Honey Flava

by Zane

  Her eyes locked on my own; she brought both hands up and slowly withdrew the needles from my body one by one, placing them back on the nightstand (though not in the vase) as I watched. I guessed the training session was officially over when Miki took hold of my hips and lifted herself into a push-up position, letting me grab her waistband and pull the sweatpants down her beautiful legs. She hadn’t been wearing any panties, and I knew she’d had no intention of going to practice at school at all. This had been a setup from the beginning.

  I hardly cared. She moved her body to hover over my face, letting me see how wet and ready she was, her clit thrusting out from between her slick folds like the head of a tiny pin. I lifted my head and barely took it between my own lips, running my tongue along its sensitive tip.

  Miki growled and ground herself down as she took me deep into her mouth. She wasn’t teasing anymore and she needed to come in my arms. I ran my tongue up her slit and began lapping with broad, slow strokes, and her hands tightened on my thighs. She accelerated her own speed as I kept mine steady, making little animal noises in the back of her throat, which sent a new thrill up my shaft.

  I didn’t want to be the first to lose it, though. While my pride wasn’t hurt from the trick she’d pulled, I wanted to be sure she knew I had a few up my sleeve as well. I lifted my hands to her ass, swiping my tongue along my thumb before I let it trail up the cleft between her cheeks. The noises in the back of her throat stilled for a moment. She wasn’t sure what was coming and held my cock rigid and immobile in the warmth of her mouth.

  The moist pad of my thumb moved along her perineum, sliding along its exposed flesh before lifting to separate her cheeks. I started rubbing circles into the delicate flesh just along her rear entrance, and as my hand moved back to cup her right cheek, I lifted my tongue to gently probe at her musky asshole.

  “God!” She lifted her head from my cock, grabbing at it with her hand and pumping slowly as I tongued her sweet ass. “Do it, do it right there.” My chin was already wet from her slick pussy lips, rubbing against my lower face as my tongue danced around the edges of her cheeks. I squeezed the golden globes of her ass together around my tongue, then pried them apart and brought my head up to start really working into her.

  Miki put the crown of her head against my thigh, and I imagined her eyes were squeezed shut, as she bit her lip with the sheer pleasure I was bringing her ass. She kept pumping my cock, adding a twisting action as she came to the base and returned to the top. I groaned into her, loving the imaginary vision before me as much as I loved the taste of her. When I felt the tip of her tongue return to the slit in my crown, I popped my index finger into my mouth and replaced my tongue with a gently probing finger.

  She was whimpering now, and I’m pretty sure I was, too. I moved my head back down to nibble on her lips and thrust my tongue back into her pussy, keeping the first knuckle of my index finger crooked in her ass. Her whimpers turned into full-fledged little cries, and as she ground against my face, she popped the tip of my cock back into her mouth, sucking frantically at the sensitive head while gripping the base tight. She was coming hard against my mouth, and it took everything I had to keep from shooting into her own.

  When she finally stopped roiling against my chin, I took my finger from her ass, wrapped my arms around her, and rolled her over onto her back. Her legs were spread wide and I lifted off her, panting and covered in sweat, looking down at that perfect little body.

  “Fuck me,” she growled, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, David.” My cock was already dripping with pre-cum as I lined up and buried myself in her with a single stroke, pressing my lips hard against hers. She returned the kiss with equal ferocity, still making the same sharp noises, then broke her face away to look into my eyes.

  “Did you like your medicine?” She ran her tongue along my lips, grinning from ear to ear underneath me.

  I could only growl in response. Words were gone now, and I needed to come. Miki seemed to understand but she wasn’t going to let me get away quite that easily.

  “We’re not quite finished yet, are we?” Her hips were bucking up into my own, rolling on the tide that every couple knows, slick with our saliva and with her orgasm. “You’ve still got those terrible symptoms…” With that I felt her little hand slide between us and gently squeeze my balls.

