"I heard that as well."
"So you believe it, then. You think it is possible."
He took his time answering, but when he did it was with a gravity that surprised her—more than surprised her; it instilled in her a sense of awe. And a purpose.
"I do believe it, Joanna Crane. And more than that, I believe I can accomplish it with you."
"Why?" she breathed, not realizing she spoke until the word had left her mouth. "Why with me?"
He shook his head, as if he weren't going to answer. But then he spoke, his words haunting in their intensity. "I have studied the Middle Path—the Tao—for many years. It has brought me peace and courage when I felt lost." He sighed. "But never has it brought me strength."
She frowned. "But your body has amazing strength and power. You defeated five attackers with ease."
"Not strength of body. Any man can train to attain that. I mean a different kind of strength." His gaze shifted to focus on her face. "An immortal kind of strength. The kind of clarity that takes a man to Heaven."
"Then why—"
"Because I have felt it with you already, Joanna Crane. A taste. That very first time I assisted you with your exercises, I felt it then." He raised his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "I had thought all yin was the same. Much as all women are the same."
She snorted, unable to let that statement pass. "All women are not the same."
"No," he agreed softly. "In this I was a fool, for you are nothing like the women I have known. I do not know if that is because you are a ghost barbarian..."
She shook her head, correcting his impression. "Even among my people I am exceedingly unusual, Zou Tun."
"Then it is as I suspected. You are unique. And your yin, Joanna Crane, is most potent."
She did not know what to think of that. Was she to feel flattered that her womanly essence was rare? She didn't think so. After all, she'd had no participation in the making of it. It was simply part of her, like an arm or a leg. And yet perhaps that was not so. "Yin is not just a part of our bodies, is it? It is an essential part of who we are."
He nodded, his expression thoughtful.
"So who I am, what I think, and what I do, all play into my yin. Into its creation and its purity, yes?"
"Of course. It is the same with yang. It is the pure essence of who I am as a man. My education. My training. My deeds." His voice broke slightly on his last word, but he did not explain.
"Then I am pleased that my yin is so strong. It suggests—"
"Yes, Joanna Crane," he interrupted. "It says that you are a strong, amazing woman."
He spoke flatly, with little inflection, but there was awe in his eyes—and a kind of hunger.
"So that is why you want me?" she asked. "Because I am strong? And amazing?" She liked hearing that word and was vain enough to repeat it.
"That is why I wish to partner with you. And why together I believe we can reach Heaven."
"Because your yang is as powerful as my yin." It was not a question. She had felt his strength, his masculinity. At times it was overwhelming.
He did not answer. His silence was acknowledgment enough.
"Very well," she finally said. "We have a mutual goal. I suppose we had best get back to the business of pursuing it."
He remained still for a moment, as if gauging her sincerity or strength of purpose. Whatever it was, he must have found her acceptable. A moment later he lifted their tray and set it outside. Then he turned to her, his stance almost militaristic.
"I made a mistake before, pushing you before you were ready. I will not do that again."
Joanna nodded. "Shi Po said you must not touch me. Not until I can hold the balls—"
"Yes, I know."
"I am nearly to a thousand beats."
He grinned, and the sight made him appear suddenly boyish—in an incredibly handsome way. "This, too, I know."
"Very well, then. I suppose we should do the exercises. Do you want to go first?"
He hesitated, and she wondered for a moment what he was thinking. "We are not to touch each other. Agreed?"
She nodded. "Of course."
"Then let us strengthen and purify ourselves at the same time."
She paused, realizing how much she would miss his hands on her breasts, his caresses during her exercises. But she knew he was right. And there was no point in his watching her or her watching him when they would not be able to help. To touch. To learn.
Still, she felt strangely shy at the thought of touching herself in the same room as him. That he would be doing his own exercises added to the strangeness. And the excitement.
"Joanna?"
"Yes," she said quickly, before she could change her mind. "Yes. We will do this at the same time. But on opposite sides of the room."
