O n Sunday, Simon welcomed Xenia into his home. “We have the place to ourselves. The servants have their leave.”
Something felt different. This wasn’t the casual visit like when she came to help put together the baskets for the poor. She felt like a true guest.
He led her into the drawing room, where the curtains were all pulled back and sunlight poured into the room. Owen watched them enter with a playful glint in his eyes. He leaned against an ornate mahogany bookcase, arms crossed over his broad chest, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
Simon urged her to a sofa sitting opposite two chairs.
She felt him fiddle with the back of her gown before the neckline loosened.
She caught the fabric with a hand to her breasts to keep it from falling.
This was as subtle as her tearing off her clothes at the river, she thought wryly. She glanced from one man to the other.
“Undress for us.” Simon’s words were calm but laced with authority, resonating through the hushed ambiance of the room. He sat in one of the smaller chairs just a few feet from her. Owen came to take the other seat.
The words hung in the air like a spell, and Xenia felt the weight of them settle upon her shoulders.
Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage, a staccato rhythm that matched the tremor of her fingers.
With deliberate slowness, she let the gown sag, baring her chemise-covered breasts.
She could feel Simon’s gaze upon her, heavy with desire, and Owen’s too, his breathing shallow and measured.
She took her arms from the sleeves, held it in place for a second longer as her nipples hardened, then let it go. A nervous giggle threatened to bubble up within her, but she smothered it with a gulp, focusing on the task at hand.
Simon and Owen watched silently, their eyes never straying. Simon’s lips were parted ever so slightly, his breaths measured and controlled. Owen shifted the growing hardness in his breeches.
As she lifted her chemise over her head, she felt momentarily vulnerable.
Being told to bare herself to them rather than doing so of her own accord felt different.
This was just as wicked, but not in her control.
She enjoyed feeling in control. The reactions of her men were the same, that she could see, but part of her felt like she was submitting to their urges, not her own.
So ridiculous, when she’d sought them out for a tryst just days before and had left frustrated. Her eyes locked with Simon’s, a silent exchange passing between them. There was admiration there, but something deeper too—a reflection of the burning need that equaled her own.
Dropping the garment, she pressed her shoulders back and put a hand on her hip, tilting her pelvis slightly as she posed for them. “Is this what you two want?”
“Sit,” came Simon’s velvet command.
The heat from the fireplace did little to calm the shivers that swept over her limbs. She backed up to the sofa and perched on the edge, the cool fabric of the upholstery on her skin reminding her of her lack of clothing.
Simon licked his lips. “Touch yourself. Show us how you prefer to be aroused by us.”
Xenia hesitated, her eyes flitting between Simon and Owen.
Again, being told to do something was so different from when she sought to tease them.
She lifted her hand to her skin, a petal-soft touch against the column of her neck.
She felt her skin tingle under her fingertips, emboldened by Simon’s approving nod.
Her movements gained confidence, tracing the curve of her collarbone, then lower, to the swell of her breasts.
Simon reclined slightly, his posture relaxed but his attention anything but casual. He watched Xenia through half-lidded eyes, his hand moving subtly over his breeches, betraying the intensity of his arousal.
Owen mirrored Simon’s stance, though his desire was less cloaked in reserve. His fingers pressed firmly into the fabric covering his thighs, outlining the strain against the material, his gaze never wavering from Xenia’s self-discovery.
Her breasts swelled as she kneaded them with both hands. At home, she would close her eyes and imagine those hands belonged to one of them, but she kept her eyes open, enjoying the rapt attention she held.
When her hand slid down to part her slit, she noticed Simon’s lips twitched. Was he imagining his tongue in place of her fingers? She spread her thighs wider, wetting two fingers before pressing them inside. Now her eyes closed, but only for a moment. Her breath hitched.
Having them watch was erotic. They didn’t need any instruction, she knew from their lovemaking, but her mood was falling into see what I’m touching and you’re not ?
Simon broke through the thick tension. “Now, taste your fingers.”
Xenia lifted her hand, her fingers slick and shimmering in the filtered sunlight.
With deliberate poise, she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to obey.
