lemonade, or I could make tea.”
Her eyes met his, sparkling with either laughter or happiness, he wasn’t sure. “No, thank you.”
Acknowledging her response with a nod, he took her hand, leading her to the narrow staircase at the back of the room.
Reaching the sanctuary of his bedchamber, he closed the door behind them, sealing away the rest of the world even though he lived alone, so no one would interrupt them.
He turned to face Zee, drinking in the sight of her—the woman whose body he planned to worship.
With deliberate care, he brushed a loose strand of black hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers trailed down, tracing the line of her jaw, before coming to rest at the nape of her neck.
He untied the ribbon that held her bonnet in place and set it aside. Pulling the pins from her hair, he let the dark tresses cascade around her shoulders in a silky waterfall. He ran his fingers through it, stroking the silky strands. “So soft, just like your skin.”
Loosening her gown, he helped her take it off, followed by her chemise. He ran his fingertips across her bare shoulders, then down her arms, marveling at her beauty. She was exquisite, and she was all his, at least at the moment. “If you were my wife, I’d have you dress like this always.”
She laughed, but she didn’t try to cover her nudity, which pleased him. “And what of the customers who call here when they don’t find you at the forge?”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned wickedly. “Why, I might just let them look their fill. I’d be proud to show everyone how beautiful my wife was.”
There was that word again, wife. And he’d mentioned marrying her when they first arrived there at the house. He should simply propose and end his uncertainty. Then he’d know whether she preferred Simon over him.
He dropped to his knees, bringing him closer to eye level with her thatch of dark curls, but he didn’t touch them yet. Inhaling deeply, he hoped to catch the scent of her arousal, but it was too soon. Grasping her hips, he urged her to sit, then he removed her shoes.
Untying one of her garters, he rolled her stocking down her leg.
As he took it off, he kissed her toes and suckled them, before trailing his tongue up her leg and untying her other garter.
He liked the way her hips rocked when his tongue neared her cunny, but he didn’t go there yet.
He waited until he had the second stocking off, then nudged her shoulders so she’d lie back.
With his hands behind her pale, bare knees, he stood, spreading her to his gaze. For a moment, all he could do was stare. “Zee, you’re so incredibly beautiful.”
“I want to see you too,” she said, her gaze bold and full of longing.
He nodded and began to undress, but kept his eyes on her as if this was the first time he’d seen her. This was a first, though. Their first time alone in a place where they could explore each other’s likes and dislikes. He planned to know every inch of her before she left.
When his clothes and boots were in a pile on the floor, he stood before her, his cock rising proud and hard. He fisted himself and watched her reaction.
“Owen,” she said softly, raising a hand to him.
“Soon,” he said. He lifted her knees again and this time bent to taste her, licking her fully. She was already damp for him, but not wet enough. He let his tongue play, circling, entering, flicking, and he briefly sucked her bud into his mouth, rubbing his lower teeth over it.
She cried out, bucking her hips. He chuckled, and began kissing and licking a trail up her torso, nibbling the padding of flesh around her belly button, and dipping his tongue in the small indentation.
Then he kissed his way to her breasts, and spend a long time with them.
He loved how they filled his hand—and more—and how her rosy nipples tightened just from him looking at them. He couldn’t get his fill.
But his cock had waited long enough, not satisfied with the gentle strokes Zee gave it as he enjoyed her breasts. Owen crawled up the bed and lay with his head on his pillow. He curled a finger at her. “Come here.”
“If I must.” She heaved a dramatic sigh and crawled up beside him. He draped one of her legs across his and helped her position herself on his lap, guiding his hard length into her wet heat. She hissed with pleasure.
He groaned, savoring the feel as she slowly settled onto him. She wriggled a bit, and he grasped the bend of her hips, pressing his thumbs against her clitoris. Her delighted gasp made his cock jump, so he pressed again. “I want to watch you ride me.”
Zee began to rock slowly, and he watched her hands lift to cup her breasts. “Yes, that’s it,” he encouraged. “Don’t they feel wonderful? Pinch your nipples.”
She did. Her cunny tightened around his cock.
“Do you touch your breasts when you’re alone at night?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Show me. I want to watch how you please yourself.”
Her hands got busy with those heavy mounds, pinching her nipples, tugging them, then one hand slid between her legs and he held his breath. “You touch yourself there, too?”
“Yes.”