"You should go," the man called from the interior. "It is not safe here."
"This way," Ken Jin said as he gently guided her away. She wanted to ask about the large captain. She noticed other things, too: White sailors slipped past upper-story windows, a little girl watched from behind an ornamental bush. Clearly something very strange was happening at the Tigress school. But Charlotte had no chance to ask as Ken Jin took an unexpected turn and rushed her out a side gate to where his horse waited.
He mounted first, then drew her up into his lap. She clenched her teeth as he adjusted her. It took all her strength to tolerate the brush of fabric across her skin, the press of his body, the rhythm of the horse as they moved through the streets. All those sensations contributed to a frightening hunger that ate at her control. She wanted to be naked. She wanted to be stroked. She wanted to move and scream and convulse all at once.
Ken Jin's arm wrapped around her belly, pulling her tight against him. It felt wonderful—the hard press of bone, the heated musk that filled her nostrils and fogged her mind—and yet it was too little and too much. She wanted to scream with frustration at her own body grown alien.
"Try to hold still," he said against her neck, and she arched back just to press harder against him.
"I can't control it," she confessed.
"I know," he answered. "Only a few streets more. Hold on until then."
"Then what?" she gasped. She had not thought these feelings could get worse. She had not thought the sensation of a hard pommel against her flesh could make her insane. She could not think, she could only grit her teeth and endure. And want. And ache.
"Then I will be able to help you."
June 21, 1893
Honored Sir, Wen Ken Jin:
We are pleased to entertain your suit for Wen Jan Wan. Indeed, upon hearing of your suit, she gifted me with one of her most rare smiles.
Alas, the mood did not last. So great is the purity of her heart and so tender her spirit that she weeps at the pitiful state of her family. How can she wear finery when her cousins wear rags? How can she dine on pork and thousand-year-old eggs, when her parents share one bowl of rice?
If such a state continues, I fear the goodness within her will force her to refuse your suit. Such a burden it is to raise a virtuous daughter.
In grave fear,
Wen Feng Jin
* * *
June 30, 1893
To the Wen patriarch, honored Wen Feng Jin:
Please accept this small token of my esteem. I have such happiness in my heart from my betrothal that I cannot resist sharing my bounty with others.
With much joy,
Wen Ken Jin
(Attached, three sacks of rice, three of flour, three bolts of silk, and three lacquered chests, each containing three ingots of gold.)
Heavenly Pond (PI):
Location: One thumb-width outside the nipple.
Benefits: Holding this point nurtures the spirit in the heart, increases sexual intimacy and cultivates the expression of love.
Acupressure for Lovers
Michael Reed Gach, Ph.D.
Chapter 11
The first thing she would do was strip naked. The heat was unbearable. Her shift chafed, and her drawers were wet with... They were wet. Charlotte clamped her jaw shut rather than release a moan of frustration.
"Why did you go there?" Ken Jin's voice started a shiver in her belly—not strong enough to be satisfying, and yet delicious nonetheless. She closed her eyes to better appreciate the sensation.
"Charlotte," he repeated, louder this time. "Why did you go to the school?"
The low tremor continued, but she could tell Ken Jin would insist on an answer. She sighed. "I wanted to understand."
"What?"
She'd known he would ask that, but she was plying for time. She needed to understand herself before she tried to explain it to him. "Why does Little Pearl hate you so much?"
They arrived at a stable that served Ken Jin's nearby apartments. He dismounted and quickly tossed the reins and a coin to a stable boy. Then he turned and grabbed her waist to lift her down. She went willingly, anxious to get inside, happy to experience his large hands around her waist and the slide of his body against hers as she leaned into him.
"Keep your head down," he said.
She knew without being told. It was broad daylight, and she had no wish to be seen alone with him in such a manner. The gossip could be easily turned aside, of course; he was her family's First Boy and well known as her companion on a variety of shopping trips. Plus, they were in that rare area of Shanghai that housed both Chinese and white. But this was no marketplace, so the fewer people who saw her, the better.
He clearly understood the danger, because he grabbed a cloak off a nearby peg and surrounded her with it. The fabric was coarse and smelled of horse, but it covered her from head to toe. She held the hood close to her face for all that it made her sneeze and her skin itch, and soon they were walking quickly down the back alley and to a blocklike building.
"Third floor," he said as he pushed her inside.
She went quickly, her teeth clenched against the tingles that sparked all over her body as she moved. No one was about as they climbed the stairs, so she threw off her hood and began unfastening the cloak. He had the door open and pushed her inside before she had it completely off. Then she was finally able to strip off the heaviest of her clothing. Her hands were shaking, but no less efficient as she dropped cloak and tunic with desperate speed. Ken Jin shut and locked the door, then crossed to a nearby table. Tepid water splashed into two teacups as she released her sweaty hair from its pins and shook it out.
"Drink," he ordered.
Charlotte swallowed it without tasting, then waited impatiently as he passed her the second cup. When had she gotten so thirsty? And why was it still so hot?
He opened a window—the only one in the flat—and a soft breeze stirred the air. But it wasn't enough, so she set down her empty teacup and stripped off her shift. He had already seen everything; modesty now would be ridiculous.
