White Tigress (8 page)

"Tell me!"

She nodded, the movement unsteady. Then she did as she was told, setting her gaze on the fold of his eyelid, the dark circle of his eyes. This close, she could see the individual colors in his eyes. The iris was actually a circle of very dark brown hues radiating out from the black pupil in the center. It was bizarre to be thinking such things, and yet, the sight of his eyes gave her such an expansive feeling. As if she were slowly flowing outward from him. From the center of his eyes.

Then, she began to breathe with his stroke; exhaling as he began the downstroke, this time on the outside of her breasts, to circle underneath. As he drew his fingertips up through the center of her chest, she inhaled, simultaneously drawing his hands up and pushing them deeper into her skin.

"I feel the heat of your hands," she finally said. "They are so large. I know it is not possible, but I feel as if you are leaving a part of you behind with each movement. And that I..."

"You what?"

She inhaled deeply. "I am meeting it. I am meeting your heat, your fingers."

"That is your yin, rising to greet my yang. Tell me more."

"My br..." She could not say the word. "I am so warm. I feel as if I am growing. Expanding." Was it his eyes, or his touch that was doing this to her?

And then something changed. There was a build-up of pressure, a swelling of some kind. Abruptly, her breath became tighter, more erratic. She tried to remain calm, but she could not. It was as if a fountain had sprung up inside her, welling up and up until her chest then her head began to swell. And with her gasp, it exploded. Quietly. But loud enough that she felt and heard a bang inside her ears.

"Oh!" she said. "I... there was... a sound." She could not express it any more clearly than that.

"That was your body throwing off its age," he responded, and she found herself grasping the soothing notes of his voice, using them to ground herself as yet another wave began to build.

"I don't understand," she whispered, unable to find enough breath to speak normally.

"You do not need to understand. Only accept. You are growing more youthful with every moment."

"But—"

"You are avoiding your feelings. Tell me what you feel."

She flushed, knowing he was right. She would much rather think about his bizarre philosophies than about the way her breath was completely keyed to his movements, her entire body throbbing to his stroke.

"I feel... everything." All of it. Focused on her breasts, flowing toward her breasts, aching inside her breasts. "I am so full." She had no idea what she was saying, but he apparently did. She watched his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

"We are almost done. Let everything flow to your breasts. Let them grow full. Let them understand what it means to be breasts."

She barely heard him, so wonderful was the experience of fullness. It was all drawing together, pushing toward some peak that she did not understand. That she wanted desperately.

And then it was over, and he drew his hands away. So startling was the moment that she actually cried out when he withdrew. She looked down at her chest as if such a movement could draw him back to her.

What she saw amazed her even more. Her breasts were pink and peaked, full and yet not nearly as large as she felt. It was as if her spirit had grown outward from her physical body. She even drew her hand up, holding it just beyond her skin. And she could swear she could feel it: the heat of her own hand, the pressure of her body against her hand, though she never touched herself at all.

She looked at her captor, confusion filling her.

"You must do this every morning and every night," he instructed. "To yourself if I cannot be here to assist you." Her hand was still held before her, a bare inch away from her skin. "But whatever you do, do not touch yourself here." He took hold of her hand, tilting it so that it cupped but did not touch her nipple. "This is your peak."

And as he said the words, her hand jerked, pushing forward toward the tip of her breasts. It had not been her intention to do so, and yet she now knew that was what she wanted. That was where she wished to be touched.

"Do not do it!" he ordered. "It will damage the work that we have already done." She looked up at him as his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Do you have the discipline to do this? To keep yourself from touching there? Or must I chain your hands away?"

She pulled back in horror. "Do not chain me!"

"Then listen to what I say."

She nodded, her breasts feeling full and heavy and aching for the very thing he had just denied her.

"I will return tonight. I do not think you can be trusted."

She straightened, insulted by the implication. "I—"

"Fu De will watch you during the day. Look for me this evening, and we will continue." Then he abruptly drew her robe back around her, careful to prevent the fabric from touching her aching breasts. He couldn't prevent it entirely, but what little did touch made her feel all the worse. She could feel the fabric about her, so close, so cool and silky. And yet she already knew that such a whisper of touch would not be enough. She wished for more.

Evening could not come fast enough. To her shame, she desperately wanted to return to what they had been doing. And that thought horrified her more than anything else.

She was a good English girl, raised to be chaste and modest. What was she thinking, what was she doing to so want a Chinese man to touch her like that? To do to her... what?

Her body tingled in excitement, and her mind rebelled at her own eagerness. She was a captive, she reminded herself. A prisoner. Her only hope was to watch for a moment when she could escape, when she could rush outside and on to find Maxwell.

