Surrender to Sin (22 page)

His teeth flashed like a wolf’s. The hard gleam in his eye startled her. Suddenly, she was Abigail again. Frightened, shy, awkward,
stupid
Abigail. In that moment she truly despised herself. She could not even
dream
properly. Even in dreams, the lusty smile of a lover threw her into a blind panic. She sat up and tried to cover herself, but he was lying on the sheets, displaying himself quite shamelessly. She began to babble, hoping he would show mercy and let her go before she embarrassed herself further by bursting into tears.

“Look here, Cary,” she said quickly. “I know this is going to sound a tiny bit odd, but there’s something in my room. It whispered at me. It–it frightened me. If it finds us here…I’m afraid of what it might do.” She jumped out of bed and, unable to get the sheets away from him, ran naked to the door. Somehow, he got there before she did. “It’s locked,” he informed her, leaning against it, the picture of insouciance.

“How do you know?” she demanded, panting. “You haven’t tried.”

“I know,” he said, blocking the way with his body.

“Cary, you have to let me go,” she pleaded.

He grinned incorrigibly. “If you like knobs, I’ve a nice one here for you.”

Outraged, Abigail momentarily forgot her anxiety. “It’s not a knob,” she rebuked him. “It’s a lovely branch with a lovely plum on the end.”

“And do you like plums?” he asked solicitously.

He was standing in front of her now, so close that his sex knocked gently on her belly. He took her shoulders in his hands, which was a good thing since Abigail no longer trusted her legs to support her. He whipped her around and suddenly her back was against the door, the length of his body pressing her against it.

“I tell you there’s something nasty in my room,” she repeated, trembling. “You don’t understand. I only came to tell you—No, that’s not right. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Didn’t know I was here,” he scoffed. “That’s rich. I know exactly what you came for, Smith, and you’re going to get it if it takes me all night. Look what you’ve done to me.” He took her hand and drew it slowly down his body. Abigail moaned as she felt what she had not dared to touch before. It was hotter and harder than any other part of him. “Feel what you do to me. Obviously, I’m in no condition to be teased. Give me an answer now. Yes or no?”

“But what if it comes through the wardrobe?” she asked anxiously, even as, driven by instincts she did not know she had, her hand closed over the hot, solid shaft of flesh.

“I understand your apprehension,” he replied, “but, really, it’s not that big.” He tried to encourage her hand to stroke him rather than hold him so passively, but Abigail missed the signal. Thinking he was pushing her away, she slowly withdrew her hand.

“I meant the thing in my room,” she said unhappily, believing he no longer wanted her.

“What about it?” he said, frowning at her. “Look, if you want to go, go. Try the knob.”

Abigail looked at him, not moving. “It’s locked,” she whispered.

He groaned as she took hold of him again. “Abigail, you are driving me insane,” he said in a strangled voice. “I beg of you, make up your mind, put me out of my misery. For God’s sake, let me have you.” He cursed as he again tried to teach her to stroke him and she again withdrew her hand. “This is absolutely the worst dream I have ever had!” he exclaimed.

“Y-your dream?” she stammered. “There must be some mistake. This is my dream.”

He looked at her so fiercely that she trembled. “No, monkey,” he said firmly. “This is my dream. My dream. I make the rules. I say we stop talking and go to bed at once.” Looking quite determined, he drove her ahead of him to the bed, Abigail stumbling back nervously.

“Surely this is my dream,” she protested, even as her legs gave way and she fell backwards into bed. Hurriedly, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Mine,” he replied shortly, leaning over her to uncross her arms.

“But how do you know it’s your dream? How do you know it’s not mine?”

“If this were your dream, Smith, I strongly suspect we’d be wearing clothes and doing something sadly respectable,” he whispered, bringing his mouth swiftly down on her breast like a hawk seizing a dove. She gasped as his teeth grazed her tender nipple.

“Ordinarily, I’d agree with you,” she said, struggling to breathe. “But, Cary, something very odd has happened to me. I seem to have developed an unquenchable physical desire for you. I’m sorry, but there it is. I keep wanting to touch you, wanting you to touch me.”

“Very odd,” he agreed. “Considering you keep pulling away from me, you little tease!”

“You keep pushing me away,” she accused angrily, sitting up.

