A Lady's Pleasure (8 page)

closer ...
He kissed her and pinched her nipples until she panted and squirmed, on fire for more. When she reached between their bodies to take more, he pulled back.
His lips were shiny wet. "Read."
Abigail suddenly realized that whatever Louis said or did to Laura, Robert was going to do to Abigail.
She rapidly scanned the page, found where she had left off.
" 'And then to feel him take his prick, and with the tips of his fingers part the lips of the flesh sheath into which he intends to shove it, putting the head of it between the lips, and gently shoving it in at first, stretching the poor little thing to its utmost extent, till, not without some pain to you, the head is effectually lodged in it. Then, after laying a kiss on your lips, he commences the attack by gently but firmly and steadily shoving into you, increasing his shoves harder and harder, till he thrusts with all his force, causing you to sigh and cry out, he thrusts hard, he gains a little at every move, he forces the barriers, he tears and roots up all your virginal defenses, you cry out for mercy but receive none. His passions are aroused into madness, fire flashes from his eyes, concentrating all his energies for one tremendous thrust, he lunges forward, carries everything before him, and enters the fort by storm, reeking with the blood of his fair enemy, who with a scream of agony yields up her maidenhead to the conqueror, who, having put his victim
hor de combat,
proceeds to reap the reward of his hard fought and bloody battle.' '
The journal was plucked out of Abigail's nerveless fingers. Eyes wide, she stared down between their bodies.
Robert held his swollen manhood in his right hand. He leaned forward, until she couldn't see it at all, could only feel his calloused fingertips delicately parting her nether lips. Then it was there, the bulbous head, as smooth as a plum and burning hot. Slowly, gently, he rocked forward, prodding her, stretching her, drawing back just before he breached the opening and gained admission. Again. And again. He teased and taunted, prodded and retreated until Abigail could feel her wetness leaking out of her body onto the wooden seat beneath her.
Just when she decided that the game had gone far enough, that he was not Louis and she most decidedly was not Laura, there was a popping sensation and he was inside her, just the head. It felt as big as the fist she had compared it to earlier.
He leaned down and dropped a hard, openmouthed kiss on her lips. Then his lips were gone and he was no deeper inside her than he had been a moment before.
"Robert"
He smiled, a crooked smile. "You can sigh, Abigail. Or you can cry."
He slowly sank into her, another inch, not enough, two inches, still not enough, three inches, not nearly enough. Then he pulled all the way out, teased and prodded her with the engorged head, never quite entering her, never quite leaving her.
Just when she thought she would scream with frustration, he smiled that crooked smile again.
"Or you can scream."
And lunged forward.
Abigail screamed.
She could feel their pubic hair meshing, he was so deep inside her,
and it still was not enough.
A wall of paper blocked Robert's face. She blinked at the black print.
"Read."
The outspread journal shook and shimmied in her hands she was trembling. Or perhaps it was he who trembled, buried inside her body so deeply that she could not tell where he ended and she began.
She took a calming breath and read.
" 'Now he again draws himself out to the head, and slowly enters again. Again he draws out, and again enters, till the friction caused by the luscious tightness of the rich flesh which clasps tightly his foaming pego causes such delicious sensations that he is no longer master of himself.' "
It was Abigail who lowered the journal at the end of the paragraph. He would finish this, or by God, she would.
His gaze locked with hers. Still wearing that crooked smile, he dug his fingers into her hips and drew himself out, slowly, so slowly she could count the inches. And then he was easing back inside her, an inch at a time. Nine inches, all the way in. Nine inches, all the way out. Smoothly, rhythmically, until she was so wet and open it did indeed feel as if he was foaming inside her and she was coming, coming,
coming
Sweat beaded on Robert's forehead, trickled down his temple. He threw his head back toward the rafters while his body thrust into hers, almost hard enough, almost fast enough. The muscles in his neck and shoulders bulged as he fought to keep the self-imposed rhythm.
A pace that he would keep, Abigail suddenly realized, until one of them died or she finished the literary sequence of events.
She pushed up the journal.
