Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Don’t you?”

  Slowly, deliberately he shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh, then…” She lowered her voice. “You want to carry on … kissing.”

  He shook his head again.

  “No?” she squeaked. “What then?”

  “Can’t you tell?” He rocked his hips. She had to feel it. His cock underneath her was like a steel bar.

  “But you said you didn’t want to bed me,” she pointed out breathlessly.

  “I lied.”

  “Oh!”

  “What about you?”

  “I … yes, of course! Though…” she hesitated, and Guy steeled himself for some condition. “If you could kiss me too, that would be nice.”

  “That I can do,” he said, swinging her up as he lifted out of the chair.

  “Where are we—?”

  He hefted her in the direction of the bed, leaving her in no doubt of their destination. Once he’d dropped her onto the mattress, he started unlacing his crotch. “Take it all off,” he directed, looking her over. “Unless you want it in rags like the last one. I want you naked this time.”

  Mathilde bounced up onto her knees and started at her own lacings which were on either side of her bodice. “It would be a shame to tear it,” she gabbled nervously.

  He shoved his braies down over his hips and stepped out of them along with his chauses. Naked now, he joined her on the bed, and started helping her lift the dress off. She was actually wearing a shift tonight, so that swiftly followed suit. Once she was naked, he allowed himself a good, long look at her. What he saw took his breath away. “Gods, Mathilde, but you’re beautiful,” he said in a voice so gravelly he barely recognized it as his own. She gave him a wondering look at that. “Lie back.”

  She sank back obediently onto the bedcovers, her gaze still holding his, as he stretched out carefully beside her, bracing himself over her so that he did not crush her much smaller body beneath his. Far from looking alarmed at his bulk caging her in, Mathilde smiled trustingly up at him and he felt something between a pang and a tug deep in his chest. His cock lay heavy against her belly, refusing to be ignored, demanding attention. Far from shrinking from it or resenting its impudence, Mathilde reached down to carefully pet his length. “Is this good?” she whispered when he hissed through his teeth.

  He gave a short nod. “This is how we should have done it, the other night,” he said hoarsely. “If I’d known you were untouched, I would not have sat you on my cock like that.”

  She frowned slightly. “Is that a more advanced position then?”

  He blinked down at her. “What?”

  “Not for beginners,” she elucidated.

  Just then, her thumb stroked him down the ridge of his cockhead, making her words undecipherable to him. He groaned. “Part your legs, love. I want to touch you too.”

  At his urging, she drew her knees up and opened herself to his gaze.

  He drew a jagged breath. “Gods.”

  A rosy blush covered her whole body. “Do you really think—?”

  He lifted his head. “What?”

  She bit her lip. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That I’m — well — beautiful?” Her words were stilted, embarrassed even.

  “You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” he answered promptly.

  Her mouth fell open. “I…but …” Her words trailed off. She took a deep breath. “You truly think so, Guy?” Her gaze was shy but met his squarely.

  He gave a short, decisive nod. “Yes.”

  Her mouth opened on a silent ‘oh’ and she stared up at him. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he slid his hand between her legs. She bit her lip and arched her back when he parted her slick folds and slid his fingers between them.

  “Oh Guy!”

  Again, she was wet, so wet just from his kisses, he marveled, and lowered his head to take her lips again. As he coaxed her tongue with his, his fingers toyed and teased with her, until he slid two fingers deep inside her, making her tear her lips from his and cry out. It wasn’t discomfort that caused it, though she still felt very tight, for he felt her body tremble all around him in a spasm of pleasure.

  “Keep your legs open, Mathilde,” he warned when she tried to close them around his fingers, “I’ve something else for you shortly that you can hold on to.” Her eyelids fluttered, though he was trying hard not to be crude and refer directly to his throbbing cock.

  “I want it now,” she said, shocking the hell out of him. “Please, Guy.”

  “You’re not ready,” he gritted out. “I don’t want to hurt you this time.”

  “You won’t!” she insisted breathlessly.

