Citadel of Women:
Asian Adventures Book 2
By Lisabet Sarai
Passion flares among the ruins of an ancient empire
When her lover severs their relationship just before a long-planned trip to Angkor Wat, Doa stubbornly decides to travel alone. The marvelous sights of the ancient Khmer empire do little to heal the rift in her heart. Che, the mercurial young tour guide, senses her loneliness and offers her comfort and passion. Their connection is far more than physical – but how can two people from such different worlds share a future?
All at once, he was there, settling his loose-limbed frame into the chair across from me. He plunked an amber bottle misted with condensation down in front of me. “You look like you could use this.”
He took a swig from his own beer. Not knowing what to say, I did the same. The icy liquid slid down my throat.
I nodded and drank again before turning the bottle to examine the label. “Angkor Beer?” I laughed.
“Why not? One of our leading exports.” He tilted the bottle back. I watched his brown throat move as he swallowed. “Possibly the only thing most people know about my country.”
“Really?” It was difficult to talk to him, difficult not to stare at his mobile, expressive face.
Fortunately, the beer offered a convenient alternative to conversation.
We drank for a while in silence. I wondered how I could politely excuse myself.
He replaced his bottle on the table. “You really miss her, don't you?”
My eyes filled with tears. Somehow, though, it was a relief to admit it to someone, even to him.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Is she your lover?” I'd read Cambodia was a conservative country, but Che didn't seem shocked by the idea at all.
“Was. She broke it off just before we were supposed to leave on this trip.”
“Why?” The question was completely inappropriate, but I could see he wanted to know.
I buried my face in my hands. What could I say? How could he ever understand?
I heard the scrape of his chair as he rose. His hand rested briefly on my bare shoulder. “Whatever the reason,” he murmured, “I think she was crazy.”
A soft knocking at the door jolted me back to reality. I clutched at the sheet, my heart slamming against my ribs. Maybe whoever it was would go away. The knock came again, more insistent.
“Doa? Are you awake?”
I didn't have to answer it. If I didn't answer, he'd have to leave. Wouldn't he? But was that what I wanted?
I grabbed the batik sarong I'd bought in Bangkok, wrapped it around my body and tied it over my breasts. Liquid trickled down the inside of my thighs as I padded to the door. Musk hovered in the sticky air.
I opened the door. Che stood there, barefoot, clad in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. His hair was tousled. His eyes burned.
“I couldn't sleep,” he murmured. He stepped into the room. I closed the door behind him.
His arms snaked around me, pulling me to his chest. He was stronger than he looked. He nuzzled my neck, licked his way up to my ear lobe and flicked at it with his tongue. A bolt of pleasure shot through me, targeting my pussy. He silenced my moan with his mouth, capturing mine in a wet kiss. I tasted the beer we'd drunk, the chilies he'd eaten.
I let my arms clasp his slender body to my riper one, accepting what he offered. My rational self warned I'd regret this. When I grasped his rigid cock through the well-worn shorts, his groan drowned out the voice of caution.
As I stroked his hardness, he unknotted my sarong. His hands sought the weight of my breasts. He cradled them, kneading my ripe flesh and tracing voluptuous circles around my nipples. Warm honey flowed through my limbs. I pulled the threadbare boxers down over his lean hips so I could sample his nakedness. A musky funk rose from his privates. His cock was long like his fingers, slender and graceful as the rest of him, and harder than the stones of the ancient city. Wrapped in skin as soft and delicate as a baby's, it pulsed in my hand, alive with need.
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Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh