The dress was easier to describe by what it lacked than what it did not.

It had no sleeves, no back, no sides and almost no front; the wide draping cowl of the neckline plunging down to a point well below the tiny vertical slit of her belly button. The long, ruched skirt rode low and tight on her hips, all of her back to her tailbone open to the night air. The skirt's slit was in front and high, stopping just a small handspan below the join of her legs.

'I like seeing your breasts,' she remembered him saying. Well, she thought, looking down at herself again, he had his wish. The heavy, rounded swells of her boobs were almost entirely visible and open for all to see. She supposed he also liked seeing her legs too; the slit was so high up every step was a display of thigh down to the elegantly plain silver strap heels she had on her feet and the thin anklet gracing her right foot. An inch or two higher and he, as well as everyone else would have been seeing a lot more, since, naturally, his clothes shopping for her didn't include panties.

He had bought the shoes as well, part of a complete ensemble, dress, footwear, and jewelry - everything she was wearing. Whatever she thought of the dress, and her opinion of it continued to shift from moment to moment, she couldn't fault his taste in the shoes, or the jewelry. The silver choker, earrings, bracelet, anklet, and the sandals perfectly matched, and when he'd finally allowed her to look at herself in the mirror in the suite, she'd simply stared at herself in shock. She'd expected to look slutty, which she did - it was certainly far from what anyone would call decent.

What she didn't expect was that she'd look ... elegant. Her lips were visibly swollen and she was still flushed from sex and the entire delicious process of Marq dressing her himself.

Sensible, disciplined Honor Banet would, could, never have worn anything so ... daring, so utterly wicked.

She'd entered the suite after being dropped off by Chailai to find a note instructing her to once again wait for him, nude, in the living room. She had furled her lip up at it, but she had obeyed, after taking a shower first. He entered to meet her just as she was sitting down to wait for him. She was naked as ordered, wet, nipples swollen and pointing. Wordlessly, she stood up again and went to him, growling back at him as he roughly mounted her and they rutted mindlessly on the carpet, and when he came, he had layered his cum over her abdomen.

It was after that, that he announced that they were going outside of the suite to dinner this time. And that he had brought her the dress she was going to wear.

And of course, since he didn't let her clean up before dressing her, the dress was sticking to her skin from below her belly button to the join of her legs.

It was not an unpleasant feeling, she decided.

Her nipples protruded rudely through the black material as his hands settled on her bare waist as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her heartbeat went up a notch at his touch, and she'd leaned back against him, her butt pressing into his crotch and feeling his hardness pressing back against her. He could easily slip his hands under the front of the dress and have her bare breasts in his hands, which he did, gently cupping one as he met her eyes in the mirror and planted a kiss just under her ear.

"I can't wear this ..." she whispered, arching and consciously putting her boob more fully in his hand.

"And why not, Miss Banet?" He kissed her under her ear again, touching her with his tongue.

She looked at him in the mirror, lips parting as she felt his tongue on her skin, his fingers teasing her almost painfully erect nipple. "I'm almost naked ... Mr. Haydn ..."

"And?" His fingers delicately traced the underside of her captured boob as he nibbled lightly on her earlobe. "The key word, I think, is 'almost'."

She let out a pleasured sigh, struggling to keep her thoughts from scrambling into incomprehensible mush. "I look like a slut."

He smiled against her ear. "Then you're my slut."

She couldn't help smiling as she let him fondle her. "I look like a whore ..." she said after a long blissful minute, looking for trouble.

She found it. The hand on her waist went up, joining the other hand to slide the neckline apart, freeing her breasts. She heard his small intake of breath and wondered at how he could act as if he had never seen, touched, kissed her breasts before. He cupped them again, like he had done so many times, as she watched him in the mirror, breathless. "I thought I told you never to use that word ..." he said, his lips on her neck as he squeezed them.

Honor squirmed, her knees growing weak as his fingers closed tight on her jutting nipples, the pressure on her breasts increasing as she began keen deep in her throat at the sudden heavy load of sensation traveling through her body, verging between pleasure and pain. She tried to pull away but he held her fast, kneading her suddenly tender breasts hard against her chest, fingers tight on her nipples. She writhed against him, struggling, but her traitorous body was absurdly sluggish and weak. She realized quickly that she couldn't get away, not in her mindlessly aroused state. Her body simply wouldn't obey her.

But she wasn't defeated yet as she defiantly met his eyes in the mirror, still shaking and undulating against him as he punished her. He smiled and then she let out a sharp squeal as he cruelly squeezed her nipples, the pleasure and pain merging into one as he held her captive.

"Then you're my whore," he finally whispered in her ear when she began to whimper, sagging against him, feeling thoroughly, deliciously helpless and vulnerable. The pressure suddenly eased on her nipples, and she gasped in relief, breathing hard, feeling goosebumps rising on her skin and wetness coating her inner thighs in a sudden flood of lubrication. He wasn't done with her yet though, she was still very much trapped as one hand went questing between her legs, finding access through the scandalously high slit in front, the other hand still at her tender aching breasts.

