David Zhang was a well-built man of Chinese ancestry, with emphasis on the 'built'. Just shy of 5'7", he was short by Western standards but his muscles made him anything but small. Life on Christmas Island had been good to him, and daily routines of jogging, weight lifting, and physical labor had transformed the once-average man into an impressive chiseled physique. Jia had jokingly once referred to him as China's answer to Captain America, and the analogy was definitely apt.
He grinned at her with that boyish smile as he circled her, both hands raised in a loose fighter's stance. Every time he threw a punch those muscles tensed and flexed, and the lines of his biceps, triceps, and pecs looked like they were carved in marble. He was shirtless and sweating, which gave Sanneke not only a beautiful view of every 'can' of his six-pack abs but also highlighted the dips and curves of his body with a shimmer of exertion. It made it hard for her to concentrate.
He threw a left hook at her head, and she ducked her head out of the way before jabbing a quick one-two at his stomach. It was like hitting a steel door. Sanneke darted to the side and aimed her next two to his head. The first one connected: a glancing blow across his cheek. The second one he deflected with a outward palm block that morphed turned into a grab. As his hand closed around her wrist she continued the movement, bent her arm at the elbow, and aimed
that
at his face instead. Zhang jerked his head away but kept his grip strong; the rotation of her movement twisted her far enough to expose her back, and he took advantage of the mistake. He locked her striking arm across her chest and anchored his other arm around her waist. The move pinned her in place, wrapped against his body.
"Over-rotated," he informed her in a breathless voice, still smiling like an overgrown Boy Scout.
"I'm tired," she shot back as she tried to look over her shoulder. Her damp chestnut hair blocked the view; she tossed her head with as much imperiousness as she could muster. "We've been at this for an hour."
"It's good for your stamina. Give up?"
'Give up' was not in Sanneke's vocabulary. She nodded -- and then jabbed the heel of her foot into his calf, pushed his arm away from her chest as hard as she could, and tried to slip out. She succeeded marvelously on both fronts. A feral smile split her lips at his curse of pain. He still had an arm around her waist, though, and freedom was fleeting. He hooked an ankle around hers, hauled her backwards by her hips, and twisted. The throw sent her airborne and slamming to the gym floor in the space of a second. He was on her just as fast, twisting her into a judo armbar, and soon Sanneke was frantically tapping her palm against the mat for mercy.
The pressure and pain eased. He let her elbow bend in the proper direction again, and this time lifted her hand to his lips.
"Give up?" he repeated, his smile tactile against her skin.
She nodded, this time sincere, and lay there panting and aching as her heart started to slow. His lips paid homage to the back of each finger. She didn't open her eyes again until he laid her hand back on her stomach and she heard him start to move. The sight of him leaning over her made it almost worth the bruises.
"You're a bastard," she replied.
He lifted his shoulders in a carefree shrug and didn't contest the label. "It's why you like me."
And she didn't contest that, as he pressed a leg between hers and settled between her thighs. She didn't resist, despite his lack of asking permission. A confident man was incredibly sexy, and Zhang had confidence in spades.
"Are we moving on to grappling?" she challenged. Her dark blue eyes held his rich almond brown. They'd flirted and traded suggestive comments for most of the week, but this would be the first time there was anything more than a brush of fingertips against forbidden flesh.
"If you don't mind losing," he returned with a smirk.
"I fight dirty."
"And
that
is why I like
you
."
Her lips tilted in mirror amusement. He took it as, if not a 'green light', at least not 'red'. David leaned forward, his palms supporting him as he began to settle down atop her, body to body. He smelled like hard work and exertion, both of which she could appreciate in a very primal way.
"...is that your knee, Mr. Zhang?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow against his ever-present cheerful smile.
"What?"
She shifted one leg. "That."
"No."
They were chest to chest now: his slick skin against the thin quick-dry fabric of her sports bra. Between where the bra ended and the waistband of her shorts began, she could feel the hot burn of flesh against flesh. Zhang wore sweatpants, and she could feel the tell-tale press of masculine anatomy against her thigh. Her hands floated towards his arms; her fingertips traced over the rock-solid bulges before splaying out wide over his tanned chest.
