If anything, they'd implied thatit was she who was lucky to be in their company; it was she who wasfortunate enough to be beaten unconscious by them and left for dead.Inwardly, she shrugged. If Eric wanted to pretend he needed herreassurance, she could pretend to give it. "You're an Adonis. I didn'tsidle up to you at the bar because you reminded me of a caveman."He smiled, reflecting on her words. Then, he kissed her again.Diane was tiring of the foreplay, the game of cat and mouse. She neededsex, rough and raw and brutal. "Fuck me, Eric," she whispered into hisear. "Please fuck me."Eric smiled. His hands unbuckled the thin belt at her waist. He unzippedthe black leather mini-skirt. Diane raised her hips, and he tugged theskirt down, over her sleek thighs, past her delicate knees, and down hershapely, smooth calves. She drew her legs up as he slid the skirt overher dainty feet. Carefully, he set the skirt aside.Diane could hardly repress a giggle as she thought of the surprise shehad. Abigail had become aware then that her traitor hand was pushing awkwardly at the front of her skirt, that she was shifting her legs and causing the cloth of her undergarments to rub enticingly. She was also breathing much too quickly, much too loudly. Below, on the floor of the carriage-house, Caleb rose from Margaret’s unconscious body. As he withdrew from her, Abigail saw the blood and other fluids streaking his softening member, saw more of it staining Margaret’s thighs. She had remained where she was, hardly daring to breathe although the resultant dizziness made her fear that she would faint too. Caleb moved about, gathering his clothes, wiping himself clean with a handkerchief that he stuck indifferently into his pocket. He left Margaret sprawled where she was, whistling a tune as he returned to his duties. Abigail thought about going to Margaret and rousing her, seeing if she was all right. But surely Margaret would be horrified to know that her ruination had been observed..
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