Pal had no idea what he meant. This place would look good on the cover of an architectural magazine. “I’ll take it.” He remembered what the man had said about the owner. “If the owner thinks I’m a suitable candidate, that is.”
The realtor nodded. “You are. Ken Woo sent through your details when he inquired about the place for you. The owner cleared you.”
Pal felt his heart leap. “You’re serious? It’s mine?”
The realtor handed him the key, grinning. “All yours, friend.”
Pal followed him out of the door, eager to go get his stuff and move in. “Do I get to meet the owner?”
“I doubt it. I’ve never even met her, just spoken to her on the phone. Sexy voice, one of those low husky types, almost a lisp, you know?”
Pal moved his bags into the apartment and unpacked his meager belongings. He’d put most of his stuff into storage before he left Brazil, not wanting to haul it across the world if the job in HK didn’t work out. Not that his stuff amounted to more than a few books and papers.
After he had unpacked, he strolled around the apartment, taking in the finer details. In the large living room, a huge flat screen TV sat on top of a sleek glass console, alongside huge comfortable couches, black, with contrasting yellow pillows. The kitchen, he found, was fully stocked with both local food and American food. He snagged a Coke from the cooler and went back to the living room, standing at the huge windows to look down on the streets below.
Pal sighed. Man, if this was his reward for putting up with Lou-hella, he’d take it. He’d left the main lights in the room off so he wouldn’t catch the reflection rather than the view, but from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the shadow of something—a female face.
He turned to see the portrait on the far end of the room. How had he not seen this before? He moved closer. The portrait was of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her delicate features were like that of a doll; the porcelain skin, dark, almond-shaped eyes, the thick straight hair flat against her lovely face. He couldn’t take his eyes of her pert red little mouth ... Pal felt his body respond, thinking of that mouth enveloping his cock, almost feeling the pull on it, the warm, wet sensation.
Damn … her eyes, doe-like, almost cartoon character-large, followed him around the room. Pal imagined her watching him and liked the sensation. He moved still closer … and pressed his lips against hers. For a second he stayed there, eyes closed, imagining the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath. Maybe it would taste of cherries or maybe sweet tea …
You are kissing a painting, Magnussen. You are a thirty-eight-year-old scientist, and you are kissing a painting. He stepped back, chuckling, and opened his eyes. He grinned at the painting. “Sorry about that, ma’am.”
Was it his imagination or did her eyes have an amused look? “You are a freak, Magnussen.” Pal, his mood happier than in many, many years, touched the frame briefly, laughing at his own foolishness. “Goodnight, my lovely. This old fool is about to turn in.”
He slept well in the massive king-sized bed, the jetlag finally catching up with him. Only once did he wake, disturbed by a low hum in the room—real or imagined, he did not know.
In the morning, he showered and ate a good breakfast and afterward, went to work. The facilities at the university were superb, state of the art, and he grew excited about his work again. Biomedicine in the late 20th Century had taken on a major role in all medical fields, and Pal had been at the forefront of most of the research.
He was busy setting up his first experiment when Ken Woo came to find him. The slender and athletic American-Chinese man was the opposite of Pal’s big and burly frame, but they shared the same sense of humor and passion for their field. Ken bore Pal down to the university’s refectory for lunch, and the two men caught up on each other’s lives.
“So you’ve taken one of the apartments?”
Pal grinned. “Sure have, and I have you to thank for that. It’s the penthouse— and I still can’t believe the rent is so cheap.”
Ken grimaced a little. Pal frowned. “What is it?”
Ken sighed. “Okay, well … don’t get mad, but I know a little of the history of the place. A couple of people who lived there have died, and no one stays there for long.”
Pal’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? How did they die?”
“One jumped from the roof, the other of some kind of illness, I heard. One of them was a lecturer in economics, I heard.”
Pal relaxed. “Sounds like just bad luck. I can’t imagine it had anything to do with the apartment; the place is a palace.”