"Not worried about my wife seeing you between my legs?" she murmured as her finger traced the bottom curve of a very developed pec.
"Not if you aren't. The risk is half the fun, sugar." One of his hands lifted from the mat and moved to her flank. It followed the curve of her waist until he could cup a Lycra-bound breast. "And I'm betting if you thought she'd object, you'd let me know."
"She doesn't mind me fucking other people, but I don't think she'd want to
see
it."
"Then let's hope she doesn't walk in." His hand was pleasantly calloused as he freed her breast from beneath the sports bra. A moment later his lips sealed around her nipple, and Sanneke let out a soft breath of enjoyment. Her hands roamed up his back and threaded fingers into his short black hair.
"One condition," she breathed. The rumble of his curiosity vibrated through her body. He palmed her other breast as he suckled on the one, taking as much advantage as she allowed. "... I like it rough."
Mirth curved his lips around the tip of her breast. He.shifted his mouth to her other peak, and his hand eased a path down the center of her stomach. Her breath caught as his fingertips slipped beneath her waistband. She was already slick along the inner folds of her lips; his fingers parted them easily.
"And one problem, sweetheart," he murmured back in a low baritone.
Sanneke's mouth was parted as well, and she watched him with bright, hungry eyes as he began to stroke her sex. One of her hands stayed tucked in his short obsidian hair; the other traveled over the hard expanse of his abdomen. "Oh?"
"I don't have a condom on me."
Her fingers reached his cotton sweatpants, and the hidden pressure of his member where it lay against her thigh. They curled around the uppermost inch as she arched up to brush a kiss across his lips. "That's not a problem."
"On the pill?"
"Something like that."
He didn't press the question. Instead, he leaned into the kiss and pushed a finger into her. Her hum of approval caught in her throat; it darted an octave higher when he added a second. She was wet enough to take it, but his fingers were larger and thicker than her usual feminine lovers. When she broke the kiss and pulled away to fix him with a smoldering gaze, it was clear that 'pain' didn't mean disapproval.
He kissed her again and used his weight to press her down on padded mat of the gym floor. Now that the small-talk was over, neither of them was afraid to move things along. She finally released the hold on Zhang's hair and moved to caress those powerful, rock-hard shoulders. Beneath the loose red fabric of his gym pants, her other hand explored something almost as solid. She could feel the outline of his shaft under the light-weight material, held in place by the snug fit of his boxers. He packed upwards, and it gave her a beautiful, long path of exploration from the slightly thicker tip down to the weight of his balls.
His fingers retracted and pushed in again; Sanneke held his gaze and bit her lip, squeezing his cock in echo of the motion. They watched each other in silence, their faces only inches apart. Microexpressions: the subtle widening of pupils; lips parting to draw in breath; the tightening of a jaw, or unconscious touch of tongue against teeth. Each slow stroke of penetration eased him deeper and pushed the breath out of her lungs. She wasn't a stranger to the other sex, but years of female lovers had dimmed the memory of just how different men and women could be.
Her knees parted wide as his tempo began to quicken, and her teeth caught the edge of her lip as she stared up at him. She released him long enough to slip her hand down washboard abs and under his waistband. The hot
realness
of his cock, flesh to flesh, sent a lance of lust through her. As much as she loved her wife's strap-on, it wasn't the real thing.
"Is it true what they say about Asian men?" she whispered as she slid the palm of her hand down his length.
"Never had one?"
"Hmm-mm. Black, white, brown..."
His fingers withdrew. Still slick with her honey, they hooked in the waistband of her Adidas shorts; he sat up long enough to yank them down and off. Her legs were smooth and blessed by a love of summer sun. The higher they went, the paler they became, but the lack of tan lines gave witness to just how bold she could be. Between her thighs she maintained a small patch of brown curls. It was her private flag of pride in her age, even nearing forty: that she was a
woman
, not a girl.