" 'He lunges with fierceness into her,' " she panted, body contracting, opening and closing, seeking its own release even as she forced out the words that would gain it for her, " 'the crisis of pleasure approaches; he feels it coming, he drives it home to her deeper, deeper. At last it comes' "
Abigail closed her eyes and cried out as her body arched under its own volition.
The journal flew out of her hands. She could not have heard what she thought she heardit sounded like the snarl of an animal tormented beyond endurance. Blindly she grabbed at a muscular arm, a shoulder, a neckand knew that, like the description in "La Rose D'Amour," the man pumping and grinding himself into her body was no longer the master of himself.
The wooden chair rocked and creaked in time to his lunges. Dimly she wondered if she would get a splinter in her behind. No sooner did the thought enter her head than her entire world exploded and Robert exploded with her, his flesh inside her spasming while it spurted liquid fire and she was falling, falling
Onto the cold plank floor. Pulled there by Robert. He locked his arms about her as they labored for air.
A rumble started up inside his chest. Abigail dazedly wondered how he could laugh when she was dying.
He plunged his hands into her hair and held her face up to his. Hot breath filled her nose, her mouth. "That's one hell of a secret life you live, Miss Abigail."
Abigail suddenly felt renewed. The shame that had tainted her entire adult life dissipated.
She opened her eyes and stared at his naked chest that continued to heave up and down for air. "Let's walk on the beach."
"In a storm?"
"I love storms. I want to walk naked on the beach. I want to feel the rain kiss my breasts. I want to see what color your pego turns when it's immersed in the ocean."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she was on her feet and, together, they opened the door to the rented cottage and walked naked into the storm.
The rain was no colder than the showers she had been routinely subjected to when growing up. Waves washed the shore. Distant thunder rumbled in the sky.
The storm was wet and beautiful and wildthe way Robert made her feel.
Breasts bobbing, giggling like one of her small nieces, Abigail raced down the path to the beach, enjoying the mud squishing between her toes and the rain pelting her naked skin. Robert sped after her, a not-so-little boy with a blue, pitifully shriveled manhood.
She triumphantly reached the foaming froth that was the English Channel . It was too much to resist. Bending over, she plunged her hands into the water that curled around her knees
"That's one
hell
of a mighty lance you have there, Colonel Coally. It is blueand must be all of two inches long. You might be able to spear a minnow, but I do not think you will be parting any seas with it."
and splashed him.
Robert leapt after her into the roiling ocean
"I have always fantasized about giving a woman a saltwater douche, Abigail."
and proceeded to wrestle her down into the waves.
It was a gamehad Robert exerted himself, Abigail would have been flat on her back at the edge of the ocean in one second flatand they both knew it. Instead, their water-slickened bodies slipped and rubbed together until suddenly it did not matter what he put inside her. Just when she reached for him as a lover instead of a playmate, he put a leg behind hers and tripped her. Only to catch her and arch her backward over the water.
"You were saying something about parting seas, Abigail?" he growled playfully.
It was ridiculous. It was exciting. It was as if twenty-two years of Robert's life had been erased and they were two not-so-innocent children frolicking on the beach.
Her laughter rang out over the crests of the waves and the spray of the surf and the steady patter of the rain. It almost drowned out the sound of a neighing horse and a frantic shout.
"Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail! Where are ye? Miss Abigail!"
Abigail covered her mouth with her hands. Then she wriggled free and covered more prestigious spots.
"Robert! It is Mr. Thomas! Robert! Our clothes are in the cottage. Robert,
we are naked!"

contents
Abigail's left arm shielded her breasts while her right hand cupped her womanhood. She looked as tempting as a sea nymph. And as frigid as a virgin debutante.
Robert wanted to strike down the man called Mr. Thomas for turning the wildly sensuous woman who had shared with him her body and her fantasies into this woman who looked as if she had never needed or desired a man in her life.
It was too soon. He needed more time. He needed more
"Miss Abigail!" The man started down the path leading from the cottage to the beachan elderly man, judging by his stooped shoulders and halting gait. "Be that ye down there? Miss Abigail-"
Robert caught Abigail as she turned to run into the dangerous waves behind them. "Stay. I'll take care of him."