Her hands shook as she pulled off her loose shirt, but from excitement, not nervousness. She'd enjoyed watching his face as he performed his exercises. More specifically, she wanted to see his eyes again, feel them lock onto hers, and again know that connection between them. Whether or not he spilled his seed—and she knew he wasn't supposed to—she wanted to feel that electric pull when he touched himself.
That she would be touching herself at the same time made her toes curl in anticipation.
She settled herself on the bed, her back against the wall. But as she began to curl her left foot to her cinnabar cave, her robe gaped and tugged. It was time, she realized, to stand completely naked before him. She had once before. She could do so again.
Her gaze lifted to his, seeing the dark, swirling pools of his eyes. Slowly, while he watched her without blinking, she slipped the robe from her body. It pooled at her feet. And as it did his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened. She could already tell that his dragon peeked out in interest, and she felt a womanly thrill at her power.
She straightened, her gaze never leaving his as she climbed onto the bed. Then, hardest of all, she widened her legs completely so that she could curl her left heel against her cinnabar cave. The area was already wet, her heel a welcome roughness. She settled it in tight.
All the while he watched her, his gaze a tangible presence, his breath a hot whisper in the darkness.
She was settled. And so, apparently, was he. His hand gripped his dragon in the specific hold shown on his scroll.
Joanna lifted her hands, pressing them to her breasts, again in the manner in which they had been taught What they hadn't been taught was to time their breaths, to move with one motion—one circle synched with one stroke—while their eyes held each other's as warmly, as wondrously as if no space separated them.
The first seventy-two strokes were meant to be soothing. They weren't. With each breath Joanna took with Zou Tun, she felt her yin tide rise. But with each circle that lifted and molded her breasts, the fire burned hotter just above her heart.
Her mouth felt dry, so she wet her lips. Even from across the room she saw Zou Tun's body jerk. His gaze left hers to fixate on her mouth, and his buttocks tightened and raised him in his chair.
"Joanna..." he said, his voice thick and low. She didn't know if it was meant as a plea or a warning, but she didn't care. Already the yin tide was flowing like hot lava through her.
She felt the need to move. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts into her hands. Her head dropped backward and her groin pressed forward, grinding into her heel. A flame shot from that location, coiling about her spine like a greedy serpent. All too soon she felt the serpent's mouth settle, clamping hard on the yin center just behind her breasts. The power tightened in that line, gearing a hot, trembling course that linked her cinnabar cave to her breasts.
She hadn't felt this much power before, this much desire. So she experimented, starting her next circle right on top of her nipples.
One touch, one tweak, and her body convulsed. She tried to maintain her focus, tried to analyze her feelings, but words wouldn't come. They were always wrong. She knew her heart pounded, her breath came in hot gasps. But m
ore than that, her entire chest felt full and fiery, her mind restless with the energy of it all, and her focus would not remain.
"Seventy-two," she lied. In truth, she had no idea how many circles she had performed. She knew only that she was finished with soothing strokes. She wanted to build, to push, to increase this burning tide.
"Joanna, what are you doing?" Zou Tun's words came to her from a great distance, and yet he sounded as if he were right beside her.
She opened her eyes, locking once again onto his gaze. Distantly she saw that his face was flushed, his mouth slightly open as his breath came in barely controlled puffs. Below, she saw his dragon, large and dark red, stretching toward her. His hand no longer held it in the correct position, but he gripped himself tightly.
All these things she absorbed in the distance, letting the thoughts pass through her consciousness, then drop away.
"I want to know," she whispered, her voice gaining strength as her hands reversed their direction. "Where does the yin go? What is coming?"
"No," he gasped. "You are not ready."
Her circles were stronger now, and she felt the rush of the yin stoking her hotter, stronger, brighter.
"Yes," she said, feeling triumphant, "I am."
