The Virgin Proxy (11 page)

She stared at the planes of his chest, hardly aware that those were her fingers tracing patterns on the ridge of sun-browned muscle. How could she not touch him? It was impossible. “I would not share a man I loved.”

The air in the room suddenly seemed very thick and hot. She hadn’t meant to say those words. What was she thinking?

Snatching that hand away from his gently heaving chest, she felt her brow, as if it ached suddenly. “I should return to my bed. The wine goes to my head.”

He ignored that because he’d just noticed the scars on her knuckles. Taking her hands in his, he turned them over, demanding to know what happened.

“The nuns at the convent,” she said simply. “I told you I am a sinner. They could not quite whip the demons out of me, although they tried.”

* * * *

His heart lost its rhythm. He looked at her hands. “You will not be hurt again,” the words choked out of him. “Now you belong to me.”

He chuckled at that, because she was indeed all woman and he was glad of it. His cock was hard and hot, his balls heavy. As she fidgeted beside him, her linen shift touched his crest and he almost shot his load there and then. Even in conversation she did this to him.

“Remove your shift. I must look at you.” He had not yet seen her naked body in full light, only in cloudy water and then in swathes of shadow. It haunted him, the need to look at her and know every inch, inside and out.

“That would do neither of us any good. My lord.”

He forgot, for a moment, that he knew what was best for everyone. “Why not?”

“Because I will never be your leman. Looking at me will only frustrate you, because you cannot have me.” She sighed. “It would be cruel to tempt you. Poor man.”

He would have thought she was serious, if not for the
poor man
. This wench felt no sympathy for him and he knew it.

“Cannot have you?” he growled.

“I would not let you put your over-used, pompous Norman prick in me if you paid me a thousand silver pieces. Your wife told you how much I despise your kind, did she not?”

It seemed the wine had increased her bold mouthiness. “You’re making me angry, woman.”

“Because you want me and cannot have me? Just like a spoiled little boy.”

Still she kept up the pretense, as if she was not the wild cat in his bed last night. Saucy chit! Desire filled his veins, pushed him upright from that lounging pose. “I only want to look at you. You assume I cannot control myself, wench—that your body is so exquisite I will fall upon you and ravage you like one of my marauding Viking ancestors?”

She laughed suddenly. “I am almost tempted to challenge you to a wager. It must be your Norman wine.”

Aha! A softening in her demeanor. She was growing at ease with him. For a woman she was curiously brave and he’d noted it before with frustration. Now he found himself admiring her for more than her body and her pretty face. “You like wagers, Saxon wench?”

While he expected her to pout and act prim again, she simply laughed. “You are the most arrogant man I ever met.” Then she paused. “But I suppose I can show you one breast. That is all.” She shook her finger at him. “You must not touch.”

The wench was teasing, enjoying the sense of control she had because of his lust for her. But she was also heated under her skin, rapidly becoming mischievous. He saw the slight quiver in her lower lip, watched her pupils expand, darkening her beautiful brown eyes until they were almost black. He’d let her blame it on the wine, if that made her feel better; if she must pretend not to feel the flames of desire licking between them.

He glanced over her head then and saw Thierry standing behind her, watching intently. Carried away himself he’d almost forgotten his friend’s presence.

He lay back again. “Both tits. And I wager you one horse that I don’t touch you.an s

“A horse?” she sputtered.

“That’s right, wench. I’ll give you a horse, if I give in to temptation.” He didn’t tell her she would only ride it in his presence, even if she won; under no circumstances would he let her leave his gates without him.

She agreed to the wager for a horse, spitting on her hand and holding it out. Amused again, he slowly took her hand and shook it. If he gripped harder, he could have tumbled her to the floor, but for now he enjoyed her playful mood.

His balls ached. He stroked himself with one hand and she looked down. “No touching!”

“No touching you,” he corrected. “I said nothing about touching myself.” He cupped his balls defiantly and she rolled her eyes. Sweeping her hair back, she slid her shift down over her shoulders.

He swallowed, staring. Those were the breasts he’d pressed to his chest last night when he filled her with his cock the first time. Did she truly imagine he wouldn’t know her body from any other? It was almost insulting, this ignorance she attributed to him. He closed his hand around the root of his shaft and felt the thudding pulse deepen.

He thought she would argue, but the little peaks hardened at his command. The rosy nubs tightened and puckered, even before her fingers pinched them lightly, then rubbed as he directed. Her lashes fluttered and she inhaled.

Now she was entertaining him. He knew how much she enjoyed being looked at.

“Let me see your pussy,” he muttered gruffly. “I’ll give you that horse and a gold bracelet if I lose the wager and touch you.”

Thierry still waited for a signal to join them, but Guy wasn’t ready yet. He felt selfish and overheated like an adolescent again, newly discovering the abilities of his cock and afire with pent up yearning.

“No,” she said.

He moved his gaze back to her face. “Are you worried I’ll see how wet you are in my presence? Virginal Saxon wench who does not desire me and would rather I was dead?”