Quickly, before she did something silly like drown herself in the name of modesty, he maneuvered the muddy path to block the landlord's descent.
"Ho, there. You've caught my missus and I in a rather embarrassing situation. Abigail"
"How do I know that be Miss Abigail?" Small, birdlike eyes stared suspiciously past Robert's shoulder. "Ye could ha' done her a danger, ye and yer doxy down there."
Anger blazed a trail down Robert's spine at hearing Abigail referred to as a doxy.
He forgot about the rain pelting his body.
He forgot that he was standing naked in front of a man old enough to be his grandfather.
He forgot everything but the insult this man had issued.
"I have said it is Miss Abigail," Robert snapped icily, "and it will be the worse for you if you do not level your eyes elsewhere."
The aged caretaker guiltily hunched his head between his shoulders. Water streamed down his slicker. "Miss Abigail didnt' mention no man."
"I am on leave from the Army; my ... wife did not expect me. You are interrupting our reunion, so make sharp, man!"
"She didnt' say nothin' 'bout no husband, neither." Thomas glanced at the stormy sky over Robert's left shoulder, then over his right, anywhere but at his naked body. "Said it be just her"
"I have explained the circumstances. We will reimburse you for your efforts, if that is what troubles you."
"M' wife only agreed to cook an' clean fer one." The small eyes glinted in greed at the mention of payment. "I put a basket of victuals in the cabin. She didnt' make no food fer two"
"Give my regards to your wife. I am sure whatever she prepared is enough for the two of us. Now I bid you good day, sir!"
The old man took the hint. Robert breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Thomas jumped into his trap and set off. Turning around, Robert caught sight of Abigail.
And felt as if he had been kicked in the gut.
Her hair adhered to her back like the skin of an otter. Below it he could make out the white globes of her buttocks.
The storm still lastednothing was going to deprive him of the coming night.
Purposefully he stalked her. When he cupped her buttocks in his hands, she yelped and jumped around. When he cupped her face and lifted it up to his, she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Slowly, softly, he savored the cool slickness of her rain-washed lips and the eagerness with which they parted. Her mouth on the inside was as hot as the rain beating down on them was cold.
"Cold?" he murmured, nuzzling her cheek, smelling the fresh rain on her skin mixed with the salt of the ocean and the lingering traces of sweat and sex.
"Hmm," she returned.
He pressed the hardening length of his manhood into her stomach and murmured, "Ride me."
She jerked her head back, brown eyes wide with shock. "What?"
Robert silently cursed Mr. Thomas again. There would have been no shock at his suggestion had the old man not appeared.
"To the cabin." Turning, he bent his legs and offered her his back. "Hop on."
He waited with bated breaththis was the deciding moment. Reality had intrudedwould she choose it over the fantasy world they had created together?
A tentative hand rested on his shoulderfollowed by the hitch of a soft, warm leg.
His heart skipped a beatswelled with exultation. Before she had time to think about just how awkward and vulnerable the position rendered her, he grasped her underneath her knee and hoisted her higher onto his back.
Surprisingly strong arms clasped him about the neck while her left leg tried to gain purchase. Reaching back with his left hand, he grabbed it, spread her wide so that both knees were locked against his hips.
The soft flesh between her thighs pressed into his buttocks. She was hot and slick against his rain-drenched skin, from her, from him.
For a second, he thought he would orgasm right there on the spot. Then he thought about dropping her and taking her on the beach in the mud and the rain.
A smart smack on his hip brought him round. She was shivering with coldnot desire. "My ride, sir."
Digging her heels into the tops of his thighs, she hitched herself higher
Jesus,
her open vulva ground into the small of his back and shouted, "Tally ho!"
Then the gray sky rang with her laughter, and Abigail was once again the little girl who had given back to him his childhood.
He didn't remember the climb to the cabin, only the feel of her rubbing and grinding into his back, his buttocks, the sudden thrust of a heel against his "lance" when she brought both legs around him and tried to lock her feet over his groin.
