Page 8 of A Highwayman's Kiss

So if Abigail wanted to take this unique opportunity to learn what a man felt like? Learn in safety? Well… he could pretend to be asleep for as long as the woman wanted.

He forced himself to slow his breathing, to at least pretend to relax, as Abigail’s hands moved slowly along his back. Her fingertips moved over his shoulders, along his collar-bones; Marcus bit back a sigh of pleasure, unable to believe how arousing Abigail’s gentle, careful touching was.

Stop feeling like a man having his first tup. If thinking of depressing things wasn’t going to help him, then he would have to resort to strict instructions. But damn it, talking to himself like a stern tutor had never worked; Marcus had never listened to voices of reason in his life, and certainly wasn’t about to start now.

Now Abigail’s hands were between their two bodies, timidly stroking their way along his chest. Marcus bit his lip, swiftly restraining a moan as Abigail’s fingertips moved over his nipples; every part of his body was now so awake to her, so thoroughly alive, that even the most cursory touch made him want to explode. Made him want to do some exploration of his own.

Lower. Then lower still. Abigail’s hands moved downward by slow, excruciating degrees as she seemingly learned the shape of him. It didn’t matter how many half-remembered hymns Marcus sang in his head, how many pieces of the next week’s administrative business he furiously tried to recall; all of his attention grew concentrated on Abigail’s touches, on the feel of her in his arms.

If she moved just a little lower, she would discover parts of a man’s anatomy that she very probably had never felt before. At least, Marcus hoped not—but then, he had no right to hope anything of the sort.

He could be the hundredth man that Abigail had embraced like this. But then again, from the shy, thrilling way was touching him, very probably not. And with another touch there, just a few inches further downward… oh, please…

Abigail’s fingers stilled. Marcus tried his best not to sigh; whether the sigh was one of relief or frustration, or both, he simply didn’t know.

No, wait, he did know. It was frustration. Because as odious as being manhandled usually was—it had happened on occasion in gaming hells, even a ball or two—there was an absolute gulf between being treated like cattle by someone looking for nothing but easy pleasure, and Abigail’s unutterably delicate exploration. It felt, for some reason, like a completely different act.

But it was over now. Perhaps Abigail had fully woken up, or fully come to her senses. Either way, it was best to start forgetting this encounter had ever happened.

Stay still. Stay very, very still. Marcus forced himself to lay in the manner of a corpse as Abigail slowly disentangled herself from him; he even gave a sleepily authentic grunt with an actorly flourish. As soon as he felt the cool morning air on his body, he rolled over to conceal what was no doubt an impressively rigid cock at this point in the proceedings; he heard no gasp from Abigail, no running feet, and could only conclude that he’d been successful in concealing just how arousing her morning embrace had been.

Now all he had to do was wait. Wait until his waking could only be attributed to natural causes and not Abigail’s clumsy yet incredibly effective methods of seduction. Marcus kept his eyes closed, kept breathing as slowly as he could, as Abigail’s light tread gave him a mental map of her morning.

Fuck. This was taking forever. Splashes of water in the barrel by the cave mouth, rustles of clothing that could mean Abigail was either undressing or placing a blanket around her shoulders to avoid the cold. Either way, the thought was erotic; Marcus deliberately rolled over to a colder, damper patch of ground close to the surrounding fields, allowing the morning dew to seep through his clothes and apply a cold, corrective dose to his ridiculous thoughts.

Eventually, after a cold and soggy twenty or so minutes, a coarse whinny from Blossom split the air. It was her usual morning habit, one that Marcus had tried to train out of her given how easily she could alert a passing shepherd or similar to their hideout, but the mare insisted on doing things her own way. Fortunately, the rebellious beast provided Marcus with a perfect excuse to finally pretend to wake up.

‘Mmm.’ He yawned, stretching out on the cold ground in order to chase away any last trace of his cock-stand. ‘Miss Weeks?’

‘Y—yes?’

‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’ Abigail sounded nervous. Marcus made a great show of opening his eyes and blinking at the sunlight; he was used to acting, playing the part of a carefree duke the greater part of the time, but this felt slightly more significant than that. ‘The—the fire is almost out.’

‘Oh, is it? Goodness.’ Marcus glanced at the fire; it was indeed low. Normally he never let it get into such a dire state, but this morning was very different from any other. ‘I’ll stoke it.’

‘And… and did you sleep well?’

There was a short, significant pause. Marcus weighed Abigail’s words carefully, trying to decide if the woman was asking to save face or to force a conversation about what had happened between them, then reluctantly decided to choose the first option.

‘Oh, yes. Very deeply indeed. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.’ The more words he said, the more obvious the lie felt. ‘Like a log. A stone.’

‘Oh. Good.’

‘But then, I always do sleep soundly after a successful robbery. Not that this one was successful along the traditional lines.’ Marcus rose to his feet, feigning another yawn for good measure, then turned to stoke the fire. If he stared into Abigail’s eyes for even a moment he’d start telling the truth; the woman would look rumpled with sleep, soft and splendid, and Marcus didn’t have . ‘And—and did you sleep well, Miss Weeks?’

‘Yes.’ The answer came a little too quickly, Abigail’s tone a touch too strident. ‘Very well.’

‘Good.’ Marcus respected the woman’s need for decorum, but the urge to tease her a little was just too strong. ‘No dreams?’

‘Absolutely none.’

‘It can be difficult to fall asleep in a new place. Especially after a night involving such excesses of emotion. But you slept well.’

‘As I said—very well indeed.’

‘No waking? It can get dreadfully cold at night here—I hope you managed to remain comfortable.’