Authors: Georgia Fox
The Virgin Proxy (7 page)
Moving restlessly beneath her, he pushed his hips off the bed, sliding his shaft in and out of her mouth, while she suckled cautiously at first, her tongue exploring the taste. Then she took control. Sitting on his thighs, she pressed her hands down on his hips and held them still while she milked his organ with a hungrier rhythm, listening to the harsh sounds of his breathing. His balls were hard again, gathered up at the root of his shaft. Each time she paused her sucking to nuzzle and kiss them gently he let out a groan that shuddered the length of his body, and then she licked back upward to work her tongue over the little slit on the head, lapping up the salty bead of his liquid. He grunted a warning, but she smiled and took him fully into her throat again, massaging with her lips, stroking with her tongue. It was not difficult to learn. She simply copied what he had done to her.
When he came, his hips and his shoulders rose up off the bed. He grabbed her head with both hands and tried to pull her away, but she wanted to swallow him down. The last thing she needed was yet more of his seed in close proximity to her womb. So she clung on, tightening her hold, sucking greedily. His body flexed under her as he cried out, as if in agony, shooting a creamy load into her throat.
She almost choked, but swallowed it and then finally released his cock.
He lay there panting. A shaft of moonlight, drifting through the nearest arrow slit, found his eyelids closed.
“Are you asleep?” she whispered, hoarse. No reply. “Have I killed you?”
She touched his lips with her finger and found them smiling.
“Not yet,” he said.
Deorwynn flopped down on the bed, struggling to claim some of the furs. She turned onto her side. So did he.
They lay together, his front to her back again, his strong, heavy thigh laid over her legs, as if he thought she might make a run for it. Just like a bear, she thought again, remembering her first impression of his powerful size. He swamped her in that bed and the way he held her made Deorwynn feel prized for the first time in her life.
He had called her “my love”. She’d tried to block it with her shield, but it kept swinging back to hit her in the chest.
It was easy to forget he was not her husband. Easier still to forget he was the enemy.
Until he said suddenly, “Your handmaiden, Derwyn. I like the look of her.”
She froze, her eyes opened wide, staring at that one blob of fluttering yellow—the candle across the chamber. “Oh?”
“She must join us in bed one evening.”
Deorwynn could not believe her ears.
“Make the arrangements as soon as possible,” he added.
She wriggled, turning over to face him, fighting against her veil and his hard arms. “Firstly, my lord. Her name is pronounced Deorwynn. And secondly…am I not enough for you?”
“Why settle for one wench when there are two to be had?” Unable to see his features fully, she just caught the gleam in his eye, as he added, “Besides,
wife
, your place is not to question.”
“But… Deorwynn is….”
“Mine now.” He leaned closer to the veil, almost biting her nose through it. “
My property
. My serf.”
“You don’t understand,” she said carefully. “Deorwynn is a proud Saxon. You are her enemy.”
He had the gall to sound surprised. “I have done nothing to her.”
“The Normans have ransacked, raped and pillaged all across this country. Of course she hates you.”
“
The Normans
? You speak, my lady Sybilia, as if you are not one yourself.”
She sucked on her tongue, damning herself for the slip. “I was merely repeating what she says. To demonstrate how heartily she despises men like you.”
“Despises us?” The glint in his eyes sharpened into a silver blue flame that licked at her through the pewter shadows. “She should be grateful for the order we bring to this country. This island was an uncivilized, lawless place before we came.”
She rolled over quickly, turning her back to him again before she might be tempted to curse.
“Sounds as if your handmaid, Derwyn, has a dangerous streak of rebellion in her heart.” He snaked an arm around her waist, settling back down into the pillows. “She thinks all Normans are here to do her harm. I shall spare the time to teach her differently.”
“How noble of you. I wouldn’t put yourself out. And it is Deorwynn for pity’s sake. Can you not pronounce it properly?”
His laughter blew gently through the veil against her hair. “Something troubles you wife,” he muttered. “Anything you wish to tell me?”
