On the anniversary of Joe�s mother�s death he breaks his own rules and has a one night stand with an exotic stranger. Sakura is unlike any woman Joe�s ever met: smart, beautiful, and very quirky. That�s because Sakura isn�t like any woman he�s know before--she�s not human. Sakura�s a kitsune, a mystical Japanese fox who can take on the form of a woman, on a mission: help Joe discover his Japanese heritage and make peace with his past. They didn�t say anything about falling in love with him�
To My Readers: I hope you enjoy Kitsune. This story was inspired by watching a friend struggle with her ethnic identity. Half Caucasian-half Japanese she grew up in middle-class suburbia with an ethnic name no one could pronounce, and at the age of 11 was taller than all her Japanese relatives, and her hair never turned blond-streaked in the summer like her friend�s did. No sexy Japanese mythology character showed up to help her (and if one had I would have insisted he bring a friend for me) but it sure might have helped. This is also in honor of this same friend�s Grandma (Hi Grandma Endo!) who still gives me a card with cash in it for my birthday.
KITSUNE by Lila Dubois
Copyright � LILA DUBOIS, 2009
All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC.
EXCERPT FROM KITSUNE
Joe blinked, head rolling to one side on his pillow. It felt like he�d slept for weeks. Every inch of him was calm and relaxed, each breath came easy, and for once he didn�t wake with an anxious feeling gnawing at the back of his stomach. He yawned and cracked his jaw, stretching first his right and then left arm over his head.
The blankets were gone but it was warm in the room. He turned on his side, propping his head on his left arm and smiled at the woman who knelt in the center of the bed.
�Hello,� he said.
�I don�t speak Japanese.�
�Hai. Nihongo o hanasu.�
�No, I don�t. I can�t understand you.�
The kneeling woman tilted her head slightly to one side, causing a faint stirring in the long black hair that shielded her body.
�Watashi ga itta koto o ikani shitta ka?�
�Don�t you speak English? Who are you?�
�Watashi no namae ha Sakura de aru.� One pale, slender arm, ending in a tiny plump hand, emerged from the cloak of hair. She leaned forward, her dark eyes on his, and pressed her hand over his heart. Her small fingers were warm and their touch sent a ripple of pleasure through him. �Takai,� she said.
She pulled her hand back, touching her own heart, her hair parting to expose her left breast. �Sakura.�
�No.� Joe shook his head, slow and dreamlike. He carefully curled his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand back to his chest. �Joe.� He let go her wrist and stretched out his arm, placing his hand over her heart. �Sah-kur-ah.�
She cupped her fingers over his and nodded, gaze never leaving him. �Sakura.�
Joe pushed himself up with his right hand, keeping his left over her heart.
�You�re very beautiful.�
She continued to stare at him, but then blushed and looked down and away, seeming to have understood.
Brushing away her concealing hair, he slid his left hand down over her small breast. Her nipple pebbled in his palm and Joe moved his hand in a circle. The sensitive tip rolled and scraped against his hand, and she made the most beautiful little mewing sound.
His body had been strangely lethargic, but at that sound, so small and aroused, his cock hardened. She reached for him, but hesitated.
�May I touch you? You�re very beautiful. I want to know you.�
�Hai, hai, yorokobasu tame ni watashi ni fureru koto ga dekiru.�
The words echoed, Japanese and English layered over one another, though she was the only speaker. He nodded.
Joe lost himself as her small fingers wrapped around him, squeezing once and then releasing so she could explore each ridge and vein with just her slim fingertips. He brushed her hair over her right shoulder with shaking fingers.
She was slender and petite, beautifully so, her soft skin glowing moon-white. When her fingers wrapped around him once more, Joe urged her onto her back. She went, willing and beautiful, her hair spilling beneath her to form a blanket. Instead of white on white, her flesh against the sheets, she lay amid inky beauty.
He pinched the base of her right breast between his fingers, plumping the flesh and raising her nipple. She utter