  “Ah, but I’ll expect you to do more than just accept me this time, sweeting,” he said in a deep voice, brushing his thumb against her pearl and making her jump and gasp.

  “Such as what?” she panted, her eyes drifting shut as she tried to withstand the stimulation.

  “I’ll want you to fuck me back.” Now that was crude, but he was too far gone to regret it. She gasped, but not at his offensive words. Feeling her tighten and shake around his fingers and he pushed them deep and watched through half closed eyes as she quaked and whimpered through her climax. How could she not know she was beautiful, he wondered dazedly, as his thumb circled her bead, and her breathing grew less ragged.

  “Now you’re ready,” he told her with satisfaction, and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose, as he swiftly rolled over her. He concentrated very hard on listening to her breathing as he eased into her, by small degrees until he was lodged deep inside her, where he needed to be. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he urged. She did, crossing her ankles behind his back. “How does that feel?”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she regarded him a moment. “Deep.”

  “Does it hurt?” he frowned.

  She shook her head. “Just burns a little.”

  Burns? He swallowed. That wasn’t good. “We’ll stay like this, until you say we can move.”

  Again, her face registered surprise and uncertainty. “You didn’t move last time.”

  He blushed. “No, last time was— ” He found himself at a loss for words. “It’ll get better, I promise.”

  “Did you think last time was bad?” she blurted.

  “Gods no! But I was …very inconsiderate.”

  “I don’t think you were.”

  He gave a pained smile. “That’s because you don’t know any better.”

  “Oh,” she appeared to mull this over for a minute, before rolling her hips and making Guy grunt. “Sorry. I was just checking.”

  “Does it still burn?” His voice shook slightly.

  She screwed up her face. “Not really?”

  She didn’t sound too sure, but frankly, Guy wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. He was already hard enough to hammer wood and conversing with a woman while he was deep inside her was proving surprisingly stimulating. Who would have thought he’d enjoy that? Certainly not him! “Try again,” he suggested. Mathilde did it again, and Guy shut his eyes, breaking off a curse.

  “Does it hurt you when I do that?” Mathilde asked curiously. “Or…”

  “It feels good. Really good,” he said thickly.

  “Is that …how you want me to move?” she asked shrewdly.

  “Yes,” he groaned.

  “And what will you be doing?” she sounded a bit nervous.

  His eyes bore into hers. “Do you want me to show you?”

  She nodded her head, and Guy gave a tentative thrust of his hips.

  “Oh,” she moaned softly. “That’s not so … bad.”

  “I want to do it harder than that,” he admitted, and felt himself breaking into a sweat. “But I can do it gently, until you’re ready for hard.”

  She nodded again, completely trusting every word he said. “Should we try moving at the same time?”

  He had to breathe in and out a few times before h
e answered. He could do this. “Yes.”

  He wasn’t sure how long he labored above her, giving only shallow dips of his hips, concentrating on keeping his weight on his forearms and not crushing her, listening to her sighs and the hitches in her breathing as his cock throbbed in her tight channel. He couldn’t concentrate too hard on the sinuous roll of her hips, or the rigid control he was exercising right now would snap. The effort she made to match his easy rhythm nearly undid him, along with the frown of concentration on her face. Would she strive to match it, if he fucked hard like he wanted? Probably not. He imagined her digging her heels into the mattress and throwing herself into his pounding strokes. How would her face look then? A trickle of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades. He wanted to know. Badly.

  “Guy?”

  “Yes, sweeting,” he swooped down and kissed her jaw.

  “I’m ready now.”

  “Ready?”

  “For hard.”

  He caught his breath and stared down at her. He should ask if she was sure, as there was no way she was. He didn’t, though. Just started rocking his hips in earnest between her thighs. “Tell me if you want me to slow down,” he gritted out.

  She nodded; her eyes very wide. He could see gold flecks in the depths of her eyes. Or was he just seeing stars? His vision was starting to distort. There was no way he could withstand this much pleasure. It was too good. She uncrossed her legs, tightening them around his hips, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

  “Guy,” she breathed, arching up into him.