She gasped as she felt him touching her, exploring her wetness, feeling herself clamp tight around his fingers, feeling even more intensely and wonderfully feminine and vulnerable as he very clearly enjoyed her body.

"Remember, you're mine," he said, kissing her neck again. "The only eyes you should care about are mine. Yes?"

The pleasure made her throw her head back, keening as he traced her slit with his fingers and dipped inside her, the hand at her breasts adding to the overwhelming assault on her senses. At last, his hand left her pussy and as expected, he brought it up to her mouth. Her response was pure instinct and he made a growling noise at the back of his throat as she enthusiastically licked and sucked his fingers clean.

"Yes?" he repeated again.

"Yes ...!" she whispered as he traced his wet fingers tantalizingly around her lips, arching against him.

Honor spun around and threw her arms around his neck when he released her after that, going on her tip-toes as she hungrily covered his lips with her own, bare and painfully sensitive breasts ignored as she pressed herself against him, moaning low in her throat as his hands settled on her bare waist. He suddenly broke the kiss and bent his head over her chest. Honor cried out, arching and leaning back as his mouth closed around a swollen brown nipple, miniature orgasms exploding through her body from her abused breasts as his tongue trailed around her areolae.

Finally, he allowed her nipple out of his mouth and lifted his head to meet her still unfocused eyes.

"I'm going to get changed and then we can go," he said as he covered her breasts for her and looked at his watch. "Wait for me here."

Honor watched him stride away from her and climb the two steps to the rooms, the empty hollowness and heat between her legs so intense it bordered on pain. Her mind churned at how easily he had once again taken complete control of her. And how much she'd wanted and enjoyed every second of it.

It was only until tomorrow when she got on the plane back to real life, but she knew it right then; he could do whatever he wanted with her, and she would let him - she was his slut, his whore.

Her nipples still pointed painfully after him from their ordeal, still wet under their thin covering from their time in his mouth. Fidgeting, she went to pick up the elegant silver clutch that he had gotten for her. Her phone was on the coffee table and as she picked it up to slide it into the clutch she remembered a promise.

She dialed the number she knew by heart, adding the country code, calculating the time difference.

"Hey you," Sarah said, sounding breathless - the background noise was that of rush hour traffic.

Honor smiled. "Hey."

"What're you doing? Hope you're not moping around in your hotel room?"

Honor thought about it. "No ... I'm going out to dinner, actually."

"Really?" Sarah sounded delighted, then suspicious. "With our hero? You did say he was cute, right?"

Honor let out a breath at Sarah's pin-point accuracy from so many thousands of kilometers away. It was remarkably easy to picture how Sarah would react if she could see what she was wearing. "Maybe ..." She needed to play it carefully - she didn't want to lie to her friend, but she didn't want to tell all right then. That she'd become some man's willing whore was not something you told your best friend on the phone.

"Is that a yes?" Sarah demanded, and Honor could easily imagine she had come to a halt in mid-stride on the busy sidewalk.

Honor laughed, only partly forced. "It's a 'maybe.'"

"Oh ..." Sarah still sounded suspicious. "David showed up, didn't he?"

"No," Honor answered almost immediately. She hadn't even thought of her fiancee.

"Then you're going to dinner by yourself?" Sarah had obviously started walking again.

Honor smiled. "Maybe."

There was a pause, "Honor ... I hope you're not going to do something you're going to regret later ..."

'Too late for that.' The voice in Honor's head said. And besides, Honor thought, remembering Jillian Blake in David's arms, she had none - regrets that is. "You know me," Honor said, "I won't." Then she lied, "It's just dinner."

Another pause as Sarah remembered that she was talking to her straight-laced, disciplined, sensible best friend. Then she let out an annoyed breath. "We're going to talk more about this. There's something you're not telling me and ..."

Marq suddenly reappeared, wearing a dark pin-striped suit, with a blue shirt and a blue tie patterned and trimmed with silver thread, carefully inserting a silver cuff link. For a moment, Honor couldn't hear her friend on the phone - he looked good, better than good. She watched him finish with the cuff link and start coming down the two steps toward her.

"... still coming back tomorrow?"

"Uh huh," Honor answered, flustered as he was suddenly in front of her, his eyes intent. "Hey, I have to go now. Call you later?"

The suspicion was back in Sarah's voice. "What's going on?"

Honor swallowed a moan of pleasure as he cupped her breasts, running his thumb over an erect nipple through the silk before wrapping his arms around her back. "I just need to go ... my ride is here."

"There's something you're not telling me, Honor," Sarah repeated.

"I'll tell you everything when I get back - promise," Honor said, biting her lip to keep from moaning again as Marq began to lay a trail of kisses along her neck. "Bye you."

Sarah sighed loudly in frustration. "You just promised. Remember that. Love you."

"Love you too." Honor hung up and immediately his lips were on hers and she was pressing herself against him and making a small mewling sound as she wrapped her arms around his neck, Sarah forgotten by the time he broke the kiss mere seconds later.

It was all she could do not to purr as his hand stroked her bare back. Any concern about the dress and how much of her body it failed to leave to the imagination was as far away as the sensible woman she had been only three days ago. There was a certain 'logic' to it. He'd paid for her. So if he wanted to display her, her breasts almost entirely exposed and wearing nothing under the travesty of a dress for other men to see and lust after, he had every right.