  That did it—I couldn’t take another second. With a shout I pinned her fully to the mattress, stopped pumping my hips, and let myself go completely. I flooded her with my cum as she bit down on one earlobe and rolled my sensitive balls between her palm and thumb, milking every last drop out of them. Even when I collapsed on top of her, she was still cradling them, whispering gently in my ear.

  “So what do you think? Are you going to be able to let me practice medicine on you?”

  I caught my breath and rolled onto my side, carrying her with me. “Miki, by the time we’re through,” I promised, “you’ll be top of the class.”

  Double Ten

  LISA G. RILEY

  “WONG’S HAPPY EMPORIUM.”

  Trisha Logan felt heat curl in her belly. He hadn’t said his name, but she knew it was Brett Wong answering the phone in his parents’ store. She hadn’t expected this. He never came to Chinatown. The last time she’d seen him, she’d been in his lap and he’d had his hand in her panties while she’d ridden his fingers and screamed into his mouth. She took a deep breath. “Hello, Brett.”

  “Rissy.”

  Biting back a moan, she closed her eyes. He’d said her name exactly that way the night they’d gone beyond the bonds of their longtime friendship. What had started as a kiss had ended with her splayed wantonly in his lap. It had happened in a private booth in a nightclub. She remembered how he’d sucked her nipple through her clothes, tonguing it hard on the roof of his mouth, and she had to clench her pussy muscles to stem the flow of arousal. “Um. How are you?”

  “Why haven’t you called me back?”

  Abort, abort! “Can I speak to your mom?”

  “I’ve been out of town; otherwise, I’d have settled this by now.”

  Don’t you know what abort means? Get off the phone, stupid! “I’ve gotta go.” She hung up the phone. At the nightclub, she’d scrambled off his lap and hurried out. What they’d done had changed everything, and she’d known that immediately.

  Brett thought about Trisha as he drove to Chinatown for the second time that week. When she’d hung up on him four days before, his first instinct had been to call her back, but he’d decided not to. His dark eyes narrowed as he thought about when he’d last seen her. He remembered how her slick opening had quickly closed around his fingers and she’d moaned deep in her throat. She’d worried about what they were doing, even as she’d lifted her silk-covered breast and fed him her nipple.

  Her hips had been pumping, her thighs had been squeezing, and he’d had to struggle not to pull his dick out of his pants and plunge it into her hungry body. He regretted that he hadn’t because she’d been avoiding him ever since.

  “Should have known the little chicken would run,” he said. She’d been running since she was a kid and had moved to Chinatown; a lone African-American face in a sea of Chinese ones. Then, as now, she was running from a past she didn’t know and trying to create a new history.

  Even as he thought it, Brett knew that many believed he was running, too. As soon as he was able, he’d left Chinatown, a place so steeped in the past and history that it was sometimes hard to distinguish the here and now from the then and gone. “I didn’t run, I left,” he mumbled.

  As he drove along Wentworth Avenue, his eyes caught by the high, green and red pagoda-covered structure called the Chinese Gateway, his cell rang. He put his earpiece in and checked the caller ID. “Hello, Mary,” he said to his twin sister.

  “Hey! Are you at the store?”

  “No.”

  “I wish I could be there.”

  “So do I. Then maybe I wouldn’t have to go.”

  “It’s the Dou
ble Ten Parade, and you’ve even been invited to tonight’s reception. Number One Son has to be there,” she teased.

  In Chinese culture, male children were favored over female, and the oldest male child was the favorite of all. A lot was expected of him. Brett had always felt pressure because he was the only son and the eldest by three minutes.

  It used to bother him when Mary had felt slighted. However, as an adult, she practically reveled in their parents’ concentration on him because it lessened the pressure on her. “Qin wode pigu,” he said, telling her to kiss his ass in Mandarin.

  “Shame,” she chided gleefully. “You kiss your mother with that mouth? Just suck it up.”

  “Said the woman who’s tucked away in Idaho.”

