with elation at the frustration she was causing him. But that feeling had been shortlived. Why?
Rock music’s primal pulse so full of anger, aggression, and lust, sizzled in her blood like alcohol; a room blue with smoke, making figures as indistinct as priests inside a temple wreathed in incense lit for the dead. She stalked a tiger there, lithe, full of a terrifying atavistic power. It magnetized her; spooked her.
For now she had traced the loosening of her sexual emotions to the moment when she had been circling Nicholas Linnear like a hungry jackal. Summoning up the image of him within the confines of exotic Jan Jan, she experienced again the triphammer beat of her heart, the tiny trembling of her inner thigh muscles, and the powerful compulsion to approach him.
Again, as they had at the nightclub, her fingers rose up to touch the flushed flesh of her cheek as if to assure herself that it was still there. It had not been that long. She must always keep that in mind. A stranger to herself, she must learn to become her own best friend. She had never been able to do that… before. On the advent of her rebirth she had vowed to herself that she would try. But first, unfinished business. And that involved Nicholas Linnear. Oh, yes. Most surely it did!
Akiko’s eyes opened wide. Sato and Yoki were entangled on the futon. The folds of their kimonos rippled about the edges of their working flesh like the sea’s waves upon the shore, concealing and revealing at once.
The panting bellows of their breaths rose toward her like a flock of gulls, pulling her onward as a third member as it fueled the furnace of their passion.
She saw Sato’s erection, large and reddish from the stroking ministrations of his partner. Yoki’s eyes were fluttered closed in pleasure and her soft breasts heaved into Sato’s calloused palms as his head slid down and down until his open mouth touched the insides of her heated thighs.
Unconsciously Akiko strained forward, and when she saw his tongue flick out to caress the flesh there, she gasped silently. A line of warm sweat trickled like a serpent’s tail down the deep indentation of her spine, staining her kimono, marking it with her lust. Her palms traced a circular pattern inward across her own spread-apart thighs until, lifting the material of her kimono, she encountered bare flesh.
Now, instead of her own fingertips, she felt Sato’s flickering tongue in maddening repetition as it moved across Yoki’s damp thighs, his hands behind her knees for an instant, lifting her legs.
Yoki’s thighs, Akiko’s thighs. There was no difference there to the touch. What had been done to her had not marred the silkiness of the flesh. But, she knew, should Sato see what lay along the inside, hidden skin there he might call off the wedding and that she could not afford. Afterward… well, then he would have no choice but to accept her.
Sato’s mouth moved upward, covering the curling black hair covering Yoki’s high mound. Akiko could see the other girl’s hips trembling with excitement and the building of her orgasm. Sato’s head burrowed down into the heat and the wet and Yoki threw her head back, the thin cords at the side of her neck standing out, her lips open, her teeth bared. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably.
And ail the while, Akiko’s deft fingers were opening up her own petals, making gentle circular sweeps in concert with the movements of Sato’s head. She felt him but it was not enough; she needed more. The sensations touched her, beading like rain. But what she craved was a torrent, a tidal wave to lift her off her feet and tumble her helter-skelter into the arms of ecstasy.
It would not come, and she increased the pressure of her fingers, beginning to dig into the soft folds, pulling them apart, pressing harder against her clitoris.
Sato’s head came up. His chest was heaving like a bull’s. His great male form arched itself above Yoki’s supple female one, shadowing her
Rock music’s primal pulse so full of anger, aggression, and lust, sizzled in her blood like alcohol; a room blue with smoke, making figures as indistinct as priests inside a temple wreathed in incense lit for the dead. She stalked a tiger there, lithe, full of a terrifying atavistic power. It magnetized her; spooked her.
For now she had traced the loosening of her sexual emotions to the moment when she had been circling Nicholas Linnear like a hungry jackal. Summoning up the image of him within the confines of exotic Jan Jan, she experienced again the triphammer beat of her heart, the tiny trembling of her inner thigh muscles, and the powerful compulsion to approach him.
Again, as they had at the nightclub, her fingers rose up to touch the flushed flesh of her cheek as if to assure herself that it was still there. It had not been that long. She must always keep that in mind. A stranger to herself, she must learn to become her own best friend. She had never been able to do that… before. On the advent of her rebirth she had vowed to herself that she would try. But first, unfinished business. And that involved Nicholas Linnear. Oh, yes. Most surely it did!
Akiko’s eyes opened wide. Sato and Yoki were entangled on the futon. The folds of their kimonos rippled about the edges of their working flesh like the sea’s waves upon the shore, concealing and revealing at once.
The panting bellows of their breaths rose toward her like a flock of gulls, pulling her onward as a third member as it fueled the furnace of their passion.
She saw Sato’s erection, large and reddish from the stroking ministrations of his partner. Yoki’s eyes were fluttered closed in pleasure and her soft breasts heaved into Sato’s calloused palms as his head slid down and down until his open mouth touched the insides of her heated thighs.
Unconsciously Akiko strained forward, and when she saw his tongue flick out to caress the flesh there, she gasped silently. A line of warm sweat trickled like a serpent’s tail down the deep indentation of her spine, staining her kimono, marking it with her lust. Her palms traced a circular pattern inward across her own spread-apart thighs until, lifting the material of her kimono, she encountered bare flesh.
Now, instead of her own fingertips, she felt Sato’s flickering tongue in maddening repetition as it moved across Yoki’s damp thighs, his hands behind her knees for an instant, lifting her legs.
Yoki’s thighs, Akiko’s thighs. There was no difference there to the touch. What had been done to her had not marred the silkiness of the flesh. But, she knew, should Sato see what lay along the inside, hidden skin there he might call off the wedding and that she could not afford. Afterward… well, then he would have no choice but to accept her.
Sato’s mouth moved upward, covering the curling black hair covering Yoki’s high mound. Akiko could see the other girl’s hips trembling with excitement and the building of her orgasm. Sato’s head burrowed down into the heat and the wet and Yoki threw her head back, the thin cords at the side of her neck standing out, her lips open, her teeth bared. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably.
And ail the while, Akiko’s deft fingers were opening up her own petals, making gentle circular sweeps in concert with the movements of Sato’s head. She felt him but it was not enough; she needed more. The sensations touched her, beading like rain. But what she craved was a torrent, a tidal wave to lift her off her feet and tumble her helter-skelter into the arms of ecstasy.
It would not come, and she increased the pressure of her fingers, beginning to dig into the soft folds, pulling them apart, pressing harder against her clitoris.
Sato’s head came up. His chest was heaving like a bull’s. His great male form arched itself above Yoki’s supple female one, shadowing her
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