Lone Star 02 (17 page)

“My, what a pretty shade of pink you are,” Moore teased.

“It‘s—the fire, of course,” she stammered distractedly as Moore sidled closer to her end of the couch.

“I do compliment you on the way you pieced it together that it was Greta Kahr who did the killing,” he murmured, sliding his arm around Jessie's shoulders. “Maybe”—he began to peck cool, light kisses upon her lips—“you... ought ... to become ... my new... partner ...”

Jessie leaned back against the arm of the couch. She ran idle fingers through Moore's thick black hair. “Whatever kind of partner do you mean, Mr. Moore?” she asked wide-eyed.

Moore slipped the top of her low-cut gown down past her shoulders. He stopped, amazed at his good fortune as Jessie's lush, lovely breasts jiggled free. “My word!” he gasped. “You're not wearing any ... underthings!”

“I don't always like them,” she remarked shyly. “Sometimes—well, they get in the way.”

“What a sensible woman,” Moore remarked heartily. He watched the twin alabaster globes of Jessie's breasts rise as she reached up to remove the pins from her hair. Her coppery tresses fell about her shoulders like a shimmering curtain, reflecting the flickering glow of the hearth's flames.

Jessie leaned back and closed her eyes as Moore stretched out alongside her. She felt her nipples tighten and rise, as if to meet Moore's darting tongue.

“What a strange-looking cameo,” Moore said, fingering the ornament at her throat.

Jessie's eyes flew open. “The netsuke!” she said distractedly, and then she laughed. She'd totally forgotten her amusing little vow to make Moore notice the emblem before they would make love ... or maybe she had only partly forgotten.
Some
thing had made her position herself so that Moore's nose was poking into it!

“It seems to be a carving of a kneeling woman, playing a flute,” Moore said.

Jessie kissed the top of his head. “Do you know what a geisha is?” she asked him, at the same time settling her hands on his buttocks, tight and muscular beneath the plush velvet of his robe.

“It's getting a little hard to think,” Moore began. “Actually, it's also getting a little hard to talk—”

“I think it's getting a little hard, period!” Jessie snickered, wiggling her gowned lap against what was fast thickening and beginning to peek between the two halves of Moore's loosely tied robe.

“Why don't you just explain to me what a geisha is while I take your dress off,” Moore suggested brightly.

Jessie arched her back to allow the detective to begin unhooking her gown's buttons. “The word
geisha
best translates as ‘artist,'” Jessie murmured. “A geisha is taught all through her childhood to be skilled in music, art, literature, the preparation and serving of fine food, and finally, when she is old enough, and if she had proven herself worthy, she is taught the skills and techniques of love—oh, God!” Jessie sighed, as Moore's nimble fingers danced the length of her now totally bare spine, coming to rest at the warm cleft of her gently undulating backside. “These techniques of lovemaking are the keys to a man‘s—and a woman's—soul...”

Jessie lifted her legs to allow Moore to slide her gown off. Now she was completely nude before him. The detective stared down at her small waist, and the way it contrasted with the smooth flare and curve of her hips. Her firm, shapely legs were without flaw.

“Jessie,” he said in awe. “You are the most beautiful woman—”

Jessie sighed with pleasure. “I am also a geisha, my love. That's a sort of priestess, as well as artist. It is said that through a geisha's body, a man can experience enlightenment. For the brief time a man spends with a geisha, they are both one with the universe.”

“Is all of this symbolized by that likeness of the kneeling woman playing a flute?” Moore asked.

“It is,” Jessie replied, and then moaned, as Moore began to slide his tongue down the slope of her flat belly. Downward, ever downward his tongue skated, until at last he had reached her first tendrils of fragrant golden softness. He paused to kiss and suck at the warm. downy fur, before his tongue flicked deep between her thighs, to lap at the moist sweetness cradled there.

Jessie's fingers caressed Moore's cheek. He looked up at her lovingly, his eyes bright.

“Jordan,” she whispered. “Would you like me to play the flute for you?” Now it was
her
eyes that glinted with a mischievous sparkle.

