Free The Blonde Samurai by Jina Bacarr Page B

ecstasy mingling with silence, my solitary game bringing me release but little joy.
    How I longed to crush my nude breasts against the muscular bare chest of an imaginary lover, rubbing my hard nipples against him, the heat of my need stirring his desire. Moving his body on mine, then thrusting his cock into me until the loneliness I lived with day after day ceased and my body hummed with a comforting rhythm I had yet to experience.
    When we did meet, my samurai relit my soul with acts so profound and passionate, so brilliantly intense I existed in afloating world. Every gesture, nuance and caress teasing me with the finest blue silk pulled taut over my breasts so my nipples peaked through the sheer fabric, inviting my samurai to linger at the task before stripping it off me and exploring me further, capturing my spirit and giving me pleasure with consummate skill. My nude body glimmering with such translucence it was as if I were bathed in mica dust.
    Yet at that moment I believed that would never happen with this new set of circumstances entering my life. Strange, I had gotten myself into this situation because I wished to strike back at my husband, make him see me as an equal, not as a sexually repressed woman. Agonizing, meandering thoughts consumed me. Questions haunted me, but the answer didn’t change. I had no choice but to embark on this journey.
     
    Reluctantly, over the next few weeks I assisted James with making the necessary arrangements regarding our identity papers, letters of credit from the bank along with a signature book and visiting cards, as well as securing passage to America, then Japan. I owed my father that much, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness overtaking me as his lordship and I undertook our long journey to the Orient, a land of myth, pagan rituals and strange customs. I prayed I would survive nameless dangers I had yet to contemplate.
    What I didn’t know, dear lady reader, was that I would face a clear-cut danger the night we were to board the steamer to Yokohama from San Francisco.
    I shiver still, remembering the frightening incident that nearly cost me my life. Read on, if you have the courage. You won’t be disappointed. I have worked hard to re-create that night with witty dialogue and pertinent details as I rememberthem; but I must warn you to keep your smelling powders close at hand since I have also included a most explicit scene with my samurai that will—
    No, I will let you see for yourself, but I beg you to read the chapter in its entirety so as not to lose sight of the story line.
    That is why you’re reading this book, isn’t it?

5
    Cliff House, San Francisco, California
Six weeks later…
    W e made the journey from London to New York, then across the continent by railway, and I must say I was flattered by the endearing personal service afforded to me as Lady Carlton. It mattered not that I was Thomas O’Roarke’s daughter, more that I commandeered the title of aristocrat with a handsome husband at my side. James cajoled the wives of business associates we met along the way, impressing their husbands with my father’s money, paying for lavish parties and handing out Cuban cigars. He was on his best behavior.
    Until tonight.
    We were dining in a private room at Cliff House, marveling at its lofty view overlooking the coast and the bellowing seals romping about on the rocks below, when James made an off-putting remark about the fashionably low décolleté ofmy gown. In a not-too-subtle manner, he insinuated I was intent on seducing every man I came in contact with, including our sober-faced waiter.
    Me? A seductress? The idea amused me since the art was unknown to me, though I had travailed in my reading about infamous mistresses, their style, repartee, even the popularity of their scent. (The next time you smell a musky odor upon his lordship’s handkerchief, be advised it could be the natural perfume of a certain courtesan residing on Lupus Street known for imparting