Free Midnight 01 - Luisa's Desire by authors_sort Page A

permission, she slipped her hand beneath the cloth and held him bare.
     
    ***
    THE shock of Luisa's touch was not one for which he could have prepared. Her warmth, her strength, her devastating knowledge of male desire combined to set his nerves ablaze. His body tightened in every muscle, then melted with delight. He knew he ought to stop her; no man could resist this temptation long. Instead he closed his eyes and let his head drop on his neck. She was rubbing his aching length, her fingers tightening and releasing in a rhythm that made him wonder just how long such pleasure could be borne.
     
    In all his life he had barely touched himself. Now those years of denied sensations seemed to squeeze together into the present, into those burning inches of stiffened flesh. Waves of rapture rolled through him, surging then ebbing, only to gather higher than before. He knew if she did not stop he would unravel like the sexual novice that he was.
     
    But she had no mercy for his fears. Shifting in his lap, she began to draw on his organ with both hands. The strength of her hold pulled him outward from his body, his testicles drawn up, his tip seeming to burn and prickle each time her fingers tugged its rim. He was going to explode. He was going to burst like a Chinese rocket. Sweat ran into his eyes as he fought the desperate urge. The sounds he made were hardly human.
     
    He had thought he knew desire; had believed he felt it when the young girls and the widows tried to lure him into their tents. They had smiled for him and tossed their braided hair. They had wagged their hips and let him see them with other men. To them, he was a challenge or a game: the handsome half Khampa who wanted to be a monk. Once or twice he had been tempted but never like this, never with more than his body.
     
    This was a lust to sear the soul.
     
    He cried out as she left his breast, and again as she found his mouth. Oh, the taste of her, the feel! She had to lead the kiss, his astonished, enchanting first. It was a mating, he realized, of lips and teeth and tongue. Sensation multiplied as they parried, wetly, sweetly. He tasted a hint of copper, then only her. Her incisors were sharp but they did not cut him.
     
    So lost was he in pleasure that his body jerked at an unexpected touch. She had curled her thumb over the swollen crest of his erection, pressing the tiny slit as if to block his impending end. The move made him excruciatingly aware of the pressure that was building in his scrotum. An uncontrollable tremor seized his limbs.
     
    "Touch me," she gasped against his cheek. "Put your hand between my legs."
     
    Heart thumping wildly, he fumbled through sleek warm folds and tangled curls. This was a woman's yoni. This was a lover's prize. Her liquid welcome was a wonder as deep as any he had found through meditation. He had called forth her arousal. He had. He slid two fingers through the constriction at her gate and moaned at her forceful clasp. She was soft inside, as soft as the lotus flower most venerated by the sutras. To his gratified relief, her madana-chatra did indeed project like a plantain root from the upper petals of her sex.
     
    Burnishing the tiny organ with his thumb, he drew his fingers in and out. The sound of her wetness made him swell even fuller with excitement. Her hand gentled on his shaft, but it did not help. His skin was as sensitive as if its nerves had been multiplied by ten. He was not sure he could bear this painful pleasure a second more.
     
    "Your kama-salila is very generous," he said through gritted teeth, struggling to distract himself with words.
     
    She laughed, a beguiling, throaty sound, and pushed her sheath up his hand. "I hope that is a good thing."
     
    "It is recommended that the woman be wet in order for the man's organ to slide easily in the narrow—"
     
    She cut him off with a kiss. He could not think at all then, except to wish most heartily that his penis and not his fingers were clasped