  “Hey, you’re lucky. Ever try finding a place to celebrate Chinese independence in middle Idaho?”

  “Poor Mary. You’re going to miss out on the antiquated pomp and circumstance of a Chinese celebration,” he said sarcastically.

  “Well, maybe if you’d stuck to the sciences, you’d have found yourself in the wilds of Idaho, too. Who are you taking to the reception?”

  “Nobody.” He turned onto his parents’ packed street.

  “How about taking Trisha?”

  “She’s avoiding me.”

  “Are you teasing her about her job choices again? We’re not kids anymore, Brett.”

  Rissy had been a fixture at the Wong apartment from the time she’d moved to Chinatown. She’d been a smart, beautiful, curious girl who’d gotten under his skin. Nothing had changed. “She’s wasting her intelligence and her degrees in those jobs.”

  “They’re just a means to an end. She hasn’t caught a break with her jewelry designs.”

  Brett saw a car maneuvering out of a spot and pulled closer. “Her designs aren’t putting food on the table. She’s as flighty as a fairy. She dresses like a hippie and jingles so much from all that jewelry she wears that I can’t hear myself think,” he finished. What he left unsaid was that he wanted her, jewelry and all, and had since high school.

  “You’re just mad because you’re attracted to her, Mr. Buttoned-Down Architect. Just make a move and stop being a wuss,” Mary baited him.

  “Guess Rissy doesn’t tell you everything,” Brett crowed softly.

  “Listen—wait. What did you say?”

  Brett was silent.

  “Come on, Brett, tell me,” Mary wheedled.

  Silence.

  “You know,” she began conversationally, “sometimes, I can’t stand you.”

  Laughter.

  “Fine. Be that way. Whatever you do, don’t hurt Trisha. I mean, I know you wouldn’t intentionally,” Mary hurried to say because she knew she’d insulted him. Despite his teasing, he’d always had a soft spot for Trisha, and next to herself, she’d be the last person he’d hurt. “You know what I mean. Trisha’s special.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m at the store. I’ll talk to you later.” After his visit with his parents, he’d corner Rissy in her apartment and make her face what they’d done and hopefully get her to do it again.

  Trisha fixed the items in the display case/counter at Wong’s Happy Emporium, the graceful bend and sway of her body betraying years of dance and yoga. She straightened and looked around to see if anything else needed fixing. It was a slow day, and her cinnamon-colored eyes took in every inch of the small, empty store. She’d been working at the store for three days because she’d lost her job at Pitter-Patter Daycare the week before.

  Her pretty, full mouth turned down in self-disgust. It had been the second job in six months. Lost in thought, she took her fingers through her short, curly Afro. For the most part, she loved her life. She lived in a great neighborhood with people with a rich culture and history that she didn’t think she’d find anywhere else. Sometimes she envied them because she had nothing even close to it, but she was grateful that her adoptive mother had chosen Chinatown to move to all those years ago.

  She worked jobs that helped pay her bills and gave her the freedom she needed to work on her designs. The downside was that the money she made was almost always only enough to take care of essentials with little left for more. She didn’t mind that so much, except she was always needing supplies to make her jewelry.

  She didn’t have any savings and had little in checking. Her mother had died three years before, leaving her some money. Trisha had spent it all trying to start a jewelry design business, which had eventually failed. Still, she didn’t regret it. At least she’d tried, and she’d try again someday.

  She sighed, and for the umpteenth time her thoughts turned to Brett. She knew he was angry because she knew him, but she couldn’t help avoiding him. She was attracted to him and was even in love with him, but she’d learned to hold those feelings back because she knew nothing could come of them. As much as his parents cared for her, they wouldn’t approve of a relationship between them. They would want him to have a traditional wife. She chose to concentrate on their friendship instead. He was almost as much her best friend as Mary was. “And now I’ve even blown that,” she mumbled forlornly.

