"Cream, Abigail." Hard, hot fingers delved between her thighs. "You're dripping with it. Do you ever put your fingers inside of you when you fantasize?"

Lightning shot up through Abigail's body. "Of course not!"

"Our agreement, lady." Slowly, gently, he mapped out the soft folds of flesh between her legs, overruling modesty, overcoming resistance. "I want to know every erotic thought, every touch."

Abigail held herself rigidly.

Everything, he had said. And she had agreed. But Robert was taking controland she did not know if she liked that. It was what her fantasy man didbut this wasnot fantasy.

She felt wet and exposed and there was nothing to do but… enjoy it.

And add to her bank of memories.

"No," she reaffirmed on a soft intake of air. "I do not."

"Does your fantasy man?"

"Yes."

Oh, yes…

"How many fingers does he put inside you?"

She closed her eyes, blocking out the black silhouette that was more than fantasy. "Three. Do you fantasize about putting your fingers inside a woman?"

"Yes." His fingers swirled and swirled, there at the entrance to her body, gathering moisture, creating heat.

She could hear the wet play over the staccato sounds of the stormor was it her breathing that was so uneven? "How many fingers do you fantasize about putting inside of a woman?"

"Five. I fantasize about sticking my whole fist inside her."

Abigail's eyelids snapped open. She remembered the length of his fingers in the circle of candlelight. Remembered the size of his hands, clasped between hers. "That… Surely that is not possible."

"Perhaps. Certainly not with a virgin. Perhaps after a woman has had a child or two… You're so small here." Abigail involuntarily squirmed at the deepening pressure. "Hold still. I can feel your maidenhead; you're taut as a drum. It hardly seems possible that you could accept Take my finger, Abigail."

Abigail took the entire burning length. And gasped into the fury of the rain and the wind.

It was raw invasion. It was his body becoming a part of hers.

It was the substance that books and fantasy lacked.

The foot of the bed dipped; she drew her legs up to counteract the motion, opening herself wider, forcing the finger more deeply inside her. A gust of heat seared her stomach. "Talk to me. Tell me what it feels like to have a man's finger inside you."

Abigail threw her head back, concentrating on the sensations serrating her body instead of the dark silhouette poised over her. "Your finger feelshot. And rough. It burns. I feel open. And stretched."

"Not stretched enough. Is this what you feel like when your fantasy man puts his finger inside you?"

"No."

Oh, no…

The reality of having a man's finger inside her bore no resemblance at all to the fantasy.

This was heat and cold and bone and muscles with the knotting of the quilt underneath her and the knot of his knuckle inside her.

"Take another finger, Abigail."

The burning fullness that was more than fantasy abruptly turned to painful intrusion as one finger became two. "Stop"

"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 wasnot 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 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.