Tempted Tigress by Jade Lee Read Free Book Online

glorious view of her. He saw her breasts from all angles, watched them bounce with her movements, and yes, he imagined those sweet drops of water slicking her body with the most bewitching perfume.
    But then she stopped. She must have again believed herself alone, because she leaned back against the tub wall. Her knees tucked momentarily against her chest, compressing her breasts into fat pillows, then she slowly extended her legs.
    To Zhi-Gang's great delight, she pushed each leg high in the air—probably to keep any drops of water and soap inside the tub. Tien, she had long, long legs. He had not thought her so tall, but of course she'd hunched to hide her white woman's height.
    The desk that blocked his view was no problem at this angle; her limbs extended above the plane of its hard surface. And she moved with such languid care that he could watch the way her thigh and calf muscles flexed beneath the smooth expanses of her porcelain skin. She allowed one leg to dangle over the tub edge, bouncing slightly against the side. The other foot was drawn close in as she began to soap it. He noted the high arch and tiny toes on her large, healthy feet. He had never liked the Han Chinese tradition of binding, and he smiled as she took her time slipping her fingers between each of her tiny toes.
    How beautiful a full foot was! He vividly remembered his sister's screams during the binding process, and ever since then, the sight of crippled golden lotuses had always nauseated him. But this woman was whole, this woman's body strong in its full perfection.
    She moved to soap her ankle and calf, flexing and arching her foot as she slowly thrust her leg through the circle of her hands. Up, up, up her leg went, while her hands slipped from around her ankle to underneath her calf, then she rounded the slight bend in her knee before drawing high on the inside of her thigh.
    Zhi-Gang's breath caught, his mouth dropping open as she paused—leg still raised—to soak the sponge with water. Then, to his absolute delight, she drew her leg back in, raised her arms high—which also lifted her breasts—and squeezed the sponge. The deluge felt like a release to him; water sluiced down and he sighed in delight.
    A single large bubble perched on her ankle. As the water hit, it popped and disappeared, but not in his imagination. In his mind's eye he saw that bubble slide up her leg, coiling around beneath her calf and knee until it settled into the dark hair that was hidden from his view. The thought was so compelling that he had to stifle a groan, his momentary release gone as he imagined his hands and organ plunging deep inside her. His dragon was no longer quiet against his thigh, but reared up full, proud, and very hungry. He would pierce that bubble between her thighs. He would lift her hips so that her long legs gripped him tightly behind his lower back. He would use the sponge to trail spicy perfume across her breasts and into her cinnabar cave.
    All these things he imagined over and over while she applied herself to her other leg, cleaning and rubbing in a way no Chinese woman would unless she prepared herself for... His thoughts stumbled. Could it be? Did this white woman prepare to sacrifice herself to him for her freedom? The thought was titillating, to be sure. She was a beautiful woman, and he was already bursting through his underclothes.
    Then the unthinkable happened. The woman glanced around. He could not tell if she was nervous or angry or simply curious, but he thought perhaps she was afraid and checking the shadows one last time. How very much like a woman to believe that she could have any privacy in a situation such as hers. But according to his English teacher, white women were extraordinarily secluded in their childhood. Perhaps this woman really was a nun. Perhaps Sister Marie had been cloistered in a Christian temple at a very young age. That would explain why she had little understanding of the ways of the world.
    What she