Then Kansatsu had clapped his hands twice and the onlookers broke up； class was out for the day。
Nicholas found that he was trembling； the muscles jumping as if out of control under the sheath of his skin。 Tension and adrenalin both still coursed through him； having been released in enormous quantities by the stress situation。 His mind knew that that was over but his body needed more time to acmodate itself to a return to normalcy。
He breathed deeply； in and out。 It was like a shudder。
When he returned home that evening； it was not one of the servants who opened the door at his approach。 Nor was it Cheong。 It was； rather； Yukio。
He had not seen her in three years and then it was only one brief afternoon at a family funeral。 It had been three and a half years since their incendiary meeting and he had never forgotten her。
She bowed。 'Good evening； Nicholas。' She wore a。 dove…grey kimono with platinum…coloured threads running through it vertically。 It had a midnight…blue wheel…and…spoke pattern that recalled the signs of the feudal daiymyo。
He bowed in return。 'Good evening； Yukio。'
She stood aside for him to enter； her eyes on the floor in front of her。 'You are surprised to see me。'
He put his bag down； never taking his eyes off her face。 'I haven't seen you in years。'
'Aunt Itami brought me this afternoon while you were at the dojo。 I came up to stay with them but the house is being partially remodelled； including the spare bedroom。'
He took her through the house； out of the back shoji。 They stepped out into the night in the Zen garden。
It was clear； just a few stray clouds rising like wisps of smoke low on the horizon。 The full moon was enormous； its reflected light turning the air aqueous； everything was bathed in blue shadows。 He watched the soft light outline her profile； throwing her eyes into deep shadow。 She might have been a statue at the Shinto shrine hidden within the cryptomeria。 They might have been under water。
A nightingale called softly from the treetops high over their heads； and farther away came the long； lonely hoot of a snow owl。
'I've never been to Kyoto；' he said。 It was where she lived。
'You must e some time。' Her head turned slightly。 She was staring at the mountains of the rocks； raising themselves like living entities above the lawn of round stones。 Her voice was like velvet in the night。 They stood quite still； not touching。 'It's very beautiful。'
Not as beautiful as you； Nicholas thought。 He felt his heart beating hard。 'I still remember what happened。'
She turned to face him and the moonlight glinted off her pupils。 'What do you mean？'
Now he felt a fool。 'At the party。' He paused。 'When we danced。。。'
She laughed a bit self…consciously。 'Oh； that。 I had forgotten。'
He felt a bit deflated。 He had felt before that part of her ing here was because of him。 He saw how idiotic that was now。 That one incident had happened three and a half years ago。 Why should she remember it？
'Was Saigo at the dojo today？'
'Yes。 I hadn't seen him for some time。 He's joined another ryu； I expect。'
'Perhaps that's why he goes to Kyushu a lot。'
He stared at her。 'Kyushu？'
She nodded。 'It's my Uncle Satsugai's doing； I'm certain。 They're always plotting this or that when they're together。 I can't imagine that Saigo would take it into his head on his own to go so far away。 Anyway； it's a secret； I know that much。'
'How do you know that？'
'I asked Aunt Itami once and she acted as if she hadn't heard a word I'd said。'
'I'm sure it's nothing； then。'
Yukio merely shrugged； putting her arms across her breasts。 'Can we go in？ I'm hungry。'
They went into the house and Nicholas excused himself。 He went off to his room and； throwing off his dirty robe； padded into the bathroom。 He turned on the shower； stepped inside the stall。 Someone as traditional as Itami would； perhaps； prefer the bath but Nicholas had no such predispositions。
It was good to feel the hot water on his body and he began to soap himself； his thoughts on the day at the dojo。 He had wanted to talk to Kansatsu after the match with Saigo but that had proved impossible。 Why hadn't he mentioned the match to Yukio？ There had been ample opportunity when she had brought up Saigo。 He shrugged； dismissing the thought。
He turned his head； curious。 A shadow had been thrown against the frosted glass of the shower…stall。 It condensed in size。 The person was ing into the bathroom。 He turned off the water； opened the door。 He stood perfectly still。 Water beaded his skin； glistening in the fluorescent light of the bathroom； which had turned her skin opalescent。
'You are quite beautiful；' Yukio said。 She was naked。 She held a bath towel over one arm。 She did not offer it to him。
He watched her face for any sign of what she might be thinking。 He thought of her words。 He saw hunger in her eyes。
He was seventeen and she two years his senior。 In terms of chronology it wasn't much but now it seemed like light…years。 Despite all his training； his careful schooling； his cool intellect； he felt lost beside her； as if she were some doorway to a world for which he had been totally unprepared。
She took one step towards him。 Her lips opened and she said something。 It might have been as mundane as 'Do you want this？' He couldn't tell。 One leg was extended in front of the other； as his had been earlier at the dojo as the beginning of the interlacing cross。 Her tiny ankle； the flesh of the calf； the extended knee； the long sweep of her thigh。
Something inside him； high up at the top of his brain； seemed to rise up； beginning to float away； as if someone unknown had chopped at the last cables holding him to the earth。 It went twisting away； diminishing in size with such rapidity that he forgot that it had ever been a part of him。 'e here；' he said thickly and his hand reached out； brushing the towel from her arm。 It pooled on the glistening tile floor as her arms lifted to him。
'Yukio。' But a breath。
Her breasts were high and round； the dark nipples long and already very hard。 Her narrow waist； her creamy belly。 The dark mound of her mons was highly arched。
Her arms came around him and he enclosed her open mouth。
She slid her body against his； not using her hand at all； only her lips against his own； down his neck； back upwards again； almost desperate in their urgency。 Her breasts rubbed along the wet flesh of his chest； picking up the moisture； her mound was against him； gently massaging。
Her lips were at his ear and he heard her whisper； 'Turn on the water。'
He half turned； reaching behind them both to spin the taps。 Hot water gushed down； inundating them； and as he turned back to her； he found that he was already deep inside her。 He gasped。 By what magic had she acplished that？ Sensations rolled like liquid thunder upward from his groin； engulfing him。
As he began to move against her； he saw her head float back； upturned； the wet hair cascading down like a stream at midnight。 Her face was in the rush of water； her eyes rolling backwards； and her mouth wide open in a soundless scream。 He could hear panting。 Her arms came up； reaching over their bobbing heads to grasp the slippery chrome spout。 Her knuckles turned white。 Her thighs rose until they were locked around his waist and he was supporting her with his body。 Her belly ground in hard circular movements as if she could not get enough of him and he was obliged to put his hands on her waist so that she wouldn't throw； herself from their wet connection。 The fierce heaving's of her body mounted。 It was like trying to hang on to a wild animal in the shuddering throes of death。
She began to scream now and abruptly he understood why she had wanted the water on。 The pleasure was being unbearable and his legs began to tremble with the effort and the straining for release。 Dimly he became aware that she was saying something to him。
'Hit me；' she moaned。 'Hit me。'
He thought that in this state he must have misheard her but she repeated it over and over； a litany。 Her breasts shook； rivulets of moisture ran down her supple flesh。 Her body was arched backward； her hands still gripping the spout； their body's pistoning frantica