The Virgin Proxy

by Fox, Georgia

“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?”

  “He was an Eaorl.”

  He stared. “You’re not a peasant.”

  “Everything was taken away from us. Whatever we had once is no longer ours.” She sat up, hugging her knees. Assuming he didn’t believe her, she exclaimed, “Why would I be at the convent if I was a peasant’s daughter? My father sent me there until he found me a husband.”

  “And he did not find you one?”

  “Would I be here if he had?” she snapped.

  He reached for her with both arms, pulling her close. “No.” His voice was muffled in her hair. She thought she felt him laughing, but surely not. “You may have your horse, Deorwynn,” he murmured eventually, his voice drowsy. “You won the wager. I had to touch you today.”

  It occurred to her that this was his way of apologizing for last night when he tricked her. But did he still think he could share her as he shared his wife?

  “Can I ride out with the hunt tomorrow, my lord?” she asked softly.

  He was, it seemed, fooled by her demure tone. “If you desire it, I will allow it,” he replied, smug and sanctimonious, planting a quick kiss to her hair. “But you will stay tonight with me and tomorrow you will keep back with the other women and not put yourself in danger.”

  Now he thought her tamed to his bidding, his rules.

  Deorwynn smiled into the darkening night. She was only just beginning to understand exactly how much power she had over this mighty warrior. Somehow she had
to prove it to him too.

  Chapter Twelve

  Squinting hard he watched the damnable woman race her horse across the field at reckless speed. Her gown blew up over her knees, exposing her riding boots and a great deal of leg. She threw her head back and laughed as Thierry raced at her side, both headed for the same leap over a wide ditch. Her long hair, gleaming in the white winter’s sun, fell loose from its bindings and fluttered behind her like a knight’s pennant.

  Guy’s heart lurched up into his throat. Hadn’t he fucked her hard enough to keep her out of the saddle today? Most women would politely decline from riding or any major exertion after a night like the one they’d shared.

  She was an excellent rider, fearless. He might have known after the way she rode him.

  He shifted in his saddle, readjusting his cock as he felt it thicken at the very pleasant memory of her tight, hot pussy clinging to it. He knew he would never get enough of her.

  Deorwynn of Wexford. Could it be true that fate had brought her back to her home and she did not recognize it? Scowling he watched the two distant figures on horseback take off and soar over the ditch, more interested in racing one another than they were in chasing the stag.

  He tightened his hold on the reins, eased the restless stallion around and urged him forward, leaving the pack of riders. His own interest in the stag had waned. He had other prey in his sights and she was currently disappearing into the forest riding side by side with Thierry.

  Leaning forward, eyes focused on the woman in the distance, he nudged his mount into a gallop. The ground thundered by beneath him, great hooves slashing through the brittle, frost-streaked grass. Fresh wind tore at his face.

  Thierry evidently heard his approach and turned, slowing his own horse, but Guy gestured that he should follow. The woman did not look and continued forward at her own pace.

  His stallion moved powerfully under him, so fast and slick now that he, the rider, was almost still, suspended in time and air, crouched in the saddle, giving the animal his head. Finally she looked over her shoulder. Guy saw her brown eyes flare, but she urged her horse faster, thrusting through the trees, dappled light catching on her streaming hair, her laughter echoing through the forest.

  He smiled stiffly. The woman liked leading him on a chase it seemed. She flaunted her disobedience and he had a feeling he knew why.

  Somewhere behind him Thierry still followed. Guy’s heart was beating hard and ruthless, thrusting against his tunic like an angry fist. Today he would test himself. He must know if his need for Deorwynn was different or if he could share her easily with his friend. There was no other way to put this matter to rest between them. But his sight was already foggy, sweat breaking on his chest. Something was tearing its way free inside of him and the agony was worse than anything he’d ever felt.

  * * * *

  When they started out that morning the sky was overcast. Now the winter sun was out and it filtered down through the last few copper leaves that clung to the tangled branches above her head, spattering the dead grass and bracken with drops of cool gold. It was all very peaceful and beautiful.

  Breathing hard she slowed the horse to a canter. The forest became dense. Thick, gnarled roots stuck up from the earth making the way more treacherous. The canter reduced to a trot and then a walk.

  Suddenly Guy Devaux appeared directly in her path, astride his sweating stallion. “I win,” he said.

  “I did not know it was a race,” she replied pertly. Of course she’d known he would follow and she’d instructed Thierry to do the same. She had to know if Guy’s feelings for her were different to those he’d had for any other woman.

  “I thought you agreed, Deorwynn to stay back and out of danger. I thought we had a truce last night.”

  Her horse was trapped in a narrow spot between trees. There was no space to turn and he blocked their path.

  “Where were you going?” he demanded. “Trying to run away from me?”

  With a sigh she swung down from the saddle and led her horse through the cluster of sprawling limbs and thick old trunks. He too leapt from his saddle, walking after her, but he had no need to lead his horse by the reins; the animal followed placidly, as if it had not just chased her down with flaring nostrils and churning hooves.

