Bliss by Fiona Zedde Read Free Book Online Page B

gold-dusted bare arms that looked
both sensual and strong under the restaurant's soft lights. She
may be fucked up, but she was still gorgeous. Sinclair sipped
her water to moisten her dry throat.
    For purely masochistic reasons, her mind dipped back into
the past, to one of the many nights she had been trying to
find satisfaction but could not. It was not that long ago when
Yuen had invited himself over with a gourmet dinner, aromatic teas, and sex. Their dinner was long gone and the tea
cooling on the kitchen counter when he got her into bed, undressed her, and slid down between her thighs. Despite his
enthusiasm, Sinclair hadn't quite been able to get into it.
Yuen toyed fruitlessly with her sore clitoris, working to get a
sigh, a sound, something, out of her. She had sighed eventually, but it was a sound of impatience. The sound was lost in
the pulse pounding rhythm of the M'shell CD playing in her
bedroom and in the loud, eager noises that her boyfriend
made whenever his mouth encountered her skin. Her body
tingled, generating heat between her thighs, but as usual, fulfillment eluded her. She felt disconnected from herself, as if
the things Yuen was doing were being performed on someone
else. A possibility of pleasure existed somewhere out there,
but she knew that it wouldn't be realized that night. Still,
Yuen liked to touch her, so she let him.
    He loved to look at her and, even after two years of being
together, marvel at their different-shaded skin. In the beginning she had been entranced, too. They were beautiful to gether-his gold-touched porcelain flesh and hers the shade
of freshly shaved nutmeg. If only all he wanted to do was lay
in the sun together and talk. Then he could be the best friend
that she never had. Instead he was someone she held back
from. Someone with whom she reluctantly shared her body.

    "Yuen, sweetheart. Can you just hold me?" She had made
her voice soft, childlike. He looked up and his dark hair fell
over his eyes, making him look no more than a child, certainly not like a thirty-two-yearold lawyer with an overactive libido.
    "You sure?"
    "Yeah. "
    They adjusted themselves until she lay in his arms with her
ear over his chest, listening to his pounding, unfulfilled heart.
She touched his belly.
    "But let me do this for you first," her guilt said.
    Work the next morning was her excuse for him not to
spend the night. Once he finally left her apartment, she
scoured her mouth with Listerine, showered, and changed
the sheets.
    That was just one of many nights Sinclair had labored
under a man, searching without success for her pleasure. And
now, Regina could easily slide it out of her, with a single
word or one skillful application of a finger. Unexpectedly,
Sinclair's panties shifted over her agitated flesh.
    She watched Regina walk up to the small stage as if the
maid had shown her into a wealthy aristocrat's parlor and
she was waiting to be received. The maid bowed to Regina
and stepped away. Sinclair could feel the crowd respond to
her lover's presence, drinking in her tight, beautiful body, her
confidence. This woman was coiled, patient energy and, obviously, she was used to being the one wielding the whip. The
entire restaurant perked up and any residual conversation
died.
    A tall, dark skinned woman joined Regina on the dais. She
walked around Sinclair's lover as if sizing up a prized new toy. Her dark eyes lingered on Regina's ass and hips. The
woman wore what could only be described as a Gibson Girl
outfit-a long black skirt that brushed the floor and a simple,
bell sleeved white blouse with a cameo fastened at the throat.
The entire outfit was made of rubber and moved over the
woman's skin like freshly poured oil. Her straightened hair,
pinned up in an elegant topknot, haloed the severe face. Like
a schoolteacher from the old days, she carried a wooden paddle in one hand.

    A chair already stood on the platform, a simple thing with
a