When she wriggled down his back, he groaned in pure agony and collapsed against the safety that the cabin door represented, eyes squeezed shut, his manhood so hard, it thrust straight out from his body.
A soft, cool hand touched the bunched muscles in his forearm. "Robert? Are you all right? Did you hurt your leg?"
Robert didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the concern in her voice. He needed her passion now, not her kindness that had taken away the agony of his first kill.
"Abigail, look down and tell me what you see."
"A basket of food," was the too innocent reply. "Are you hungry?"
He opened his eyes in pained amusement. "Did the stroll on the beach meet up to your expectations?"
"I will never forget it, Robert."
His lips twitched. "Neither will Mr. Thomas."
The brown eyes staring up at him were solemntoo solemn. Her eyelashes were spiked from the rain. "What did you tell him?"
"I told him we were man and wife."
"But I specifically stated in the lease"
"And that you were not anticipating my arrival because my leave of absence from the Army came unexpectedly."
"You did not have to say that we were married, Robert."
"But we are. Joined at the hip."
Laughter glimmered in her brown eyes, a spark of amber where before there had been none. "It was not my hip that was joined to you, Colonel Coally."
"I know very well what was joined to me, Miss Abigail."
Her spiked lashes lowered. "Your feet are muddy. You need a bath."
"Only if you wash me."
"But I am hungry, Robert." She raised her eyelashes; behind the amber laughter was warm desire. "If I wash you we will not eat. And I have a particular fantasy that I want to act out."
The water in the small tub was as cold as the rain outside. Robert experienced a strange contentment, watching Abigail's small, plump breasts elongate when she leaned over to clean the floor. When she turned around and scrubbed her way backward toward the tub, Robert thought his heart would stop.
"You have a round bottom, Miss Abigail. And between your legs you have dainty pink lips surrounded by wet brown curls."
That got her attention.
Straightening, she turned and stepped around the tub. Her face, before she swirled around, was as pink as the lips he had mentioned. "You have a concave bottom, Colonel Coally. And hairybullocks."
"Shall we compare tit for tat, Miss Abigail?"
Turning, she offered him a towel. "Not at all, Colonel Coally. You have a tit and I have a twat."
Eyes glinting with laughter, he took the towel that she offered, stepped one foot at a time out of the tub as he dried off. Then he blotted dry her hair, her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, worked his way down to a pair of elegant, narrow feet.
"Time to eat," he murmured into the jointure of her thighs, deliberately breathing into the soft nest of damp brown curls there.
Her legs quivered.
Grinning, he jumped up. "Real food this time, Miss Abigail. If I am to satisfy more fantasies, I have to keep up my strength."
Used as he was to field rations, the basket contained a veritable feast. Cold mutton. Cheese. Hard-boiled eggs. A loaf of bread still warm from the oven.
There was more than enough for two.
Abigail ate daintily but with a definite appetite. When her eyelids drooped, he repacked the food and carried her to bed.
He had never before slept with a woman until Abigail. Had never before experienced the simple joy of having a woman's spine curve to fit his abdomen and her butt snuggle into the flatness of his groin. Had never imagined this closeness that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the woman in his arms.
The reality of Abigail far surpassed his fantasies.
Sighing, he buried his face into her damp hair.
A blast of cannon fire woke him.
Jesus God,
he had fallen asleep during battle. Boneless flesh curved to fit his bodya corpse, already stripped by the natives, body still warm.
Heart pounding, his fingers tightened around the butt of his rifleonly to sink into giving flesh.
And he remembered.
The storm. The burning need that had driven him out into it. The light in the cottage and the woman named Abigail.
He gently soothed the breast he had abused.
Abigail stirred. "Robert?"
"Why are you here, Abigail?"
The boneless spine stiffened.
He refused to let her go, pressing her more firmly into the curve of his body while he braced his chin on the top of her head. "Tell me."
"I told you." Her heart pounded against the palm of his hand. "In three weeks I turn thirty."
"Every secondsomewhere in the worlda woman turns thirty."
