He shrugged.
"It's too hot out here." She got up and came back to the helm, shimmying her shoulders as she went past him and down into the cabin. "If you want to see more, come in here."
Kyan assumed she went to use the head, until he heard the sound of water splashing and frowned. He hadn't stocked enough water for her to waste it.
"Melanie, what are you doing?" She didn't answer. He shut off the motor and went down into the cabin. "What are you…"
Melanie stood in the doorway of the head, dripping wet and naked to the waist. "I'm cooling off. Is that, like, a problem?"
Kyan took three seconds to admire her too-large, perfectly round, pink-tipped breasts before he turned his back on her. "Put on your clothes."
"I'm hot." She walked up behind him, and before he could move slid her hand around his hip, spreading her fingers over the ridge of his erection. "Dude." She fondled him right through his pants. "So are you."
"Stop touching me."
"Make me." Melanie giggled and unzipped his trousers, inserting her hand in his fly. "Very nice. I thought Chinese guys were supposed to be, you know, small."
"You should not be doing this." Kyan gritted his teeth as he felt her fingers curl around him. "You are just a child."
"No, I'm not." She made a fist and began pumping him gently. "You should know; you've been staring at my boobs all day. Don't you want to touch them? They're real, you know."
Kyan removed her hand from his penis and turned to face her. Her breasts brushed his chest. "You know nothing about me. You mean nothing to me. Do you give yourself to any man?"
"Come on, it'll be fun." Melanie took his hands and brought them up to her breasts. She had a tattoo of a black rose with long, wicked thorns drawn to look as if they were piercing her breast. Realistic drops of red blood had been inked in a long trail across her belly. "There. Don't they feel nice?"
Kyan shoved her back against the nearest flat surface, which happened to be a wall. He pulled down her pants, lifted her up until he could suck on her breasts, and pushed her thighs apart. He drove his shaft into her, pushing a cry from her mouth, and began to pump.
Her breasts were soft and sensitive, and she climaxed the first time he used his teeth. It took him a little longer, as he had a great deal of frustration to expend. She didn't seem to mind that his thrusts into her body lacked finesse and were hard enough to keep her head thumping against the wall.
Kyan pinned her in place and buried his mouth between her breasts as he came, shuddering and jerking.
"Rude, crude, thank you, dude." She sounded breathless, and draped her arms around his neck as she slid down the length of his body until her feet touched the floor. "Was that, like, so awful?"
Kyan looked down at his pants and hers, both in a tangled heap around their ankles. "No. That was good."
She grinned. "Told you."
He straightened his clothes and went back up on deck. A short time later she emerged and retrieved her text, and sat quietly reading beside the helm.
Kyan glanced at her a few times, puzzled by how freely she'd given herself to him, and how little she had to say about it. Perhaps that was the way it was done in this country.
"Why do you have a black rose and drops of blood tattooed on your front?"
She didn't look up at him. "Because a flaming skull and little swastikas would have freaked out my mom."
The boat's fuel was running low by the time the sun set, and Kyan docked at a fishing pier with a sign that read. SCULLERVILLE MARINA. The few boats moored at the dock looked patched and well used; some of the outboard motors were cobbled together out of salvaged parts. Beyond the pier a road led toward a well-lit building surrounded by pickup trucks, motorcycles, and old-model cars.
"I'm hungry," Melanie said, looking up from her text. "When are you going to feed me?"
Kyan thought of the fish, vegetables, and rice he had stored in his bags. He had enough for himself, but he had not allowed enough supplies for her. Still, he could buy more farther down the river. "I will prepare a meal when we stop for the night."
She rested her chin on her hand. "We're stopped now."
"Only for petrol."
"But I'm thirsty and my stomach is growling." She stood up and peered at the well-lit building. "Let's go get something over there at that roadhouse. I'll teach you how to play pool."
Kyan had another three or four hours before he would need to eat and rest. He didn't want to spend them in a road-house, whatever that was. "I do not play."
"Come on," she begged. "You might actually enjoy yourself without having to get naked with me. Unless you want to again."
Kyan considered knocking her out and tossing her in the cabin, but that might attract attention. He had not picked up the girl's trail, and he had to assume she had not yet arrived in Florida. He had to focus on his target, not on having sex with the American.
