Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Georgy grabbed my hand and yanked me down the corridor to the guest suite, the ‘Blue Room’, so called because mother, as a joke, had once put Georgy’s blue Donald Duck vase with a spray of silk roses in it on the mantelpiece and declared that “we now have a ‘Blue Room’, just like Hampton Court!”, and the name stuck long after the joke had been forgotten. Guests were sometimes puzzled why it was ‘The Blue Room’, seeing as there wasn’t any hint of blue in there, but it would have been impossible to explain, so we didn’t. The name may have been a joke, but the huge, luxurious four-poster bed with the Damask drapes and lush brocade counterpane was anything but.
Georgy yanked me into the room and planted her lips against mine; I was trapped, what could I do? Of course I kissed her back as hard as I could, while Mister Hands explored her tight, sexy little bottom; I’m not daft, and I know the perfect set-up when I see it. Georgy wriggled against me, grinding against a part of me that really appreciated it.
“Oo-er, naughty soldier-boy wants to play, does he?” she husked, grinding even harder, so I slipped my hands down the back of her jeans so I could cup her hot little bottom and squeeze it a little.
“Shall we be naughty, Ty? Shall we be naughty, dirty boys and girls, Ty? You wanna get naughty and dirty with me? You wanna show me what naughty squires do to naughty milkmaids, Tyler?” she crooned, never once letting up with the wriggling and the grinding and the rubbing and torturing.
My cock was like an iron bar; Georgy does things to me that no other girl (and let’s be honest, there were never that many, just weekend gropes in Camberley if we had a Saturday night free) had ever done, reached places no other girl had ever touched, not even my fantasy lays during my long days in the sandbox, and I needed to get her naked, because I had a large dose of ravishment to hand out…
“I’ve always wanted to be hammered in a four-poster bed, Ty, are you going to make my dreams come true, my hot soldier-man? C’mon, Tyler, show me how the naughty Tin Soldier likes to jig-a-jig!” giggled Georgy, amusement and arousal fighting for control of her
Oh boy, that did it. Georgy shrieked with laughter as I picked her up and whirled her around, dumping her right in the centre of that sumptuous bed.
“You earned this, baby-girl, for real!” I grinned, “and when we do our thing I’m going to bring you back here and hammer you some more, got that?”
Georgy grinned happily. “Ooo, I love it when you talk property to me, tell me more, you dirty boy!”
“Architraves!” I drawled, leering at her, watching her pretend to shiver with lust. “You filthy, dirty beast, how dare you… do it some more, now!”
“Cornices and Crown mouldings!” I snarled and she shuddered, jiggling most fetchingly, “Oh you, you, you utter… MAN!” She stammered, her hands clasped dramatically to her breast. “How could you do this to me… more, I say, sirrah, more, now, damn you!”
“Shuttering carpentry, there, how about that?” I growled dangerously.
“Just take me now, I’m yours, you defeated me with all that dirty ‘renovation-speak’, you utter pervert!” she giggled, posing theatrically. “Come and get your reward you brazen man-hussy, you earned it!”
Georgy was looking so damned appealing, and I couldn’t take it anymore; playing silly buggers with her was all well and good, but I had the romantic setting, the hot girl, the perfect moment.
“I love you, Tyler Wilmot, did you know that?” whispered Georgy, unbuttoning my shirt and tugging it off.
“And I love you too, Georgy Lassiter, I hope you know that?” I replied. Georgy bit her lip and grinned as she nodded slowly.
” Course I do, silly man, now kiss me and show me how much!”
Kissing Georgy is a real production, believe me; when we kiss she’s tender, and yielding, and softly romantic, but she can be needy and demanding too, drawing our kisses out into more than just a prelude to lovemaking; kissing her is an experience, an achievement in itself, not just the start of something. I can kiss her for hours on end and never feel the same thing twice, because every moment is new and exciting, a different nuance of her in every kiss, all spread before me for me to feast on. I could have stayed there all day just wrapped in her arms, but I had something for her, and I had the perfect romantic setting, it was the perfect time for it.
I slid off the bed and grabbed my jacket, fishing around in the pocket while Georgy (a very naked, very desirable Georgy…) watched in puzzlement. Finding what I was looking for, I sat on the edge of the bed and gently slid her toward me so I could look in her eyes. She still had that puzzled look, so I kissed her, then kissed her some more because, damn.
“Willie, what’s wrong?” she murmured, and I smiled at her worried face.