“No,” she snapped.
“Nothing you wish to confess?”
Deorwynn struggled with her emotions and now, too, with the horrifying thought that she’d given the game away, simply because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “No.”
“No?”
He could not possibly have realized the truth. Everyone knew men had only narrow attention spans. One woman was much the same to them as any other. “No.
My lord
.”
His big hand slid down over her stomach and between her legs. “Good. Then you will make the arrangements for my entertainment in bed. The sooner the better.”
“Deorwynn will not be willing.”
“I care not whether she is willing.” He squeezed her sex, rubbing his broad palm against her nether lips, his fingers tracing that sticky seed, where it trickled out of her. Then he clamped down again, his great, greedy bear paw enclosing her entire vulva. It felt as if he had locked her in a chastity belt made in the shape of his own hand. And she didn’t mind it. God help her, but she didn’t mind.
Breathless, she exclaimed, “She is not afraid to fight you.”
“I look forward to it,” he whispered, nuzzling her nape through the veil.
“She could stab you in the heart while you sleep.”
He laughed and she felt his strong, hard pulse throbbing in his wrist where it pressed on her mound. “But I don’t sleep when I have two women in my bed. There is no time if I mean to keep them both pleasured.”
Deorwynn lay stiff with anger. Perhaps she
had
said too much and given the game away with her habitual mouthiness. The nuns always said her tongue would get her in trouble one day, when she crossed the wrong man’s temper.
“I welcome her fiery spirit,” he added gruffly. “Not many women would dare challenge Guy Devaux, but these Saxons are primitive people. They fight for the sake of it and they know of no other way.”
This was sweet indeed coming from the lips of a heartless warrior known for his complete lack of mercy.
For a long time they lay like that. She almost became accustomed to his hand holding her intimately, one finger slipped between her swollen labia, locking his sperm inside.
* * * *
He fell asleep eventually, rolling over and sighing contentedly into his pillow, his great length stretched out beside her. Now freed of his flesh and bone chastity belt, she waited until he snored; then, creeping from the bed, she took the lone lit candle to the arrow slit and fluttered her hand across the flame three times. Hopefully Sybilia had not fallen asleep waiting in the barn across the yard.
After a moment of anxious watching, she saw a dark, hooded shape hurrying across the cobbles, skipping around a pile of drunken soldiers.
She’d only partially exhaled a relieved sigh when the rush of air stopped, trapped mid-way over her tongue.
Because she felt a touch on her shoulder.
She spun around, almost dropping the candle, her heart beat ceased. No, she’d imagined it.
Devaux still laid in the bed, his eyes closed, one foot and one arm dangling off the edge. Asleep, the Bear of Brittany looked deceptively harmless. He let out one loud snore.
Deorwynn exhaled slowly, her heart resuming a steady trot.
Sidling around the chamber, warily watching the man in the bed, she hurried to the door and put her ear to it. After a moment she heard quick, light steps approach. The guard outside the door murmured something. The door opened and Sybilia crept inside carrying a tray of wine and two goblets.
“Well? How was it? I thought he’d murdered you it’s been so long.”
“It was horrid. I do not wish to talk of it,” Deorwynn replied with a grimace. “Make haste before he wakes again.”
The two women swapped the veil and the hooded cloak. Deorwynn placed the tray on the floor beside the bed and watched Sybilia slide under the skins to lay beside the Norman.
“Good luck,” she whispered, thinking they’d both need it, and then she left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind her. The guard stood to attention and asked if everything was well with her mistress.
“Oh yes. She was thirsty.”
He smirked. “From the screams I heard all night long ‘tis no wonder.”
Deorwynn rolled her eyes. “Your master is fast asleep. My mistress wore him out.”
That wiped the smirk off his face. “Not my master. No single woman ever wore him out. He can take a hundred wenches to his bed and never tire.”