“Bollocks. You—” He caught his breath as her hand closed over him a little too tightly for comfort. “Gently, if you please. I am not pushing you away,” he explained. “I want you to move your hand.” This time, he caught her hand before it flew away. “Move it,” he clarified, “not remove it.” Covering her hand, he taught her the caressing motion. As she caught on, he closed his eyes and groaned softly. “There now. If this were your dream, would we be doing this? Would your little hand be moving up and down in this charming way?”

Abigail bit her lip. “But we often do things in dreams we might not otherwise,” she pointed out. “If you knew what I was thinking right now—feeling right now—you’d run.”

“Would I indeed? You interest me strangely.”

“I want to do such things to you, things I could never ever do in real life. But here, in this place, there doesn’t seem to be anything to stop me,” she said, stroking him lovingly.

He grunted, rocking back and forth on his heels as he stood before her. “I have changed my mind about the talking. You may speak at will, my dear Smith.”

“You see?” she said, fascinated. “I can’t stop touching you. It’s as if I have lost all trace of my moral upbringing. I seem to have no inhibitions left at all. I want to rub myself all over you like a cat.” To her own amazement, her body did just that.

Cary could bear no more. He fell on her, growling, “Definitely my dream.”

Abigail swallowed hard as his weight pushed her deep into the feather mattress. “Are you sure? Because—”

“I am thinking of a number, Smith,” he announced abruptly, raising himself up on his elbows. “One to ten.”

“Why?” she asked, puzzled, and a little hurt. “It seems like an odd time for arithmetic.”

“I am thinking of a number,” he repeated severely. “If this is your dream, you will know what that number is. Wrong!” he cried triumphantly when she guessed seven.

“Just a moment,” Abigail said, scrabbling farther into the bed as he made a wild grab for her. She stopped when she reached the headboard of carved black oak. “
I
am thinking of a number, too. If this is
your
dream, sir, tell me: what is that number?”

He laughed softly, crawling after her. “My dear girl,
you
are not thinking of a number. You are thinking about rubbing yourself all over me like a cat.”

Abigail gasped. “How could you possibly know what I’m thinking?”

“You told me,” he pointed out. “Besides, women don’t think about numbers when they are in bed with me.”

“No,” she sighed.

“Therefore it is my dream.”

“Yes.”

It was bad enough to be naked in one’s own dream. But to be naked in someone else’s was absolutely scandalous. Abigail could feel her whole body blushing. Even by the warm glow of the firelight, her freckles stood out atrociously. She jumped for the bed curtains and hid behind them. “Cary,” she said fretfully. “Can you see me right now? As I am, I mean?”

“Every delightful freckle,” he said, pursuing her to the bedpost and catching her in his arms, getting an armful of crewel-work for his trouble. “You’ve even got them on your bottom.” As he spoke, he was trying unsuccessfully to extricate her from the red and white curtains. Abigail refused to let go, bunching the material tightly in her hands. “You’re acting very strangely tonight, Smith,” he complained. “In fact, you’re letting me down. Is this the same woman who, only moments ago, gave in to my most secret and depraved desires? Good God, if I’ve had you once, I’ve had you twenty times. Now you suddenly turn up shy. Not fair, really.”

Abigail’s heart sank. “Who is this woman?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you ask
me
to give in to your most secret and depraved desires?”

He scowled. “Look here! I can still put you over my knee and paddle your behind! I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Remember?”

“No. You’re obviously thinking of someone else,” she said angrily. “Which is actually a bit rude, if you stop and think! How would you like it if I started thinking of another man right here in the middle of your dream?”

“I am not thinking of anybody else,” he snapped. “I am thinking of you, Smith, whoever you are. I dream of you every night. It’s always been you, and you bloody well know it.”

“Really?” said Abigail, delighted. “You dream about me? Like this, I mean?”

“Certainly not. In my other dreams, you were much nicer to me. I ask you, is this how you show your gratitude? By hiding in the curtains?”

She gasped. “You expect me to be grateful? You made me tell you I want to rub myself all over you like a cat,” she reminded him. “How will I ever be able to look you in the eye after this?”

“That was wrong of me,” he gracefully admitted. “But, on the other hand, I did save your life,” he pointed out. “You were well on your way to freezing to death in the river when I happened along in your time of need. Now I’m in a time of need, Abigail. You could save me.”

