Tempted Tigress

by Jade Lee

  “We will do together,” she finished for him.

  He smiled, taking her hand in his and drawing her to his side. “I have had a chamber prepared for us.”

  From Anna Marie Thompson’s journal:

  September 21, 1895

  I can’t stop. I have tried and tried, but I can’t quit taking opium. The dreams haunt my nights, and I spend all my money on it. I am so afraid that one day the pain will get too much and I will steal from Samuel. I can’t. He will kill me.

  But the dreams come, and they’re so real. Dead men whose blood gushes hot into the dirt. Living men in an opium stupor. And I know I’m one of them, with dead eyes but a beating heart. And then, worst of all—the memories I can’t remember except when I relive them in dreams. The times with men and unspeakable things. The things I allowed. The dungs I did…

  I’m not even a whore, because I wasn’t paid.

  I want to die.

  I want to stop.

  I have to stop or I will die.

  I have to stop.

  Suppose there were people from another country who carried opium for sale to England and seduced your people into buying and smoking it; certainly you would deeply hate it and be bitterly aroused… Formerly the number of opium smugglers was small; but now the vice has spread far and wide, and the poison penetrated deeper.

  —Lin Zexu, high commissioner of Canton, in a letter to Queen Victoria, 1839

  Chapter Seventeen

  Anna wasn’t sure what to expect. Enlightenment through sex seemed to be a silly, heathen idea. But Zhi-Gang was the best educated, smartest man she’d ever met. And more important, he didn’t have to lie to get her into bed. Why fall back on an elaborate religion just to sleep with her? Because he believed it? He couldn’t possibly think that he could commune with angels just from bed play.

  Apparently, he did. His manner was excruciatingly serious as he escorted her into the best bedchamber in the brothel. The house was closed for the night, which meant most of the prostitutes were gone or taking a much needed rest. That left the large building eerily quiet. Fortunately, the room they were in had been cleaned, the bedding changed, and the window open enough to let a soft breeze ripple through the faded silk tapestries.

  Anna stood in the middle, next to the massive bed, and felt the most bizarre urge to giggle. She ruthlessly suppressed it, but that only made the feeling worse. Like a held-down jack-in-the-box, her mirth twisted and bubbled inside her, refusing to be denied.

  “Are you hungry? I could have them bring up dumplings.”

  His statement wasn’t funny, but she lost control anyway. A snort burst out of her mouth. He looked at her in startled surprise. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  “Um, no,” she finally managed with all seriousness. “I’m not hungry.”

  He nodded, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down her spine, but it also released another giggle. She tried to swallow it, but it slipped into her nose where she both snorted and choked at the same time. All in all, it was not an attractive moment. And yet, when she looked up at him, she saw humor in his eyes.

  “You are nervous,” he said.

  “I…” The word came out as a high-pitched trill.

  “I understand.” He reached out to touch her face, but stopped just short. “It is a frightening thing, this attempt to speak to angels.”

  “It’s…” She stopped just short of saying it was ridiculous. He knew her opinion, and she had agreed to try. So she adjusted her thoughts and her words. “It’s a different thing,” she said. “And I am not one who leaps easily into things that are different.”

  He frowned. “You left an orphanage to follow your adopted father. You ran opium up and down China. You tried to escape on the Grand Canal carrying that opium. I have never met a woman more different than you!”

  She laughed, the sound coming easily now. “Nevertheless, there is different and then…” she dropped her voice. “There is different.”

  This time, his hand did touch her cheek. “There is no reason to fear. I am with you.”

  She closed her eyes, turning her face into his caress. She felt each of his calloused fingers as it curved across her cheek and under her chin. Then she felt his thumb roll over her lips and realized she was still smiling. How odd, that she would do such a thing as smile with the Enforcer. But she did. He made her smile, and she wasn’t even sure why.

  “I am not afraid,” she whispered. Her words echoed through her heart and mind with more meaning than she expected. He kept her safe. Whatever else she felt around him—for him—she wasn’t afraid, and that made all the difference.

  She darted her tongue out to taste the pad of his thumb. Her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see his response, but she felt his thumb against her mouth. Then he exerted a slow pressure. Her lower lip pushed down and his thumb slipped inside. Again she tongued it, rolling the tip along and around, feeling the changing textures, tasting the faint echo of Little Pearl’s soy dumplings and special tea.

  But the memory of Zhi-Gang’s sister recalled other things to mind—most especially, what they were attempting. She drew back, opening her eyes to see him staring mesmerized at his thumb.

  “That’s probably not the way we’re supposed to begin,” she said.

  He blinked and shook his head. “There are techniques and exercises.” He shrugged. “But my sister tells me that intention and presence are what matter.”

  Anna shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I intend to stimulate your yin, mix it with my yang, and use the combination as a force to launch me to Heaven.”

  She stared at him. His words meant less than nothing to her. They didn’t even appear to mean much to him. His tone was flat, his words spoken quietly. She lifted her hands in a confused gesture. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Let me touch your breasts.”