Ken half-smiled. “As long as you like it. Say, changing the subject, what are you doing for Christmas? I thought we could get together, drink some beer, eat too much food.”
Pal was surprised. “You’re Christian?”
Ken grinned. “Nope, but any excuse to drink and eat.”
Pal laughed. “In that case, how can I refuse?”
Pal returned home that night happier than he had been for years. Or maybe even ever, he thought with a smile. He pushed open the door to his apartment, and his eyes went immediately to the painting. “Hi honey, I’m home,” he said and laughed.
He made his own supper from scratch with the fresh ingredients he found; steak and a green salad, followed by a bowl of the creamiest ice cream he’d ever tasted. Afterward, he sat on the couch, beer in hand, and flicked through the channels on the television until he settled on an old re-run of a war movie. Eventually, barely able to keep his eyes open, he went to bed.
He woke shivering. From the dim light outside his curtains, he could see that it was still night, and when he turned over to check the clock the luminous numbers glowed three thirty-three a.m. He closed his eyes but then he heard it. The same low humming he had heard the night before. It couldn’t be the apartment’s heating system—it was freezing. He lay there for a second, just listening, then pushed back the covers, cursing softly at the cold hitting his body. He went out into the living and checked the heating. It was off, as he had expected. He prodded the “on’ button and started to shuffle back to bed then stopped. A glance outside the large windows and he almost gasped.
It was snowing. Pal stumbled to the window and looked out. It was snowing in sub-tropical Hong Kong.
“No way,” he whispered, watching the sheets of snow falling. He’d never heard of it snowing here … maybe up in the mountains, perhaps at Tai Mo Shan, but in the city? “I don’t believe it.”
“It is rare.”
Pal spun around at the sound of her voice. The woman from his painting stood in the center of the living room. Entirely naked.
Pal’s chest suddenly seized up, from shock, from utter surprise, and he choked, gasping for air.
The woman stepped towards him, her hand out. “Do you need some help?”
Pal stared at her and then did the only thing he could, the most embarrassing thing he could.
He fainted.
Pal drew in a deep breath as he came around, back in his bed. Had he imagined it? A beat later he knew the answer. No.
Her hands slid across his chest, her nipples, hard and cold, pressed against his skin and her mouth, warm and wet, was around his cock, sucking hard. Pal grunted, half in alarm, half in pleasure, as the woman worked on him, licking and teasing until he was shouting and coming hard, shooting into her ready mouth.
She swallowed his seed then sat up with a smile. “What would you like me to do next, my love?”
Pal, still shuddering from the release, managed to gasp out, “Who are you?”
She smiled, enigmatic and confident, and straddled him, stroking his rapidly deflating cock until it became engorged again. “I am whoever you want me to be, Pal. Isn’t this what you wanted when you kissed my painting?”
He could only nod. I’m either insane or dreaming, he thought, but he didn’t want it to stop as she grasped his cock and slid it up and down her wet slit. “What’s your name?”
“M
y name is Jing-Mai,” she said and sank onto him, taking his cock deep into her delicious, velvety cunt. Pal sighed at the feeling—so good, so good— and he reached for her large but firm breasts, thumbing her nipples until they were hard again.
“That feels so good, my love,” she whispered and bent her head to kiss him deeply. Pal’s mouth moved against her soft lips, their bodies entwining as if made for the other’s. He gave himself over to the unbelievable sensations that were racing through his entire being. “Jing-Mai,” he whispered over and over again as they fucked.
In person, she was even more beautiful; her long back hair was straight down her back and feather soft; her eyes burned a dark dark gold; her skin was a very pale olive. The moonlight from outside the window cast shadows on her skin. Pal ran his hands from her breasts down to her impossibly slim waist then over the full hips, her skin as soft as velvet.
When he came for the second time, it was an explosion of joy, a moment when every sadness from the last few years left his body along with his seed, sucked out of him by the sweet nectar of her pussy as it enveloped him. He had never felt such exhilaration.
