The Virgin Proxy (6 page)

He could still barely believe he’d found her waiting for him in his bed.

Keeping her poised at the tip of his manhood, he slid one hand between her legs to hold her dampened nether lips apart with his fingers, then eased his cock head inside. Again he paused, tantalizing her and himself, moving both hands to her bottom, squeezing and cupping her small rounded cheeks.

He heard her gasp of wanton desire, urging him to take her, and he laughed low, bending his head, moving his lips and tongue over her luscious, perfectly ripened bubbies. She pressed down, trying to mount herself on his prick, but he held her lower body still, determined to let her have the rest when he couldn’t wait another second—not before.

First one, then the other, he flicked his tongue over her nipples. He sucked gently as she arched, trying to spread her legs wider and sink down. Impatient hussy. His groin ached, his balls tightened. He laved and suckled her breasts, worshipping them, his lips tugging, his soft laughter teasing the taut pink buds at their peak. Her fingers boldly stroked through his hair, scraping at his scalp and she worked her hips, rubbing her wetness over his swollen, pulsing cock head. She was exquisite and wanton. He couldn’t have asked for a better wedding gift.

“Down,” he commanded gruffly. “If you please, my lady.”

Knees slithering across the rumpled furs, she lowered onto his rock hard shaft. Just as he felt the tightness and anticipated the barrier that would bring her to a halt, he grabbed her bottom, forcing her down ruthlessly. The pain would be sharp this way, but over quickly.

When he pierced her maidenhead she screamed and a low, victorious roar shot out of him before he could swallow it. Below, in the courtyard, his men cheered in celebration. Guy’s heart beat rolled like thunder. He couldn’t catch a breath. She was incredibly tight, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her nails probably leaving bloody half-moons. He wished he could see her face.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, one hand stroking her hair through the veil, the other arm wrapped tight around her waist.
I’m sorry?
He was horrified to hear those words bursting out through his lips. He’d never said that before. Never. But when he felt her rapid, uneven heart beat and heard her scattered breath exhaled in pain, he wished he’d spent even more time preparing her. She was so small compared to his great, muscular frame.

Through that heavy, maidenly veil he sought her mouth with his, overtaken with the need to kiss her. Soft lips parted under his, but the gauze remained between them, moist with their urgent breath. With one hand he tried to lift it, but she clung to the veil, holding it down, even as the embattled kiss continued. He might have wrenched it from her hands, but in an unusual rush of giddy tenderness, he resorted to licking her mouth through the veil, circling her full, opened lips with his tongue, as if persuading her to let him in.

In the yard below, his men were loud and rowdy, drunk and stupid on too much wedding ale. They would suffer tomorrow on the training field. This practical thought broke through the pleasant fog and he realized there was an odd, needy noise coming from his own throat, almost pleading with her to let him remove the veil and hold his lips to hers.

To compensate for that weak moment, he wasted no more time on her comfort or those mushy, trifling caresses. Hands gripping her waist, he moved her up and down his throbbing dick, pumping his hips, squeezing the muscles in his thighs and buttocks with every savage thrust. He thought of last night, when she’d looked up at him, dewy eyed and breathless, showing him her breasts. He thought of her teasing tongue licking the bead of semen from his crest, her eyelashes feathering over his roused flesh.

He came hard, gushing into her body, holding her down on his ramrod, sharing every broken breath his mate inhaled. Then he kissed her again. The veil still got in the way, but he hunted, chased her lips through the material and possessed them as heartily as he’d taken her virginity.

She was his now. His playmate.

Merry as a boy with a new pony to ride, he didn’t care where the other woman was, because he had what he needed. Tomorrow, surely, he would feel differently, but for now he as content with one woman. She was all he wanted.

Chapter Five

Deorwynn bent over, kneeling on the end of the bed, while he stood behind her and slid his finger, coated in something warm and wet, into her anus. Meanwhile his hard prick parted her pussy lips yet again and she welcomed it, squeezing and caressing with her sheath. She should have been sore by now, but she was in no mood to refuse him anything. The sensations he gave her were incomparable; she’d given up trying to think of words that might suit her current state of joyful, unbound carelessness.

If he did not soon fall asleep, Sybilia would never have a chance to slip into the bed before dawn light and she would never be released from her duty as the proxy virgin. Deorwynn knew she should be alarmed by the thought. Should be. But this adventure had stopped feeling like a duty about an hour ago, when she heard him cry out with his first climax. She was surprised, gratified even, that it shook him as powerfully as it did her. Then she wanted to kiss him—to kiss the filthy rotten, no-good Norman—and she was thankful that his instinct was the same, his mouth, hot, wet and rapacious, seeking her lips through the thick veil. She’d not known he was about to spill, until she heard his hollow cry and felt the warm liquid flow into her. It was too late to stop him. First thing tomorrow she’d have to make a potion to prevent her womb quickening.

She caught a startled breath as his oiled finger pushed deeper into her bottom.

“One day you’ll be ready to take me here,” he whispered huskily. “But you must be readied first.”

Deorwynn bit down on her lip and groaned as his finger stretched out the tiny opening between her buttocks. His thick cock throbbed inside her sex, as if to comfort for the other intrusion. And then, with his other hand, he reached under and stroked her filled pussy, his callused fingers exerting steady pressure. Soon she felt those warming waves again and she pushed back, her cheeks slapping into his groin. He laughed, deep and lusty, as his other finger played inside her anus.

