The Wagered Wench by Georgia Fox Read Free Book Online Page B

the way his body fits inside those breeches. Look at his scar instead and remember how ugly he is, how he frightened you last night when he loomed out of the dark.
    He raised his hand and captured her chin, his thumb pressed to her lips, the ring on his finger cold against her jaw. She tried to pull away but found herself trapped by a low stone wall. On the other side of it there was the dung heap. The Norman widened his stance, penning her in against the wall. His thumb pressed down on her lower lip and then his mouth claimed hers.
    She raised her knee between his legs but he was ready for her. Showing off his warrior’s reflexes he dropped his tunic and blocked her thigh with his free hand, pushing it down and then sliding immediately between her legs. Her gown was in his way, but he fondled her through the material, trying to work an insistent finger through the weave. She gasped, and as her mouth opened he thrust his tongue into her mouth, taking it roughly. Elsinora tasted his breakfast—ale and something else—mint leaves? He must have been down to the herb garden early this morning and plucked mint for his breath. Few men she knew would bother.
    “I’ll see for myself if you are virgin,” he growled into her lips.
    She was too shocked to fight. Yes, that must be the reason why she went limp and let him kiss her again. Let him lift her gown aside and push his hand between her legs to touch her quinny. The stone wall pressed into her lower back, but he did not care apparently about her discomfort. When the callused pad of his finger slipped between her labia, she almost forgot about it too.
    This was a secluded corner of the yard and wreathed in shadow as the morning sun, not yet reaching its highest point, moved around behind the buildings. Here no one came unless to heave a barrow of dung after cleaning out the barns and stables, but that would not be done again until evening. Spring plowing had just begun in the fields however, and the manure would occasionally be fetched by cart, so there remained a small chance of being disturbed. Her heart kept a scattered pace, her gaze shifting to the corner of the barn over his shoulder, watching just in case.
    He stroked her daisy, working it with a gentle fingertip. Again his lips covered hers, kissing her as she’d never been kissed, not even by Stryker Bloodaxe. His tongue wound itself around hers, tugging and insistent. He moved closer, his strong muscular thighs holding hers apart while his hand explored her pussy. She imagined her mother’s voice, scolding and harsh as it was most often, telling her to stop him.
    Elsinora what are you doing? Down on your knees, this instant, and repent girl. Repent!
    But how could she get down on her knees with this man’s hand between her thighs?
    When his lips released hers, she glanced downward and saw the stiff bulge in his breeches.
    “Stop,” she gasped belatedly.
    His fingertip was poised within her. He waited, breathing hard, his eyes black, staring down into hers.
    She perused his scarred cheek, her conscience trying to remind her of his evil. But a spark of wanton desire and curiosity flamed inside her loins, too hot to be ignored. “Oh, very well then. See for yourself if I am a maid. Have your proof. If you must.”
    At once his finger moved further and she tensed against the intrusion. She stared at the muscle flexing in his shoulder and felt the finger at the end of that arm penetrating her another short distance until he felt her hymen. Finally he pronounced, “No man has been here.”
    “Now let me go, filthy swine!”
    He chuckled and she felt that too, tickling her tender petals.
    She gasped. “Just like any other Norman pig, forcing himself on a woman.”
    He leaned back a little, but kept his hand on her sex, his finger in her damp cleft. “I will not take your virgin blood unless you are my wife. And then you will be my only woman, from that moment on, as I told you once already.”
    “Of course!”