A Lady's Pleasure (4 page)

"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 was
not
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 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 do
not
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 brandy
had
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 feel
her
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 and
she 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 this
there.
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 if
she
was drowning, she was so wet, so stretched, squeezing as he instructed, opening for more.
It was unbearably intimate, what men and women did together. Better than fantasy, better than literature. The burning, churning sensation inside her and the harsh rasp of Robert's voice drew Abigail out of her pristine Victorian world into the place of forbidden sensuality that she had always dreamed of.
Throwing her head back, she let his fingers drive her, open her, become her, faster, harder, deeper, until she was gasping for air and
"How does your fantasy man take your virginity, Abigail?"
Robert's voice was a harsh intrusion. She dug her fingernails into the quilt to gain enough composure to speak. "He ... He takes me while I lie on my back."
"Do my fingers still hurt you?"
"No." She lifted her hips to take him more deeply.
"What do you want, Abigail?"
Her response was one of mindless pleasure. "More!"
Suddenly his fingers were gone and the pillow on either side of her head sank down while hard, hairy legs pushed wide her thighs and she could feel him between her legs where his fingers had been, huge as a stump and hot as a poker and pulsing with life.
"Like this?" The voice above her was feral. "Is this how your fantasy man takes your virginity, Abigail? With his legs holding you open so he can get to you?"
"Yes." Abigail clutched at his shoulders; they were slick with sweat. Muscles rippled underneath her palmsreal, not fantasy. Hungrily she smoothed her hands over his back, tested muscles that women did not have, sank her fingernails into those small, taut buttocksmemorizing him for all the empty months and years ahead. And all the while, that male part of him pulsed and throbbed against the feminine part of her and she was wide open and completely accessible
and things were progressing far too fast.
"You feel very large, Robert," she gasped. "Are you? In comparison to other men, I mean."
Moist breath fanned her cheeks, her lips. Callused fingertips soothed aside the tangled, damp hair that had escaped her bun they trembled against her skin, as if it was he who was about to lose his virginity and not her. Then his right hand slid down between their bodies. "You be the judge, Abigail."
Without warning, his mouth swallowed her breath and his tongue was inside her and
oh,
he was plunging inside her down there, too, and yes, he was large, far, far larger than his three fingers and there was nothing she could do to stop him as he plowed through the open, liquid heat that he had made of her body. Deeper and deeper he slid, stretching her wider and wider until he could not possibly go any deeper or stretch her any wider but he did and she had never imagined anything like it.
It felt as if he touched her soul.
She tore her mouth away from his. "You said sex was dirty."
"I lied."
She arched her back, momentarily overwhelmed by the heavy weight of his body pressing down on her. "Robert"
Instantly the hand between their bodies slid over and under her hip. He supported her there in the middle of her back where she arched. "Hmm?"
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. "Nothing. I just... I feel ... so
full."
Whisper-soft lips brushed her mouth. Again. And again. And again. "You are. Relax, Abigail. Hook your legs around my waist."
Abigail tried. She really did. But every movement made him slide deeper and deeper and he was bigger than a fence rail inside her and
"Robert, the limbs of a woman are
not
made to"
He nipped her lip. "But
you
are not just any woman, Abigail. For the duration of the storm you are
my
woman."
Suddenly her legs were locked around his hips and they were no longer two bodies but one.
"Stay open for me, Abigail."
Abigail strove to catch her breath. "I do not believe I have a choice, Robert."
She could feel a fleeting smile, there against her forehead; it was followed by a fleeting kiss, on the tip of her nose. "Then come for me."
"But you have yet to fulfill your part of the bargain."
That stillness again. "What is that?"
"You have yet to make me beg and cry."
Without warning, the body pinning her to the bed shifted. The thick shaft that filled her to capacity drew out and up, so that it sawed between her swollen nether lips. The angle stretched her unbearably as he slowly thrust back inside her, and again withdrew, thrust harder, withdrew, sawing back and forth, taunting and teasing the engorged bud at the top until suddenly
Raw heat replaced all traces of discomfort.
"Robert, please!" She dug her fingernails into his back.
"Please what, Abigail? Tell me. Shall I do it harder? Faster?" Robert matched words with action. "Slower? Deeper?"
Gritting her teeth in frustration, she churned her hips in a most unladylike manner. "No, no,
do not slow down,
harder, Robert, please, do it harder! Faster! Harder, Robert,
harder!"
The breath whooshed from her lungs as he plunged inside herhard, fast, deep; harder, faster, deeper, a fantasy more compelling than any she had ever imagined.
"There! There!" She clawed at his slippery back and pumping buttocks to keep the necessary friction, the necessary speed, even as she wondered if she would ever be able to walk again. "Do not stop, Robert,
please don't stop!"
"Open wider, Abigail. Beg me some more, cry for it.
Make me forget that I have killed, damn you.
Give me
more.
Let me know you want more. Come for menownow
now!"
Rage. Pain. Desire.
Abigail should have been frightenedshe could not tell if the man inside her was the colonel who commanded obedience or the lover who wanted forgetfulness or the soldier who killed out of duty. Nor did she think that Robert could tell who he was in that second. But suddenly the black rage of the storm split apart under the pistoning pressure and Abigail screamed Robert's name as he demonstrated that a man can indeed give a woman pleasure.
Robert!
carried through the night.
Just as she fell back inside her body, he ground his pelvis into hers. As if to become a part of her. Or perhaps he was trying to bury his past inside her. Then a scalding jet of liquid spurted into her and a strangled cry erupted from Robert's throat.
Her books mentioned a man's ejaculation; they failed utterly at describing the feel of it filling a woman's body.