A Bouquet of Orchids
Copyright© 2026 by Komiko Yakamura
Chapter 20: The Rest Of It
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 20: The Rest Of It - In 1685 Ayutthaya, Dutch merchant Pieter de la Cort stops walking in a courtyard because of a woman's eyes. Mali is everything — composed, brilliant, entirely herself. What grows between them is real and permanent. But Mali knows love means honesty, even when honesty costs everything. What she builds for her family — and who she chooses to build it with — will define them all. A story of love without conditions, in a world about to change forever.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Polygamy/Polyamory White Male Oriental Female AI Generated
She woke him at two in the morning.
Not with words. Not with a question. She slid into his bed in the dark with the certainty of a woman who had decided something and was done deciding and her mouth found his before he was fully awake and by the time he was fully awake there was nothing to decide anyway.
He pulled her close and she made a sound against his mouth that meant good, finally, yes.
She pushed him onto his back and looked at him in the dark.
“My turn,” she said.
She straddled him and bent down and put her mouth on his throat — not gentle, not tentative, the mouth of a woman who knew what she wanted and was taking it. She worked her way down his chest with her lips and her hands, learning by now where he responded and going there directly, no circling, no preamble, Dewi Luna being constitutionally opposed to preamble when she was in this particular mood.
He responded the way he always responded to her — his hands finding her, his breath changing, that low sound she had catalogued from their first night together and found deeply motivating every time since.
She took her time with him the way he had taken his time with her. His chest. His stomach. Her hands knowing exactly where to go and going there without apology, drawing from him the sounds and the responses that told her she was doing this exactly right, which she already knew but liked confirmed.
He said her name. It came out unsteady.
She smiled against his skin.
When she finally took what she had come for she did it with the full conviction of a woman who had been thinking about this since nine o’clock the previous evening.
She moved over him with the particular rhythm that was hers — not tentative, not performing, simply Dewi Luna expressing desire the way she expressed everything, directly and without reservation. Her hands on his chest. His hands at her hips, learning her rhythm, matching it.
She rode her own fire. That was the only way to describe it — Dewi Luna in this state was fire, pure appetite, three years of waiting in a palace distilled into this specific moment in a Batavia bedroom at two in the morning with a man who had read a physician’s texts because he asked questions about everything.
She bent down and kissed him hard and he pulled her closer and she gasped against his mouth and kept moving because stopping was not an option, stopping had never been an option, the only direction available to Dewi Luna when she was this far along was forward.
Her fire built and built. She chased it without shame, moving over him with complete focus, his hands and his mouth and his voice saying her name contributing to everything she was building toward until she was there, right at the edge, and then she went over it.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.