tracing scars before fanning outward. Her touch rippled along sculpted abs, delineated ropes of muscle, slid along threads of veins. His hips began bucking against hers, creating friction. Excitement. Fervor. Again. And again. The bed platform began rocking. Black silk drapery waved and shifted, fanning incense-laden air. Her nipples grew hard with want. Her loins wet with need. Her thighs jerked and tightened, gripped for every lunge he made. Her every nerve-ending tingled and sparked. Her mouth opened in another quest for air. As much as she could gain. As quickly as possible. She’d never felt so alive. So infused with wantonness. Or so desperate.
“Christine.”
Her name tore through the space, carried on the wave of sound. It added a deep, haunting tenor to an already mystical atmosphere.
“Takeshi?”
She whispered. He didn’t. His reply was a guttural mash of sound. Feral. Fierce. Forceful.
“Oh, watashi no ai! I want—! I need—! Ah! You do not understand!”
Oh, yes she did. She even recognized the extent. And then she watched his skin actually darken, starting as a flush that emitted from somewhere below his throat. It spread outward, reaching where her hands were pressed, heating her palms, sparking through her skin. That shocked. Stunned.
The outfit she wore was crafted from the finest silk. That included the obi sash. That belt presented a problem. Christine worked at the tie, her efforts only making the knot stouter. Tighter. She finally pushed it around to her back and ignored it. The outer robe fell open. She pulled her arms out before yanking the span of material from beneath the waistband. Shoved it somewhere behind her. She didn’t know where it landed. She didn’t care. Her hands shook, making every movement palsied and clumsy, and she couldn’t find the hem of her juban. The inner garment was becoming another problem.
For her.
Not Takeshi. He altered everything by slashing his fingers into the material at both sides and ripping the front open. A moment later, his hands were at her breasts, cupping flesh and sending shockwaves that sizzled through skin, then crashed through her belly. Takeshi’s reaction was instantaneous and unbelievable. His entire body arched upward, lifting them from the mattress, while his groan blended with the heartbeat throb about them. The sound raised shivers. They were still coursing her skin as they hovered in midair, long moments after his cry ended.
They dropped, the motion assisting Christine’s movement to snag his lips again. Ah. The man could kiss! A minute prick pierced her lower lip. Almost like before, but it brought nothing about pain this time, and everything about wonder. It was followed by the same reaction. The thrill. The absolute rapture. Almost enough to override her real objective. Her new position gave her a foundation. To explore. Christine shoved both hands down his frame, burrowed beneath his waistband, and...
There!
She had him. Hard. Thick. And incredibly large. And everything stopped. The pounding noise ceased. Their heavy breathing halted. The bed platform shuddered and stilled. Takeshi had gone statue-still. Incredibly hard and taut. Unmoving. Then he started trembling. And then he started pleading.
“Christine! Watashi no ai! Help me! Oh, Christine! My love! Help! Christine! Please? Oh, love! Christine! Meito! Please? I need—! Ah !”
Takeshi’s yell launched outward, carrying what sounded like pain. The depth of it reverberated against the stone walls. Flames burst upward from the fire-pit. The air grew moist, making the incense stronger. The throbbing sound started up again, too. She was poised above him before his yell ebbed, and then she was on him, her body sucking. Taking him deep. Fully. Muscles and nerve endings stretched to accommodate and massage and enjoy.
And then she lifted, sliding nearly free before slamming back on. Up again. Down. The third time, he grabbed the sides of her hips, using the grip to bring
“Christine.”
Her name tore through the space, carried on the wave of sound. It added a deep, haunting tenor to an already mystical atmosphere.
“Takeshi?”
She whispered. He didn’t. His reply was a guttural mash of sound. Feral. Fierce. Forceful.
“Oh, watashi no ai! I want—! I need—! Ah! You do not understand!”
Oh, yes she did. She even recognized the extent. And then she watched his skin actually darken, starting as a flush that emitted from somewhere below his throat. It spread outward, reaching where her hands were pressed, heating her palms, sparking through her skin. That shocked. Stunned.
The outfit she wore was crafted from the finest silk. That included the obi sash. That belt presented a problem. Christine worked at the tie, her efforts only making the knot stouter. Tighter. She finally pushed it around to her back and ignored it. The outer robe fell open. She pulled her arms out before yanking the span of material from beneath the waistband. Shoved it somewhere behind her. She didn’t know where it landed. She didn’t care. Her hands shook, making every movement palsied and clumsy, and she couldn’t find the hem of her juban. The inner garment was becoming another problem.
For her.
Not Takeshi. He altered everything by slashing his fingers into the material at both sides and ripping the front open. A moment later, his hands were at her breasts, cupping flesh and sending shockwaves that sizzled through skin, then crashed through her belly. Takeshi’s reaction was instantaneous and unbelievable. His entire body arched upward, lifting them from the mattress, while his groan blended with the heartbeat throb about them. The sound raised shivers. They were still coursing her skin as they hovered in midair, long moments after his cry ended.
They dropped, the motion assisting Christine’s movement to snag his lips again. Ah. The man could kiss! A minute prick pierced her lower lip. Almost like before, but it brought nothing about pain this time, and everything about wonder. It was followed by the same reaction. The thrill. The absolute rapture. Almost enough to override her real objective. Her new position gave her a foundation. To explore. Christine shoved both hands down his frame, burrowed beneath his waistband, and...
There!
She had him. Hard. Thick. And incredibly large. And everything stopped. The pounding noise ceased. Their heavy breathing halted. The bed platform shuddered and stilled. Takeshi had gone statue-still. Incredibly hard and taut. Unmoving. Then he started trembling. And then he started pleading.
“Christine! Watashi no ai! Help me! Oh, Christine! My love! Help! Christine! Please? Oh, love! Christine! Meito! Please? I need—! Ah !”
Takeshi’s yell launched outward, carrying what sounded like pain. The depth of it reverberated against the stone walls. Flames burst upward from the fire-pit. The air grew moist, making the incense stronger. The throbbing sound started up again, too. She was poised above him before his yell ebbed, and then she was on him, her body sucking. Taking him deep. Fully. Muscles and nerve endings stretched to accommodate and massage and enjoy.
And then she lifted, sliding nearly free before slamming back on. Up again. Down. The third time, he grabbed the sides of her hips, using the grip to bring
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