She was his slut, his whore.

"One last thing ..." he said. "Close your eyes."

She obeyed without hesitation, belatedly wondering if even the little she had on was about to become even less, and if she had the willpower to stop him from having her thrown into a Thai jail for indecent exposure.

She heard the rustle of his suit as he moved and then his hands were on her face, fixing something over her eyes. She smiled as she realized what it was as he went behind her and lifted her hair, clipping it expertly. His hands went back to her bared waist and he turned her as he planted a kiss on her neck.

"Open your eyes."

It was a Venetian half-mask; a perfect match for the dress with the same silky pattern and a large black rose over one eye that said they were designed to go together - for the daring woman who still had some reservations. It hid her identity, leaving only her nose and lips exposed, and somehow made it even more daring, more wicked. She turned around and brought his lips down on hers, body tingling as she realized that he had been testing her - that the only reason she wearing the mask was because she had been perfectly willing to go wherever he took her without it.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here and ... order room service?" she asked one last time, feeling his semi-erection against her belly, the sharply responding hollowness between her legs making her voice husky.

"Tempting ..." His fingers caressed the line of her spine down to her exposed tailbone, "But I told them to wait, and it'll be rude to cancel so late." He leaned forward, his forehead touching hers. "And I don't want to miss making every man in Bangkok jealous." His lips met hers, gently. "Have I told you how utterly, breathtakingly beautiful you are ...?"

She looked up at him and licked her lips again, then she went on her tip-toes and licked his. "Let's go," she said.

________________________

The huge luxury yacht's captain watched as the white uniformed steward led the man and the woman to their table on the yacht's expansive canopied teak wood deck at the stern. The vessel's powerful motors rumbled underneath as the 'Queen of the River' prepared to get underway, the couple who were his only passengers on 'his' boat - 'his' boat, no matter whose name was on the register.

Usually, he carried a lot more than two people; often, it was eight to nine guests for a week, traveling the entire length of the river and on to Phuket and other popular Thai tourist spots. But the man was no ordinary customer - the man whose name was on the register as owner of the Queen of the River had personally called and asked the yacht's captain to take his friend, Mr. Marquin Hadyn and his guest on a short boat tour of the sights and sounds of Bangkok via the Chao Phraya. And so here the captain was with a skeleton crew, the yacht's chef and his assistant in the galley below, and the steward now leading their two guests to the table set at the upper aft deck.

The captain grinned lasciviously as he eyed the woman, noting the way her raven black hair fell past her shoulders, the intensely feminine sway of her hips - all the more so because it was so obviously unconscious - as she walked on the deck, the man's hand resting possessively on the small of her bared back, the full lushness and rondure of her body more than revealed by the remarkable, scandalous dress she was wearing. No wonder the customer was late, he thought as he caught a brief flashing glimpse of the side of one heavy perfectly-shaped breast.

That familiar yet alien thrill of feeling so many eyes had accompanied her as they made their way through the hotel lobby. Honor could feel the stares of the other guests, running the gamut from envy-tinged female regard to open male admiration, the heat inexorably rising up from somewhere around her bared navel all the way up to her face as the sensation made its way up and down her spine again.

She was being displayed again, for the second time on the same day by the same virtual stranger, and much as she knew she shouldn't, much as her cheeks threatened to melt off her flushing face ... she loved it, loved the attention, the scandalized eyes, the furtive male glances. She felt utterly beautiful, desirable, and thoroughly, deliciously wicked as she reveled in it all, the male lust and female envy - and hostility - embracing her new found exhibitionism as she held his hand, pressing close to him, his touch her anchor and lifeline as she held her head up high beside him, calmly meeting eyes behind the anonymity of her black mask until 'they' turned away, any sense of modesty she still possessed quietened by the simple fact that she was his slut - his whore.

The lobby had not been full, but it was more than busy enough. She had felt the multitude of male eyes lingering on her jiggling breasts as she walked, felt them traveling up her thighs as they flashed out of the scandalously high slit of her skirt, felt them undressing her and trying to imagine the face behind the mask as she waited for the valet to drive the sleek black new model Mercedes cabriolet to the Grand Imperial's entrance from the basement.

She playfully furled her lip at him as his hand went below her back to cup her butt again, sinfully unconcerned with watching eyes as the maitre'd finally brought them to their seats.

"It's so beautiful." Honor breathed excitedly, looking around them, captivated.

The table was a round teak wood affair surrounded by high-backed, leather-cushioned bench seats, a bouquet in a gold-patterned vase the same cream color as the table linen in the middle. Soft instrumental music played quietly in the background, on speakers mounted as artfully and unobstusively as the expertly mounted pearlescent lights softly illuminating the deck.

It wasn't perfect, she concluded as Marq sat next to her, but it wasn't far off.

The steward's name tag said his name was 'Thanom' and he bowed slightly and asked, "Would you like the automated tour guide on or off?"

Honor was confused at the question for a moment, but Marq firmly answered as she understood. "On, thank you."

