The Virgin Proxy by Georgia Fox Page A

and felt the thudding pulse deepen.
    She began covering them again.
    “No,” he barked.
    She paused.
    “Touch those nipples,” he grunted. “Both hands.”
    He thought she would argue, but the little peaks hardened at his command. The rosy nubs tightened and puckered, even before her fingers pinched them lightly, then rubbed as he directed. Her lashes fluttered and she inhaled.
    Now she was entertaining him. He knew how much she enjoyed being looked at.
    “Let me see your pussy,” he muttered gruffly. “I’ll give you that horse and a gold bracelet if I lose the wager and touch you.”
    Thierry still waited for a signal to join them, but Guy wasn’t ready yet. He felt selfish and overheated like an adolescent again, newly discovering the abilities of his cock and afire with pent up yearning.
    “No,” she said.
    He moved his gaze back to her face. “Are you worried I’ll see how wet you are in my presence? Virginal Saxon wench who does not desire me and would rather I was dead?”
    Her lower lip stuck out. Mulish.
    “Pussy,” he commanded, drawing the word out in a hiss.
    She hesitated.
    “Unless, of course, you’re afraid. Saxon.”
    That did it. Her eyes glistened in the firelight. She stood and lifted her shift to her waist with no further quibbling. “Satisfied? Norman swine. Are you sure you’re six and twenty, not sixteen?”
    He ignored her comment, busy working his shaft with one tight hand, gazing at her bared breasts and then the small golden treasure purse between her thighs. God he wanted to touch her. His stallion was on fire to have her ride it again. Aware of Thierry moving impatiently in the shadows behind her, he did not make eye-contact. Knowing what the other man wanted, he still wasn’t ready to give it.
    She lifted her leg, resting her bare foot on the edge of his couch and now he had a clear view of her sex and those sweet, honeyed lips. She could deny it all she liked, but he knew he’d been in there. Had her. Fucked her.
    Thierry would have a fine view too, standing silently behind her. He could feel the other man’s desire flowing in waves, but Thierry would just have to wait, because Guy was in charge here.
    “Let’s raise the wager,” she said.
    “Hmm?”
    “If you do not resist touching me, you will arrange a pardon for Raedwulf.”
    “Hmm.” All the blood in his body was surely accumulating in his lower regions. His spine tingled. His throat was parched. “Raedwulf? Who the Hell is Raedwulf?”
    “My brother,” she clarified tersely.
    Oh yes. “Hmm.”
    Now she flirted with danger, lifting that same leg higher until her toes rested on the back of his couch. He groaned, working his shaft harder and faster. To keep his other hand occupied he cupped his balls and lightly squeezed.
    She thrust her hips forward to show him, trying to make him lose his dare. Reaching between her thighs, she spread her nether lips with her fingers.
    A taut cough spat out of him and he sat up, slamming his feet to the floor, cock in hand. “Temptress.”
    He could see she was ripe, dark pink and moist, wanting him as much as he wanted her. He already knew how the naughty wench liked touching herself for him to see. She did it now, one fingertip slowly moving over the crest of her labia, seeking out the most sensitive spot. His tongue tried to squeeze between his clenched teeth. He wanted to nudge her fingers aside and taste her, suck and nibble, work that pink pearl with his tongue, close his mouth over her comely slit and drink from her as if she was an oasis in the desert. Make her breath shatter into a thousand cries of delight. His skull felt tight. His lungs strained.
    But he would not let her win this game. Could not give in and touch her or the wench would know how much power she had over him.
    Thierry had silently moved into the light and hunkered down behind her for a better view. Guy tried to relax his thighs and calm his rearing cock. He slowed his hand. She was moving her hips,