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drew her nipples tight, made them so sensitive the very stirring of the air made them ache. Circling the puckered flesh with the pads of her fingers, Myrina moaned, almost wept with delight. Around and around, avoiding the very tips for as long as she could, shuddering, until the phantom voice cried out with frustration as deep as her own. Slowly, savouring the moment, she pinched gently with forefingers and thumbs.
    “Ahhh,” she cried aloud, sinking to her knees, as waves of pleasure rushed from her nipples to reverberate deep into her body. Plucking and teasing, her fingers took on a life of their own, tightening almost painfully, then soothing the hungry points with butterfly strokes, only to tighten again. The spectral voice heightened her delight as broken words became images in Myrina’s mind.
    He would suck, nip, lick her, adoring every beautiful inch of skin. There would be no surcease until she lay weak and writhing with desire, begging for him to stop—never stop. A full day, a full year, would he spend lavishing attention on her body. Holding her still beneath him, he would kiss her face, her neck, over and over, before drifting to her breasts. Oh, the time he would spend there! Did she know how lovely they were? How passion filled him as he looked at them, watched her touch herself there? Did she realise how desperately he wanted to be the one making her moan and sigh and cry aloud with pleasure?
    “Yes!” Lost in the dream, Myrina arched her back, longing for the touch of hot, firm lips instead of her fingers around her nipples. There was a deep pressure building inside her, like that of a kettle popping and jumping above the coals. Those lips, she knew, would bring her to full, rolling boil, and she needed it, so desperately.
    He would kiss her belly. Did she know the pleasure that could come from that? He would show her, gladly. Kiss and lick there, and her fingers and arms and thighs—everywhere!
    “Oh!” Faster and faster, harder then softer, Myrina’s fingers flew. The pulsing inside grew more insistent, and she pinched her nipples, tugging, hips jolting as the voice added layer upon layer of new sensations to her already overwhelmed system.
    When she was ready, when he knew to delay would only cause her pain, not pleasure anymore, he would part her legs, touch her, find the place to make her scream with passion.
    Myrina gasped, strung tight with need. One hand remained on her breast. The other had somehow found its way under her skirt, was travelling beneath her petticoats, searching for the place he described.
    As she found it, placed the first tentative touch upon the quivering point, an image came to her as though put straight into her head by her eyes. Lying on her back, with a beautiful dark-haired man kneeling between her legs, his green eyes gleaming with desire. His lips moved. “Beautiful , ” he said, strong hands cupping her bottom, lifting her until his firm, knowing mouth slid between her thighs.
    Myrina screamed, the sound echoing through the trees, as a convulsion of pure ecstasy rendered her blind and deaf and destroyed to everything but the sweet pain of release. Again and again his lips tugged, his tongue flayed, until she could take not one moment more, and her hand fell away, and she lay quivering in a cloud of flowers.
    Shocked incredulity at her own abandoned behaviour brought her back to herself, and she jumped to her feet, stumbling as her legs threatened to give way beneath her. What kind of enchantment had she fallen under? For enchantment it must have been, to produce such images and feelings! Even now, no longer under its spell, she thought she heard that low, deep voice entreating her to wait, to stay.
    Quickly tugging her shift to rights and grabbing her over-blouse, cloak and basket, Myrina ran from the glade, ignoring the voice, although the desolation in it brought tears to her eyes.

Chapter Three
    By the time Myrina got to Gottreb’s cottage, shame had