The Virgin Proxy

by Fox, Georgia

  Thierry closed his mouth over her areola and now they both suckled, their rhythm alternating so there was no respite from the delicious wet tugging. She peaked, squeezing her thighs around Guy’s waist, moaning loud enough to startle a flock of crows from the branches above. His teeth closed around her nipple, holding it without biting. As the last quake shook her body, he lifted her off his still hard cock.

  What now? She opened her eyes just as she felt something else sliding in. An unfamiliar cock.

  It was Thierry’s turn.

  Guy stood to one side, watching, his eyes stern. “Don’t spend inside her,” he muttered, one hand stroking her hair. “That pleasure with this one is mine alone.”

  Thierry smiled. “Can she come? Or is that forbidden with anyone but you too?”

  “She’d better not.” He glared at her. “She climaxes when I allow it from now on. The little kitten is altogether too fond of pleasuring herself.”

  Looking into his face, she knew he was trying to convince not only her, but himself, that he could do it this way, as he’d done with others.

  Today she would make him see the truth.

  Deorwynn stuck out her tongue over Thierry’s shoulder. “I’ll come when I like and as often as I like. With or without you.” And she moved herself faster on Thierry’s prick, wrapping her arms around his neck, pumping her hips. Laughing, Thierry stumbled back and sat on a tree stump. She arched her back, writhing madly, knowing what that would do to the man who watched, when he looked at her ass and the print of his hand upon it.

  * * * *

  Thierry grabbed her hips, trying to control the pace, before he erupted too quickly. But the result of her frenzied bouncing and Thierry’s anxious guiding of her buttocks, was that Guy had a full view of his friend’s darkened shaft disappearing inside her delicious pussy, to its full length and then back out again, right to the head. In and out. A steady, controlled rutting. Thierry’s balls were heavy and full, quivering each time she landed back down on his root, her delicate pink labia wetly kissing the furry mounds.

  Usually this sight would excite him all the more, but sharing this woman was a different matter.

  He warned her, “You’ll get another spanking.”

  The gleam in her eye proved he’d just aroused her even more. She laughed, grabbing Thierry’s hair and pulling his head to her breasts as she bounced harder in his lap.

  Guy placed his hand to the base of her spine and bent her forward. Her skin was still pink from his earlier spanking and the cold air. He placed his gloved hand to her rounded cheek and caressed it, feeling the gentle quivering as she rode his friend. If he spanked her now she would come with Thierry inside her; instead he slipped off his glove, licked his finger and worked it part way into her anus. She groaned, her muscles tight, but flexing to take him in. Beneath her, Thierry was gasping, his feet pressed down in the grass, his hips pushing upward, and a look of dazed hunger on his face. Guy knew there was no time to play further; he had only seconds to act. Wrapping his other arm around her waist, he hauled her up, snatching her out of his friend’s grip and off his dick, just as the stream of seed shot out of Thierry’s jerking body. He took her down to the ground on her hands and knees and pushed quickly into her moist, red hot pussy. No one would ever plant in this heavenly field but him. Knees spread in the bracken, he pounded into her roughly, arm still wrapped around her waist, his teeth on her neck, making certain he branded her as his.

  He’d never felt this possessive, but Thierry would have to forgive him.

  She was his kitten. No one else’s.

  Could it be that Guy Devaux, the Bear of Brittany, was finally turning into a respectable man and a faithful one?

  He was in deep, coming like mad.

  And he was madly, deeply in love.

  * * * *

  He made her ride with him back to the fortress while Thierry followed behind on his own horse, leading her mount. It was as if Guy Devaux didn’t want to risk losing sight of her again. Not that he ever would. Unless, of course, she felt the desire for one of his punishments.

  Her head rested in the crook of his wide shoulder and his arms closed around her, his thighs enclosing her hips. She still felt her cheeks burning when she thought of how he’d taken her in full view of his friend, but there was also a victorious thrill that saved her from too much shame. She had proved her point to him.

  Another battle won by Deorwynn of Wexford. He may as well give up the war.

  She moved her head, looking up at his strong jaw and the sharp little hairs that darkened it today.

  “I showed you that one woman can be enough.”

  His gaze skimmed down over her upturned face and he sighed heavily. “You are enough for me. It seems I must concede defeat.” Then he smiled. “And I proved to you that not all Normans should be despised.”

  Deorwynn solemnly agreed. “Now you will arrange my brother’s freedom.”

  “Will I indeed?”

  “You know you must, if you wish to keep me in a pleasant and obliging mood.”

  He chuckled and she felt it rumbling through his chest. “You are a menace, woman.”

  “Yes. And you’re a lecherous Norman swine. But I am in love with you.”

  There, she said it.

  He transferred his reins to one hand so that he could take her chin in the other and hold it still while he bent to kiss her lips. “Thank Christ you told me that,” he muttered gruffly. “I feared you never would. And I adore you, my sweet kitten. I am so in love with you I hardly know what to do with myself.”

  She kissed him back, one hand flung around his neck, her heart pressed to his.

  “We will be married this afternoon,” he added. “And I shall have a second wedding night to enjoy.”

  “Married?” If not for his arms holding her, she would have fallen from his horse. “Have you forgotten you already have a wife?” she demanded.

