Bertrice Small - Captivated

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!"

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.