Page 36 of Wed By Proxy

“Guy, please,” she moaned. “Remove your tunic.”

No response. With a gasp, she felt the graze of his teeth. If she did not hurry things along, she thought, biting her lip, she would be engulfed in flames and burnt to a crisp! She felt instinctively that some crisis was approaching, and she had not managed to move things along to their logical conclusion, as she should have. The lusty widow had simply fallen out of her shift, but sadly it was not proving as easy for Mathilde. She could not remember precisely how the widow had managed to get Pelomon out of his clothing. As for Guy, he still had all his clothes on!

Then suddenly, she remembered the lusty landlady at the hostelry. Her seduction method had been a lot more direct than the widow’s, Mathilde remembered. She had simply slipped her hand between Pelomon’s legs and fondled him there. Mathilde could still move her lower arms. Did she have the nerve, though?

Abruptly she stopped wriggling in Guy’s lap and, ignoring his grunt of displeasure, dropped her hands to tentatively trace the hardness at the juncture of his thighs. The shape was bewildering. Where is the end? At that, he lifted his head from the valley between her breasts, and tipped it back to look at her with glinting eyes.

“Don’t!” he said thickly. “I won’t be answerable—”

When she squeezed him there, he sucked in his breath, and she thought for an instant she had hurt him. Then he spoke, and she barely recognized his voice it was so deep and gravelly. “Gods, take it out. Take it out,” he practically begged her.

Mathilde fumbled at the lacings. It didn’t help that she couldn’t see what she was doing. “Lean back,” she appealed. Suddenly, he released her breasts, and shoved her hands away. She was about to protest, but then she realized, he was deftly unlacing himself.

“Sit astride me,” he rumbled, as he shoved braies down over his hips. Mathilde gasped, staring down at the angry looking, hard flesh that curved away from his thighs toward her. Finding her too slow, he started shoving up her skirts, and Mathilde felt her first pang of trepidation.

“Um, Guy,” she panted. His hand seized her roughly behind one knee, urging it up and over his lap so she sat astride and facing him. “Guy!” His gaze snapped up at the panic in her voice. “I don’t know about this. You’re too big!” she blurted.

He followed the direction of her panicked gaze. “Was I not the same size last night?” he asked, not unreasonably

Belatedly, Mathilde remembered her lie that morning. “Um, about that—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Still sore?” He looked pained, Mathilde thought.

“Guy—“”

Hearing his sharply indrawn breath, she looked up to find him gazing intently between her legs.

“Oh gods,” he shuddered. “Let me — let me just touch you then.”

Mathilde nodded, cursing herself for a coward. Her thoughts raced. Why had she lost her nerve now? Doubtless she was built the same as other grown women. This balking at the eleventh hour was pitiful. Underneath her brave new character, was it possible she was still a shrinking, timid creature after all? It was only rather hard to believe that they would … well, fit, she thought with trepidation, eyeing his unwieldy appendage. Fondling it, and telling its master how well built he was for pleasing a woman was the very last thing she felt like doing! Still, this was the new fearless Mathilde who shied away from nothing.

Taking a deep breath, she said “But only if I can touch you, too.”

Guy’s gaze returned to hers, and he blinked a few times, and then swallowed. “Aye,” he said hoarsely. “But you’ll have to mind me, though, and do as I say.”

Nothing could suit Mathilde better, since she scarcely knew how to do it in a way that would please him. The book had not been terribly specific. Greatly emboldened, she stretched out her hand to him and ran her hand tentatively down his length, from the tip to the root. He hissed between his teeth, and held himself very still. She felt his rigid flesh jump beneath her fingers. It almost seemed to vibrate with its own life. Curving her fingers around its girth, she gently squeezed its pulsing breadth.

“Lightly,” he gritted out. “Not so … firm,” he rasped.

“Does it pain you?”

“Gods, yes.”

She loosed her grip immediately, but the look on his face was far from relieved. If anything, he looked wildly disappointed.

“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly. “Only…”

“I’m too close.”

“I’ll be gentle then,” Mathilde insisted. “I can be gentle.”

She set her hand down very tenderly on the broad, swollen head, and fluttered her fingers over the warm skin there. He cursed. She wasn’t deceived though. His involuntary impulse was to strain toward her touch.

“It’s very sensitive here,” she whispered. And why was it wet? She dropped her gaze to stare in fascination at the bead of moisture at the tip. She felt wet between her legs as well. Was this their bodies readying themselves for their union? To ensure they would fit? She felt a flicker of optimism return. Perhaps their bodies knew better than she did.

He groaned raggedly. “You should probably stop.”

“I like touching you, Guy,” she said truthfully, and watched the play of emotions across his face. He did not speak, only squeezed his eyes shut as she ran her moistened fingers around the velvety crown. “You’re…” she hesitated. “Very well formed. Here as well as everywhere else,” her tone was admiring. Maybe the landlady had been right after all. His coloring was different here too, a deeper pink. She found it fascinating. “What do I call it?” she asked him suddenly curious. “I don’t think anyone ever ...” Manroot was what Nurse had called it, but she didn’t want to say something hopelessly outdated.