“Oh, God,” she whispered, losing it.
“I take it that’s a yes?” he said, kissing the underside of her chin, nuzzling her lightly.
She tried to gather one last shred of dignity, even though she wanted to throw it to the winds. “You used me last night,” she said.
“If you say so.”
“So I’ll use you tonight.” It seemed to make sense, at least to her.
“My pleasure,” he said, and pulled her down onto the narrow cot so that he knelt between her legs.
She’d never felt more vulnerable in her life. She was half naked, he was fully clothed, and she’d just given him total power over her, for all that she thought she’d be using him. There was no way she could feel in control when his hands were touching her, his long fingers brushing against her skin. It was a lost cause. She didn’t move when he slid his fingers beneath the draw-string waist of the silk pants and began sliding them off her legs.
Leaving her in a thong again. Exposed. Waiting.
He pulled off his torn jacket and tossed it on the floor. He yanked off his ripped and stained shirt, as well. There were bruises on his beautiful chest. Things were beginning to fall into place. He’d tried to kill yakuza-boy and had been beaten. He’d tried to kill the man who’d hurt her.
She rose on her elbows to look at him. He was bruised, bloody and beautiful. And he was hers, whether he knew it or not.
She put one hand flat across his belly. And then she began to undo the button on his pants, and then the zipper, and he watched her, making no move to help or encourage her.
She didn’t need help or encouragement. Tonight she knew what she wanted, knew what she needed, and she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way. Tonight she would show him just how good she could be.
He was already hard, as she expected he’d be. He was wearing silk underwear, not the fundoshi that she’d planned to tear off with her teeth. Maybe that would come later. If there was a later.
“Sit back,” she said in a low voice.
He raised an eyebrow but did as she asked, leaning back against the wall as she sat up.
She started with his neck, the fragile spot at the base of his throat, kissing him, moving carefully across the bruises until she reached the flat male nipples. She licked and he groaned, reaching his hands up to touch her hair.
She pushed him back down on the cot. “This is for me,” she said sternly.
He tasted of sweat and blood and almond soap. She sucked at his nipple, and it hardened in her mouth.
She moved down his stomach with her lips. She could feel the increasing beat of his heart, the tremor when her tongue touched a new sensitive spot. He was so delicious she wanted to bite him, and she did, lightly, just below his navel.
He muttered a word in Japanese, one she hadn’t heard, but she had no doubt it was positive. She ran her tongue over the bite mark, and moved on.
“Lift up your hips,” she whispered, and he did what she told him to, letting her slide his black pants down his long legs.
If she’d had any doubts as to whether she was being effective, it was wiped out. His cock was hard, bigger than she’d expected. No wonder it had hurt in the beginning.
“I thought Japanese men were supposed to be smaller than average,” she said.
“Whoever did the measuring hadn’t been around you. Shit!” The exclamation came out as she touched him, carefully wrapping her fingers around his silken length.
“No cursing,” she chided him, her fingertips dancing on the smooth, beautiful skin of his cock. “You have to behave yourself.”
“And when have I ever behaved myself?” he said, his voice strained.
“If you don’t, I won’t do this.” And she let her tongue drift across the head, tasting the dampness that had already gathered.
“Shi—” He broke off the word and said something in Japanese. More words she hadn’t heard.
She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were half closed, and his hands were fisted on the thin blanket beneath him. “What are you saying?” she asked, suspicious.
A half smile tugged at his perfect mouth. “Just compliments, Ji-chan. Do it again. Please.”