Bertrice Small - Captivated

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.