woman, Robert." She delved behind her and grabbed his turgid flesh. "I want you to give me everything you give her."
Robert grabbed her hand, deliberately curt. "I told youI don't fantasize about what a woman does to me."
Abigail was not to be denied. "Then what do you do to her? You said that you fantasized about doing everything. What is everything, Robert?"
Robert closed his eyes as the old need came over him. "You'd be shocked, Abigail."
"No, I would not.
How could I?
Tell me ... Tell me what you want, Robert. Let me be your fantasy woman. Tell me what we do before a battle."
Robert desperately resisted. "You said, before we ate, that you had another fantasy, Abigail."
"This
is
that fantasy, Robert. To be your fantasy."
God help him, it was his fantasy, too.
Heart suddenly pounding, he molded his body more firmly against hers, chest against her back, her rounded buttocks pressed against the flatness of his stomach, and cupped the silky nest of hair at the apex of her thighs. "I do this."
Her body tensed expectantly. "What else?"
He sifted through the silky hair, found the indescribably soft flesh hidden inside. "Open up your legs."
Robert smiled in pained satisfaction against her hair, noting how quickly she complied with his request, and worked his finger between the seam of her lips. Inside the tight little valley she was hot and wet. Her soft lips curled around him as he gently slid back and forth, lingering at the head of her clitoris, sliding back down, pausing infinitesimally at the small opening there that he had created, then sliding back up again to her clitoral hood.
"When I am alone at night, exhausted by death and dying," he murmured gruffly into her hair, "I fantasize that I have a woman who feels what I feel. And that I can feel what she feels."
He slid his hand back up, over her moist mound, through the triangle of soft hair there and across her stomach.
Abigail wriggled in disappointment. "Robert, I assure you,
you were feeling her."
He laughed shortly, gaining confidence at her ready acceptance. Nipping her shoulder, he slid his hand over her hip, between their bodies, down her buttocks, between her plump cheeks.
Her legs clamped down.
He fluttered his fingertips against the wet heat of her. "I want to feel her again, Abigail. Open your legswide. Put your right foot flat on the bed" He followed the line of her thigh, arranged her leg. "There. Now you are wide open for me."
"Is that what you fantasize about, Robert? That a woman is wide open for you?"
"Yes." He petted and stroked her wet, clinging lips, preparing her. "Wide open. Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"I told youI want my fantasy woman to feel what I feel. Give me your hand."
But she did not give him her hand. So he took it.
She struggled feebly when he guided it down between her thighs.
Her ribs rose and fell underneath his arm. "We did this last night, Robert."
"Not like tonight, Abigail." God help them both,
not like tonight,
he thought. "You wanted to know what my fantasy woman and I do before battlethis is part of it. Be her. Feel yourself as I feel you. The silky wetness here" He rubbed their joined hands against her petal-soft lips until they were slick with her essence. "The tight sheath of flesh inside."
Gently he parted her slick lips with their intertwined fingers. Slowly, so slowly, her flesh stretched to accommodate them.
Her breath caught. "Robert"
"What do you feel, Abigail?"
"I feel youyour fingers"
"Your fingers, too." He tamped down the mounting desire. "Our fingers. Your skin is soft inside, like wet silk. I have never touched another woman like I am now touching you. Feel that? That is your sheath contracting around us. Further backthere you can feel the spongebehind that is the entrance to your womb."
He prodded the sponge, soft and springy, forced her to prod it, too, knowing that the minute movements were rubbing her wrist against her clitoris. Her sheath sucked and nipped at their fingers.
"That is what you feel like when I am
Robert grabbed her hand, deliberately curt. "I told youI don't fantasize about what a woman does to me."
Abigail was not to be denied. "Then what do you do to her? You said that you fantasized about doing everything. What is everything, Robert?"
Robert closed his eyes as the old need came over him. "You'd be shocked, Abigail."
"No, I would not.
How could I?
Tell me ... Tell me what you want, Robert. Let me be your fantasy woman. Tell me what we do before a battle."
Robert desperately resisted. "You said, before we ate, that you had another fantasy, Abigail."
"This
is
that fantasy, Robert. To be your fantasy."
God help him, it was his fantasy, too.
Heart suddenly pounding, he molded his body more firmly against hers, chest against her back, her rounded buttocks pressed against the flatness of his stomach, and cupped the silky nest of hair at the apex of her thighs. "I do this."
Her body tensed expectantly. "What else?"
He sifted through the silky hair, found the indescribably soft flesh hidden inside. "Open up your legs."
Robert smiled in pained satisfaction against her hair, noting how quickly she complied with his request, and worked his finger between the seam of her lips. Inside the tight little valley she was hot and wet. Her soft lips curled around him as he gently slid back and forth, lingering at the head of her clitoris, sliding back down, pausing infinitesimally at the small opening there that he had created, then sliding back up again to her clitoral hood.
"When I am alone at night, exhausted by death and dying," he murmured gruffly into her hair, "I fantasize that I have a woman who feels what I feel. And that I can feel what she feels."
He slid his hand back up, over her moist mound, through the triangle of soft hair there and across her stomach.
Abigail wriggled in disappointment. "Robert, I assure you,
you were feeling her."
He laughed shortly, gaining confidence at her ready acceptance. Nipping her shoulder, he slid his hand over her hip, between their bodies, down her buttocks, between her plump cheeks.
Her legs clamped down.
He fluttered his fingertips against the wet heat of her. "I want to feel her again, Abigail. Open your legswide. Put your right foot flat on the bed" He followed the line of her thigh, arranged her leg. "There. Now you are wide open for me."
"Is that what you fantasize about, Robert? That a woman is wide open for you?"
"Yes." He petted and stroked her wet, clinging lips, preparing her. "Wide open. Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"I told youI want my fantasy woman to feel what I feel. Give me your hand."
But she did not give him her hand. So he took it.
She struggled feebly when he guided it down between her thighs.
Her ribs rose and fell underneath his arm. "We did this last night, Robert."
"Not like tonight, Abigail." God help them both,
not like tonight,
he thought. "You wanted to know what my fantasy woman and I do before battlethis is part of it. Be her. Feel yourself as I feel you. The silky wetness here" He rubbed their joined hands against her petal-soft lips until they were slick with her essence. "The tight sheath of flesh inside."
Gently he parted her slick lips with their intertwined fingers. Slowly, so slowly, her flesh stretched to accommodate them.
Her breath caught. "Robert"
"What do you feel, Abigail?"
"I feel youyour fingers"
"Your fingers, too." He tamped down the mounting desire. "Our fingers. Your skin is soft inside, like wet silk. I have never touched another woman like I am now touching you. Feel that? That is your sheath contracting around us. Further backthere you can feel the spongebehind that is the entrance to your womb."
He prodded the sponge, soft and springy, forced her to prod it, too, knowing that the minute movements were rubbing her wrist against her clitoris. Her sheath sucked and nipped at their fingers.
"That is what you feel like when I am
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