And yet, as the outer door shut behind the dragon... What was his name? Ru Shan. As the door shut behind Ru Shan and Fu De came to stand in her doorway, watching her, Lydia could only think over her strange morning and her bizarre experiences. What was happening to her?

Worse, if she was in such turmoil after one such session with Ru Shan, what would she be like by the time she was finally able to escape?

From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

3 February, 1862

Dearest Li Hua—

A son! A son! I have given birth to a son! And such a handsome boy he is that all say he takes after his father. They have even named him Ru Shan for "steadiness as a mountain." This may seem odd to you, but you do not understand my mother-in-law. My husband is a handsome man, full of life and vigor. With my designs, the Chengs have prospered greatly.

But not so greatly as one might expect.

My husband loves his friends almost as much as he loves his customers. His father tries to moderate the damage, but Sheng Fu's temper is easily unleashed, and he is a large man with heavy fists. As he is the one who brings in the customers, he rules even over his parents.

And so, when my son was born with a face so like his father's, my parents-in-law named him Ru Shan for steadiness. He will be the Chengs' hope for a wealthy old age.

What they do not know is that I have already made offerings for the child before the ancestors and at the monastery. I escaped one day when I was supposed to be buying vegetables. Instead, I rushed to the monastery and gave them all the money I had saved from our food. You know how excellent a bargainer I am, so it was quite a lot of money.

They promised me that the boy will be a great scholar. And truly, his head is very large, his brow most auspicious for study. He will be a great sage, perhaps even an Immortal. I have been assured of this!

I must stop now, Li Hua. My labor has kept me from my work, and so I am very behind. Write me soon and tell me if you have made amends with your mother-in-law. Truly, they are the most terrible of creatures!

—Mei Lan

Where there are humans, you'll find flies and Buddha.

—Issa

~

Chapter 4

The abacus beads hit with a satisfying
clack,
but the numbers still were too low and Ru Shan sighed. The family was depending upon him to make good on the promise of his name—Steady as a Mountain—or as grandmother phrased it, a Mountain of Wealth. Either way, he was not proving himself capable.

After Ma Ma's death, the customers simply were not as interested in the Cheng cloth as before. With good reason. Without Ma Ma, the embroidered designs were not as inspired.

"Your brow is furrowed, and your face burns. I sense that your yang still dominates."

He looked up, grateful for and surprised by the interruption Shi Po provided, even though he knew she would buy nothing from him. Her husband was his nearest competitor, and so it would be a grave error if she were to be seen purchasing his wares. Indeed, it was a risk for her to even appear in his family store. So he immediately stood, ushering her to the tiny garden behind his shop. At least there she would be safe from most prying eyes.

She nodded graciously, walking with great difficulty upon her bound feet, her tiny hands gripping the carved ivory cane she sometimes used. He wished to support her, to carry her, but he could not. It was not his place. And so he could only watch in excruciating stillness as she passed before him.

Glancing outside, he saw her four men waiting for her, her ornate sedan settled upon the street between them. "Was it necessary to come here in so public a fashion?" he asked as she at last made it out the door.

"Of course," she said with a smile, "as I am personally delivering an invitation for you to share wine with my husband next week." She handed him the thin paper, etched with gold leaf.

"You do me a great honor," he lied. The truth was that her tight-fisted husband wished to check up on the loan he had given to buy Li Dee. Ru Shan still did not know how Shi Po had convinced her husband to offer such a generous sum. Likely, with her tigress skills, she had Kui Yu completely at her mercy. Either way, Ru Shan did not appreciate this invitation.

He would, of course, attend the dinner despite his feelings. Not to do so would be a grave insult, and he could not risk offending either his benefactor or his teacher. Of course, none of that explained the true reason for Shi Po's sudden appearance in his store. But once again, it would be impolite for him to ask. So he waited patiently and they conversed about the early spring, the flowers in his garden, and even the carved stone that sat in the center of his goldfish pond.

At last, Shi Po came to the point. "How does it fare with your new pet?"

He hesitated, unable to settle in his mind exactly how things were going with Li Dee. Finally, he decided on the most obvious. "She is not what I expected."

"And what did you expect?"

He shook his head. "She is both more intelligent than I had thought and more nervous."

"She has settled into her training then? She has accepted her fate?"

He nodded. "By all appearances, yes." Of course, now that he had an idea that she was not as stupid as her other countrymen, he wondered if she could be deceiving him. Was she indeed smart enough to pretend to accept her life? He already knew the answer was yes, and yet he had not thought any ghost person, least of all a woman, could possibly plan that far ahead. Not a one of his English customers could delay their amusements for a moment, much less plan for opportunities ahead of them.