Jing-Mai smiled as he stroked her face afterward. “I don’t know where you came from, my love,” he murmured, his lips against hers, “but I’m very glad you are here. Will you stay?”
“Until dawn, my love, then I must leave.”
“Will you come back tomorrow night?”
“I will return for as long as is necessary, my handsome Pal. I want to taste you in every way.”
Pal rolled her onto her back then and grinned down at her. “As I want to taste you …”
He made his way down her body—really, he’d never felt skin so soft—and then his tongue found her sex, lashing around the tight bud of her clitoris, sweeping into the dark cavern of her cunt. It’s unreal, he thought, she actually does taste of honey, sweet and heady.
His cock was straining, pulsing, and as he had his fill of her, making her come, he suddenly crawled up the bed and plunged deeper into her than he had thought possible. She spread her legs wider to accommodate his hips, her back arching as he fucked her hard.
Pal came, his entire body vibrating and then collapsed at her side, spent, but not wanting to stop. Jing-Mai rolled onto her side, facing him, smiling softly. “My love, you were wonderful.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he said, but suddenly he felt a wave of sheer exhaustion come over him. Jing-Mai leaned over and kissed him.
“Sleep, my love, sleep. I will return, do not fear …”
The last thing he noticed before he passed out was that she had the most divinely sweet little lisp.
The doorbell to his apartment kept buzzing and eventually, with a groan, Pal opened his eyes. The clock said ten-thirty a.m., but he wasn’t due at work for another couple of hours. He pushed the bed covers aside and tugged his robe on before going to the front door.
Ken Woo grinned and waved a bottle of champagne at him. “Guess what? School’s out for Christmas.”
Pal let him in, frowning slightly. “Because of the snow?”
Ken stopped. “What snow? Buddy, there hasn’t been any snow in Hong Kong since 1975, and then it was only up on the peaks. You hungover or something?” He chuckled to himself and went into the kitchen to find some glasses.
Pal blinked then walked to the window. Ken was right—no snow. Considering the blanket that had covered the city only seven hours ago … maybe it had melted. Pal shrugged. Who cared? He’d just spent the most exciting night of his life, and he was worried about snow?
Ken came back in holding two overflowing champagne flutes. “Merry Christmas, Pal.”
Pal took a swig of the cold liquid. “And the same to you. So, I guess the party starts now?”
Ken grinned. “You bet it does. Now, go grab a shower and get dressed. Have I got the day planned for us.”
“So she just … turned up?” Ken looked skeptical. Pal smiled. He hadn’t planned on telling Ken about Jing-Mai, but the secret would not stay hidden. They’d trawled the best of Hong Kong’s bars and were now seated in one of the best sushi and sashimi restaurants in the city.
“I think she’s the apartment’s owner,” Pal told his friend as he picked up his chopsticks, “the realtor told me she had a sexy way of speaking. He wasn’t wrong.”
“And she just turned up?”
“Yep. Entirely naked. She must live elsewhere in the building.”
“Huh.” Ken scooped up some stick rice and chewed thoughtfully. “That begs the question—why wouldn’t she live in the penthouse? It’s not as if she’s charging you a high rent. She can barely make anything off it after tax.”
Pal shrugged. “Who knows? We didn’t exactly get around to discussing her business matters.”
Ken laughed. “Lucky dog.”
Pal chose a particularly succulent piece of fish, eating it with relish. “Maybe it’s the universe’s way of making up for the past few years.”
Ken tapped his sake cup to his friend’s. “Amen to that.”
After dinner, they walked through the crowded streets and Pal began to feel as if his whole life was moving forward in a decidedly positive way. Here he was in the stunning, progressive city, with all the opportunities it held, with a good friend in Ken, at a time of global celebration. He had an apartment that most people would kill for. And, if he was lucky like last night, a beautiful woman to share it all with. Yes, he thought, the new century is going to be a good one for Pal Magnussen, I can feel it.