“Nothing at all Georgy, believe me, but there is something I need to ask you.”
“Ask away, Willie, you know you can ask me anything, right?” she smiled, so I kissed her again because it just felt so damned good.
“Willie…” she prompted, so I stopped kissing her (dammit! I was enjoying that!) and pulled her onto my lap.
“Okay Georgy, here goes: there has been a Wilmot family here, in this place since before Magna Carta; they’ve always been landowners, lords of the manor, even, for nine-hundred years, and in all that time, certain… traditions have taken root. The family has always set great store in its past, its heritage, and its traditions and so now it’s time to share one of the most enduring traditions with you…”
I pulled the little box out from behind me where I’d hidden it, and opened it. Georgy gasped at what was inside, a large, gold signet seal ring set with tiny rubies around a heraldic badge of a snarling leopard affronte in high relief with its mouth open and a shield with the ancient Amboise-Wilmotte arms between its paws, with an ornate pattee cross, a Templar emblem, entwined through the heraldic motifs. A dark, smoky, cabochon-cut ruby was set in each of the four angles made by the arms of the cross.
“Mummy’s ring…” she breathed, her eyes wide and wondering, and I nodded.
“Mummy’s ring and a whole lot more, too. This ring has been worn by the lady of the house since the Third Crusade; the stones came from the hilt of the misericorde dagger my ancestor carried at the siege of Acre in Jerusalem. It broke when he was killed by Saladin’s army, and his squire brought the hilts back to his wife, who had some of the stones set in this ring, and the rest in the cover of the breviary in the library. This ring also unlocks the family bible. It actually has a name: ‘La Chatelaine’, because only the lady of the house can keep it. Mother wore it, as did my grandmother before her, and her mother, and so on back.”
I buffed the ring with a corner of the bedclothes to admire the deep, dark sheen of the blood-red rubies before offering her the ring and watching her expression of wistful sadness at the memory of Mother wearing that ring on special occasions, and her playing with it when she was a little girl.
“For getting on for nine hundred years the lady of the house of Wilmot has worn this ring as the symbol of her duty to defend the family and this house in the name of the lord of the house in times of war, and as the emblem of her rank. Will you, Georgina Lassiter, marry me and be my wife, be the lady of the house of Wilmot, be my own chatelaine and wear my family’s ring, and treasure the history and meaning that goes with it?”
Georgy stared into my eyes, her eyes huge and shiny with unshed tears even as her sunny smile broke through.
“Yes Willie, I will marry you, I will be your wife, and wear your family’s ring and treasure your family’s history, and when we have a son and he brings home a wife to be mistress of this house, I will gladly honour your family custom and pass the ring to her when the time comes and teach her what the ring symbolises. I love you, Tyler Wilmot, and I so much want to be your wife.”
I slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her gently, not playfully like before; this was the most important moment of my life and I wasn’t going to trivialise it in any way. Georgy, too, sensed that things had changed now, that we were no longer Georgy and Will, now we were us, a unit, the next part in our family story, and her returned kisses showed that she understood that.
“Finish undressing, Will, please, I want to make love to my husband…” she whispered, and I wasted no time, because my mind was working in the exact same way; I wanted to make love to my wife, because that’s who she was now, not just my Georgy-Girl, but my wife, the owner of my heart, and the lady of this house for real. Georgy kissed me as I slid my loafers off, and batted my hands away when I started unbuttoning my jeans.
“Nope, uh-uh, mine!” she grinned, popping the stud and sliding down my zipper.
“Off, take them off…” she murmured, so I obliged, kicking jeans and socks away to stand in just my shorts.
“Bob the Builder?” she grinned as I posed for her.
“You gave them to me for my birthday, you wretched girl, so now suffer!” I leered, “I seem to remember you wearing ‘Dora the Explorer’ panties yesterday, as I recall I enjoyed exploring them, or have you forgotten that already?”
“Oh pish, tosh, and pshaw, that was then, now come here, Ty, that’s it, come closer baby…” she crooned alluringly, so I obliged, and quick as lightning she grabbed the waistband and yanked them down.
“Much better,” she smiled, “now come here, I’ve got something for you…”
I made as if to grab her, but she dodged me and patted the bed beside her.
“Here, up here, Willie, let’s do this properly, I only get one first chance at this, I want to do it properly.”
I looked at her quizzically, and she grinned that sexy, impish grin of hers.