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"Miss O'Neill?" The man grinned at her as she nodded, his lively black eyes taking her in at a glance: her petite frame, unruly curls, rumpled clothing. "Welcome to Bangkok--City of Angels!"
"I am Chaiwat, Mr Harrison's driver. Mr Harrison has sent his own car, to take you to your house. Please follow me."
Without waiting for her reply, he took charge of the luggage cart and started through the crowd toward the exit. Kate struggled to keep up, watching his back recede, worried at having lost control of her bags, trying to make progress through the press of bodies without seeming impolite.
Chaiwat was waiting for her on the curb, still grinning. "Stay here, please. I'll go for the car." He disappeared into the humid night.
Kate leaned wearily against her largest suitcase. She had never met Edward Harrison, the Managing Director of DigiThai, Ltd., her new employer, although they had spoken several times by telephone. Clearly, he was considerate, to offer her the services of his personal car and driver. Of course, he was an American--from Chicago, she recalled--and no doubt understood from personal experience how exhausted she would be after the trans-Pacific flight.
A sleek white Mercedes sedan slid up to the curb, and almost before it stopped, it seemed, energetic Chaiwat was loading her cases into the trunk. He held open the back door, and she sank down onto the leather-upholstered seat with a grateful sigh. She drifted in and out of a half-sleep as Chaiwat drove out of the airport and turned onto the highway toward the city.
From under heavy eyelids, she watched the roadside sights fly by. Garish neon signs, in English, Thai and Chinese, lit up thenight with the names of multinational corporations. Gleaming, modern buildings two dozen stories high alternated with stunted blocks of grimy concrete, weak fluorescent light visible through their open windows. Every now and again, she would glimpse the peaked, layered roofs and delicate spires of a Buddhist temple, rising incongruously from the middle of a residential or industrial district.
The full moon rendered the scene even more alien. High above the horizon by now, it lent a silvery sheen to the buildings, while creating sharp black shadows between and behind them. Brighter than any manmade illumination, it reminded Kate of an old-fashioned flashbulb. Each tableau seemed frozen in meticulous detail, captured by the moon like a surrealistic snapshot.
The car was silent, seeming to float over the road. The slight hiss of the air conditioning soothed her. Kate tried to stay alert, to pay attention to her new surroundings, but drowsiness was irresistible.
She found her mind drawn back to David and the scene in the parking garage. The recollection, on the edge of sleep, was vivid, almost hallucinogenic. She could feel his hands, grasping her hips, positioning her for his thrusts. Despite their exposure, he did not hurry. His cock stretched her deliciously as he slid in, practically in slow motion, as if he were savouring every centimetre. He was deep inside her, but only for a moment before he started to withdraw. It was as if he were trying to memorise her body, imprint it upon his senses; he lingered at each stage, focused on each motion, constriction, texture.
Her own body was afire, but her urgency did not seem to communicate itself to him. Her nipples, hard as little pebbles, brushed against the smooth cotton of her blouse, raising a little gasp that she tried to suppress. David made no sound, breathed deeply but smoothly, in rhythm with his strokes, while she found herself panting, smothering her moans. She writhed against him, rubbing her bottom against him. The rough curls of his pubic hair against her bare skin made her wild.
She reached behind her and grasped the base of his penis with one hand. The other hand found its way between her own legs, working its way among the slick folds to find her aching clitoris. She squeezed David and massaged herself, both hands moving together. David responded, drawn out of his reverie, catching fire from her. He began thrusting harder, faster, deeper, just as she craved. Now he was panting too. She had to stop her self caresses in order to hold the concrete support in front of her with both hands. Otherwise, the force of his thrusts would have knocked her over.
David made an animal noise, deep in his throat. He dug his nails into her flesh, pulling the mounds of her buttocks apart to have better access to the juicy cleft of her sex. Kate arched her back, opening herself wider, aching for total penetration. Again and again David plunged into her, riding her with a ferocity he had never shown her before.
She loved this position, the feral quality of being taken from behind. She loved the danger, too, she admitted to herself, the chance of being discovered with her panties down and her private parts glistening with moisture. The thought of this, of how they would look to some passerby, was the final stroke. That image, added to the furious friction of David's cock, the tingling in her nipples, the brush of his pubic hair on her thighs, his fingernails marking her ass, finally pushed her to edge and beyond.
David felt her spasms, and matched them. He collapsed forward onto her, both of them leaning against the pillar. As their breathing gradually slowed to normal, David caressed her breasts, left tiny, precise kisses at the back of her neck.
Kate started, suddenly alert. Her real environment reasserted itself, the supple leather beneath her, the artificially refreshing breeze from the air-conditioning vents. She realised that Chaiwat was watching her in the rear view mirror, at the same time as she found she had both hands in between her legs. Her sex ached with imagined or new hunger; she could not tell which. Casually, she moved her hands to her sides, sat up a bit straighter, tried to ignore the grin she saw reflected towards her.