The Virgin Proxy(14)

He knelt back on his heels, regaining his breath a moment, savoring her honey on his tongue. “Get astride me,” he grunted. He knew he wouldn’t last long the first time—she’d had him in this state since last night—but even if it was quick, he’d make it count.

“Don’t you ever say please?” she demanded.

He thought about that and answered with more honesty than she deserved. “I have no need to. People do as I command, or face the point of my sword.”

“And yet you expect me to be polite to you. My lord?”

He curbed the instinct to shout at her. There were too many other things he wanted to do to her at this moment and shouting would use up precious energy.

“Get astride me. If you please. My lady wife.”

“That’s better.”

No woman had ever dared try his temper like this. He glowered at her through the shroud of night. Occasionally the guttering light of the half-dead fire touched her shoulder or the side of her breast. Once or twice it found the glimmer of impertinence in her eyes as she watched him through that veil.

Finally she complied, straddling his thighs, her hands resting on his upper arms. He folded her veil up over her shoulders, so he could feel her breasts against his chest. Then he gripped her waist, easing her down onto the head of his cock. He felt her excitement, heard her muted gasps as she prepared for her initiation. She was just as keen as he. A woman fearless and dangerous, hot to the touch. He’d never known the like on this side of his dreams.

He could still barely believe he’d found her waiting for him in his bed.

Keeping her poised at the tip of his manhood, he slid one hand between her legs to hold her dampened nether lips apart with his fingers, then eased his cock head inside. Again he paused, tantalizing her and himself, moving both hands to her bottom, squeezing and cupping her small rounded cheeks.

He heard her gasp of wanton desire, urging him to take her, and he laughed low, bending his head, moving his lips and tongue over her luscious, perfectly ripened bubbies. She pressed down, trying to mount herself on his prick, but he held her lower body still, determined to let her have the rest when he couldn’t wait another second—not before.

First one, then the other, he flicked his tongue over her nipples. He sucked gently as she arched, trying to spread her legs wider and sink down. Impatient hussy. His groin ached, his balls tightened. He laved and suckled her breasts, worshipping them, his lips tugging, his soft laughter teasing the taut pink buds at their peak. Her fingers boldly stroked through his hair, scraping at his scalp and she worked her hips, rubbing her wetness over his swollen, pulsing cock head. She was exquisite and wanton. He couldn’t have asked for a better wedding gift.

“Down,” he commanded gruffly. “If you please, my lady.”

Knees slithering across the rumpled furs, she lowered onto his rock hard shaft. Just as he felt the tightness and anticipated the barrier that would bring her to a halt, he grabbed her bottom, forcing her down ruthlessly. The pain would be sharp this way, but over quickly.

When he pierced her maidenhead she screamed and a low, victorious roar shot out of him before he could swallow it. Below, in the courtyard, his men cheered in celebration. Guy’s heart beat rolled like thunder. He couldn’t catch a breath. She was incredibly tight, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her nails probably leaving bloody half-moons. He wished he could see her face.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, one hand stroking her hair through the veil, the other arm wrapped tight around her waist. I’m sorry? He was horrified to hear those words bursting out through his lips. He’d never said that before. Never. But when he felt her rapid, uneven heart beat and heard her scattered breath exhaled in pain, he wished he’d spent even more time preparing her. She was so small compared to his great, muscular frame.

Through that heavy, maidenly veil he sought her mouth with his, overtaken with the need to kiss her. Soft lips parted under his, but the gauze remained between them, moist with their urgent breath. With one hand he tried to lift it, but she clung to the veil, holding it down, even as the embattled kiss continued. He might have wrenched it from her hands, but in an unusual rush of giddy tenderness, he resorted to licking her mouth through the veil, circling her full, opened lips with his tongue, as if persuading her to let him in.

In the yard below, his men were loud and rowdy, drunk and stupid on too much wedding ale. They would suffer tomorrow on the training field. This practical thought broke through the pleasant fog and he realized there was an odd, needy noise coming from his own throat, almost pleading with her to let him remove the veil and hold his lips to hers.