The steward bowed again and left.

"All of this for just the two of us?" she asked.

"A business acquaintance of mine actually owns the yacht. When he's not here, he hires it out for private tours and parties," he said. "And also, I'm a selfish man, and I want you all to myself."

As if on cue, the boat horn sounded then, and within a minute it was moving away from the pier, engines loudly rumbling as the pilot began to the process of steering the boat out to join the evening river traffic. There was a faint crackle from the speakers and the music quietened to the background as a voice came on. "Good evening our honored guests. It is my pleasure to welcome you on board the Queen of the River as we go down the River of Kings ..." The automated tour guide's English came with a very English accent, and Honor listened as it gave a quick description of the circuit around the nine major piers of the river the boat was going to take, the sights they were going to see and its wish that the guests enjoy the cruise and their dinner.

She looked at him, eyes bright. "Thank you," she said again.

"You're welcome." He smiled back at her, the corners of his mouth only going up slightly but the smile reaching his eyes. "I'm glad you like it."

She shook her head. "I love it."

The steward came back just then, menu booklets in hand, once again revealing a ild Australian accent when he spoke. "Would the lady and gentleman like to look at the menu and winelist?" He was trying hard not to stare at her, and for the most part he was succeeding, even if not with flying colors.

Honor smiled at him, and smiled even more when she saw him reflexively swallow. A true professional, his eyes remained fixed on her masked face. "Yes, please."

"Just the menu for me, thank you," Marq said.

She raised an eyebrow, menu in hand, after the steward withdrew to give them time to order. "Anything wrong with the wines?"

Marq looked from the menu in his hands and gave her a neutral look. "I don't drink alcohol."

That brought her up short; another new thing she was learning about Marq Haydn. "May I ask why?"

He shrugged minutely. "Just don't like it. I never have."

Her curiosity was piqued, despite herself. "Anything in particular you don't like about it?"

He looked at her. "The smell, the taste, the after effects in the morning. Not particularly enamored of anything about it."

"So you don't drink at all?"

"No." He smiled. "Am I missing out?"

She thought about it; this impromptu - no doubt massively expensive - river cruise, the hotel suite, the impossibly beautiful car, the ten thousand dollars he'd casually paid for her. "No ... I don't think so." He looked at her in meaningful silence after that, and Honor had the distinct impression that she'd just been subjected to a test, and she suspected she had passed it, her suspicion confirmed when he smiled at her again, the smile easily reaching up to his eyes.

When 'Thanom' came back, she smiled at him again, and again he swallowed and tried manfully to keep his eyes from the smooth valley of her breasts to her bared belly. Standing as he was over her, he couldn't exactly avoid it, and it amused her to see him trying so hard.

"Are you ready to place your orders, Sir? Madam?"

"Yes," Marq said. "The lady and I would have the prawn and mango and peach chutney please for the starter." He looked up to see her non-plussed look at his ordering for her and raised an eyebrow. "Is the lady allergic to shellfish?"

She looked at him for a moment, then she shook her head.

"Excellent." Marq turned his attention back to the hovering waiter. "One plate for two then."

The man finished scribbling on his notepad. "Are you ready to order the main course? Or should I return later ...?"

"No. I believe we can order now," Marq said. "I will have the Gai Pad Prig. The Khao Pad Kaphrao Goong for two." He looked up from the menu at her. "And I would recommend the Pla Muk Pad Phed for the lady ... if she has no objection?"

'Squid liberally spiced with chillies, garlic, basil leaves and cooked with lemon grass and a touch of coconut milk' per the menu, Honor saw, looking at the menu, not at all surprised that he'd somehow identified something she very well might have ordered herself. She looked up at Thanom and nodded.

"Chicken with chillies, basil leaves and garlic. The basil, prawn and coconut fried rice for the gentleman. And the calamari with basil leaves and chillies for the lady," Thanom confirmed, writing in his notepad with quick efficient penstrokes, in Thai. "What about your drinks?"

Marq glanced at the menu again. "The star fruit and pineapple juice mix please."

"Yes sir." Thanom turned back to Honor and resolutely fixed his eyes somewhere around her forehead. "And the lady ...?"

Honor was silent for a moment. "The maracuja and mango blend for me, thank you," Honor said, lifting her eyes up to meet Marq's.

Thanom the steward dutifully wrote it down. "Would you be ordering anything from the winelist?"

Honor smiled at Marq's subtly raised eyebrows, feeling the heat flush on her face. "No," she said meaningfully, "thank you."

The steward could tell that some unspoken message had just passed between them as he nodded again. "Your order will be ready within the next ten minutes. Would you like your drinks now or with the starter?"

Marq regarded her for a long moment before he spoke to an expectant Thanom. "We'd like the drinks with the starter."

"Very good, sir." Thanom bowed, unable to stop his eyes on lingering on Honor's exposed skin, and left.

"What if I don't like your recommendation?" Honor asked when the waiter was out of earshot, giving him a level look.

"You will," he answered simply, confident.

She stared at him, lips parting slightly. "Careful," she said quietly, squirming in her seat. "A woman can be full of surprises."