"Please?" Melanie wheedled.
"I will buy the fuel first."
The boat rocked as she jumped up and down and clapped her hands. Kyan noted the way her large breasts bounced, and remembered how they felt under his mouth. He decided that as soon as he finished his work and returned to Taiwan, he would buy himself a concubine for his bed. Perhaps two.
Both would have to have large breasts, but no tattoos.
After filling the boat's fuel tanks. Kyan followed the girl across the pier to the dirt road. The feel of land under his feet again made his mouth dry and his knees unsteady, but the sensation soon passed. His pace slowed as he steadied himself and found his center.
Melanie had walked ahead of him, and now glanced back over her shoulder. "You okay, boss? You look a little green."
"I am well." He caught up to her, shortening his long strides to match hers. "Do not call me 'boss.' "
She gave him her impish smile. "How about 'Sugar Buns'?"
"I am not a cake," he said, offended.
"Okay, but you're definitely a stud muffin." She made her eyebrows go up and down.
She seemed determined to provoke him. "My name is Kyan." He climbed up the steps to the roadhouse's main entrance. "Use it."
"Kyan. Right." She cocked her head. "When did they outlaw having a good time in China, anyway? Same time as sex?"
The roadhouse seemed more like a madhouse inside, with hundreds of people crowded around a long bar and dozens of tiny tables. At one end of the building, couples danced in front of a five-man band playing primitive-sounding music. One of the men sang into a microphone about doing impossible things to a heart.
Women dressed in fewer garments than working whores would wear flirted with men in old leather, denim, and plaid work clothes. Those who were not wearing bent-brimmed hats covered their hair with caps stitched with the brand names of Farm equipment or NASCAR drivers.
Melanie looked around, apparently delighted.
Kyan closed himself to the sweat, saliva, perfume, and alcohol that saturated the air, and saw two men preparing to vacate stools at one end of the long bar. He took Melanie's arm and pushed her toward them.
"Hey, I thought we could get a table near the band," she protested.
"I prefer to keep my hearing intact." He edged past the two men and claimed one stool, pushing her toward another. He lifted his hand and made a curt gesture at the fat bald man serving the patrons at the bar.
The bartender leaned over to make a remark to several men sitting near the taps before he casually moved down to Kyan and Melanie. "Ain't got no sake here for you, boy."
Kyan was often mistaken for a Japanese, so he didn't comment. "Menu."
"Ain't got none of them neither." The heavy chin jerked toward a blackboard covered with white dust and some chalked words. "Wings, skins, nachos, and my mama's homemade chili. Mama's pit bull went missing last week, so I can't really recommend the chili." He eyed Kyan. "Less'n you one of them kind like to eat dogs."
The men at the center of the bar, who were eavesdropping, started chuckling and elbowing one another.
Melanie leaned over so that the bottoms of her breasts rested on the bar. "We'll have two Buds, a basket of wings, and double order of celery and blue cheese."
"No beer," Kyan told her. "Mineral water."
To the bartender, she said. "Make that a Bud and a bottle of water. Please."
The bartender peered at her face, spit on the floor, and went over to the open kitchen window.
"Not a candidate for president of my fan club. Tragic." Melanie sat down on the stool and spun around on it to face the band.
Kyan glanced sideways. "It doesn't bother you?" he asked her in Chinese. "The way they treat Asians?"
"I'm not Asian. I'm a multiracial American." She swayed in time with the music. "They would treat me the same way in China. Probably worse."
"You said you have never been to China."
"I don't have to go there to know how Asians feel about kids with mixed blood. I get all that crap every time I go for Chinese takeout." She propped her elbows back against the bar. "Don't act so huffy, boss. You might be okay with screwing me, but you don't like me any more than that bartender does."
"I would not look at you and spit on the ground." His gaze drifted up to the television set hanging over the bar, and the news story being broadcast. "What are they saying?" he asked her, pointing to the screen.
She watched for a moment. "A bunch of people reported seeing a UFO go down over the Ocala National Forest. The authorities are refusing to investigate because no planes are missing, and they'd have to search an area that's, like, the size of Rhode Island. Weird."
Kyan removed the girl's pamphlet from his pocket and showed it to Melanie, pointing to the map. "The UFO went down here?"