  “I am not wed.”

  “Sybilia…”

  “Is not my wife.”

  She stared.

  “One of the traveling players stood in for the monk. I ordered it when I saw you standing on the chapel steps and…I decided to delay my wedding day.”

  She recalled the monk’s strange footwear, his nervous fumbling and the stench of drink. “So you let everyone believe you’d married her? You rotten…”

  “No-good, filthy Norman swine? Yes. Surely you didn’t expect me to have a conscience did you?”

  “I suppose you thought it was amusing,” she exclaimed, poking him in the chest.

  “Especially when I found you taking her place in my bed.” His laughter burst out over her head.

  “Guy Devaux! What will you tell Sybilia—and her father? And the king?”

  “That my wife-to-be decided she preferred my best friend after all. It’s time Thierry had a little reward and he will certainly welcome her dowry.”

  He was giving all that up for her. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids.

  “Besides,” he continued softly, “the lost daughter of the Eaorl of Wexford has been found again. It is my duty to marry her. It is the honorable thing to do.”

  Heart pounding, she stared up at him.

  He drew the beast to a halt. “Wexford is not a hundred miles from here, Saxon hussy.”

  “I don’t…”

  “It is not even a mile from here.”

  She swallowed, gazing at his lips. “Well, I was six. I told you. It felt like a hundred… How do you know where it is anyway?”

  He smoothed a lock of hair away from her brow. “Because it is mine. Just as you were meant to be. It is here. Beneath us now.”

  Slowly she understood. The skeletal trees on the far hill. The screaming ravens. She’d seen them before and not just in her nightmares.

  “King William granted me this confiscated land. Your father claimed he had no daughter, or I would have married you when I took the property.” How odd that blue eyes could be so warm, she mused. “It seems your f
ather tried to save you from your hated enemy by denying your existence.”

  And left her to a life of misery in that convent, she thought crossly.

  “But fate brought you to me in any case,” he added, thoughtfully smiling.

  Wexford. She couldn’t believe it. What had become of her father’s great hall and the village? Her memories of the old place were slight and foggy. Closing her eyes tight she saw the ravens again, causing a ruckus, rattling the bare, twisted branches. She gazed upward, mesmerized. Terrified. Was she on her feet or on horseback with her brothers?

  She remembered a pair of hands and then a fleece coat, shielding her.

  It was Raedwulf. He’d found her staring up at the tree, where a hanged man—a poacher executed by her father—swung in the wind, his flesh slowly decaying, pecked at by the birds. The gruesome sight had stayed with her all these years, embedded in her mind like an infected sting from a wasp. It was not a nightmare, or an omen; it was a memory.

  “What is lost will be found again,” she murmured.

  “What?”

  “It is something an old fortune teller told me before I came here.”

  Guy reached under his mantle, feeling for something. He brought it out to her, enclosed in his big fist. “Would this be yours perchance?” He unfurled his fingers slowly and there she saw her little stone which she lost when she was six. The carving of her favorite pony, made for her by Wulf.

  Her sight misted with tears.

  “Deorwynn of Wexford has come home,” he said, slipping it into her trembling palm and gently curling her fingers over it. “She is lost no more. I found her.”

  She sniffed, wiping her tears away impatiently so that she could see his face again.

  “And I’m keeping her,” he added with a smile that melted all her bones. Not to mention her warrior heart.

  “But you won’t have a virgin on this wedding night,” she said.

  His grin widened. “Oh yes I will. There is something I saved for tonight.”

  Her cheeks warmed. Anticipation trickled down into her nether regions. She thought of his fingers stretching her and imagined his cock doing the same.

  “Must we wait for tonight?” she whispered.

  He feigned shock. “Of course, my lady. This will be done properly.”

  Yes, she was in no doubt of that. Deorwynn just didn’t know if she could restrain herself that long from touching her rotten, villainous Norman again. In all likelihood, she reasoned gladly, Deorwynn of Wexford would do something bad to warrant punishment again, before too long.

  * * * *

  Eight months later

  She waited as his horse cantered to the gates and he dismounted.

  “Deorwynn!” he exclaimed. “Can it be you?” He looked down at her belly, full with her husband’s child. “My little sister. You have changed much.”

  Yes she had. Once she was the unluckiest girl in the world and now she was the luckiest woman. She embraced her brother with both arms and then looked back to where Guy waited, watching from the battlements, the sun shining on his black curls.

  “The Norman forced me to marry him,” she said. “In exchange for your freedom.”

  Raedwulf laid one hand to her belly. “And this?”

  “It was all his fault, Wulf. I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled. “I see not everything has changed.”

  They walked together under the portcullis and she beamed up at her fine brother, thinking how much he too had changed. “You are far handsomer than I remember.”

  He laughed at that.

  “You should be married, Wulf.”

  “You mean you set me free so that I can be imprisoned again, little sister?”

  She smiled, linking her arm in his. Perhaps it was too soon to tell him that not only was marriage one of King William’s terms of amnesty for her brother—but he must also marry a Norman woman.

  He would get used to the idea, she thought hopefully. After all, they had some time before the wife already picked out for him arrived for the wedding.

  Three entire days.

  The End

  Other Books by Georgia Fox:

  The Ever Knight (The Conquerors, 1)

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com