Ken bade him farewell just after midnight. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve— there’s a faculty party at a bar downtown, if you want to go?”
Pal agreed readily— he was ready to throw himself into the whole community here, make new friends, build a life. He chuckled, shaking his head as he entered his apartment. “You really made up your mind that quickly, Magnussen?”
He went to bed, falling into an exhausted slumber until he woke, smiling, feeling her mouth on him. “Hello, beautiful Jing-Mai.”
He heard her chuckle, felt the vibration in her throat against the tip of his penis, and he sighed happily. Another blissful night of making love and indeed, his body felt ultra-sensitive to her every touch as if just by trailing her fingertips against his skin, she left a burning sensation.
Her tongue flicked around his cockhead, her hands massaging his balls, feeling almost like they were vibrating against his skin. She drove him towards almost unbearable pleasure, and when it was his turn, he licked, sucked, and tasted her until he could wait no longer, driving his engorged prick deep into her honey-soaked cunt.
Before he fell asleep, he stroked her face, studying the dark gold of her eyes. “My beautiful Jing-Mai … where do you go when you leave me? Do you live here in this building?”
“I am close,” was all that she would tell him, before beginning to hum the strange melody that made his eyes heavy and his body relax into the deepest, most dreamless sleep.
The Christmas party was riotous. Ken introduced him to the rest of the faculty and some of the grad students that had joined them, and they all welcomed him as an old friend. At midnight, they all cheered in Christmas Day and drank their fill in champagne. Pal watched in amusement as various people paired up and stumbled off into the night. He couldn’t but help feel a little smug; although the women in the faculty were lovely, sweet, great looking, and most importantly, smart, they still didn’t hold a thing to Jing-Mai. She was otherworldly, unique, unsurpassable. He could barely wait to get back to her.
He walked a very drunk Ken back to his building and saw that he got to his apartment safely. Ken thanked him. “Come over in the afternoon, and I’ll cook.”
Pal thanked him. “Drink some water and get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”
He almost flew back to his own home. Once there, he decided to wait up for her, making a nest on the couch with his blanket and another bottle of beer. Late night TV. was nothing but trash, so he flicked on the radio and listened to pop music un
til he felt his eyes closing. No, stay awake, it’s nearly time. He wrenched his eyes open—in time to see Jing-Mai step out of the painting on the wall. His heart nearly stopped. Jing-Mai smiled. “Now you know. I am always close.”
Pal shook his head. “How can this be? It is not possible!”
Jing-Mai came to him, coiling her body around his. “Anything is possible, my love.”
For once, he pushed her away, and got up, pacing around the living room, his mind whirling. “No, I am a scientist, Jing-Mai. I do not believe in such … supernatural things.”
She smiled that enigmatic smile. “I am no more supernatural than you, my love. Do I not feel real?”
He sat down beside her, his eyes fixed on her. He touched her face. “I cannot conceive of how this is possible.”
Jing-Mai kissed him gently. “My love, the important thing is that we are together.” But Pal still felt troubled.
“Jing-Mai … what happened to the men who rented this apartment before me?”
She looked surprised. “I have no idea, my love, only that they came here and were gone just as quickly. Now, shall we make love?”
He let her led him to this bedroom, and there they made the most gentle and tender love yet.
When he awoke in the morning, she was gone as he had expected. He walked out into the living room and faced the painting. “Are you really in there, my sweetest love?”
Did he imagine it or did the corner of her mouth hitch up slightly in a mischievous smile? Did it matter? Pal touched the painting, her cheek, and it felt as soft as her skin.
“I cannot believe this,” he whispered, but then tried to smile. “But as you say, my only love, as long as we are together.”
He could not stop thinking about her, even later when he was at Ken’s apartment and they were eating a delicious meal of beef and noodles. Ken noticed his friend was distracted but said nothing, just smiled to himself. He wasn’t so old that he didn’t remember what falling in love was like. They watched some old movies after dinner, a comedy and a horror. Pal thanked his friend for his generosity.
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