Captivated

his head down there like that, he could

'I'm going to kiss you between your legs now. Then I'm going to give you three fingers.'

Abigail sucked in air to tell him that she could not possibly take three of his fingers. At the same time he sucked her inside his mouth and all thoughts of protest died. His lips and tongue were every bit as hot in this most intimate of kisses as they had been when he had French-kissed her.

She grabbed two handfuls of silky thick, damp hair and hung on to him as she had held on to the mane of a runaway pony when she was ten years old.

It had been frightening, plummeting across the countryside, and it had been uncomfortable with her bottom wildly bouncing on the saddle. But it had been exciting, too, with the world a blur of color and the wind whipping her cheeks.

Now the world was a blur of blackness and she had never before experienced such heat or an unrelenting drive for something to happen. His tongue circled her on the outside; inside her, there was more pressure, a stinging, popping sensation, and Abigail knew that he had added another finger, yet suddenly it did not matter because he was stabbing her with his tongue in such a rapid motion that she could not catch her breath. And then she did not need to, her body rose to catch it for her, bowing perfectly with the three fingers lodged impossibly deep inside her.

Abigail convulsed in a blinding spasm of raw, burning pleasure, lungs laboring, breasts heaving.

'What does it feel like now, Abigail?' Scorching breath there on her nether lips that were wet and pulsing and still swollen. The fingers deep inside her wriggled.

Abigail's breath caught in her throat. Hot blood rushed down from her cheeks and up from where his fingers gently agitated. It met in the center of her stomach and spread out over the rest of her body. She could not help bearing down on a fluttering contraction, opening herself wider.

A liquid trail of desire trickled from her body. 'It feels'she gulped air, released his hair to clutch the more secure anchor of the quilt'like I have three fingers inside me.'

'Shall I take them out?'

'Please do not.'

'What does your fantasy man do next?'

'He comes into my body.'

His fingers continued a silky flutter. 'I do not have anything to protect you with.'

The words rang a discordant bell of reason. Something was wrongbut then thought gave way to the sensation of her flesh pulsing around those three fingers.

They had gone beyond fantasy, beyond reality. This man had promised her everything, and for the first time in her life she was not worrying about breaking a code of etiquette or failing to make the prescribed marriage of money and title.Nothing was going to destroy this stormy interlude. Mentally she reviewed every erotic manuscript she had ever read.

'I havethere is a sponge by the sink.'

The fingers made another gentle flutter before slowly easing out of her. She winced. With pain. With loss. Then she grabbed the bedcovers to keep from catapulting out of bed.

He soundlessly maneuvered through the darkness. The pulsations inside her body counted the seconds he was gone, gently contracting, relaxing, contracting… Harsh liquor fumes intruded on the delicious ripples of anticipation.

Abigail lifted herself up onto her elbows. 'What are you doing?'

'I had a flask of brandy in my jacket. A sponge is more effective if soaked in something, usually vinegar, though this will do. But it's going to burn a little. Lie back and lift your knees up.'

The mattress dipped, forcing her body downward. Something icy cold and wet brushed her most private parts. She instinctively closed her legs, but an arm was there, wedged between her knees, holding them wide.

Danger.

Desire.

For a second, Abigail could not differentiate between the two.

This man had killed.

This man was about to take her virginity.

She would never be the same after this.

'Have you ever done this before, Robert?' She gulped calming air, feeling old, feeling gauche, feeling terribly, terribly frightened. 'Put a sponge inside a woman?'

'No. Does your fantasy man do this for you?'

'Of course not. Women donot get pregnant by fan'

The words caught in her throat as the sponge breached her opening. Then it was in and his fingers were gently prodding the unaccustomed fullness inside her and somewhere in the process the stinging discomfort blossomed into abject need.

She stared at the dark silhouette that knelt between her knees and clung to the self-control that was fast slipping away. 'Robert.'

'Abigail.'

'You said you rode out into the storm looking for a woman.'

The fingers prodding the sponge inside her stilled.

'I find it hard to believe you would make such a journey without bringing along certain… necessities.'

'I have French letters.' His voice in the darkness was flat again, emotionless, as if he had not just given her the most intimate pleasure a man can give a woman, as if he did not now have his fingers inside her.

'Why did you say you had nothing to protect me with?'

There was a harsh intake of air. 'Because for once in my life I wanted to feel a woman's flesh wrapped around mine without benefit of a rubber galosh.'

Her heart fluttered inside her breast. 'What would you have done if I had not possessed a sponge?'

'Then I would have introduced you to a brandy douche.'

Abigail wincedthe brandyhad burned. 'I think I would prefer the rubber galosh, Robert.'

'Shall I get one?'

The stillness and the darkness were absolute. Outside, the storm itself seemed to wait for her answer.

She was a substitute for another woman, a younger woman, the woman whom he had rode out into the storm to find. And yet…

He wanted to feelher flesh…as she wanted to feel his, every vein, every pulse, everything that he was.

For a second, she was overcome by the thought that perhaps he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

But of course that was impossible.

The storm would end and this was all she would ever have andshe was going to take everything he could give her.

'No. Will you come inside me now, please? I feelquite prepared, thank you.'

'Quite prepared isn't good enough.' The dark voice throbbed. 'I want you wide open. I want you so wet that when I thrust inside you, there won't be anything you can do to stop me. Starting now. When I pull my fingers out of youlike thissqueeze as hard as you can.'

There came a soft slurp as he slid from her body. Abigail squeezed, first to contain the long, calloused fingers, then to restrain them, there were too many, surely

'Relax, Abigail. Three fingers, you had them beforethere, just the tipsnow bear down.' Warm lips nibbled her knee, an unexpected caress, her body opened with a will of its own, swallowing the three fingers in their entirety, first knuckles, second knuckles. 'The first time was to stretch your maidenhead, but this is to stretch you. Now squeeze again… relax, bear down. I'm your fantasy man, Abigail. Don't fight it, open up, I will be far larger than thisthere.Squeeze… relax. It's a rhythm, a dance. Let me open you up, Abigail, let me make you so wet I'll drown inside of you.'

It felt as ifshe was drowning, she was so wet, so stretched, squeezing as he instructed, opening for more.