He reached for her hand on the table, his eyes locked on hers as he lifted it up and brought it to his mouth. "True."

She was silent at that. In truth, she was just as surprised as he was.

She looked down at herself for the umpteenth time, at her almost fully exposed breasts, her bared belly - a small part of her still in shock that sensible, disciplined Honor Banet could wear what she was wearing out in public, even with a mask. Although, after letting him fuck her in a hotel parking lot, parade her in a top that only just covered her modesty through a hotel lobby and finally strip her naked and slide his cock into her pussy, and actually fuck her, out in a hotel corridor where anyone could have seen them, where - she felt herself flush - someone 'had' seen them ...

She shuddered as he kissed the inside of her wrist, the tip of his tongue tracing where it met her palm, the moist heat between her legs deepening at his touch. Her body's near Pavlovian reaction to him after two days of constant sex warred with the beauty of night-time Bangkok on both sides of the Chao Phraya for her attention.

"Stop it," she said, making no move to withdraw her hand.

"Why?"

She looked at him. "It's distracting."

"That's the idea," he said, slipping his hand through the open front of her dress.

Honor looked down at his hand, just resting on the soft swell of her stomach, just over her belly button, feeling her heart flutter, the tell-tale warmth between her legs, and then up at him.

He bent his head down and kissed her, teasing her lips open with his tongue.

Honor moaned as pure unadulterated need came roaring to the fore, daring and hungry, the possible eyes around them fading to insignificance. "You're looking for trouble," she said when he broke the kiss, voice driven low as she leaned forward, giving him an expansive view of her cleavage and more. His eyes flickered down to her breasts as she displayed them for him and Honor distinctly saw his breath catch. It was barely noticeable, but it sent another flush of heat up to her neck.

In response, he kissed her again, the hand on her belly pulling her up closer.

She moaned when he let her go again, voice husky and all invitation to go as far as he wished. "We should have stayed in the hotel if this is what you had in mind."

He kissed her again, shutting her up, his hand still on her belly, kneading gently as she made a tiny keening noise of delight. When he finally let her go again, she was practically sitting on his lap, the warmth in her abdomen a raging inferno, spreading goosebumps all over her skin, her nipples jutting even more on her gently heaving breasts. "Either you stop now ..." she whispered, she looked up, eyes smoldering. "... or you're going to have to make love to me right here. On the table. With everyone in Bangkok watching you fuck me."

For a moment, Honor was gripped by a surge of fear and excitement that he just might do it. Yank the dress off her - it was certainly not going to be difficult by any measure - throw her on the table and push himself inside her. Even with the mask, that might be crossing the line ...

"Later," he said roughly, all dark promise, and then his hand left her belly as he let her go.

She was almost disappointed.

"Unless, it's really what you want, Miss Banet." His eyes were glinting dangerously

She stared at him. She wanted it. But it went too far. Even now. She shook her head, mouth dry, and he smiled.

Thanom came with their order just as the announcer finished pointing out the iconic Oriental Hotel, the tray expertly balanced on his upturned palm, ten minutes exactly having elapsed. The waiter bowed before he carefully unloaded his tray, first the drinks in front of the individual who ordered it, two tiny plates in front of both of them, and then placing the large platter of still steaming giant tiger prawns in a centered bowl with their tails up, surrounded by a moat of orange with small flecks of red and green on the table between them.

"Thank you," Honor said, smiling brightly at the waiter, stroking her leg against the frustratingly relaxed man under the table.

He bowed again, and then he pointed to a small unobstrusive button on the table. "Please do not hesitate to press the call button should you require anything else. Your main order should be ready in ten minutes." Thanom retreated, visibly struggling to keep his eyes under control.

"On the right," the announcer intoned. "you'll see the Holy Rosary Church, built in 1786 by the Portuguese during the reign of King Rama the First ..." The beautiful cream painted building with its tall steeple and giant cross on top passed by, an unconscious smile blossoming on her face as she took it in.

Marq picked up a prawn by the tail and dipped it into the orange goo. "Open your mouth."

Honor obediently opened her mouth and leaned forward for him to feed her, biting the chutney covered prawn off just at the tail. It tasted wonderful, a perfect combination of sweet and hot.

He placed the prawn tail on the small saucer sized plate in front of him. "You like it?"

"It's amazing ...!" Honor exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically.

Marq trailed another prawn through the red flecked orange goo and held it up for her again.

This time she used her tongue, leaning forward so he could get another wonderful view of her cleavage down to her belly, licking off the chilli flecked mango sauce in light twirling strokes before biting the prawn off and leaving the tail in his hand. Honor raised her eyebrows at him, teasing, amusedly noting his subtle shifting in his seat despite his studiedly neutral expression. Then, as he shifted again, she reached for the bowl and picked up a prawn. She dipped it into the mango and chilli mix and held it to his mouth. "Open up."

He did, and she fed him, opening her mouth for him when it was his turn. Her breasts were pressed against him and her hand was caressing the back of his neck as she finally took the last prawn up to his mouth, caught up in the sensuality of feeding a lover and being fed by him in turn, barely conscious of the announcing system pointing out the sites on either side of the river in its multitude of languages; the King Rama I Memorial Bridge, the Santa Cruz Church, the Wat Pratum Khong Ka, all lit up and bright against the night sky.