That did it. Her eyes glistened in the firelight. She stood and lifted her shift to her waist with no further quibbling. “Satisfied? Norman swine. Are you sure you’re six and twenty, not sixteen?”

He ignored her comment, busy working his shaft with one tight hand, gazing at her bared breasts and then the small golden treasure purse between her thighs. God he wanted to touch her. His stallion was on fire to have her ride it again. Aware of Thierry moving impatiently in the shadows behind her, he did not make eye-contact. Knowing what the other man wanted, he still wasn’t ready to give it.

She lifted her leg, resting her bare foot on the edge of his couch and now he had a clear view of her sex and those sweet, honeyed lips. She could deny it all she liked, but he knew he’d been in there. Had her. Fucked her.

Thierry would have a fine view too, standing silently behind her. He could feel the other man’s desire flowing in waves, but Thierry would just have to wait, because Guy was in charge here.

“Hmm.” All the blood in his body was surely accumulating in his lower regions. His spine tingled. His throat was parched. “Raedwulf? Who the Hell is Raedwulf?”

“My brother,” she clarified tersely.

Oh yes. “Hmm.”

Now she flirted with danger, lifting that same leg higher until her toes rested on the back of his couch. He groaned, working his shaft harder and faster. To keep his other hand occupied he cupped his balls and lightly squeezed.

She thrust her hips forward to show him, trying to make him lose his dare. Reaching between her thighs, she spread her nether lips with her fingers.

A taut cough spat out of him and he sat up, slamming his feet to the floor, cock in hand. “Temptress.”

He could see she was ripe, dark pink and moist, wanting him as much as he wanted her. He already knew how the naughty wench liked touching herself for him to see. She did it now, one fingertip slowly moving over the crest of her labia, seeking out the most sensitive spot. His tongue tried to squeeze between his clenched teeth. He wanted to nudge her fingers aside and taste her, suck and nibble, work that pink pearl with his tongue, close his mouth over her comely slit and drink from her as if she was an oasis in the desert. Make her breath shatter into a thousand cries of delight. His skull felt tight. His lungs strained.

But he would not let her win this game. Could not give in and touch her or the wench would know how much power she had over him.

Thierry had silently moved into the light and hunkered down behind her for a better view. Guy tried to relax his thighs and calm his rearing cock. He slowed his hand. She was moving her hips, sighing blissfully, utterly unaware of the other man watching all, staring up between her spread legs. With two fingers she pressed down on her core and arched her back, breasts jutting upward, proud and full. Guy stared at the precious scarlet jewel between her fingers and needed, so badly, to lap at it with his tongue, to feel it swell with passion. One glance at his friend’s upturned face told him they shared the same grinding need to eat that pussy.

“Is this how you entertained yourself in that convent?” he muttered thickly.

A contented smile told him he guessed correctly. She was certainly well practiced with those fingers.

“That is a beautiful little treasure purse, Deorwynn,” he murmured. “Soft as kidskin. I can taste it from here and feel it open and wet on my tongue. I know how tight that warm haven would be on my shaft if I sought to steal away your treasure.”

She moaned softly, licking her lips, her fingers working faster at the little, glowing bud.

“Shall I tell you how I’d fuck you, Deorwynn?”

She shook her head, eyes half closed. Crouched behind her, Thierry had taken his prick out and worked it in his fist with a rapid rhythm. Guy was surprised she didn’t hear the slapping sound.

Looking again at her pink slit, watching her fingers burrow into it, Guy spoke softly and slowly. “First I’d mount you carefully, inch by inch; then I’d thrust faster and deeper. I’d take that little cunt to heaven on my cock. If you could fit me all in, of course. Do you think you could sheath all of me inside you? Look at me, Deorwynn. Look at what I have for you. What I want to give you.”

* * * *

Through dazed eyes she looked down at the man on the couch, at the massive cock in his hand, and knew again the reckless thrill, seeing him stare and hunger for her in that fierce way.

She gasped, her fingers working hard, while his eyes studied the motion, his face moving closer until his breath whispered across her knuckles.

“Can you feel me inside you, Deorwynn, as I can feel myself fucking you?” He stood the broad head of his staff only inches from her. “You’re squeezing my cock so hard, naughty wench. I feel every silken ridge of your sweet Saxon pussy, milking me. I’m coming inside. So deep inside you’ll taste me in the back of your throat. Hold me, my sweet.”

Confused, she was still trembling with orgasm, her juices wetting her own fingers, as she looked down at the anonymous hands cupping her hot breasts and squeezing.

Suddenly Guy released in an exultant gush, spewing his seed across her stomach. “Did I not tell you she was a beauty, Thierry?” he gasped, half-laughing. “What say you?”

She fought for breath, cursing and spitting. Finally she remembered to drop her shift and cover her lower half, the linen sticking to the thick, wet streaks of semen on her skin.

“Come back to the couch, my sweet. We’re not done. My friend and I have a hankering to share your ripe fruit and harvest all night long. You’ll be well entertained, just as you’ve entertained us.”