She wasn't guessing. Indeed, there was no room in her mind or body for doubt. There was only yin, pulsing hot and powerful in her blood. It built within her, and she did everything she could to make it burn ever brighter. Her circles did not end short of her nipples. Each spiral ended tighter, with a pinch and a pull that kept her blood humming in higher and higher notes.
She was ready. She was more than ready as she rocked forward, pressing her cinnabar cave hard against her heel. A few more spirals. A few more rolls. Soon. Yes!
Something gripped her wrists, jerking them away from her body. She resisted, tightening her arms, trying to draw them back, but she succeeded only in pulling herself up, lifting her hips off her heel.
"No!" she cried, fighting the restraint. She had enough consciousness to open her eyes. She saw Zou Tun towering over her, his dark eyes blazing with worry. She didn't care. The tide was so high, the nameless peak so close. "No!" she cried again, twisting hard to break his hold.
It didn't work. He still held her, but the sweat on her arms made his grip slick. He was struggling, so she redoubled her efforts.
"Joanna!" he cried, but she did not listen. She was fighting him with everything she had, all the pent-up power of the yin tide, still surging within her.
"Joanna!" he tried again, and she curled her legs up, planting them hard against his chest. Then she shoved with all her might.
He cursed, twisting his chest so that her legs slid aside, their force wasted in the air. Then he used her momentum against her, jerking her hands above her head so that her body abruptly straightened in the air.
She dropped hard onto the mattress, her teeth rattling in her head. Then, before she drew breath to scream, he was atop her, pressing her completely flat. He landed with a heavy grunt, and she meant to kick him, to throw him off, but his legs hooked over hers and his hips ground down in an exquisite weight that made her entire body shiver.
"Joanna," he gasped against her ear. "You are not ready."
She shoved hard at him, her body tingling wherever they touched. "I bloody well am!" she exploded.
"It is sex, Joanna. It is not the practice. It is merely sex."
She shook her head, not wanting to listen. But what little movement her head made, it was nothing compared to the shift and roll of her body as she tried to dislodge him. His hardened dragon pressed into her belly, and she heard him groan with the sensation.
"You do not understand, Joanna," he said, his words half plea, half moan.
"I feel the yin," she said, her voice a low vibration she felt echo through him. "I feel it." She shifted to look him in the eyes. "I want to know where it leads."
"Orgasm," he said.
She frowned, not knowing the Chinese word. "Orgasm?" she repeated, testing it.
"The yin peak," he explained, beginning to lift his chest off of hers as her struggles ceased. But as the air touched her breasts, she moaned with loss. The tide was ebbing away, the lava cooling, leaving behind a darkened space.
"I want to feel it." She curled her hands into fists. "I want to know it!"
"It is only sex," he repeated. "Not Taoism."
"So be it," she answered hotly. Then, to emphasize her need, she pressed her hips forward, ramming herself as hard as she could against his dragon. He growled at the power of her thrust, but she continued to speak. "You know what I seek. You know what this is."
He nodded, and she could see he fought with his desires.
"Can you show me?" she asked. "Can you show me without..." How to say it?
"Without fucking you?"
She flinched at his hard word and the violence it implied.
"A monk is still a man, Joanna. You tempt me too far."
"But that is practice, is it not? To raise your desires but not give in to them?" She didn't know what she was saying. How could she be asking this of him? How could she want him to do this with her? And yet she did. She wanted to tempt him. She wanted to feel what others felt. And if that meant—
"You would risk your virginity?"
She swallowed. Was that what she risked? Did it matter so very much? Hadn't she thrown away everything else already?
"Can you teach me and still control your dragon?" She looked deep into his eyes, searching for understanding. "Can you control yourself?"
She felt him shudder, a tension and release that felt exquisite against her body.
"Zou Tun," she pressed. "Can you hold to your teaching while I abandon mine?"
