Page 47 of Wed By Proxy

“Ready?”

“For hard.”

He caught his breath and stared down at her. He should ask if she was sure, as there was no way she was. He didn’t, though. Just started rocking his hips in earnest between her thighs. “Tell me if you want me to slow down,” he gritted out.

She nodded; her eyes very wide. He could see gold flecks in the depths of her eyes. Or was he just seeing stars? His vision was starting to distort. There was no way he could withstand this much pleasure. It was too good. She uncrossed her legs, tightening them around his hips, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Guy,” she breathed, arching up into him.

Oh gods, she wanted him gentler? Exerting control he didn’t know he possessed, he slowed to a stop, and paused, shaking with the effort to continue more sedately.

She gave a disappointed cry. “No, don’t stop!”

He nearly collapsed on top of her, but just about managed to hold his weight off her. “Just give me a minute,” he wheezed. “I can make it slow.”

She twisted beneath him, inhaling sharply. “Not slower!” Adjusting the grip of her legs, she wrapped them back around his waist to urge him closer. “Faster Guy. Harder.”

Harder? He stared down at her. She writhed beneath him, gave a frustrated sob. She was close? She wanted it faster and harder? Hardly believing his ears, he surged forward, plunging into her. She cried out sharply, but even in his inflamed state, he could tell her cry was one of gratification. Thank the gods. He allowed himself three, four more hard strokes and then felt her coming around his cock. He could hardly believe it. Her pleasure seen to, he allowed his own needs to come to the fore and finished, brutally hammering between her thighs like a beast.

They slept in late the next morning. Guy did not awake until he heard low conversation in the room. He cracked an eye open to find Mathilde and the servant Prudence pouring water into the washing basin. They shared a few quiet words and then the maid withdrew. Guy lay still, reluctant to admit he was awake. He felt an incredible sense of contentment, that he could not remember feeling in — well — forever. Even before the war he had not felt anything like this. The sun was shining through the window and slanted across the room, adding to his general sense of satisfaction. A thaw must be surely be setting in. He could hear the rustle of cloth and splash of water as Mathilde washed. Lifting his head, she could see she was wearing a shift this morning, though she had slept naked in his arms all night. She turned her head and saw him watching her. “Good morning,” she said, with a smile.

“Morning,” he rumbled in reply.

“You did not leave at the crack of dawn,” she commented, drying her hands.

“This time, you’re the one who rose too soon,” he said placing his hands behind his head.

“You said we could go for a ride today, before you return,” she reminded him.

“So I did.”

“Are you still agreeable?” she asked cautiously.

“Even more so.”

“Really?” Eagerly, she spun round, and he watched her approach the bed wreathed in smiles.

“Come here first, though.” He drew his hands from behind his head and sat up. At her approach, he reached out, caught her hands and drew her in close to him.

Mathilde waited patiently for him to speak, and when he did not, and simply gazed down at her upturned hands in his, she frowned. “Is this where you ask if I’m too sore for horse riding?” she asked shrewdly. Guy looked up, his face coloring hotly. “I’m a grown woman,” she reminded him. “And you do not need to keep worrying as to my welfare.”

“Of course, I worry,” he said swiftly. “You are my concern.” He raised one of her hands to his mouth and kissed the palm, then the other and kissed her wrist. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to come back to bed for a while?”

She gave a gurgle of laughter at that. “I’m wide awake, and raring to go.”

“So am I,” he growled, heaving her onto the bed. Mathilde shrieked and giggled as he tickled and pinned her to the mattress. Finally, he rolled to his back, taking her with him so she was lay across him. They lay like this for several minutes, neither inclined to disentangle from the other. In truth, he wished he could stay like this all day.

After breaking their fast, the two of them took a ride through the woods and up to Braeburn Heights. Mathilde rode the bay mare she now called Sabrina and they galloped along past the tor, basking in the sunlight, which was quite dazzling against the snow. He had been right, she had a good seat and was a more than competent horsewoman. He pointed out Braeburn caves where many a poor soul had wandered in and perished, unable to find their way back out again. Mathilde had shivered gazing at the bleak rock face, despite the fierce sunshine and blue sky. Still, it was cold, and he noticed Mathilde’s nose and ears turning pink despite her hood. Reluctantly, he realized after an hour or so that they must turn back. Her face fell when he said so, and for whatever reason, it warmed him inside to know that she took the same pleasure in his company. They did not hurry on their return journey, and on entering the woods, Mathilde exclaimed and turned in her saddle.

“Look!” she said excitedly, pointing to a curling plume among the trees.

Guy glanced in the direction her gloved finger pointed. “Aye,” he said, and frowned. “I believe it must be the old crone’s cottage. I can think of no other dwelling hereabouts.”

“Old Helga?” asked Mathilde excitedly. “Robin and I tried and tried to retrace our steps, but could never find it again.” She peered through the trees. “How odd now to simply stumble across it like this.”

Guy shrugged. It did not seem so odd to him. “You and Robin are not yet familiar with these woods,” he pointed out.

“Can we visit with her?” Mathilde asked. “Please Guy?”