The Virgin Proxy by Georgia Fox

herself—men like him had stolen her father’s land, her brothers’ birthright. Men like him had killed her brothers in battle.
    If her brothers had the chance, however, would they not have done the same to him without a second thought? And did he have a sister who worried about him? Did he have other women, left behind to pine for him?
    Suddenly she remembered Sybilia. His new bride must be growing impatient, waiting for the signal to assure her that Devaux was safely asleep and none the wiser.
    He stroked her hip with one large hand. “Did I hurt you?”
    “Yes,” she hissed, certain he’d killed her. Since she still breathed, it was probably a delayed reaction.
    He gently cupped his palm around her buttock and squeezed. “I cannot resist this fine ass. I wish I could take it tonight. Take it properly.”
    “You said it’s not ready,” she reminded him anxiously.
    “Yes.” He sighed. “I suppose I need not be in such haste to try everything tonight,” he added with a drowsy laugh. “We have the rest of our lives together.”
    That’s what he thought. She glowered into the shadows. His hand on her bottom, stroked in a soothing fashion and then his fingertips swept up over her hip again, down into the dip of her waist and along, under her veil to caress her arm. She jerked away.
    “My lady is ticklish?” he cooed.
    “No,” she lied.
    He tried again, his fingers moving up her arm like a large, long-legged spider.
    “Stop that. Go to sleep.” He must close his eyes soon, or Sybilia would never be able to creep back into his bed before first light.
    “But I am not tired.”
    She groaned. “I am tired. And aching.”
    “I have overused you?”
    Deorwynn sighed gloomily. “What else should I expect from a man? You are all devils. The nuns warned me.”
    “But you seemed to enjoy it, my love.”
    “I did not.”
    “You did. Especially,” he licked her shoulder under the veil, “when I spanked you.”
    “Indeed I did not.”
    “Admit it.”
    “How can I, when ‘tis not true?”
    He was still for a moment and then he sprang, tickling her under her arms and her belly, all those sensitive spots he’d already discovered. Panicking that her veil would be dislodged, she fought back, grabbing a pillow and smacking it hard against the side of his head. It split open and moonbeams rode on a flurry of goose feathers that speckled the air, drifting all around them. He grabbed his pillow likewise and swung it, but she was up on her knees, beating him back. Laughing, head ducked against her blows, he circled one arm around her waist and brought her back down over his body, her shape sliding easily against his long form, her legs astride one of his broad thighs. She found his ticklish places, just as he found hers and it was one way to distract him from removing her veil.
    “You win, my wife,” he chuckled, trying to fend her off as the feathers floated to the bed around them. “This once I surrender. I give you victory. I will let you sleep.”
    “And will you sleep?”
    It seemed unlikely. His staff was semi-hard again already as he lay stretched out on his back, speckled with fallen feathers.
    “I will try,” he muttered, not very convincingly.
    She touched his cock in the semi-darkness and felt it twitch, like a napping pup awoken by her caress. “Does it hurt?” she asked, genuinely curious.
    “Only when it doesn’t get its exercise regularly.” Moonlight revealed his teeth in a slow grin.
    She moved her hand slowly up and down, holding his shaft loosely.
    “I thought you were tired?” he purred, low.
    But she had to wear him out first, didn’t she? Couldn’t risk falling asleep before he did.
    Leaning down, she lifted her veil to let it fall over his groin area and then opened her lips on the fleshy head of his cock. He raised one knee, half turning toward her. She could smell her own musk on him and something else—the scent of man. He was still slightly sticky, but it was not unpleasant