LUST IN DALAT Asian Adventures, Book 6
Lust can be a revelation.
The woman in the window seat to my right had more flesh than I’d usually find attractive, and most of it was on display. But she wasn’t trying to tease. Every detail—the silver hoops in her earlobes, the teakwood clasp in her hair, the anklet decorating her high-arched foot—broadcast confidence and a healthy disdain for anyone else’s opinion. A woman alone, on a public conveyance, in a foreign country, Helen nevertheless looked thoroughly at home.
And me? Traveling outside of the U.S. for the first time in my life, I was nervous, inexperienced, awkward and excited. Especially excited. With Helen in the next seat, who wouldn’t be?
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Excerpt:
She was practically naked.
I tried not to stare as I clambered barefoot onto the bus that would take us from the steamy, crowded streets of Saigon to the Dalat highlands. My sandals stuffed into a plastic bag provided by the management, I peered at my ticket and tried to locate the corresponding seat. Well, “seat” wasn’t exactly the appropriate word. Three double-tiered racks of padded, bed-like recliners ran from the front to the back, one on each side of the bus and one down the middle, with narrow aisles between them. This was a “sleeping bus”, designed for the twelve to twenty hour overnight trips common in Vietnam.
“A or B?”
“What?” She was obviously talking to me. I had to look at her.
The woman in the window seat to my right had more flesh than I’d usually find attractive, and most of it was on display. Her light, floral-patterned sundress had spaghetti straps, one of which had slipped down over her smooth shoulder. Her massive breasts shifted underneath, every time she moved. The short hem rode up to expose her big but surprisingly firm thighs. She was fair-haired with a peaches-and-cream complexion—her accent suggested she was a Brit. The dress was thin enough, though, that I could make out darker patches surrounding her nipples.
“Your seat number.” She gestured at the ticket dangling from my fingers. Her lush tits swayed. “A is down here; B is on the upper level.”
“Oh—um—A. 12 A.” Geez. Working on my PhD and I couldn’t manage a coherent sentence.
“That’s right here, next to me.” She flashed me an easy smile, pointing to the middle row. “A pity, you won’t have as good a view. Of course, if you have any tendency toward motion sickness, the middle is better.”
The other strap flopped down her arm. Idly, she pushed it back into place. “I’m Helen,” she said, sitting up a bit, so that her breasts bounced. She offered her hand—short fingernails, clear lacquer, a silver ring on the thumb.
Her skin was as soft as it looked. “Geri,” I replied, struggling to ignore the accelerating pulse between my legs.
About Lisabet:
Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website, along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance, she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here.
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