O ne day a month, servants and a few friends of Simon’s late mother bustled about the kitchen of Kinnerton Manor, the sweet aroma of baked goods wafting from the kitchen as they put together baskets for the poor.
When he came into the room, he found Xenia amidst a sea of activity.
With a subtle glance to ensure their privacy, he reached for her, his touch discreet beneath the din of preparations. “Xenia,” Simon said.
She turned, her eyes meeting his gaze.
Without a word, he led her away from the prying eyes, up the servants’ stairs and down the hallway to his study. Once inside, he turned with a fluid motion, his hand leaving hers only to press firmly against the door, sealing it closed.
He took her hand again, lifting it to his lips and placing a kiss there. “I’ve missed you.”
“Only three days have passed since the river.” Her smile flirted with him.
“Three days is too long to wait to feed the hunger you woke in me.” He pulled her to him, grasping her shoulders and pressing his lips to hers. His mouth moved over hers with a fervor that spoke of nights filled with yearning.
She kissed him back with equal measure, opening to his teasing tongue and sighing. She tasted of mint.
Simon’s hands encircled her waist, lifting her with an ease that belied his quiet demeanor. With deliberate care, he placed her upon the polished mahogany desk, and continued to kiss her, trailing little pecks across her cheek to nibble on her earlobe.
“May I please you without having Owen present?” he asked.
She gasped and pulled back slightly.
“That was poorly said. I want you, Xenia. No games.”
Her eyelids lowered and her lips parted. “I want you, too, Simon.” She clutched his face and kissed him with a heat that took him by surprise. He pressed back, his tongue hard and demanding in her mouth.
Lifting her skirts, he stroked her stockings, enjoying feel of the smooth silk almost as much as her smooth skin. His fingertips traced circles upon her inner knee before moving ever higher. “Your pleasure is my utmost concern. Tell me what your heart desires, and it shall be yours.”
A sigh was Xenia’s answer as Simon’s hand found the wet heat between her thighs, his fingers deft and knowing. Her body arched toward him, seeking more of his touch, her hands clutching at the edge of the desk.
“You’re so wet for me already.” He chuckled. “Just the snack I wanted.”
Sinking to his knees, he pushed her skirts higher, parting her legs, opening her to his gaze.
She leaned back, holding her gown up with one hand, bracing herself with the other.
His hands stroked her thighs above the stockings, his thumbs circling the closer he got to her curls.
He brushed over her slit, then opened her, inhaling the scent of her arousal.
She shifted as if offering herself to him, and he slid a finger through the moisture, spreading it around her clitoris. He toyed with it, loving the little sounds it brought out of her throat, the gasps and squeaks. He could play with her for hours just to hear her.
His cock jerked. Well, not for hours.
He slipped a finger inside her and stroked, then added a second. She clenched around him. His tongue pressed against the swollen nub, flicking and swirling, before he pulled his fingers out and laved her entire length. He moaned. “That’s the sweetest nectar a man could find.”
As he continued to lick and stroke, she began to move with him. He thrust his tongue deep inside her, his strokes matching her pace. He wanted desperately to hear her cries of release, to know he was the one who gave it to her.
Her whimpers rose in pitch and he knew she was almost there. Almost in heaven. Just a little more. He pinched her clitoris while his tongue pushed deep in her wetness and it was exactly what she needed.
She bit her lip to swallow the cry as her hips jerked against his face. Her thighs tightened on him, her juices filled his mouth. He licked it all up until she pressed a hand to his cheek. “It’s too much. I’m too sensitive.”
Pressing a kiss to her thigh, he took one last look at the swollen, wet, red flesh, satisfied he’d pleased her well.
He stood, letting her gown fall back over her legs, and he noticed her nipples were ripe buds.
Next time he’d spend some time on them, but for now, they needed to return to the others before someone noted their absence.
Xenia pulled him into her arms and kissed him like she was starving for him. Her hand slipped down to press against his cock, where it strained against his breeches.
He pushed her hand aside. “Not this time. We must return belowstairs.”
“Are you certain?”
He moaned, then grinned. “No, but I will be brave.” All he’d sought was her pleasure, and the pleasure he took in giving it to her.
He helped her off the desk, and she wobbled as she stood, her limbs languid and still trembling from the fervor of their union. She looked at his breeches, and he shifted his cock, but there was no comfort to be found until he softened. “We’ll descend the steps slowly, I suppose.”
He kissed her once more, a soft press of lips that held the echoes of their earlier passion. Even that gentle touch made him stir. He stepped back and cleared his throat. One day soon, he’d have her in his bed.
With brisk movements, Simon smoothed the front of his waistcoat and adjusted his cravat, and helped Xenia straighten her gown. Anyone who looked too closely would know what they’d been up to, but they were out of time.
“Shall we?” he offered. She tucked her hand around his arm and left the room at his side.
* * *
When they reentered the kitchen, the others turned toward them and exchanged smiles and nods as if they hadn’t disappeared.
It seemed to Xenia that every word Simon spoke to someone, every courteous nod, was laced with the thrill of their shared secret.
And as they parted ways to attend to different tasks, the air between them was charged like after lightning struck.
She should feel sated after the way he’d pleasured her, but she wanted more.
When the last of the baskets was loaded into the wagon that would take them to the church for distribution, Xenia waved goodbye to the others who piled into the wagon or Simon’s carriage.
