Tempted Tigress by Jade Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

did next was all the more enthralling. She allowed both her legs to relax against the side of the tub, then lolled her head back as if she wished to rest. But her hands were not still. One traced a path from her neck down between her breasts, and then—rather abruptly—straight to her left breast. She cupped it, squeezing her hand tighter and tighter until her thumb rolled over her nipple.
    He could see that the motion was not practiced, not a motion like that of a slave trying to entice her master. There was no subtle offering of the breast to an onlooker, or even a coy glance from beneath hooded eyes; Sister Marie's eyes were kept tightly closed as if this act were for herself alone.
    And then her right hand moved as well. He watched it slip off the lip of the tub to land on her thigh. He could only barely see her long fingers above the wooden edge. And then they disappeared altogether.
    She couldn't possibly be about to... She was . He could see her skin flush with her exertions, heard the water splash in the tub, and—most telling of all—watch her arch her neck back as she pushed against her hand.
    He pressed his face forward, and his glasses pushed hard against the bridge of his nose. He saw that she kept her mouth tightly closed—no doubt to stifle any sound—but he heard her anyway, his imagination more than able to supply extra details. Her hips would be lifting and lowering against her long fingers, the water splashing chaotically with her increasing rhythm. He watched her throat constrict as she swallowed, and he imagined himself kissing the hollow between jaw and throat. He loved to press his ear against a woman's cheek while his lips stroked the pulse point of her neck. He loved the sound of her shortened gasps and feeling her trembling heartbeat against his tongue.
    Her left hand abruptly released her breast and flung sideways to grip the wood slats. He saw her fingertips whiten as she lifted her hips in passion and her mouth gaped slightly open from her exertions.
    Then suddenly it was upon her. She stretched hard against the restrictions of the tub. He prayed she would lift her belly above the water line, high enough for him to glimpse the tiniest flash of her yin center. Anything would do—her quivering white belly, her long and nimble fingers buried deep inside her, or best of all, the red and puckered lotus petals that welcomed him in his imagination.
    She didn't, of course. But he saw all in his mind's eye, and with the hard grip of his hand as an aid, he plunged himself into her over and over until he too joined her in glorious release. The roar in his ears and the darkening of his vision ripped her from his senses, but in his heart, he remained inside her throughout. He flickered his fingers, playing upon his dragon like he would a flute—as her body's contractions would. And he kissed her shy lips, giving reverence to her sweet spirit and beautiful body.
    By the time his heartbeat slowed, she had finished her bath. Suddenly, as if ashamed of her actions, she grabbed a towel, wrapped it fully around herself and stood. He saw nothing of her, none of what his imagination had just kissed and spread and impaled. And yet, he cherished her even more for this new modesty. And he held his breath, pressing his glasses as hard as he dared against the mat as he prayed for another glimpse of flesh.
    There was none, though she dressed right before his eyes. The angle of her body and the dark outline of his damned desk prevented any. Fortunately, it didn't matter. Her spirit was already imprinted upon his mind and he would cherish this afternoon for many years to come: the afternoon when he first saw his Wife Number Four.
    The lightness of spirit held for over an hour. Long enough for the white woman to finish dressing and combing out her hair. Long enough for the sway of the boat to lull him into a gentle doze despite his cramped location. He was so content that he barely opened his eyes when Jing-Li pressed a