  Until he spoke the words, she hadn’t been very aware of her breasts. Now she abruptly felt every inch of her chest constricted beneath the tight silk. She felt their weight, their lift and lowering with every breath. And though her nipples hadn’t swollen, there was a slight tingling beneath, as if in preparation for what he intended.

  “I…” She swallowed. “Of course.” She looked down at her silk top, then began fumbling with the buttons at her neck. He extended his hand to help, but she shook her head. “No,” she murmured, strangely reluctant to let him do this. “No. I can do it.”

  He nodded, his hands falling to his side. She was aware of him watching her, following the awkward movement of her fingers and seeing the slow drop of fabric away from her body. The frog clasps began high at her collar, then cut across the top of her shoulder before dropping down her side. As she undid the buttons, the silk dropped open across one breast. She wore no undergarment. There hadn’t been any available. So as she worked, a triangular view of the top of her breast appeared. That exposed skin grew larger and larger until her whole left breast was revealed to both their eyes.

  She glanced up, embarrassment heating her cheeks.

  This was supposed to be a religious experience, a serious seduction, no matter how bizarre it felt. Yet, here she was, bungling the most basic of tasks. Shouldn’t she be moving erotically or doing something enticing? She didn’t know how, didn’t understand what to do, and so she looked at Zhi-Gang hoping for an answer while simultaneously fearing to see his disappointment.

  He didn’t meet her eyes. His gaze was fastened on her breast. She was still trying to undo the last button above her hip. One arm was lifted awkwardly while the other stretched across her to fumble at her waist. There was nothing beautiful in the position, and yet he still appeared fascinated.

  “Why?” she whispered. “Why is that one breast so interesting?”

  He took a moment to answer, but his gaze never left it. “Your skin is so fine it is nearly transparent. I see the veins and the blood
. It is like a tiny net just beneath the skin.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was repulsed or fascinated. His words seemed clinical, and yet as he watched her breast in the fading sunlight she heard awe in his tone.

  “This is very strange,” she murmured.

  He flashed her a grin. “I have never really looked at a woman’s breast before,” he said. “Well, of course as a boy I was fascinated by them. Small ones, big ones, fleshy ones, tight ones—all were intensely amazing. But only because they made my cock hard and my thoughts run to sex. Your breast is…”

  “Just a breast?”

  He shook his head no, but said, “Yes, just a breast. But it is also a thin net of blood and flesh, the source of milk for a child, and the place just above your heart.” He shook his head. “It is just a breast, but it is amazing.”

  She looked down at her body and frowned, seeing nothing unusual in her shape or form. But in her heart, she felt an odd tremble of joy. She loved that he found her body fascinating. She was amazing, and as much as her mind discounted it as silly, her heart was warmed by the compliment.

  “Is this part of the tigress ritual?” she asked, succeeding in unfastening the last of the buttons. She pulled her blouse off, finally exposing her entire upper body. The cool air felt wonderful on her skin, and she wondered if he would find her right side equally fascinating.

  “We use no ritual,” he answered. “Simple intention.”

  “The intent to go to Heaven,” she said.

  “The intent to stimulate your yin,” he responded.

  She didn’t comment. In her experience, she could intend a great many things. She intended to go to England and rejoin her family. She’d intended that for nearly two decades now, and she was still here in China. And even if she made it there, her family didn’t want to know her. Life took a great deal more than simple intention.

  “Sit down on the bed.” He gestured toward the headboard, but then he hurried around her to arrange the pillows.

  She watched him work with a slight frown. “You do not want me to lie down?”

  He shot her a rueful smile. “If you are on your back, there will be no time for intention. I will spread your legs and penetrate you within moments, no matter what I plan.”

  She looked down at his pants and noticed for the first time the tented fabric. The cloth was stretched tight.

  “You want me that much?”

  He nodded. “Did you ever doubt that? I have wanted you from the first moment in the boat. Even before you teased me in your bath, I wanted you. Why else would you think I was watching?”

  She smiled and ducked her head, incredibly pleased that he desired her so much. “Then why not dispense with all this tigress—”

  “No,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but very, very clear. “I wish to try it.”

  She didn’t comment except to climb onto the bed and tuck her legs beneath her as her back pressed against the cushions. She was very aware of her breasts bobbing before him, especially as his gaze remained locked on her chest.

  “Your legs should not be underneath you,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Stretch one out this way and press the other tight to your groin.”

  She moved as he indicated, one leg spread to the side, the other with the heel pushed against her most intimate place. But her skirt was too tight, the position too awkward.

  “I need to take off my skirt.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps we should both undress.”

  They said the words, but neither of them moved. Instead, they stared at each other, and Anna felt awkwardness creep into the air. He must have felt it too, because he glanced down at his body, his face darkening with a dull flush.

  “Yes,” she suddenly said. “Yes, we should both be undressed.” Then she fitted action to her words. She straightened up on her knees and rapidly untied her skirt. Bizarre or not, this was something he wanted to do and so she would not stop now.