  Oh gods, she wanted him gentler? Exerting control he didn’t know he possessed, he slowed to a stop, and paused, shaking with the effort to continue more sedately.

  She gave a disappointed cry. “No, don’t stop!”

  He nearly collapsed on top of her, but just about managed to hold his weight off her. “Just give me a minute,” he wheezed. “I can make it slow.”

  She twisted beneath him, inhaling sharply. “Not slower!” Adjusting the grip of her legs, she wrapped them back around his waist to urge him closer. “Faster Guy. Harder.”

  Harder? He stared down at her. She writhed beneath him, gave a frustrated sob. She was close? She wanted it faster and harder? Hardly believing his ears, he surged forward, plunging into her. She cried out sharply, but even in his inflamed state, he could tell her cry was one of gratification. Thank the gods. He allowed himself three, four more hard strokes and then felt her coming around his cock. He could hardly believe it. Her pleasure seen to, he allowed his own needs to come to the fore and finished, brutally hammering between her thighs like a beast.

  They slept in late the next morning. Guy did not awake until he heard low conversation in the room. He cracked an eye open to find Mathilde and the servant Prudence pouring water into the washing basin. They shared a few quiet words and then the maid withdrew. Guy lay still, reluctant to admit he was awake. He felt an incredible sense of contentment, that he could not remember feeling in — well — forever. Even before the war he had not felt anything like this. The sun was shining through the window and slanted across the room, adding to his general sense of satisfaction. A thaw must be surely be setting in. He could hear the rustle of cloth and splash of water as Mathilde washed. Lifting his head, she could see she was wearing a shift this morning, though she had slept naked in his arms all night. She turned her head and saw him watching her. “Good morning,” she said, with a smile.

  “Morning,” he rumbled in reply.

  “You did not leave at the crack of dawn,” she commented, drying her hands.

  “This time, you’re the one who rose too soon,” he said placing his hands behind his head.

  “You said we could go for a ride today, before you return,” she reminded him.

  “So I did.”

  “Are you still agreeable?” she asked cautiously.

  “Even more so.”

  “Really?” Eagerly, she spun round, and he watched her approach the bed wreathed in smiles.

  “Come here first, though.” He drew his hands from behind his head and sat up. At her approach, he reached out, caught her hands and drew her in close to him.

  Mathilde waited patiently for him to speak, and when he did not, and simply gazed down at her upturned hands in his, she frowned. “Is this where you ask if I’m too sore for horse riding?” she asked shrewdly. Guy looked up, his face coloring hotly. “I’m a grown woman,” she reminded him. “And you do not need to keep worrying as to my welfare.”

  “Of course, I worry,” he said swiftly. “You are my concern.” He raised one of her hands to his mouth and kissed the palm, then the other and kissed her wrist. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to come back to bed for a while?”

  She gave a gurgle of laughter at that. “I’m wide awake, and raring to go.”

  “So am I,” he growled, heaving her onto the bed. Mathilde shrieked and giggled as he tickled and pinned her to the mattress. Finally, he rolled to his back, taking her with him so she was lay across him. They lay like this for several minutes, neither inclined to disentangle from the other. In truth, he wished he could stay like this all day.

  After breaking their fast, the two of them took a ride through the woods and up to Braeburn Heights. Mathilde rode the bay mare she now called Sabrina and they galloped along past the tor, basking in the sunlight, which was quite dazzling against the snow. He had been right, she had a good seat and was a more than competent horsewoman. He pointed out Braeburn caves where many a poor soul had wandered in and perished, unable to find their way back out again. Mathilde had shivered gazing at the bleak rock face, despite the fierce sunshine and blue sky. Still, it was cold, and he noticed Mathilde’s nose and ears turning pink despite her hood. Reluctantly, he realized after an hour or so that they must turn back. Her face fell when he said so, and for whatever reason, it warmed him inside to know that she took the same pleasure in his company. They did not hurry on their return journey, and on entering the woods, Mathilde exclaimed and turned in her saddle.