Moore frowned.
“Now?”

“Uh-huh ...”

“Well ...” Moore said, doing his best to remain polite. “But you didn't bring your flute!” he exclaimed with relief.

Jessie sat up, pushing Moore into an upright position along with her. “You silly man,” she teased. “I
play
the flute, but you supply it!”

She plucked at the bow of his robe's sash. It quickly came undone. Her eyes widened in amazement as Moore's hardness bounded up toward her.

“Myobu was wrong, for once in her life!” Jessie laughed.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Moore sighed happily as Jessie's fingers tickled and played along the full length of his gently throbbing erection.

Jessie quickly related what her tutor had taught her concerning the supposed correspondence in size of the various parts of a man's body.

“I see,” Moore chuckled. “And because I'm less than six feet tall, and rather thin, you thought that my—
ohhhh!”
Moore's mind blanked of everything but the marvelous feel of Jessie's lips upon him.

Now it was his turn to moan, as Jessie ran her lips up and down his shaft. She watched Moore's face; his head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, his expression a grimace of ecstasy. After a few moments he twisted away. Jessie tried to hold him down, but she found that the slender detective was too strong for her. As a matter of fact, she found that he was as physically strong as any man she had ever been with.

Moore stood, to pick Jessie up and lightly stretch her out full length on the couch. Supporting himself on his hands and elbows, he pressed his muscle-ridged belly against her stomach, to blanket her with his warmth. He moved himself up, to slide his swollen erection into the sweat-damp cleavage of her breasts. Jessie used her hands to squeeze her breasts together, to caress and massage him between her satiny globes.

“I had so much more of my tune to play,” Jessie whispered.

“I don't want you to play it.” Moore smiled down at her. “Woman, I aim to make you sing it!”

With that, he nimbly slid his sinewy body down Jessie's silky length, until their tongues could intertwine, while his hardness teased and kissed the moist folds between her thighs. Jessie writhed beneath him. At the same time, her hands restlessly explored every inch of him. Her fingers stroked his erection, pressed and cradled his scrotum, and tickled their way along the crevice between his buttocks.

Moore's soft grunts of pleasure were muffled as he buried his face in the warm valley between Jessie's breasts. He inhaled her womanly fragrance as he licked, sucked, and then used his teeth to lightly rake her swollen nipples. Jessie's pleasured purr rose to a sob of joy.

Her legs parted then, almost of their own volition, to draw him greedily into her. Moore's initial stab downward seemed to reverberate within her. She whimpered and shuddered, and came at once, gyrating her bottom against the couch while her inner muscles squeezed his marble-like firmness.

Moore slowed his movements in order to give her time to recuperate. He pulled Jessie in tight against him, and slid his hand underneath her, to cup and stroke her trembling buttocks.

“Lord,” Jessie breathed.
“That
one got started the day we met! Now let's start from scratch!”

She lifted her legs to lock them about his waist, and started her hips rolling and rising to meet his slow, deliberate thrusts. Moore kept her cradled in his arms as his hips swung up and down, each plunge taking them both deeper and deeper into the bottomless pit of sensation. It went on like this for long minutes. Neither of them felt any desire to hurry. Moore slowed his own movements each time he felt his orgasm near, until he heard those tiny whimpers again start to build in Jessie's throat. Then he clamped his hands on both of her hips, using them like handles to give him better purchase as he went faster for a few tremendous lunges.

“Sing to me, Jessie,” Moore ordered, between lingering, wet kisses. “I want to hear that tune!”

Jessie, on fire with passion, could not help but oblige him. Her mouth opened wide, and her feline wails were music to Moore's ears. Growling, he bucked and kicked to drive himself into her, as Jessie licked and bit at his nipples. Her nails raked down his shoulders and back. They dug as deep as a rider's spurs into his buttocks.

Jessie knew they were both ready now. Her strong thighs lifted, to draw him in to the hilt. Clutched like that, Moore felt himself explode in a burst of blissful, molten sensation that left him sweat-drenched, breathless, and drained of energy.