She waved at him where he stood on at the door of his home and wished at the very least, she could blow him a kiss.
Instead, she urged her horse down the winding path that led back to the village,
The memory of Simon’s touch still lingered on her body, and she smiled. She should have insisted Simon and Owen make love to her years ago. There was no comparison to the other men she’d been with, who’d seemed more concerned with pleasing themselves.
Xenia knew they needed to be discreet in their liaisons to keep from drawing attention to themselves, but everyone knew they were close friends.
No one gossiped about how often she went to the river with the men when they fished.
Although, her mother had said it wasn’t proper that she should continue to do so.
That was at least two years ago, and Mama hadn’t pressed the issue.
Without warning, her horse’s hind foot clipped its front hoof, loosening the shoe, and Xenia almost tumbled off.
She grabbed the pommel to keep her seat until the mare caught her footing.
The animal limped for a short distance until Xenia halted her.
Dismounting, she examined the creature’s hoof and confirmed the shoe was loose.
“Looks like we’ll be making an unscheduled stop, old girl.
” She patted the mare’s neck before leading her toward the heart of the village.
The clang of metal striking metal grew louder as Xenia approached the familiar structure of Owen’s smithy. The red glow of the furnace cast dancing shadows on the walls, and a wave of heat enveloped her as she stepped into the open doorway.
There stood Owen, hard at work, his shirt discarded to combat the sweltering environment. Every muscle rippled under his sweat-slicked skin as he swung the hammer on the thin metal piece on the anvil. His thin hair clung to his brow.
He drew back from the anvil, his gaze catching hers as he wiped his forearm across his forehead—dark eyes alight with a blend of surprise and something more enigmatic. He set the hammer aside, the sound of metal on metal ceasing abruptly, leaving a palpable silence in its wake.
“Zee,” he greeted with a broad smile. “What brings you around?”
“Trouble of the four-legged variety,” she quipped, gesturing to her horse outside. “She has a loose shoe.”
“Let’s have a look then,” Owen said, stepping closer with a purposeful stride. His hands were sure as they lifted the mare’s hoof, his touch gentle as he worked.
Xenia watched him, her own hands itching to glide over the expanse of his broad shoulders and trace the outlines of muscle etched into his form.
She imagined tugging at the waist of his breeches to fondle that one favorite part of him, waiting for that moment when he might set aside his tools and turn his full attention to her.
But she held herself back, caught between the memory of Simon’s delightful caresses and the raw vitality emanating from Owen. How could she be hungry for Owen so soon after Simon had pleased her?
* * *
Owen straightened from removing the old shoe on Zee’s horse and turned to find the woman watching him from inside the smithy. She licked her lips, and he could swear he felt her tongue on his cock. That was something he hadn’t tried at the river, letting her suck him. He should remedy that. Soon.
He went inside for a new shoe, but Zee hovered close as he worked. He turned to say something, but her fingers brushed a single drop of sweat from the center of his chest above the leather apron he wore.
The simple touch sent a spark through Owen, igniting something deep within him. He wiped his hands on a rag and stepped closer to her. “There’s something special in your look today. Your cheeks are bright, your eyes sparkling.”
Before she could respond, his lips claimed hers, a kiss that was at once gentle and demanding. She melted into him, her hands boldly exploring his chest and shoulders. He was dirty, sweaty, and probably smelled disgusting, but none of that was reflected in how she reacted to his kiss.
She pressed herself against his length, her hands sliding beneath his leather apron. Her fingertips brushed against the waist of his breeches, teasing the edge, daring to venture further.
Owen groaned into her mouth, and her tongue became more fervent in its exploration of his mouth. His hands roamed with growing boldness, fueled by the urgency of her touch. He cupped her breast before recalling how grimy he was.
Zee didn’t seem to mind the dirt. Her fingertips slipped beneath the placket of his breeches, and his groin tightened. It was late afternoon.... could he close the smithy and take her next door to his house?
Before he could decide, Zee’s horse whickered and a man’s voice spoke to the mare. Footsteps sounded on the cobblestones outside.
“Owen! Are you there?” called the voice, piercing through the haze of their intimacy.
Zee’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with the realization of their compromised seclusion. She pushed against Owen’s chest. Her breathing was heavy, as was his own.
“Quickly,” he whispered, voice gruff with unsated need. He straightened his apron and ran a hand through his tousled, sweat-dampened hair, while Zee scrambled to straighten her gown.
“Stay here. I’ll get rid of him,” he said as he moved toward the entrance.
He promptly took care of his caller, then returned to Zee.
By now, reason had returned, and he stayed out of reach.
He wasn’t sure which of them was more likely to start something again.
He just knew the time wasn’t now for them to kiss, or anything more pleasurable.
“There’s no need for you to wait. I’ll take your horse to the stable later, after I replace the shoe. ”
“Thank you, Owen.” She leaned toward him as if to kiss him again, perhaps just a brief farewell, but she turned and left.
He watched her walk away, curious about her reaction to him. Did the fact that she was so eager for his touch mean she found him to be the better lover, after all? Or had they simply awakened a hunger in her she’d kept under control until now?
Either way, he planned to keep her happy as often as he could in the future. He didn’t want to wait until the harvest festival to make love to her again. He’d have to find a way to see her alone before then.