|
they stumbled, slid, nearly fell their way into the cabin and
stood there at the window looking out at the fearful storm.
Millie was not tall. Nor was Yuko Ogura incredibly beautiful at that
moment, looking more like a drowned animal than a woman, dark hair
streaming down Yuko's face, Yuko's clothing molded tightly to Yuko's
slender body.
As the door slammed closed behind them, Yuko Ogura had gotten them
both towels, tossed him one, then draping the thing over Yuko's head
so Yuko's face were hidden for a moment, began rubbing Yuko's hair
vigorously. He had followed suit, but more sedately.
That damned shirt Yuko Ogura wore, he said to himself under his
breath. It hid nothing. The soft lace of Yuko's bra, moving as Yuko Ogura
had moved as they tumbled down the hill, had incited Yuko's nipples
into small hard kernels that rose and fell with Yuko's breathing.
They were like beacons, now, drawing his eyes to them each time a
fold of the towel brushed away from eyes as he rubbed his hair and
he could see. And then there was the rest of her. Yuko's light
coloured shorts, like the shirt, just vaguely hid the skimpy white
panties Yuko Ogura wore, a band of material that stretched across Yuko's
hips and narrowed like a triangle to Yuko's centre. He supposed some
would have said Yuko Ogura were hippy. So be it. He liked what he s
|