  Suddenly Devaux reached for her hips. She turned to face him. His heavy hands moved to her bottom and pulled her hard against him. “Time to punish you, wench, for your continued disobedience.” His hands cupped her buttocks through her gown, settling her even more firmly against his groin. He teased her mouth open with his tongue and continued down her chin and throat, peppering it with light kisses. He licked her nipple through her gown, his hands squeezing and stroking her bottom. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it? Punishment?”

  She was wet for him, opening already for his prick.

  “Spread your legs,” he grunted. “I’m coming in.”

  “Out here?” she protested mildly. “Anyone could see us. Any of the hunting party could…”

  He spun her around to face a tree and quickly gathered her gown and shift in one fist, lifting it until she felt the brisk air on her legs above her riding boots, then her bared bottom. His hand stroked her right buttock, his leather glove rough against her skin.

  “Do you question me, woman?” He spanked her. Hard. “You are mine, Deorwynn. This we agreed last night also. Don’t run from me again.”

  “I didn“It run. I rode.”

  Another spank. And another. She gripped the rough bark of the tree before her and bent further, her blood alive with wanting. She knew her bottom must be crimson and she was already trickling sexual juices, the vibrations of his big hand shaking through her body, making the tiny beads of lust drip to her inner thighs.

  He breathed harshly. “Spread for me.”

  She did not immediately obey and received another spank. She wriggled her hips, taunting him, laughter husky in her throat. Oh yes, this is what she needed.

  He forced her legs apart with his knee and cold air kissed her damp cunny. With one long finger he flicked her labia from one end to the other and she knew her passion would dampen the leather of his glove. She shivered, excitement overtaking her so that she no longer cared where they were or what he did to her.

  A sudden appreciative whistle caught her attention. She turned her head.

  Thierry propped his shoulder against a nearby tree, watching the two of them, staring at her bent over, stark naked, lower half. Surely Guy had heard that whistle, but he made no sign; instead he knelt in the dry, fallen leaves and mossy tree roots at her feet and feasted on her cunny like a man starved of sustenance for days. Her knees weakened, but his hands gripped her ass and kept her from swaying, as the sensual curl of his tongue found her core and pleasured it devotedly. She watched Thierry remove his gloves, toss them into the bracken and slowly rub his own straining shaft through his breeches. His eyes burned into hers and he smiled slowly. Deorwynn remembered what she’d seen last night, the energetic way he fucked Sybilia, the pleasure on his handsome face when he delivered his seed into his friend’s wife.

  Clearly no woman was out of bounds for these two.

  Guy sucked on her nether lips, first one side, then the other; then he took them both together, tugging gently with his teeth, sending an exquisite stabbing heat through her pussy to her womb. She ground back into his mouth, silently pleading. He answered, thrusting his tongue inside her, flicking it hard across that tiny hidden key to her complete undoing.

  Through misty eyes, she looked over to watch Thierry now pumping his exposed cock rapidly with one hand. She saw the tip shining with the first drop of his spunk. She licked her lips, staring at it, while Guy’s stiffened tongue thrust again and again into her throbbing sex.

  Thierry delayed his ejaculation, suddenly taking his hand away, leaving his cock rearing up, the head an angry scarlet.

  But her own fevered rush began, Guy working her mercilessly with his incredible tongue. Suddenly, before she
could finish her ride, he withdrew his mouth from her, turned her to face him and lifted her against the broad trunk. She mewled in protest at having her climax interrupted, but then his cock pushed into her, filling her with one thrust. Her legs gripped his flanks, wrapped around him, the leather of her riding boots squeaking as her crossed ankles rubbed together. She knitted her fingers through his dark curls, until he commanded that she unlace her gown and let him have her breasts. Once again he did not ask politely, but she was in no mood to quibble over niceties this time.

  Thierry moved closer, now standing less than an arm’s reach from the two of them. Her fingers fumbled over the laces at her throat. Suddenly simple knots were impossible conundrums. She couldn’t think with Guy savagely moving her up and down on his cock, her loosened hair catching on the tree bark, his breath scorching the base of her throat.

  He growled at her for tangling the laces and then shouted, “Thierry! Come get her bubbies out.”

  His friend stepped up with a grin and speedily untied her laces. Guy didn’t even break his rhythm. His shaft felt twice as large at this angle and with her weight supported only by his hands gripping her ass.

  He grunted, thrusting his hips, pushing her harder against the tree. Thierry had her bodice unlaced and ripped her under-shift in his haste to expose her breasts. With a lean, cool hand he fondled her right breast, his thumb skimming the nipple; then he held it, while Guy took it into his mouth and sucked. Through half closed eyes she watched Thierry’s face. Somber, he observed his friend nursing at her breast, as the fucking steadily continued. Then he walked around the tree to her other side, cupped her left breast and muttered something in French. Guy grunted a reluctant reply that fluttered like a butterfly’s wings over her roused, swollen nipple. Thierry thanked him, bent his head and licked her left breast. She gasped, the walls of her sheath contracting on Guy’s broad shaft, as she advanced to her summit yet again.