“Splendid. You’ll soon be ready for all of me, but not yet tonight. For now this must suffice.”

A second wet finger joined the first, crowding into that small puckered hole.

He kissed the nape of her neck, holding his fingers inside her, keeping them still, giving her a moment to grow accustomed to this new sensation. Then he began moving them in and out, slowly fucking her tight backside with those two long fingers. The pain became a scalding rush with a flutter of fierce pleasure at the end of each forward parry.

She laid the side of her face to the furs on the bed and gave herself up to it, her bottom in the air, her knees spread wide. His cock now joined in the rhythmic motion, every rub of his engorged shaft passing in and out of her labia causing a quake that shook her entire body, making her cunny pulse, gripping his cock ever tighter.

He cursed, thrusting his fingers faster and deeper into her anus, unable to restrain himself it seemed. And she silently thanked those nuns for teaching her to withstand pain. Meanwhile he was balls deep in her pussy, his heavy seed-bags spanking her, making a wet, smacking sound to compliment his ferocious growls and her low gasps. She squeezed down again, trying to hold him in for longer, welcoming the burn in her ass because of the pleasure that quickly followed. He chuckled at her eagerness, marveling aloud at how well she matched his passion. He called her his beautiful little pussy cat and stroked her thighs, her belly, her breasts. He licked her spine, the fingers of his free hand mercilessly playing the hot pearl at the crest of her labia, making her come again and again, as his cock pushed in and out.

She was exhausted, shaking. Her knees no longer felt the fur coverlet; she was lifted, secured on his lance, his thick thighs under her, the muscles tense. She had no control. When she begged him not to make her come again, he merely kissed her nape and worked his fingertips faster, his sweating chest curved against her back.

“My wicked little cat,” he gasped into her veil. “I will do as I please because I am your master now.” He rubbed her aching core, taking her to pain and then beyond, while the fingers of his other hand finally slid out of her bottom and spanked her hard. “My naughty, naughty wench.”

Was he punishing her for something? Hard to tell when it made her entire body float blissfully into some other realm of more intense satisfaction than she’d ever known.

A second later, both hands gripping her hips, he jerked frantically and planted his seed in her, yet again, to overflowing.

She tumbled forward onto the bed and he came down on top of her, rolling almost at once onto his side, bringing her with him, wrapping his arms around her. She lay quietly, listening to his breath, trying to steady her own.

It was not fair. He was a glorious lover and she hated him for it. Her body was entirely at his mercy and he’d done things to her that she didn’t even know were possible until now. And then he’d spanked her! How dare he? Her backside must still be blushing from the sting of his palm. Suddenly she felt his lips there as he kissed her smarting flesh and ripples of pleasure trickled through her core.

Again she lectured herself—men like him had stolen her father’s land, her brothers’ birthright. Men like him had killed her brothers in battle.

If her brothers had the chance, however, would they not have done the same to him without a second thought? And did he have a sister who worried about him? Did he have other women, left behind to pine for him?

Suddenly she remembered Sybilia. His new bride must be growing impatient, waiting for the signal to assure her that Devaux was safely asleep and none the wiser.

He stroked her hip with one large hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” she hissed, certain he’d killed her. Since she still breathed, it was probably a delayed reaction.

He gently cupped his palm around her buttock and squeezed. “I cannot resist this fine ass. I wish I could take it tonight. Take it properly.”

“You said it’s not ready,” she reminded him anxiously.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I suppose I need not be in such haste to try everything tonight,” he added with a drowsy laugh. “We have the rest of our lives together.”

That’s what he thought. She glowered into the shadows. His hand on her bottom, stroked in a soothing fashion and then his fingertips swept up over her hip again, down into the dip of her waist and along, under her veil to caress her arm. She jerked away.

“Stop that. Go to sleep.” He must close his eyes soon, or Sybilia would never be able to creep back into his bed before first light.

“But I am not tired.”

She groaned. “I
am
tired. And aching.”

He was still for a moment and then he sprang, tickling her under her arms and her belly, all those sensitive spots he’d already discovered. Panicking that her veil would be dislodged, she fought back, grabbing a pillow and smacking it hard against the side of his head. It split open and moonbeams rode on a flurry of goose feathers that speckled the air, drifting all around them. He grabbed his pillow likewise and swung it, but she was up on her knees, beating him back. Laughing, head ducked against her blows, he circled one arm around her waist and brought her back down over his body, her shape sliding easily against his long form, her legs astride one of his broad thighs. She found his ticklish places, just as he found hers and it was one way to distract him from removing her veil.

“You win, my wife,” he chuckled, trying to fend her off as the feathers floated to the bed around them. “This once I surrender. I give you victory. I will let you sleep.”

“And will
you
sleep?”

It seemed unlikely. His staff was semi-hard again already as he lay stretched out on his back, speckled with fallen feathers.

“I will try,” he muttered, not very convincingly.

She touched his cock in the semi-darkness and felt it twitch, like a napping pup awoken by her caress. “Does it hurt?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Leaning down, she lifted her veil to let it fall over his groin area and then opened her lips on the fleshy head of his cock. He raised one knee, half turning toward her. She could smell her own musk on him and something else—the scent of man. He was still slightly sticky, but it was not unpleasant and as she began to suck his cock under the tent of her veil, it grew, stretching to fill her mouth. His sac hung beneath like two goodly sized eggs in a nest. Already they had released their load twice. How much more did he have to give before he might fall asleep and make it safe for her to leave his bed?