  She was out of her skirt in moments, kneeling completely naked on the bed. He too pulled off all his clothes and stood before her. The last of the evening light flowed across the chiseled contours of his proud body. She noted muscles, bones, even the raised bumps of scars, and she found herself thinking the same thing he had said about her breast: Amazing. Each muscle was perfection. The breadth of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist—his body was honed by hours of practice with his knives. And yet he was a scholar, with long fingers well suited to wield a brush over parchment.

  She saw no “netting of blood and flesh,” but she saw a man of determination with the strength to effect his will upon the world. And as she watched, he knelt down on one knee before her as if laying down his very essence as a gift.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, mesmerized by the sight of his silky black queue slipping over his shoulder as he bowed his head.

  He glanced up. “Removing my boots.”

  She nodded, laughing at her fanciful thoughts. He was no more laying his essence before her than she was devoting herself to him. They were simply two people about to engage in the most carnal of acts.

  And yet, as she watched him work the laces on his boots, she struggled with scornful thoughts. Was that truly all she was doing? Was she simply engaging in a sexual act with him, appropriately set in a brothel? No. As much as she feared to admit the truth, she knew there was more between them than simple sex.

  She loved this man. She had known it for awhile, had admitted it to herself some time ago. But tonight’s act held much more significance. Tonight was about…

  He stood before her, interrupting her thoughts as her eyes focused on his sex. It was full and proud, stretching toward her. In truth, she found it a rather strange-looking thing: the tip wet, the head smooth, the sides soft and veiny. Her gaze lifted past his flat abdomen, up the smooth expanse of his chest to his darkened chin and face. All of this was Zhi-Gang, tall and proud. The man she loved. The man she would leave behind with all of China.

  She reached out and touched him. Too far away to stroke his chest, she caressed his narrow belly. His muscles rippled and his sex bobbed in reaction. She would do anything for this man. She would give not only her body, but her spirit to him. And if he wanted to try to use her to talk with angels, she would gladly allow it. Because she loved him.

  Also, because she was leaving him. Tonight was about their love, but it was also about saying good-bye. He had made it clear that there was no place in his heart or country for a white woman. So for the time that they had left together, she would give him all she had and hope that would be enough. If nothing else, it would be one last memory to sustain her on the long voyage to England. And during the rest of her life.

  She lifted her gaze and smiled at him. “What should I do now?”

  “Arrange your legs.”

  She did as he directed, extending her right leg to the side while tucking the left in tight. It was strange having her heel pressed there. Her muscles couldn’t relax in the position, and she didn’t like the feel of her foot, but if this was what he wanted, she would comply.

  She was still trying to settle into position when she felt his hands on her breasts. He cupped her, lifting higher as he thumbed her nipples. He stood beside the bed, his gaze on her breasts as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. Then he abruptly froze and frowned. “I’m supposed to make circles or something. I… I don’t remember.”

  “Is it significant?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, but his hands began caressing again. There was no pattern to his touch, no circles or other shapes, just a focused obsession in his gaze. She didn’t know if it was his total attention to her or the erotic brush of his fingertips, but her body began to tingle.

  She gasped, and her hands twitched. She wanted to touch him, to feel his body, to give him the same pleasure he gave to her. She reached forward, stroking her hand across his hip. He trembled beneath her touch, and when she looked into his eyes, the color seemed to darken and intensify.


  He pulled away. “I am stimulating your yang and combining it with my yin,” he intoned.

  She hesitated, her hand hovering in the air. “I thought I had yin, and you had yang.”

  He blinked and cursed under his breath. His hands stopped moving to flatten over her chest. Then he began slow circles that made her belly shiver, even if it all felt rather strange.

  “I stimulate your yin and combine it with my yang.”

  Unable to resist, she cupped his organ and slowly slid her hand upward. “Can’t I stimulate your yang and combine it with my yin?”

  “No!” he growled, and he moved his hips back out of her reach.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s supposed to be done this way.” He paused. “At least that’s what my sister said. I think…” He sighed, and his hands abruptly dropped to his hips. “Am I being completely ridiculous?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Your sister swears this is how she did it?”

  He nodded.

  “Then we will too.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What should I do next?”

  He looked at her, his eyes unfathomably dark. A slow smile curled across his lips. “Look at me. Hold my gaze, no matter what I do. No matter what happens.”

  She blinked, suddenly nervous. “What do you intend?”

  His smile expanded into a grin. “We have never had any trouble stimulating our energies. I think it is simply the connection we lack. And so we will look at one another; we will join visually and let our eyes be the energy bridge.”

  None of what he said made any sense, but she had made her choice. She met his gaze with her own, even as he reached behind her and adjusted the pillows.

  “You can lie back now. Move your hips this way.”

  She did. She reclined on the pillows while he arranged her legs to dangle over the edge. Then he stood above her, the inside of her knees resting at the tops of his thighs. She wanted to open to him then; she wanted to grip his thighs while he plunged into her. She also wanted to change position and turn away.