The Virgin Proxy(45)

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?”