"But not every woman is a spinster."
"By your choice, Abigail."
"But I
don't
want to be a spinster, Robert." He strained to hear her over the steady drum of rain. "I
don't
want to be passed between my brother and sisters. I
don't
want to bealone."
Robert braced himself against the pain in her voice.
"So why are you here, then, with only your books for company?" he persisted, determined to solve the mystery that was Abigail.
For long seconds he didn't think she was going to reply, then
She sighed. "I came to say good-bye."
Fear pumped though his veins. Along with images of death her death now instead of his. Immediately he thrust the images away. "Who did you come to say good-bye to?"
"My dreams, Robert. I got tired of wanting things that could never be. I brought my books and journals with me here because I planned on leaving them behind. In the hope that without them, perhaps I could find ... a little peace."
Peace.
Hardened soldiers like himself sought peace, not gently bred ladies who had never faced death and chosen life. But the same loneliness was there, the utter aloneness that was the price paid for stepping outside the rules that bind societies together. Robert had killedin duty; Abigail had indulged her desires with forbid den eroticain secrecy. And had been passed from brother to sister
"What about your parents?"
"Dead. I have one brother and three sisters of whom I am very fond. But I am still the spinster sister. And I am the youngest, so of course they know what is best for me."
He rubbed her nipple in gentle consolation. "Not this."
"No." A hint of laughter lightened her voice. "I think William would die of an apoplectic fit if he ever discovered my chest of books."
"Tell me about your brother and sisters."
Abigail cupped her hand over his. "My brother and sisters have kindly provided me with twenty-one nieces and nephews. They are convinced that a woman's happiness lies in marriage. Or I should say, in having a familythe husband, or wife, whichever the case may be, is a trial one must endure in order to have children. And you are correctI
am
a spinster by choice. But I found myself wondering if my brother and sisters do not have the right of it. That perhaps life with one of the eminently eligible but dreadfully boring men they are constantly surprising me with might just possibly be preferable tobeing alone."
Robert had no reason to be jealous. But he wasfuriously.
"You'd marry a fat-bottomed man with side-whiskers?" he growled. "A man who would have you dress a piano for fear he would excite"he pinched her nipple
"this?"
She caught his fingers and laughed softly. "Cease, Colonel Coally, you have convinced me of the error of my thoughts. What about you? Do you have a family?"
Perhaps it was relief that prompted Robert's response. Perhaps it was the way her body bonelessly melded to his and her laughter chased away the darkness. Or perhaps it was merely that he did not mind sharing his past with this woman who was so willing to share her body.
"Four brothers and five sisters."
"Are your brothers in the Army?"
"No." He cautioned himself to stopshe was a lady, it was one thing to accept the fact that he killed in the name of duty. She would not want to know that her fantasy man came from low origins. But the words came unbidden. "They followed in the footsteps of my father."
"Is he still alive?"
"Very much so."
"Why did he not stop you from enlisting in the Army?"
Robert smiled at the indignation in her voice. "One less mouth to feed. But your blame is misplaced. Very few people can stop me when I make up my mind."
"What does he do, this father of yours?"
Robert tensed, but knew he had come too far to lie now. "He's a street vendor. He sells ices."
Abigail's response at learning his pedigree was as unpredictable as her response to his lovemaking.
"Oh, I love ices!" she enthused, as if she was still the little girl who had played in the ocean. "Strawberry is my favorite."
"Take my advice, Abigail. Eat lemon ice or cream ices. But stay away from strawberry."
"Why?"
"There are no strawberries in strawberry ice."
"Yes, there are." Her voice in the darkness was endearingly earnest. "Not whole ones, of course. They are all mixed up in little pieces."
"They're not strawberries, Abigail," he murmured wryly.
"Then what are they, pray?" she asked tartly.
"Cochineals."
"You mean ...
bugs?"
"I meanbugs."
He could feel her coming to terms with the fact that she had eaten bugsthe initial stiffening of her body, the slow relaxation when she realized there was not going to occur some sort of delayed reaction. Finally, "Is that why you joined the Army when you were thirteen?"