Meanwhile his hard prick parted her pussy lips yet again and she welcomed it, squeezing and caressing with her sheath. She should have been sore by now, but she was in no mood to refuse him anything. The sensations he gave her were incomparable; she’d given up trying to think of words that might suit her current state of joyful, unbound carelessness. If he did not soon fall asleep, Sybilia would never have a chance to slip into the bed before dawn light and she would never be released from her duty as the proxy virgin. Deorwynn knew she should be alarmed by the thought. Should be. But this adventure had stopped feeling like a duty about an hour ago, when she heard him cry out with his first climax. She was surprised, gratified even, that it shook him as powerfully as it did her. Then she wanted to kiss him—to kiss the filthy rotten, no-good Norman—and she was thankful that his instinct was the same, his mouth, hot, wet and rapacious, seeking her lips through the thick veil. She’d not known he was about to spill, until she heard his hollow cry and felt the warm liquid flow into her.