Her hand made its way to the front of his pants under the table as she brought his head down to her, the moist heat between her legs going up another notch as she found him hard. His hand was back on her belly, sliding into her dress and kneading gently as she moaned against his mouth, arching into the kiss, excited and totally oblivious of the sights passing them by. His erection strained against his pants under her caressing hand and she was breathing hard when he broke the kiss again, again not quite ready for it to end yet.

"Later," he said again.

Honor stared at him, teeth gritted and flushed as she visibly struggled to compose herself. "I hate you," she said, arousal and sudden frustrated anger making her voice rough.

He just smiled.

Honor let out a growl as she yanked his lips down to hers again, her hand behind his neck as she licked hungrily at his lips. Then she bit him, a quick nip hard enough to make him stiffen in surprise. Then she let go of him and very matter of factly shifted away on the seat with a 'serves-you-right' look on her face.

"Ouch," he said, looking amused as he brought his hand to his lip.

"Later," she also promised, mimicking his voice.

It was then that Thanom chose to come over to their table with their main course, once again displaying his impeccable sense of timing and tray balancing skills. He laid the tray on the table and swiftly unloaded their plates and cutlery before the still steaming main dishes in the center. He smiled. "Would you like me to serve?" On Honor's smiling nod, he took up each plate and ladled food unto it, swiftly and professionally arranging squid, chicken and rice into a practiced aesthetically pleasing pattern on the fine porcelain before returning the plate to its place. "Would you like to see the dessert menu now or later?"

"I don't think there's going to be any room for dessert," Honor said, looking at the quantity of food, and looking back up at Thanom. "But can I see it anyway? Later?"

"Certainly," Thanom said.

Honor smiled at him again. "Thank you."

"Do enjoy your meal." He bowed his head, his eyes taking another quick involuntary tour of Honor's body, and left.

They ate, silence reigning as they spent the first few minutes simply savoring the food, Honor pausing every now and again to see the sights being announced by the public announcement system. The white ramparts of the Vichai Prasit, the ancient fort that now housed the Royal Thai Navy headquarters passed them on the left and Honor found herself smiling, entranced. She turned to look at him. "Thank you," she said again.

"You're welcome," Marq smiled, not hiding his pleasure at her delight. He pointed. "There's the Wat Arun ..."

Honor let out a quiet gasp of wonder as the sight of the Temple of the Dawn came into view. The Wat's five 'prangs', from its iconic massive central spire to its four smaller sattelites were all lit up against the light sky, golden as it reflected off the sea shells and porcelain covering the Ayutthaya temple's walls.

"It's named after Aruna, the Hindu god of the sun," Marq told her when they were finally past it. They had both gone silent as they floated past the huge temple. "The central prang is supposed to represent Mount Meru and the four smaller ones are dedicated to Phra Phrai, the wind god."

"Mount Meru?"

"It's sort of like the Mount Olympus of Hindu mythology. It's supposed to be over a million kilometers high and the home of Brahma, the god of all creation."

"Nerd," she said, smiling at him. Then she added. "You'd actually make a good tour guide."

He grinned. "But not as good as Jao ...?"

"But not as good as Jao," she agreed, giggling.

"I'm at least as good as Chailai ..." he insisted.

Honor shook her head. "No!"

He laughed. The boat took them past the Wat Pho, the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Keuw grounds, the Wat Mahathat, the Phra Sumane Fort, the Wat Rakang Kositharam, the Wat Rachathiwat and the Wat Galayanamitr, all brilliantly lit up against the Bangkok night sky. The sight of the temples made her fall silent each time, a smile blossoming on her face as Marq told her the story of each one - all, he revealed, he had learned from Jao on his visits to Bangkok. Many other sights on the Thai River of Kings drew her attention, but none held her as enraptured as the temples and the magnificence of their tall spires and their ornately patterned buildings.

Finally, the Queen of the River's horn sounded, its great engines thrumming loudly as the yacht started its turn for the journey home. Displaying his perfect sense of timing again, Thanom came to clear their table and deliver the dessert menu, placing it in front of Honor on the table with a wide smile, eyes determinedly fixed on her forehead. Honor immediately picked the menu up, murmuring her thanks, looking at the pictures, noting the ingredients and figuring out how they all came together. She'd almost gone through two pages when she looked up to see Marq watching her.

She smiled apologetically, self-conscious. "I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize," he said. "I enjoyed watching you."

Her smile turned shy, a flush of heat crawling up her neck, and for a moment she couldn't look at him.

Marq reached a hand toward her. "Come dance with me."

The music had become less formal, lighter, somewhere along the way, and something familiar, tugging at Honor's memory, was playing.

Honor smiled wider, and placed her hand in his.

The dancefloor, it turned out, was just a few feet away from the table, a long rectangle of lighter wood and grooved fiber-glass on the deck. She put her arms around his neck, moving herself up close against him, feeling her breasts pressing against his chest. His fingers began tracing tiny patterns on the bared small of her back as she looked up at him, smiling, her hand going to the back of his neck.