She sighed in delight as a cool breeze caressed her skin. Her nipples puckered, and she barely restrained herself from stepping up to the window to feel its full effect. Instead, she distracted herself by looking about his apartment. It was smaller than she expected, given his position. Most First Boys had lavish homes separate from their employers. They lived like kings in huge mansions. Ken Jin lived in a tiny third-floor apartment.
It was extremely clean, sparse. The sitting room sported large cushions on the floor beside a washstand, and another table with a lamp. A very large and strange piece of art occupied the rest of the room. It looked like two rounded mountains, one much shorter than the other. The piece was only about a foot deep, and the top had a flat surface completely covered by a long silk cushion. Tilting her head, she decided the mountain image did not fit. It was more like a large letter B lying flat on its back, though the top mound was half the size of the bottom. She stared a moment longer, still puzzling, when she heard Ken Jin in the other room. It was his bedroom, she knew, his private place, but she could not resist following him into it to see.
It was as bare as the sitting room, with a bed and a wash area next to an open trunk. Inside the chest lay clothing, books, and letters. Personal letters, it looked like. Was that an imperial seal? She stepped closer, but Ken Jin was before her, kicking the lid closed with a quick snap of his foot.
Beyond those items and a few pairs of shoes, a large, low flat bed dominated the room. Clearly, this was where Ken Jin had spent his money. Stunning silk pillows were settled atop a silk-embroidered blanket. The fabric was green, the stitching quite detailed. It showed a mountain scene with waterfalls and mists and trees. Throughout the landscape, people wandered or reclined. She narrowed her eyes. No, they weren't reclining. They were...
Her eyes widened. They were coupling. In a great variety of ways. And the groups were not limited to couples. Charlotte leaned down.
She even went to her knees to look closer. This was as educational as the sacred scrolls. Perhaps even more so.
She heard Ken Jin behind her. He was stripping off his own shirt and washing his upper body. She heard the splash of water and the muted violence in his movements. He was still very angry, and she was still very warm just thinking of his rescue. What would have happened if he hadn't come looking for her?
She closed her eyes and straightened from the bed. She didn't want to look at other couples right then. It was making her belly jump, and she felt agitated enough. Searching for some way to distract herself from her erotic thoughts, she returned to the one question that could hold her attention.
"Why does Little Pearl hate you?"
He was naked to the waist—just like her—and water glistened across his flat torso from his ablutions. She stared at a sparkling droplet that trembled on his nipple. She couldn't stop herself; she reached out and touched it, spreading it around in a circle across the hard pebble of his flesh. He didn't respond, didn't even move, but she felt a change in the air, a sudden tension that deepened the color of his eyes.
"I wasn't careful with her," he finally ground out, and it took a moment for Charlotte to remember they were talking about Little Pearl.
"She was your partner? In the practice?"
"Yes."
Charlotte had stepped closer to him. Now she grabbed his abandoned washcloth with one hand and wet it in the basin before returning it to his chest. He didn't flinch as the wet cotton dripped across his right shoulder, but he put a hand out to steady her hip. Or to steady himself. Either way, he made no objection as she trailed the cloth across his collarbone, then lower, across and around each hard nipple.
"Are you careful with me?" she asked as she worked.
"Always," he replied, his voice a low croak.
Her hand stilled and she looked into his eyes. "Am I so fragile?" Her recent experience had left her feeling small and powerless. She couldn't bear it if he thought her weak as well.
He reached out and caught the washcloth, his fingers entwining with hers, his heat flowing into her. "You are worth a thousand Little Pearls. She is nothing compared to you."
"But am I weak?" After all, she had nothing to show for her life. She did not study great thinkers like Joanna; she had not captured a husband like many of her friends. She was constantly getting into scrapes, saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. Everyone said so.
Did that mean she was feebleminded like her brother? That her character was lacking in some essential quality? Perhaps she simply did not have the intelligence to navigate her world without disaster.
He shifted her hand, moving the washcloth to her body, to her breasts. He began with her nipples, moving in the soothing, dispersing circles they'd used before. He spiraled around her flesh in larger and larger movements while she kept herself still by an act of will.
She knew he meant to throw off her bad energy, to release that which was disharmonious to her qi, but his actions did nothing of the sort. The cool slide of water, the rough brush of coarse cotton, and the steady pressure of her inhalations against his hand set her belly to quivering again. It should have been delightful. It was delightful; but the silence that stretched between them was an answer that brought tears to her eyes.
"So I am stupid," she said, turning away. "I went to that school when I shouldn't have. I let her give me tea and take me into that room. I—"
"Do not be a fool!" he snapped, and jerked her back to him. She blinked in surprise, stunned by the fury in his voice. "What Little Pearl did was wrong. It was an abuse and a perversion that would be severely punished were the Tigress Shi Po still here."
Charlotte shook her head, her throat too clogged to speak. Didn't he understand? Didn't he realize that she couldn't care less about what Little Pearl had done? What mattered was that Charlotte had ventured there in the first place. That she had not seen the danger and saved herself. That she had drunk the tea and walked of her own accord into that terrible room. How could she be so idiotic?