  “Look!” she said excitedly, pointing to a curling plume among the trees.

  Guy glanced in the direction her gloved finger pointed. “Aye,” he said, and frowned. “I believe it must be the old crone’s cottage. I can think of no other dwelling hereabouts.”

  “Old Helga?” asked Mathilde excitedly. “Robin and I tried and tried to retrace our steps, but could never find it again.” She peered through the trees. “How odd now to simply stumble across it like this.”

  Guy shrugged. It did not seem so odd to him. “You and Robin are not yet familiar with these woods,” he pointed out.

  “Can we visit with her?” Mathilde asked. “Please Guy?”

  Guy considered her eager expression. “You’re cold,” he objected. “I need to get you back in front of a warm fire.”

  “Old Helga has a fire.”

  Guy’s resolve faltered. “This would please you?” She nodded. “Very well then.” If he wasn’t careful he’d be dancing to her tune like a lovesick fool. Why was he not more bothered by the notion? Unaware of his thoughts, she smiled at him, and their horses picked their way through the trees toward the cottage. For a moment, Guy could have sworn the place looked abandoned, despite the glimpse of chimney smoke.

  “You say you met her previously—?” he started, when suddenly a large raven croaked in his ear, spooking his horse. When he had Bayard once more under control, he turned and found Mathilde dismounting.

  “Good day to you Helga!” she called and, turning his head, Guy was surprised to find the old woman stood in her doorway.

  “The traveler returns, I see,” Helga responded, looking not one whit different to when Guy had last seen her, some seven or eight years ago. Her back still ramrod straight, her long hair still plentiful and iron gray, her eyes sharp. “How goes your quest?”

  Guy did not catch Mathilde’s response, for she had walked over to the woman, and they had clasped hands. Surprised to see them on terms of such familiarity,
Guy swung down from his horse and approached. “Mistress Helga,” he greeted her guardedly. He never was sure how you addressed witches. With extreme caution, his father had always recommended. Guy saw no reason to ignore the advice.

  “Well met, my Lord Martindale,” Helga responded, her beady eyes alighting on him keenly.

  “It has been many a year,” he ventured. “Since last our paths crossed.”

  “Indeed,” she squinted her pale eyes. “I see they have treated you kindly, in the main.”

  A few weeks ago, Guy would have found fault with these words, but now he was surprised to find, not so much. He grunted in agreement. “And you,” he added belatedly. She hardly seemed to have aged a day, although in truth, it had always been hard to determine her years.

  “I see the Yule-Father has brought ye a fine gift this year, my lord,” she added slyly, her eyes cutting to Mathilde.

  Guy flushed, and shot an uneasy glance at Mathilde. She stood politely listening with an alert, interested expression. He cleared his throat. “You could say so,” he agreed.

  Helga laughed, a throaty chuckle. “Will you come in and sit a while before my fire?” She led the way inside, not waiting for their reply. Mathilde followed at once, so Guy was forced to do likewise. Helga sat upon a low stool and gestured to a spread fur for them to sit upon.

  “Have you no … ” he floundered a moment for the right word. “Follower to help you keep house, Mistress Helga?” he asked, staring around the gloom of the room. There was barely a stick of furniture about the place, though animals milled around and a straw mattress lay against the far wall.

  “Follower?” Helga repeated with a dry crack of laughter. “Chance would be a fine thing. Girls nowadays,” she tutted. “All they want is babies and husbands. No, no,” she said briskly. “I’m better off with my animal companions.” She glanced at the wicked looking raven that sat upon her shoulder.

  “Why not a male apprentice?” suggested Mathilde cheekily. Guy glanced at her in alarm, but mercifully Old Helga answered this with a wheezy chuckle.

  “Why not, indeed?” she cogitated. “Maybe I’ll give it some thought, Mistress Impertinence. By the by, how’s that young friend of yours? The cat thief.”