Captivated

She had gone too far to back down now. 'ButI need to know your body, Robert.'

'Do you often fantasize about fondling a man's butt, Abigail?' The voice in the dark was caustic.

'Do you, Robert?' she asked tartly.

'I can assure you, I havenever thought about fondling a man's ass.'

It took Abigail a second to realize that Robert was jesting to hide his embarrassment.

It emboldened her, to think that he was as new to this kind of intimacy as she was. And equally vulnerable.

She continued to stroke the soft vee of skin at the base of his spine. 'Is that what men think about during battle, then, fondling the posterior of a woman?'

His entire body stiffened. Black tension filled the air. 'Men in battle are too tired to think. Or too scared. It's before the battle that men think. Or while they lie dying.'

Abigail bit her bottom lip, momentarily diverted by the cold hostility in his voice. And the pain that it hid. 'Before battle what doyou think about?'

The calloused fingertip lightly strummed up the small of her back, down into the crevice between her buttocks another breathtaking inch. A hard weight pressed down on her foreheadhis forehead.

'I think about how to keep my men alive. If you are asking if I will kill again, Abigail, the answer is yes.'

'Only in battle, Robert,' she said firmly. 'And you are supposed to forget about that now.'

Suddenly the deliciously erotic finger was gone and her silk drawers slid down over her hipshe had untied the tapes. He stepped back and she was enveloped in darkness and cold air. 'Then make me forget, Abigail. Tell me what your fantasy man does after he undresses you.'

Uncertainty warred with desire, urgent little voices telling her to turn back: She was too old, too small, too plump, a thousand and one reasons why he would not find her attractive. Bringing her arms to her sides, she straightened her shoulders. 'He touches my breasts.'

Heat grazed the tips of her nipples. She locked her knees to keep from falling.

'You're hard.' The relentless friction was part caress, part prod. 'I can feel where you are made to discharge milklittle puckered indentations on the very tipshere. Does your fantasy man suckle you?'

The flesh between Abigail's thighs involuntarily clenched at the evocative words. 'Do you fantasize about suckling a woman?'

'Yes. I fantasize about suckling her until I make her drip with cream. Give me sustenance, Abigail.'

Suddenly the insistent rasp of his fingers against her left nipple was replaced by a hot, wet, voracious mouth.

For a second Abigail was frozen with shock. Then the breath was sucked out of her lungs as the intense pulling, tugging sensation caused her entire body to contract.

Without volition, her hands came up and sank into silky thick, damp hair. Seemingly in response to her touch, Robert cupped her bottom in his left hand and pressed hard on her stomach with the palm of his right hand, as if to feel the rhythmical drawing inside her womb that his suckling mouth was producing.

And perhaps he did. Abigail felt closer to Robert, cradling his head while he hungrily fed at her breast, than she had ever felt toward any other person.

Just when she thought that milk would indeed drip from her nipple, the black world of passion tilted. She was swung up into his armsher right breast caught between their bodiesand then she was lying on the bed with her head sinking into a soft pillow and the cold knotting of the quilt pricking her back.

'Cream, Abigail.' Hard, hot fingers delved between her thighs. 'You're dripping with it. Do you ever put your fingers inside of you when you fantasize?'

Lightning shot up through Abigail's body. 'Of course not!'

'Our agreement, lady.' Slowly, gently, he mapped out the soft folds of flesh between her legs, overruling modesty, overcoming resistance. 'I want to know every erotic thought, every touch.'

Abigail held herself rigidly.

Everything, he had said. And she had agreed. But Robert was taking controland she did not know if she liked that. It was what her fantasy man didbut this wasnot fantasy.

She felt wet and exposed and there was nothing to do but… enjoy it.

And add to her bank of memories.

'No,' she reaffirmed on a soft intake of air. 'I do not.'

'Does your fantasy man?'

'Yes.'

Oh, yes…

'How many fingers does he put inside you?'

She closed her eyes, blocking out the black silhouette that was more than fantasy. 'Three. Do you fantasize about putting your fingers inside a woman?'

'Yes.' His fingers swirled and swirled, there at the entrance to her body, gathering moisture, creating heat.

She could hear the wet play over the staccato sounds of the stormor was it her breathing that was so uneven? 'How many fingers do you fantasize about putting inside of a woman?'

'Five. I fantasize about sticking my whole fist inside her.'

Abigail's eyelids snapped open. She remembered the length of his fingers in the circle of candlelight. Remembered the size of his hands, clasped between hers. 'That… Surely that is not possible.'

'Perhaps. Certainly not with a virgin. Perhaps after a woman has had a child or two… You're so small here.' Abigail involuntarily squirmed at the deepening pressure. 'Hold still. I can feel your maidenhead; you're taut as a drum. It hardly seems possible that you could accept Take my finger, Abigail.'

Abigail took the entire burning length. And gasped into the fury of the rain and the wind.

It was raw invasion. It was his body becoming a part of hers.

It was the substance that books and fantasy lacked.

The foot of the bed dipped; she drew her legs up to counteract the motion, opening herself wider, forcing the finger more deeply inside her. A gust of heat seared her stomach. 'Talk to me. Tell me what it feels like to have a man's finger inside you.'

Abigail threw her head back, concentrating on the sensations serrating her body instead of the dark silhouette poised over her. 'Your finger feelshot. And rough. It burns. I feel open. And stretched.'

'Not stretched enough. Is this what you feel like when your fantasy man puts his finger inside you?'

'No.'

Oh, no…

The reality of having a man's finger inside her bore no resemblance at all to the fantasy.

This was heat and cold and bone and muscles with the knotting of the quilt underneath her and the knot of his knuckle inside her.

'Take another finger, Abigail.'

The burning fullness that was more than fantasy abruptly turned to painful intrusion as one finger became two. 'Stop'

'Lie still. Relax. You are a virgin, there's bound to be some pain. It will passlet it become pleasure.'

Abigail forced herself to lie still. She felt uncertain and vulnerable and stretched beyond endurance. This wasnot fantasy. Yet… Yet her body pulsed and throbbed around the invading digits, telling Abigail there was indeed pleasure beyond pain. Telling her

'I think my fantasy man has smaller hands, Robert.'

A feather-light kiss ruffled the damp hair at the apex of her thighs. 'I think my hands are exactly the same size as those of your fantasy man. What does it feel like having two fingers inside you?'

'I feelinvaded.'

'You are. What do you feel like when your fantasy man has two fingers inside you?'

'I feellike I want more.'

Hot breath fanned her nether regions. 'And you are going to get more, Abigail.'

An electric surge of awareness overcame the burning discomfort between her legs. He could smell her, with