She brought his head down and kissed him, going on her tip-toes as she pushed her tongue past his lips, moaning as his hand cupped her bottom through the thinness of her dress and she felt his swelling member against her belly.

Finally she broke the kiss, smiling widely and bright eyed with mischief at him as she drew back. "Hmmm ..." she murmured. "I think I like dancing with you."

Marq looked at her, an eyebrow quirking up in amusement. "I'm not so sure this qualifies as 'dancing' ..."

She pouted, playful. "Where I come from, this 'qualifies' quite nicely, Mr. Haydn."

"Really?"

She giggled. "Really."

He made a thoughtful face. "I think I'm going to enjoy visiting where you come from then, Miss Banet."

She giggled again, and then she went on her toes to softly kiss him again, and again, and again - each kiss a slow and soft affair, the slow teasing eroticism of it making her breathing elevated as she repeatedly sought his lips with hers, feeling him reacting to her. A part of her wondered amusedly at the utter destruction of her 'no kissing' rule as she drew him down with a delighted moan, licking at his lips.

That's when it came to her, just where she'd heard the slow jazzy tune playing over the speakers, why it sounded so familiar; it was the same song the live band was playing as her fiancee was dancing with his married lover, her presence, with her heart breaking into tiny pieces, unnoticed by the two of them.

The memory was so sharp, so detailed, it made her freeze, her lips stiffening against his for barely noticeable moment. But of course, he noticed.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning away from her. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing at all." She went up to brush another kiss on his lips and rest her head on his chest, avoiding his entirely too-perceptive eyes. She felt him hesitate for a moment, but then, to her relief, his fingers resumed their exploring circuit on the small of her back.

Her mind churned. 'Could it have been only three days ago?', Honor wondered. And was she any better than her cheating fiancee? was her next thought as she remembered allowing another man into her body barely twenty-four hours after her discovery ... and the multitude of times since then.

Did it really make any difference that David had betrayed her first?

For a moment, she imagined what would have happened if she had not discovered David's affair with her neighbor ... if she had not seen him dancing with Jillian Blake. Then she wouldn't be here, she wouldn't have met - and been bought, she reminded herself - by this man holding her right now, she thought. She would have gone upstairs and knocked on her fiancee's door at the Bangkok Excelsoir, and he would have let her in while Marq got into his cab downstairs to go to his own hotel, their paths never crossing.

The jumble of emotions that welled up inside her at the thought, how her body reacted to Marq's touch, even now as they swayed gently together on the yacht's deck, only left her more confused.

As if reading her mind, Marq leaned away from her once more, making her look up at him again. "I ask again; what is it?"

"Are you married?" Honor couldn't stop herself from blurting it out, and she couldn't stop the heat flushing to her face afterward.

He smiled down at her. "No, I'm not married," he said.

She opened her mouth to ask another imprudent question, thought better of it, and shut it again, inwardly cursing herself. Because she knew even then that it wouldn't be enough.

He was all predator now that he'd seen an opening. "What else do you want to ask me?"

Honor looked back at him. "I don't think it's a good idea to make this any more ... complicated than it is already."

He smiled. "So you think you should avoid learning anything more about me."

She nodded.

"What if I don't agree?"

She shook her head. "You have to," she insisted.

"Not good enough."

"I'm leaving tomorrow, and we're never going to see each other again. What could possibly be the point?"

He considered that for all of a half-second. "But what if we do see each other again?"

Honor didn't want to say anything to that, to even think about it.

"Look at me Honor Banet," he said. "What happens then?"

"I'm engaged ..."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Try again."

Honor bit her lip, knowing that if she opened her mouth, she'd be opening a door that she might not be able to close.

"Tell me your favorite fruit," he said.

That seemed safe enough. "I have more than one." She smiled. "Lychees. Mangoes. You?"

"Cherries," he said. He cocked his head. "Was that so bad?"

She shook her head, despite the ringing alarm bells. "No."

"I'm an investor and management consultant," he said, next. "And you're a patissier."

She took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment, then she opened her eyes and nodded, giving in. "Yes," she said, flushing as she remembered being nude in the parking lot, her pussy already full of his cum as he fondled and caressed her, making her even more wet, effortlessly arousing her despite her protests, which had somehow included telling him what she did for a living.

He leaned toward, his forehead touching hers. "Tell me about it."

She licked her lips again, debating with herself even though she already knew how she would respond. "What do you want to know?"

He smiled, eyes locked on hers. "Everything."

So she did.

How she first started cooking with her grandmother when she was little more than a toddler. The first time she helped her mother make a cake for her father on his birthday and how it became a tradition for every member of her family every birthday after that. The first time she bought a recipe book, one she still had on her shelf. How she started taking cookies and muffins to school for her friends and experimenting with tarts, swirls and scones on her sisters and their friends. The first time she took an order for a classmate's birthday party at thirteen and the immediate influx of orders from her classmates and the entire neighborhood. The first time she won a competition, where she received her first kiss at the same location from a crush who was a fellow teenage competitor.

