Authors: Georgia Fox
The Virgin Proxy (15 page)
She shrugged, looking away, suddenly taking great interest in the clouds.
“Come.” He grabbed her elbow. “I’ll show you the true Thierry.”
“Stop pulling me about!”
He ignored her, dragging her along in his barefoot, limping wake, while the guards looked on in sheer astonishment.
They were heading back to his chamber. “Oh no,” she dug in her heels.
He lifted her around the waist, threw her over his shoulder and continued on. Just before they reached his door however, he took her down a narrow passage and entered an unfinished chamber that ran alongside his. “I made this for my wife,” he grunted, setting her on her feet. “There will be a door between the two chambers once it is complete.” Wind whipped in through knotholes in a boarded up section of wall and late afternoon light filtered through, striping the chamber with a cold, blue mist.
“Why did you bring me here?”
He drew her to the wall adjoining his chamber and showed her a section of loose stone. Carefully he moved it, so she had a full view of his chamber. There was Thierry, seated on the bed, with Sybilia bouncing merrily astride his lap, her breasts jostling in his face. They were both naked, sweating.
She would have looked away, but Guy stood behind her, wrapping them both in his wolf-skin robe. “See your precious Thierry now?”
“Why do you let him do that to your wife?”
He whispered very softly in her ear, “I am generous.
I
share.”
She scowled. So he was trying to convince her to join his frolics in bed with others.
He kissed her neck, in the hollow just below her ear. She tried to pull away, but his arms were strong around her and she was warm in his bear-like embrace. Already, her body was devoured by his strength and she felt his cock rising against her spine.
“Do you see how he mounts her? Do you see, Deorwynn?”
How could she not see? Thierry fucked Sybilia at a rapid, bumpy pace and her head was thrown back, golden hair spilling down almost to her buttocks.
“As I had you once on that same bed,” Guy whispered.
“It was not me. I didn’t do it.”
He exhaled hard, almost laughing. “What did she offer you in exchange for your maidenhead? You may as well tell me now.”
He kept trying to trick her like this, waiting for her to slip, but she was not the foolish little peasant girl he thought her. Deorwynn of Wexford would not be drawn into a confession by his silky sweet whispers and kisses.
“Do you see your mistress, Deorwynn? See how her wet juice shines on my friend’s shaft? Are you jealous of her to have all that cock? Are you angry?”
“No.”
“But you like Thierry and you do not share.”
She groaned softly. “Stop that.”
He held her breasts, fondling her as he looked over her head at the scene playing out in his chamber. “We could join them.”
“No!”
“Don’t you like Thierry any more?” he urged slyly. “Perhaps you don’t believe everything he tells you now.”
She shook her head.
“Perhaps he is not so
gentlemanly
after all, eh?”
“His easy charm misled me.”
He plucked her nipples gently through her gown and ran his palms across them. “You are naïve. You know nothing of men’s needs.”
“I know that one man is enough for me and one woman should be enough for …” she stopped herself in the knick of time, “…for him.” Flames tore through her body, as he manipulated her nipples again. She trembled, leaning back, her head resting in the curve of his broad shoulder.
Sybilia’s gasps and Thierry grunts floated around her as she watched them together.
“Not for men like us. We can never have enough from just one woman.”
She frowned. There was the boy again, she thought, eager to show off. The desire to change his mind and prove him wrong about his needs grew stronger.
“Oops,” he breathed in her ear. “There he goes.”
Thierry groaned, pumping his seed into Sybilia as she straddled his groin, sweat coating her body. Now Sybilia had someone else to blame for her pregnant state, should Guy not lay with her soon.
“If you like to share, my lord,” she muttered dryly, “why was it so important that your bride be untouched?”
“It was not,” he replied, “until I saw you for the first time and assumed you were my bride.”
Startled she turned her head and found his lips very close to hers.
“I did not care about a virgin bride until then,” he added.
“But I thought you insisted on a virgin! She said— ”
“I cared more about the dowry my wife would bring to me than the maidenhead.”
She stared at his lips. “Oh.”
“Until I saw you. In the bath.”
“Don’t speak of that again. It was a …wicked lapse.”
“It changed my priorities in a bride very quickly.” His lips touched her cheek. “You wanted me that night when I watched you in the bath,” he whispered. “Admit it.” His rigid cock pressed into her back. If he lifted her clothing and bent his legs he could have impaled her where she stood. “Why now do you fight the desire between us?”
“I did not know who you were then,” she answered truthfully, closing her eyes, inhaling his hot, manly scent.
“When I felt your maidenhead that first night, I knew it was meant to be mine—that I would be the one to take it,” he growled.
“And so you did.” It slipped out of her while she was so distracted by the writhing couple on the bed.
He spun her to face him. “Aha!”
Frustrated with herself, she turned her head away but he held her fast.
“Tell me, Deorwynn. Say the words. I must hear you say them.”
It was useless. Of course he knew. He’d probably always known, she realized.
“You had me on your wedding night,” she groaned, facing him again. “But you knew all along it was me.”
His blue eyes lightened, triumphant. “Yes. Yes, and by Christ I’ll have you again.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but his lips sought hers, covering them. Her hands came up to push him away, but instead they found his face, holding it, feeling the rough stubble on his cheeks. He ground his lips and teeth into hers, plunged his tongue into her mouth.
In her side vision, she saw Sybilia climb off Thierry’s lap and kneel over his face while preparing to take his wet cock in her mouth. She was, it seemed, enjoying herself.
