Tempted Tigress (41 page)

"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.

It was their gazes, she realized. They had never before watched each other so closely. It felt as if he would see her every thought, her every emotion, and she his. Now she understood what he meant by an energy bridge. This connected gaze revealed more of herself than she'd thought possible, though she'd many times laid naked and open before him.

She stared at him, her emotions welling up inside. She wanted to say she loved him, wanted to give voice to her thoughts, but instead swallowed them. He could surely see her devotion, but she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud. Not yet.

He dipped his head. She was raised up enough that she could watch his eyes, and he tilted his head enough to keep the connection. Then he used his hands to shape her breast, to lift it to his mouth. He caught her nipple with his lips, swirled around it with his tongue, then sucked it wholly into his mouth. Sensation shivered through her body and she reflexively let her eyelids drop.

He released her to snap a command: "Watch me!"

Her eyes flew open and she met his gaze even as her breath shortened. She watched his eyes though her back began to arch, pushing her breasts deeper into his mouth. He used his other hand to pull and stroke her nipple, while below she began running her knees up and down the outsides of his thighs.

She did none of these things with conscious intention; her only thought was to watch his eyes, to tell him with her gaze what she felt, what she wanted. And somehow, it seemed like he understood. He let her nipple slide from his mouth and rose higher above her. His eyes were wide, his breath as shallow as her own. And he seemed to look so deeply into her.

"I'm drowning in you," he murmured. Then he released a short laugh, like a burst of air and emotion. "How can I speak with angels when all I see is you?"

She had no answer. She could only raise her legs to coil them about his hips. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed her by the waist and slid her down to the edge of the bed. She was spread wide to him, her belly tightening in anticipation. But he did not penetrate her.

Instead, he took a moment to roll his thumbs over the top of her thighs, pressing deep into the flesh where belly and leg met. Then he slid lower, to her most intimate flesh. He used his thumbs to open her, to curl above and around her most sensitive spot, and to dip into her wetness.

She gasped as he worked, and her body shivered in wonder. But she never lost the connection with his eyes. "Fill me," she whispered.

His thumbs dipped in again before sliding upward, gliding with heavy pressure to her favorite spot. Her eyelids began to droop, but she kept them open with an effort of will. This experience was about them together, not herself in ecstasy alone.

He filled her. She had seen his intention in the slight flare of his nostrils, felt it as he tightened his buttocks beneath her calves, so she had been prepared for his penetration—and yet, nothing was like she anticipated.

He filled her. Not only with his organ, but his whole soul. She felt his spirit in his gaze, his touch, even in his gasp of wonder. In his eyes she read desperation and hunger existing side by side with the same miracle she felt shiver through her.

It was different this way: watching each other, being present for every thought, every caress as a shared experience. And in that moment, she realized she had to bare all. She had to share with him the total of her heart, because she could not hide from him. In truth, she had no wish to hide. She was his and always would be.

"I love you," she whispered.

His fingers spasmed slightly where he clutched her hips, but that was nothing compared to the reaction in his eyes. She couldn't even define it, except to say that all of him expanded. His eyes widened and their dark color shimmered—likely just a flicker of the candlelight. And yet, she felt as if he grew out of himself to engulf the whole of her. He surrounded her, he infused her, he
became
her.