  Brett stood in the doorway, staring at Rissy. He was not at all surprised to see her there. His eyes took in her small, lithe body, dark skin, and dream-filled eyes. As usual, the sexy, little dreamer’s mind was in the clouds.

  “Let me guess: You lost your job at Pitter-Patter.”

  Trisha jumped at the deep, smooth timbre of Brett’s voice. Her breath caught as she stared at him. He was gorgeous with his deep-set, dark eyes and black hair. Tall, thin, and muscular, he simply oozed sexuality. Every step he made, every breath he took, was a mating call to her hungry body, which became embarrassingly hypersensitive when he was around. She walked around the counter and into his arms. She hadn’t seen him in the two months since that night in the club and she’d missed him.

  She said nothing as he lifted her and held her closely. She wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his neck, and breathed him in. The sexy, wholly maleness of him made her weak, her nipples beading and her mound tightening greedily in anticipation. When it became difficult to resist wrapping her legs around his hips and dry-humping his dick into oblivion, she released him, signaling that he should put her down.

  “Hi.” She stepped back. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” he said drily.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

  “Then why have you?”

  “Because it would never work,” she said as she moved back toward the counter, the split of her sarong skirt flashing open to give a peek of her thigh. His intense stare made her feel jittery, and she resisted looking down at herself. She didn’t think anything had popped out of the scooped neck of her long-sleeved leotard.

  “That’s what I used to think, too. Even though I’ve wanted you more than I’ve wanted to breathe, I didn’t believe it would work because you’ve got the Chinatown mind-set and I’m trying to move forward. But now that I’ve gotten a taste of you,” he said as he moved closer, “there’s no way in hell I’m not getting more.”

  Trisha felt stalked and her eyes widened. She willed herself to stand her ground and tried to ignore the shiver his words sent down her spine. “I don’t have a ‘Chinatown mind-set,’ whatever that means.”

  “You never leave,” he reminded her.

  “I do,” she insisted. “I just haven’t moved out.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s what I know. I’m inspired here.”

  “True artists find inspiration anywhere, and you’re a true artist. It’s like you’ve cloistered yourself here. I know the fact that you’re adopted bothers you because you don’t know who your family was—”

  “Stop it.” Trisha wanted to scream. She hated not knowing and didn’t like to be reminded of it. She tried to move around him.

  Brett blocked her. “You fulfill your need to have roots by staying in Chinatown. But you know that the clannish nature of Chinese
culture won’t really allow you to have roots here,” he finished angrily. It had always pissed him off that she was never fully accepted because she wasn’t Chinese.

  “People here are very good to me,” she said stubbornly. “Chinatown means family.” She ignored the voice that reminded her that just because Chinatown was where she’d felt the most accepted didn’t mean that she’d truly been accepted.

  “You have family—real family—in other parts of the city. Stop being scared of rejection and go find them.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then look up your mother’s sister who used to visit when we were kids. Maybe she could tell you about your biological family.”

  “I haven’t seen Aunt Pearl in twenty years. Why do you care, anyway?” Trisha asked defensively. “Just because you hate Chinatown doesn’t mean I should.”

  “I don’t hate Chinatown, and I care because I care about you. You’re stifling yourself here.”

  “I don’t agree,” she said weakly, her heart pounding furiously. “You must hate Chinatown, otherwise you wouldn’t down it so much.”

  He could see how upset she was and ran a gentle finger down her cheek. “I just want something different and I wish people wouldn’t dwell so much in the past—rich as it is, I prefer to live in the present.”

  “You don’t know how lucky you are to be able to trace your ancestors back thousands of years,” she said, her voice wistful. “To know who you are and where you came from.”

  “I know what I have, sweetheart, but that’s not to say that I have to revel in it.” He pressed a kiss to her trembling lips. She just looked so scared and lost. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” He kissed her again. “Come to the reception with me?”

  It took Trisha a second to catch up. “Really?”

  “Yes, and after, you’ll come home with me. Agreed?” A pinch to her nipple made sure that she knew all that coming home with him would involve.