Chapter 6: Persimmons

"Again," Riko said, and kissed him.

She felt the groan go through his chest before she heard it.

His mouth was hot and unsure, and then it was not unsure at all.

He kissed her until the room tilted.

Her fingers closed in the front of his robe, and she realized she was the one making the sounds now.

She pulled back.

His eyes were molten, and his hands were still shaking on her hips.

"Slow," said Riko. "You're shaking."

"I am three hundred and twelve years old."

"That's not an excuse. Sit down."

"Riko."

"On the stool. Go on."

He looked at her for one more moment.

Then Lord Kagiro of Kurosumi, who had never taken an order in his life, let go of her.

He sat down on the stool at the pass.

She slid off the table and went to the cold shelf.

There was a basket of persimmons there, soft and orange and nearly too ripe, which Teruko had left that morning with a sniff.

Riko chose one that gave under her thumb.

She walked back and stood between his knees, and she split the fruit open with her fingers.

The flesh was dark gold and dripping.

She held a piece to his mouth.

"Open."

He opened his mouth.

She laid the fruit on his tongue, and his lips closed over her fingertips, and his eyes shut.

He drew her fingers in slowly, and licked the juice off each one, one at a time, thumb and then the rest.

Riko had stopped breathing sometime during the second finger.

"Sweet," said Kagiro against her palm.

It was the first thing he had ever said about food, and it came out like a prayer.

"Is it good?"

"It is so sweet."

"Then have another," Riko said, and her voice cracked in the middle.

She fed him the rest of it, piece by piece, while his hands slid up her thighs and held on.

When the last piece was gone, she took his face in both of her sticky hands and kissed him.

He tasted of fruit, and under the fruit, of something warm and dark and entirely him.

Her jacket came off and landed on the floor.

His hands found the hem of her undershirt and stopped, and she pulled it over her head herself.

Cold air touched her arms.

She saw him looking at the scars, white and shiny from wrist to elbow.

He looked at the old burn that curled round her ribs.

She had never liked anyone to look.

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