"Little Pearl has a darkness inside her," Ken Jin continued. "Without Shi Po to restrain it, she has already left the Tao, the Middle Path."
Charlotte shook her head. He didn't understand, and she couldn't explain. So she broke away from him and quickly moved back into the main room. She had no purpose except to avoid hearing more about Little Pearl.
He followed, and she stopped running. There was nowhere for her to go with her breasts bare and her hair wild. Her head was pounding, and she needed air. She needed the breeze that was stronger here. She needed...
He stopped her before she went blindly to the window. He drew her backward against him, his hands strong around her upper arms, his chest hard and still slick with water. He rubbed her arms with his thumbs, and then he slid his hands around to cup her breasts. She pushed him away despite the hunger still simmering in her blood.
"Don't, Ken Jin, just don't. You don't understand."
He spun her around, and her knees buckled from the force of his pull. He caught her, of course. He was strong enough to support her as she stumbled, to lift her slightly and set her down so she sat in the dip between mountains on his strange piece of art. Except, it didn't feel like art. It was more like a chair right then, one with uneven armrests.
"What don't I understand?" he pressed.
She blinked back her tears. She didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to speak of something that he couldn't change. She shouldn't have brought it up, but she couldn't stop herself. She needed to know.
"Am I feebleminded?" she asked.
He blinked. "What?"
"William doesn't know. He... he's happy. I think he knows he's different, but he doesn't seem to understand how..." She swallowed. "How slow he is. We protect him. He doesn't go out; he plays with servant children. If people talk, he doesn't hear it." She gripped Ken Jin's arm. "He doesn't know."
He stared at her, but she couldn't read his expression or guess at his thoughts. Finally he spoke, but only after he had settled onto his heels before her. Only after he had brushed her hair from her face and took her hands in his.
"The Chinese value different things in a woman than the English." He frowned, as if struggling with the words. "We call you 'ghost people' because you are white, yes, but also because you value things of little substance—gold and pleasure, the things of appetite. In your women, you want soft, full flesh to lie upon and an oxlike obedience."
She nodded. It was true. The Englishmen she knew wanted a woman who would bear their children and not interfere in their pursuits, be they fame, fortune, or any known vice.
"The Chinese look for different things," he continued. He switched languages to Shanghai dialect, using idealized words that she recognized from Joanna. They came from the Confucian classics and were poetry as much as instruction. "A Chinese woman must be beautiful in form and heart. She is humble, yielding, respectful, and frugal."
Charlotte winced. She did not recognize herself in that list. He continued, unaware of her anxiety.
"If the English wish for an ox, the Chinese look for a delicate bird with beautiful plumage, sparing demands, and a lilting voice that raises a man's heart whenever she speaks." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "Such a woman is married and promptly caged."
"Caged?" she asked in surprise.
"Women do not have public affairs. They would stop their weaving," he quoted. He shrugged. "That is what we are taught. That our women should stay in their homes, away from all eyes, so that they may work untouched by anyone else."
She looked away. It would seem she was fit to be neither a Chinese nor an English wife. "Ken Jin," she began.
"A Dragon has different needs. A Dragon looks to a Tigress for his fulfillment. The Tigress must be strong of character or the Dragon will eat her. The Tigress must be pure..."
She flinched, but he corrected himself.
"Not pure of body, but pure of purpose. Only single-minded devoti
on clarifies the qi." He paused and waited until she looked into his eyes. "It goes without saying that a Tigress must be intelligent. How else would she hunt with any success? And only the wisest can ascend to Heaven."
She swallowed, at last understanding where he was headed. "But I am not a Tigress."
He caressed her: a long single stroke that started with her cheek, trailed down her neck and over her collarbone, until he finally circled her breast to thumb her nipple. She inhaled deeply at his touch, and her eyes slipped closed to savor the sensations. Little Pearl's drug was wearing off, the fires across her body fading, and yet his single caress set off a low roar in her ears.
"Neither the Chinese nor the English wish their wives to be intelligent. Only Dragons prize such a thing." His hand stilled, and she opened her eyes. His gaze was dark with meaning, but it took a moment for her to understand.
"You are a jade Dragon," she whispered.
"Yes." Then, when she said nothing, he pushed himself forward to capture her nipple in his mouth. She gasped even as she arched into his kiss. He sucked her nipple deep inside his mouth, using tongue and teeth to shape its form. She murmured her appreciation at the wet flick of his tongue, the harsh nip of teeth, and the long pull that came with being sucked deep into another soul.
He pressed her backward and to one side. Soon she was leaning against the slope of the larger mountain. Indeed, she straightened her legs, rising up so that her head fell across the rounded peak and her breasts were offered up to the Dragon above her.
Then he stopped. He stood, looking down at her with a stunning fierceness. He did indeed look like a towering dragon poised in the clouds above her. "Do you understand, Miss Charlotte?"
"You are a Dragon," she repeated though her mouth was dry.
"And I have found my Tigress, one whose yin qi is strong and pure. One who is wise enough to reach the antechamber to Heaven and brave enough to hunt in a forbidden Chinese school."
"I wasn't hunting when I went to the school."
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 107
