When the Normans conquered England, Deorwynn lost almost everything, including her family. Only one beloved brother survives. To rescue him, she must sacrifice her virginity in the enemy’s bed. She should be well prepared. After spending fifteen years in a grim convent, punished for every sinful thought, Deorwynn can withstand any torment at the hands of a merciless, Norman warrior.
But nothing, she soon learns, could prepare her for falling in love.
Guy Devaux is delighted with the amorous virgin waiting for him on his wedding night. There’s only one problem. The saucy-mouthed wench is not his bride. Oh yes, he knows the veiled woman in his bed is an imposter, but he’ll go along with the game. For now. The punishment for her deception will come later.
Just as soon as he conquers this foolish desire, this yearning to hear her say she loves him.
Be Warned: multiple partners, anal play.
- Dakota Dawn
“You have been told what to expect?” he mumbled.
She nodded and then, remembering he might not see, murmured a quiet, “Yes.”
He stilled at the foot of the bed, his tall shadow looming over her. “Yes…my lord,” he corrected sharply.
Deorwynn felt one of her scowls coming on, but she banked it. He wouldn’t see it beneath her veil and in the semi-dark, so it was wasted. She was supposed to be that idiot Sybilia, she reminded herself—the woman who was ready to forget her previous lover the first moment she laid eyes on this great hunk of blue-eyed manhood. Had Sybilia been the all-important virgin, she would gladly have tumbled in that bed tonight, but since she was a faithless trollop instead of the pure maiden her new husband demanded, Deorwynn had the dubious pleasure instead. Thus, playing her part, she replied with all sickly sweetness, “Yes, my lord. Whatever you say, my lord.”
He lowered over the bed, a hand on either side of her. And sniffed.
She backed away. “Is something amiss?”
“Thought I scented the faint odor of sarcasm. Surely not. If my lady knows my temper is not to be trifled with.”
Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her under him. “Stop wriggling.”
“Ouch your hands are cold!”
“Your hands are cold, my lord,” he corrected her in a low, dangerous tone.
She repeated the phrase nervously.
He snatched away the pillow she held and tossed it from the bed. “Remove the veil.”
“But I’m shy.”
“It’s very nearly pitch dark in here, woman. What are you afraid of?”
“The unknown,” she murmured wryly. “You, my lord.”
“I’m your husband now.” His hands parted her knees wider, holding them with ease, his strength overpowering her straining attempts to close them again. He ducked between her thighs and she cried out in shock as she felt one strong lick moisten her nether lips. Reaching over her head, she clutched at the nearest bed post as if it might somehow save her.
“This will prepare you,” he informed her, his breath tickling her sex. “I am large and you are small, so you need this.” Again he lapped at her, faster this time, his tongue slipping part way inside her folds at first, then thrusting deeper. She heard a soft grunt of approval. Then he stopped and whispered huskily, “You’re tight as a vise. Don’t clench. Lay back.”
Men like this one had killed her brothers in battle, she reminded herself yet again. They stole away everything her family possessed and…
They apparently had very long tongues that could lick the bark off a tree.
He stopped again. “Are you grinding your teeth?” he demanded.
“I hear them grinding. Be calm. Trust me.”
She snorted. “Trust you? Ha!”
There was a pause. A too long pause. She held her breath. Dear God had she given herself away already?
Suddenly he pressed his open mouth hard to her pussy. His hands scooped under her bottom, jerking her down the bed, tearing her grip from the bed post. Melting into the nest of furs, arms stretched overhead, she chastised herself with a hasty lecture.
Don’t think of him as the enemy now. You’re supposed to be Sybilia. If he discovers that you are not, he will cut your throat and hers too and there will be no reprieve for your brother Raedwulf.
Forgive me father.
The one above, as well as the one buried below.
His shoulders wedged her thighs apart and that long, serpentine tongue swept from ass to mound. Another low sound of appreciation told Deorwynn he liked the taste of her. And the curling of her feet on his shoulders would tell that she liked the feel of him.
She made no more effort to close her legs, but arched her back, gripping the fur beneath her, biting her lip. She felt the hot, wet snake slithering upward again, wriggling against her labia, sliding inside her. There it flicked and fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird and she writhed, hips circling, lifting off the bed as the pleasing sensation stole through her maiden’s body and readied her valley for plowing. She had not expected the Norman swine to take so much time over her deflowering; to care whether she was prepared.
While the length of his tongue tasted her intimately, his large hands reached up, over her stomach, feeling for her breasts. He pushed the edge of the veil aside impatiently and grabbed the swelling mounds, squeezing them in his great claws, while he drank her nectar, questing deeply with his determined tongue. In shamefully little time, she came to a shaking climax, squeezing her quivering sheath around that delightful tormentor, her thighs trembling. She heard and felt his groans vibrate inside her sex and knew he was excited, pleased.
Breathless and sopping wet, she was ready now, her pussy well prepared to yield its virgin treasure.
* * * *
He didn’t know how or why, but he knew the two women had swapped places. What trick was this? If they wanted games, he’d give them games.
After leaving the wedding feast, he’d spent an hour searching the castle for this woman, his need for her having grown to intolerable heights. Throughout the evening’s entertainment he’d been unable to watch anything or anyone but her; then she’d disappeared from his view, about the same time his bride left to ready herself for his bed. He’d turned the castle upside down looking for Deorwynn, planning to have her first tonight.
Now he found her—in the last place he’d expected—already in his bed, in his bride’s place, and wearing a veil. As if that would fool him. She had no idea what she’d got herself into, trying to make a fool of Guy Devaux.
This naughty little kitten, who led him on a chase all over his fortress, would get more than she bargained for.