“Jessie, you are wonderful,” Moore huffed as his breathing returned to normal. “To think of all those fools throwing away their money in that bordello run by the cartel, while there are women like you in the world ...”

“But I bet you'll still go back there,” Jessie teasingly chided him.

“Well, I go there for business, not pleasure.” Moore grinned. “After all, that's where I've been getting our information on the enemy. For instance, I found out that the cartel and the Tong are expecting a big shipment to arrive in port sometime during the next few days.”

“A big shipment?” Jessie repeated. “Of what, I wonder?”

Moore shrugged. “Opium, probably.”

Jessie nodded. “Maybe that shipment was tonight's topic of discussion between Greta Kahr and Chang...”

“Right after they'd killed Shanks,” Moore agreed gruffly. “Well, once I learn the shipment's arrival time, I can intercept it, and begin to avenge his death.”

“What are you planning?” Jessie asked in concern. “You know, it won't help matters to go and get yourself killed.”

“Don't worry about me,” Moore assured her. “I know how to handle myself.”

“Oh, you've proved
that!”
Jessie said languidly. Her fingers burrowed into his groin, to rouse his flagging erection. “But why handle
yourself
when I'm around?”

Jessie scampered across Moore's lap, facing him. Slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, she lowered herself onto his straining shaft. With her hands on his shoulders and her straddling legs firmly planted upon the cushions of the couch, she began to bounce up and down, her moistness lubricating him, preparing them both for a series of rapid, slippery strokes.

Moore gave himself up to the pleasure of being engulfed. As Jessie rose and fell, he wiggled and lunged, wanting to touch every velvety bit of her. He didn't want to stop any more than she did, but this time Moore felt even less hurried.

“Slow down. I want to make love to you nonstop, for the rest of the night,” he confided.

Jessie kissed him. “That's fine,” she laughed, “but first I want to ask you a favor.”

“Well?”

“I want you to take Ki along with you when you try to stop that shipment from reaching u.e cartel and the Tong.”

Moore winked. “I was planning to ask him if he'd accompany me. I've no desire to go up against the cartel and the Tong, all by my lonesome. I may be conceited, but I'm not stupid!” He locked his hands on the cheeks of Jessie's backside to hold her in place, and stood up, without breaking the bond of flesh that joined them. Jessie's legs swung up, her knees grazing his armpits. Moore gazed into her ever-widening eyes as he slowly sank his entire length into her. The new angle of penetration sent dizzying jolts of sensation along Jessie's spine.

“Oh, don't wait!” she now pleaded as Moore stood as still as a statue. “Give it to me hard!”

Moore obliged, slamming into her, and at the same time spinning her around and around the room, until Jessie was as weak as a kitten, helpless in his twirling embrace. She threw back her head and sobbed her pleasure as her copper-gold tresses whipped along behind her head like the tail of a comet.

She came for a third time, in a tangled mix of little screams, a series of jerking quivers. Moore's own spasm buckled his knees so that he fell back upon the couch and Jessie, her legs still clamped around his middle, fell with him, to wring the last drops of his passion out of him. Moore's convulsions made him shudder and shake, but Jessie stayed firmly around him, as if her sweet love juices were a special sort of glue locking their bodies together.

Sighing contentedly, Jessie asked him, “Am I really as good as the girls in the bordello?”

Moore, his eyes still screwed shut, moaned, “Compared to you, they barely qualify as girls!”

“Then it's only logical!” Jessie said triumphantly. “I'm going to go there tomorrow and get a job!”

Moore nodded, without really paying attention to anything but the delicious shivers of feeling in his loins. Then his eyes flew open. “You're going to
what?”

“Well, not for real,” Jessie rushed to reassure him. “I mean, I'm going to go undercover, like you did.”

“Undercover is
right,”
Moore growled. “And under the covers is where you'll land. What do you think those girls
do
to make their living?”

“I know very well what they do!” Jessie admonished. “But I only intend to be there a couple of days, and there are ways a woman can avoid lovemaking for that length of time without arousing suspicion.”