“Deorwynn.”
Guy’s firm fingers trapped her chin and turned it so he had her full attention. His mouth closed hard over hers again. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she reached her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body to his. He gasped in surprise at her final surrender, glad laughter rippling through his torso, as she ate at his lips and his tongue, her fingers stroking his broad neck and the shifting, flexing muscle in his shoulders.
He opened his belt and the warm cloak fell to the floor. They followed it down together, their bodies entwined.
Shyly she whispered in his ear and he laughed deeply. “Oh yes, we can do what they are doing, my little kitten. Turn around and put your knees astride my shoulders.”
* * * *
On the other side of the wall she could hear Sybilia and Thierry moaning and whimpering. Her own arousal multiplied at the sounds of their excitement and when Guy’s tongue stabbed at her anus she too cried out with a low moan. He held her buttocks apart and she felt the air cooling her sex, but he did not use his mouth on her again. He was studying her closely, probably watching her pussy blossom and blush. Ecstasy thudding through her, picturing his hungry blue gaze fixed upon her most intimate parts, she lowered over his stiff prick and took it into her throat. She suckled him devotedly, putting all her unspoken longing into the gesture, stroking his pubic hair, lightly squeezing his balls. He shifted under her, hips lifting, knees bent and feet spread wide. She heard his gasps of pleasure and felt his fingers digging into her bottom, but still he didn’t use his mouth on her sex, leaving it to get wet without him.
With a joyous grunt he flooded her throat and she drank it down as her own climax shuddered through her pussy. She imagined his seed gushing through her, in one end and out the other, where he would see the sticky juices glisten on her labia, dripping like tears of sheer pleasure. Now at last, muttering that he could not resist, he leaned in the last little distance and lapped up her moisture, making her come heartily with only the quivering tip of his tongue, fast on the heels of her first quake.
It was only the beginning. As afternoon faded to dusk, she lay beneath her conqueror and took him in again, her body screaming for the completion he gave her, the thorough delight he sent careening through her veins, rocking her very bones.
Tireless, he mounted her again and again, not letting himself spill a second time until the very end, when she was exhausted and could take no more.
As they lay entwined, their bodies painted in the sultry tones of twilight, his hand swept slowly up the back of her leg and held the curve of her bottom. He kissed her belly.
“Deorwynn,” he whispered her name again.
“Yes, my lord?”
She was half asleep, too comfortable with his body nestled against hers, her legs around his flanks, her fingers stroking his hair.
“Call me Guy,” he said.
“I am permitted?”
“You are permitted.” He paused. “When we are in private only.”
She knew there would be a catch. There always was with these Normans.
“Will you tell me now what you were promised in exchange for your maidenhead?”
She considered it drowsily. “I suppose I may as well get something for my pains.”
He chuckled, his lips moving over her stomach again, tickling her with his stubble. “You have fulfilled your duty admirably and deserve a reward. Tell me. What do you wish for? Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Very well then.” She tightened her fingers in his curls and pulled his head back so that he looked up at her. “Arrange my brother Raedwulf’s release.”
Their gazes locked.
“I cannot do that Deorwynn.”
“You said anything!”
He gave a hollow laugh, shifting upward to kiss her breasts. “It is not for me to arrange. It is beyond my influence to free a prisoner of the king.”
Her heart sank. “You will not even try? What sort of gallant knight are you, Guy Devaux?”
“Now I am a gallant knight; no more a Norman swine? Interesting how it changes when you want something from me.” He rolled her naked body beneath his. “Just like a scheming Saxon,” he added, nibbling her neck as she squirmed.
“Let me up.”
“No. Cannot.” His weight crushed the breath out of her until he lifted his torso, resting on his forearms. “Ask me for something else,” he insisted.
“My freedom then. Make the guards open the gates for me.”
His eyes darkened. “No.”
“Don’t ask me what I want then, if you have no intention of giving it.”
Finally he moved off her body and lay on his side, looking down at her, a tic working in his jaw. She thought he would shout at her, but he kept his voice low, controlled. “Where would you go if you left me?”
“I would find my brother and free him myself.”
“How?” he sneered.
“I would talk to your king and make him see reason.”
“He would take your pretty head off.” He placed his long fingers around her neck and a frisson of trepidation caused goose-pimples on her skin. “As I should have done for this deception you aided. Besides, he is
your
king now too.”
“What harm can my brother do to him then, if war is over?”
His hand moved down slowly, fingers spread to settle over her right breast. “Your brother could join the rebels and make trouble.”
“He would not.” She knew Raedwulf was no fighter. He was a peaceable young man, before the Normans came and tore their world apart. “Wulf would not even want his birthright back. All he ever wanted was a quiet life.” Raedwulf was her father’s fourth, least favorite son. He had a gentle way about him and their father had no patience for it. The poor boy loved nothing more than carpentry and was very skilled with his hands. He seldom had a word to say for himself, but he told it all with his eyes and his sister read him easily. They had a bond from the earliest days because she was the youngest and he protected her.
The Norman was looking at her oddly. “His birthright?”
“Wexford. My father’s manor. One of your filthy countrymen has it now, but your king needn’t worry that Raedwulf would fight to have it back. All he ever wanted was to be a carpenter and make beautiful things, but he—”
“Wait…wait.” Guy raised his hand. “Your father’s manor?”
“Wexford. Are you not listening, bird brain?”
Slowly his frown deepened. “Your father was a Saxon noble?”