Abigail was instantly contrite. “Oh, I am sorry. You did save my life, didn’t you? You were so brave. I was so frightened. And then you fell.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Yes, yes. I was incredible,” he said impatiently. “And I deserve to be rewarded.”

“Naturally, I want you to have a nice dream. But what can I do?”

He stared at her. “What can you do?” he repeated incredulously. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to do things to me? Rub yourself all over me like a cat. Your words, not mine.”

“Your dream, not mine! You
made
me say that,” she corrected him. “I do want to make you happy. You’ve no idea how much. I just don’t know how. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I’ve had a lovely time in your dream. I really have. Nicer even than what you did to me at the gatehouse, because
that
was real, and it frightened me to death.”

He sat down on the bed and went perfectly still. “Are you frightened of me, Abigail?”

She shook her head vehemently. “I just don’t know what to do, that’s all. I’m afraid I’ll make a mess of things. You’re so beautiful,” she added rather helplessly. “I wish I could make you happy. If you could just tell me…show me…”

He groaned suddenly. “Don’t tell me you’re a
virgin
? Not again.”

Abigail said furiously, “Of course I am! What do you take me for?”

“I was hoping to take you for a very naughty girl,” he retorted. “Now it seems I shall have to start all over, from the very beginning. Yes, the
very
beginning,” he added ruefully, glancing down at his naked body. “Conversation is not good for the Prime Minister, you know. It weakens his resolve. He begins to think it would be better just to go to sleep.”

“I only want a hint,” Abigail said tartly. “If it’s too much trouble…”

“No,” he said quickly. “He’s a resilient fellow, and I don’t mind sharing with you my vast stores of erotic knowledge. You know I don’t. But when a woman falls into a man’s dream completely innocent of clothing, it raises the old expectations, if you see what I mean.” Abruptly, he yanked the bed curtain loose from the tester, and pulled her down to him, curtains and all. “This will not be like the gatehouse, Abigail,” he warned, “where I gave my all, and you ran off like a frightened rabbit.”

She flushed angrily. “I did not—” she began, but her eyes fell before his. “I was a frightened rabbit,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Cary. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

He sighed, searching for her slim, freckled body in the curtains. “Very well, Smith. I forgive you. The Prime Minister forgives you, too. I will show you the way to heaven, but this is absolutely the last time. No more frightened virgin. After this, I expect you to be perfectly shameless in your pursuit of carnal pleasure, at least with me. Agreed?”

“I’ll do my very best, Cary,” she said sincerely, as he slipped under the curtain with her.

“That’s all I ask of you, Smith.”

Abigail willed herself to become pliant again in his arms, to please him. Cary was not adverse to taking his time. Slowly and gently, he unwound her tightly coiled nerves. But this time, he would not allow her to float away in a dream. He aroused her but refused to satisfy her. This was about his satisfaction, the satisfaction she had denied him for far too long. He issued urgent commands to her, sometimes quite harshly. He seemed to require something from every inch of her body, her arms, her legs, her hands, her mouth, even her voice. Abigail was too enthralled by the greediness of his body to worry about the shortcomings of her own. Knowing that she could please him as he had pleased her made her dizzy with power. She was not experienced, but she was selfless, tireless in her effort to please him.

Cary had never been so aroused in his life. The slow blossoming of her shyness pleased him more than the clever handiwork of any courtesan, however skilled. Any man could receive pleasure from such a woman, but to have shy, trembling Abigail loving him, surrendering to her own womanly desires for the first time, drove him almost to madness. Soon the tyrant’s commands became the soft pleas of a lover. Cary clung to her as helplessly as she clung to him.

“Love me, Abby. Oh, love me. Don’t stop loving me,” he begged.

Cary wanted her, but more than that, he needed her.

“You’re heaven,” he whispered, as he entered her.

She gasped in awe as he filled her. She could not possibly have imagined that feeling of blissful belonging coupled with a sharp physical pain as he destroyed her virginity. He heard her gasp, but the fire in him was blazing too hot for caution. As her discomfort dissolved beneath a wave of divine pleasure, he swung in and out of her in a frenzy until the fire was quenched, and he lay still. Like an exhausted babe, he nuzzled her breast.