1943. Shanghai. A soldier of the Japanese Army happens by a club one night purely out of boredom. What he expects to find are uncouth drunks. He actually meets a beautiful African-American performer by the name of Beatrice. Throughout the next three...
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sanjuugo
thiry-five
**GRAPHIC CONSENSUAL INTERCOURSE, LANGUAGE
She woke first, twilight still darkening the sky. A heavy leg trapped her and a healthy heart beat against her ear. She listened to the sounds of his breath in sleep, the deep rise and fall of his chest against her. She couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this good. Nights back at Mukden were riddled with nightmares and some nights, he wouldn't sleep at all, he'd sit in his chair and smoke until he was out of cigarettes.
Lifting her head, she felt a soft smile come to her face. He looked so young when he slept. His brow was smooth and unworried. His full kissable lips were parted slightly, air drawn in slow and relaxed. She watched as he pulled away from her to lie on his back. Needing his warmth, she inched closer until they were flush again, her hand curled against his stomach. She closed her eyes, listening now to the distant birdsong that seemed to paint the early morning with life.
She'd flown with the birds last night, she'd spread her wings and soared high above the earth it seemed. It didn't make any logical sense how a man could make a woman feel...like that. Biting her lip sharply, she turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. There was something definitely spiritual about their love making... something holy. Her fingers slid down her stomach and rested there against her womanhood. She felt a little bit sore but...she wanted to take him inside her again. And again.
Cheeks warm, she dared to dip a finger into her still sticky and dewy tenderness. Her tiny ones paled in comparison to his bigger thicker ones. God, the way they had made her feel. The image of his tongue and lips hungrily helping themselves to her made her pinch her thighs together and she removed the little bit of the finger she'd inserted.
The morning light began to shift and the house was quiet except for the occasional slide of shoji that let her know they weren't completely alone. What if they had heard her last night? Oh God... she'd die from embarrassment. Ichiro though, she knew he wouldn't care. He never cared. He lived in the moment, something that the war had taught him. Something the USSR had confirmed and affirmed. Live in the moment and don't think about anything else. A soft close-mouthed groan made her turn her head. He'd lifted an arm above his head, shielding his eyes from the ever-approaching light.
"Bea?" His voice was gruff and rough from sleep and it sent a pleasant tingle down her spine. Licking her lips, she turned towards him.
"Mornin, sugar." A sweet kiss against his lips made him pull his arm away from his face. Opening hazy eyes, his infamous frown was back on his face. Yawning, he grumbled out loud.