As she savored herself, she’d swear neither man breathed, her eyes never leaving Simon’s.
She was so sinful. She’d be damned to hell for displaying herself like this.
“Beautiful.” Simon’s eyes softened with something akin to reverence.
Owen simply growled and adjusted himself again, as if instructed not to touch her.
The moment lingered, and she dipped her fingers into her moisture once again and sucked them into her mouth.
Then the mood shifted as Simon turned his attention to Owen with a tilt of his head. “Attend to him.”
Owen advanced on her, a smoldering intensity in his eyes as he closed the small distance between them. His hands caught hers, guiding her toward the bulge that strained against his breeches, his breath catching as she made contact.
“Like this, Zee,” Owen whispered in a voice roughened by desire.
His hand covered hers as they traced the outline of his arousal through the fabric. Owen’s grip tightened ever so slightly when she rounded the fat tip. She wanted to open his placket and take him into her mouth, but forced herself to follow his direction.
* * *
Simon watched the exchange, a quiet intensity burning in his gut.
He could see Owen losing himself in the moment, his jaw clenching as Xenia’s attentions sent ripples of pleasure through him.
Simon felt a surge of possessiveness, mixed with a deep-seated satisfaction that it was within his power to orchestrate such intimacy.
He enjoyed sharing Xenia with his friend, became aroused watching how much Owen enjoyed her ministrations.
Up to a point. When Owen reached to unbutton his breeches, Simon acted.
“Come here,” Simon beckoned Xenia with a tone that brooked no argument.
Obediently, she rose and approached Simon, her movements a blend of boldness and hesitation.
She paused before him, a question in her gaze, and he answered by scooting forward in his chair and unbuttoning his fall.
He freed his erection from his small clothes, then he guided Xenia onto his lap, straddling him so she faced Owen.
He held his cock as she sat, sliding inside her with no preamble.
She gasped as she sank down, rotating her hips when he was fully inside. “Mmm, Simon, it’s bigger than I remember.”
He watched Owen’s reaction as his hands roamed over her curves, tracing the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. And as she leaned into his touch, he became both a participant in their shared pleasure and an observer to the unfolding passion between her and his friend.
Xenia did something then that nearly shattered him. She dipped a hand between her thighs, fluttered her fingers around where his cock slid in and out of her, then raised her hand to Owen. “Would you like a taste?”
“Fuck.” Owen rushed to her and sucked her fingers while unfastening his breeches.
Simon’s hands steadied her with a firm grip on her hips, guiding her up and down. His thumbs slid down to the crease in her bottom, spreading her to his gaze. He caught a glimpse between the globes and realized they needed to go upstairs soon. As soon as she came, they would, he decided.
Owen sucked and kneaded her breasts while fingering her clit, and her little moans rose in pitch.
“Do you feel us both, Xenia?” he asked.
“Yes.” Something one of them did brought a sharp, soft cry from her. “Oh, it’s so good!”
“Let go, my dear. Surrender to your desires.”
“Come for us, Zee.” Owen kissed her heatedly, thrusting his tongue in her mouth. One of her hands cupped his head and her bottom tightened each time she rocked up to his mouth. Her other hand stroked his cock.
“Owen, Simon...” Her voice broke on his name, a plea for the release that hovered just out of reach.
“Let it come, Xenia. Now,” Simon commanded sharply. He pinched one nipple as he said it.
“Oh my, Simon, Owen, fuck me!” Moving her hands from Owen to Simon’s thighs, she bounced hard on his cock.
Her shift forward gave him the view he loved of where they were joined.
Her actions were frenzied, and he fought against the feeling of her inner muscles flexing on him.
He wouldn’t come until later... unless she kept milking him like she was.
Her thighs tightened around his and she tensed, crying out again one last time. Owen captured her mouth in a kiss, his hands wild in her hair.
Simon just held on to his need to release, biting his lower lip, curling his toes in his boots. When he could breathe again, he lifted Xenia off his cock. Her legs were weak, but Owen held her up.
Simon stood. “We belong in my bed.”
Owen swept Xenia into his arms and strode out of the room toward the staircase. Simon followed, his very unsatisfied cock bouncing in front of him.