Her realization that it was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Her acceptance to study at L'Ecole Des Arts Culinaires in Bordeaux on the strength of her blueberry and coconut cream chocolate eclair immediately after secondary school. Her decision to get a degree in nutrition from the University of Bordeaux at the same time and infuse that knowledge into her creations. Her first jobs when she got back home in the high pressure world of five star hotel and restaurant high cuisine. Her dream of opening her own small patisserie.

She didn't tell him about her storage space and how much of her life's savings had been absorbed by the equipment she kept there. Or how much she needed the bank to approve her loan application so she could move them into a permanent home.

He teased her at first, exasperating her, but in return, he told her about his grandfather who had emigrated to Switzerland after Austria was absorbed into the Third Reich and how his father met his Afro-Brazilian mother decades later in Geneva where she was a student - explaining his tan skin, French first name, Portuguese middle name and distinctively Austrian last name. He told her of his degrees in Engineering and Applied Mathematics from the University College of London and the Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich and his movement into the world of finance, his living and working - but "mostly working" he averred - in Singapore, Buenos Aires, London and his home city of Zurich.

She told him more about her Tamil maternal grandmother, from whom she got her caramel skin, who had died when she was eight but had already successfully passed on her love for cooking to her and her sisters.

They made it back to the table by that time, and Honor found herself, on his insistence, seated on Marq Haydn's lap, something she was finding herself enjoying a lot more than a mere leather cushion, especially since he apparently just couldn't keep his hands to himself.

"She must have been a very beautiful woman."

Honor smiled. "She was. My grandfather waited outside her school every day for a month just to look at her as she left - he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. It took him another month to get up the courage to go across the street and talk to her."

"In India?"

"Yes," Honor said. "He was an engineer with the rail company and she was just about to finish secondary school. He took her with him when he went back to England."

"Let me guess," he said. "You look a lot like her, don't you?"

"Everyone says that." She smiled. "How do you know?"

"Because I can easily imagine someone standing outside a school for a month just to catch a glimpse of you."

She felt heat blossoming on her cheeks again, but she didn't look away from him. "How do you do that?"

"How do I do what?"

"Make me feel ... beautiful?" she answered, meeting his eyes. "Just by looking at me?"

For a long while, he said nothing, just looked at her, and she squirmed in his lap, feeling the hardness of his swelling member underneath her, heat spreading through her body, curling low and heavy into her abdomen. Then he smiled, all predator. "How can I convince you that you are the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"My butt is too big."

"Is it?" He grinned, hands going there as it to make sure for himself. "I think it's just the right size ..."

"No, it's not ..!" she insisted, "And I've got cellulite."

He laughed.

"And, for my size, my breasts are too big ..." she added.

"I speak for all men," he deadpanned. "Your breasts are what we call 'perfect' ..."

She let out a derisive sniff, muttering under her breath. "Men!"

He laughed again, his hand going to her belly.

She smiled, enjoying his touch. "Here's a newsflash for you. They're going to sag."

She expected it, and yet neither did nor said anything to stop his hand as it went up to spread open the already too-wide neckline of her dress - just that tiny bit - wider. She quivered, squirming in his lap again as one of her boobs spilled out, full and naked, her already hardened nipple stiffening even more in the night's breeze. She let out a soft breath as he cupped her exposed breast, shuddering as his thumb stroked over the dark brown nub at the tip of it.

"Someone's going to see us," she said after a long blissful moment, a perfunctory nod to modesty, making no move to cover herself.

He took her lips again, ignoring her, kissing her softly and then with more heat as she put her hands on his chest and leaned into him. Then finally, he broke the kiss, and again she watched him spread the dress - again just that little bit more, freeing her other breast as she shuddered again in reaction. He kissed her again, making her moan as he fondled and caressed her, teasing her nipples until they were full and erect, pebble hard and sensitive.

Finally, he broke the kiss and then he leaned forward and bent his head to kiss her breasts, his lips and tongue raising goosebumps on the sensitive skin. She threw her head back as his mouth closed on her nipples, one after the other, sucking hard, each one making her choke out a loud whimpering sob.

All thoughts of modesty and propriety were thoroughly gone from her mind when he finally let her go, his hand now on her belly, her heavily swollen nipples both pointing rudely at him. Neither of them made a move to cover her up.

"Are you convinced now?" he asked.

"Of what?" she breathed, confused.

"That you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?"

"Is that how you usually convince a woman?"

He smiled. "Only when I really mean it." He cocked his head. "Did it work?"

She looked at him for a moment. Then she reached behind her head to remove the mask and drop it on the table. She leaned forward, her arms going around his neck, suspending her lips just above his, her smile wider, naughtier. "I think you should try again ..."

He smiled and kissed her again, and then his mouth was on her breasts again, tightening around her swollen hard nipples, a moan escaping her parted lips as his tongue touched her, teased her. The Queen of the River's horn sounded just then, its home pier within sight, its loud blaring joining her whimpers of delight as he - there was no other way to describe it - made love to her breasts, adding to the cacophony of the sights and sounds of the Thai capital on the River of Kings.