She snorted. “That was before he met my mistress. She tells me he begged her to stop before his prick fell off. Now she waits for your poor master to regain consciousness so she can go at it again. She’s like a bitch in heat.” She sighed gustily. “I don’t envy the wretched man. She has shriveled his balls to walnuts.”
With that she walked away down the passage, head high, leaving the guard with his mouth hanging open. Thank goodness he wouldn’t see the sticky sperm winding a trail down her inner thighs.
* * * *
Already he missed the Saxon girl’s bodily warmth. When Guy felt the bed dip he knew the other one had come to take her place at his side.
So horrible she did not wish to talk of it, eh? Liar.
When she spoke so passionately of her Saxon pride and her hatred for him, it occurred to Guy that she came to his bed that night intent on murdering him while he slept. She’d almost confessed it, little fool. But there was nowhere to conceal a weapon about her person. Did she have some unique method of murder, he wondered? He wouldn’t be surprised. These Saxon’s were determined, brave, cunning creatures. He’d like to think his skill as a lover kept her distracted from her purpose.
As for the woman now beside him…with her he was far angrier. She’d let her servant take her place in his bed and not, he suspected, out of any sense of generosity. He’d like to think his bedmate that evening was a gift from a thoughtful and inventive bride, but he’d never yet met a woman who turned down the chance of a fuck from Guy Devaux without a very, very good reason. Or a bad one.
What had kept this woman from his bed that evening and put the other one in it?
Fortunately for both he was too pleasantly weary and sated just then to open his eyes much wider than a sleepy squint. It was supposed to be the other way about, but that damnable Saxon hussy had fair fucked
him
senseless.
Chapter Six
Dressed early the following morning, she hurried to the herb garden, selected the herbs she needed and slipped into the cookhouse to prepare a potion. Sister Adela had told her the recipe once, and Deorwynn did her best to remember all the directions. The servants were already at work on the day’s meals, but no one asked her what she was doing there and, in fact, they barely noticed her presence, too busy to care. Devaux’s manor was extensive, his household sizeable. Keeping them all well fed and happy was a task of some magnitude, requiring many hands. Although hard at work, they still found time to gossip about their master and his new bride—how they’d kept everyone awake all night with their noise.
“He’s got his hands full with the one, by the sound of it,” the cook exclaimed, laughing heartily.
“The wild kitten he called her this morning,” said another. “I heard she wouldn’t let him sleep.”
“Kitten eh? More like a leopard or a tiger by the growls coming out of that bedchamber last night.”
They all laughed uproariously. Deorwynn’s cheeks grew hot. She had not realized how the whole castle would hear them.
“She’ll need to be wild to keep his interest and take him on regularly,” the cook added, chopping the head from a dead goose with one swing of her knife.
“Why? What do you mean?” asked a young, wide-eyed maid.
The spit boy shouted above the clanging of pots and pans, “Why do you think they call him the Bear of Brittany?”
“For his bravery, of course,” the girl answered.
“Aye, but also for his appetite, his claws, his bite and the size of his tackle. He could tear a little thing like you, limb from bloody limb. He’d split you in two with his big cock.”
The little girl screamed, while the spit boy laughed and teased.
Pouring her foul-smelling concoction into a wooden cup, Deorwynn took it outside into the fresh, cold air.
On her way across the yard, she witnessed a group of children fighting together. One of them, a small boy, was being picked on and her heart went out to him. He reminded her very much of Raedwulf. Prepared to run over and scold the other children, she stopped when she saw the Bear of Brittany himself descend angrily on the group and pluck the worst miscreant up by his collar.
Not expecting to see him again so soon, she was frozen to the spot, unable to look away. Those same long arms had held her last night. She’d straddled those thick thighs when he entered her for the first time and claimed her virgin blood. That mouth had sought hers through the veil and his big, rough-skinned hands had stroked her, fondled her intimately, cupped her sex possessively. It had all happened only a few short hours ago. Her legs wilted at the memory.