He didn't speak, but she felt his conflict as he thought. She knew—as he must—that she was determined on this course. She had felt the hot pulse of yin and would reach its crest one way or another, whether or not a Tigress did such things. Just once she needed to know.
"Yes," he finally whispered.
Her gaze sharpened, and her heart trembled even as the yin began once again to heat. "You will show me?"
"If you are sure." He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he pushed himself off of her. Shoving away, he pulled himself to his knees between her legs. With a quick jerk, he pulled her thighs closer. Her hips were lifted off the bed, her knees bent over his shoulders, and her cinnabar cave spread before his face. Still his eyes were trained on her, his expression hard, his mouth pulled into a hungry smile. "Are you sure, Joanna Crane?"
She swallowed. Then, before she could speak, she felt his hands move. He had been lifting her bottom, adjusting her weight upon his shoulders. Now his hands curved inward, and she gasped in surprise as she felt his thumbs slide toward her cave. Flowing from her bottom upward, they delved ever deeper, widening and opening her folds such as no one had ever done.
She was wet there. The yin dew, the Tigresses called it. And she saw him inhale deeply, taking her scent into him, murmuring his pleasure in a low hum against her leg. And still his thumbs rolled slowly forward, pressing deeper, opening her wider.
"Be sure, Joanna, because once I begin, I will not stop until you give up all your rain."
"Will it hurt?" she gasped.
He smiled. "Yes."
"I don't care."
He grinned, his expression almost regal. "As you wish." Then he lifted her hips and pressed her against his mouth.
It didn't hurt. That was her first and last clear thought. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't entirely painless either. The moment his tongue touched her, pressing and exploring, Joanna began to tremble. Or perhaps not tremble so much as tighten and pulse. The lava flow flared white-hot, but with a rhythm, as if a distant drumbeat echoed in her blood.
She felt her legs tighten across his shoulders, press her closer against him. Her body arched, and her head and neck began to ache where she was rigid against the mattress. But her mind barely registered those things. Her attention was focused down there
as his thumbs spread her open, giving his tongue room to roam in a strange figure eight: a wider circle around her cave, but then a tight loop higher, at a place that burst into a single, burning flame. And with every tight circle, he pushed that little blaze higher and hotter into her body. Already licking the cord that ended in her breasts, the flame seemed to expand. It radiated down her legs, which were gripping him so tightly. It roared through her blood so that even her fingers throbbed with its pulse.
But there was more. She knew it. She felt it. That fire, that flame, had not reached its zenith. If only he would not do a full figure eight. If only he would stay at the top circle, the tiny loop. Right there. Oh, God, right there.
Then she felt something different. Something hard. Something... His thumbs. Both of them pressed inside her cave. Opening, widening her. Her legs would not go farther open, but she tried anyway. She wanted to be split open. She wanted anything, if only he would circle her flame just a few more times. Just enough. Until she felt...
His thumbs moved together inside her. Inside. Then out. Inward, then they withdrew. It was a tempo that almost matched the sound in her ears. But it was too slow and too little. If she had breath, she would have begged him for more. As it was, all she could do was arch into his stroke, silently begging again for his tongue.
He shifted his thumbs. Where before they were simply penetrating her, this time they pressed inward and held, pushing against the cave walls such that she felt the pressure almost to her belly. They stayed there, massaging and pushing in a tight circle. She didn't understand what he was doing. The pressure crossed the flame, almost as if cutting it off.
But she had no breath to ask. And he was busy—finally—pressing his lips to her body once again.
The crosswise pressure continued, but it added something else. It seemed to push the source of the flame toward him, making it more open to him, so that when his tongue at last spiraled in, he had plenty of room, plenty of space to push and toy with that wonderful place.
Yes!
Her legs trembled, her breath rasped. And then...
The flame exploded.
A flash fire burst across her skin, and she screamed with the joy of it. But there was more. Her mind expanded with the power. It soared through the fire and beyond, even as her body bucked in Zou Tun's arms.
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 51
