by Jade Lee
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.
It was more potent than any drug, more wonderful than any simple contraction of muscle and body; his soul leapt out of his eyes to join her. She felt a rush of warmth, a total immersion in love, and then a wonderful soaring. She was a bird in flight—except the bird was them together, expanding over oceans and soaring through clouds into sunlight.
She was dimly aware of her inner muscles contracting, of his repeated thrusting, even his abrupt roar of power as he released his seed. She knew these things, and yet only as an echo of the more powerful dance of souls. They were merged together in glory. And in the expansive sky, she felt love—total and abundant love.
“Did it work?” Anna struggled to form words. Her body was completely satiated, her mind still floating, but she had to know if his experiment worked, even if she could only do so without opening her eyes. “Did you talk to the angels?”
He didn’t answer. He had collapsed beside her, and she felt his body as a boneless mass half covering her, half motionless. She felt his furnacelike heat and the slow, nearly imperceptible movement of his chest as he breathed.
She raised her hand and blindly stroked her fingers across his back. She couldn’t reach much of him, not without lifting more than just her hand, but it was enough just to touch him, to remember and adore him with her fingertips.
“Did it work?” she asked again, finally opening her eyes.
It was dark in the room, well into the deepest part of the night. She could see little of Zhi-Gang except a vague outline of his body, the shadowy gray reflection of his skin and the movement of his lashes as he blinked. He was awake, and they were once again locking gazes.
“Did you see an angel?”
He nodded, the movement felt more than seen.
“Really?” she whispered, stunned. Yet, was she truly surprised? The experience had been extraordinary for her as well. “Did you ask your question? Where is your path?”
She felt him inhale, a deep breath that shifted his entire body. His hips adjusted a little more to the side, then most of his legs followed, sliding to the mattress. She welcomed the lessening of weight on her body, but mourned the separation.
She raised her arm, tightening her hold to try and keep them together, but she hadn’t the strength and in the end he was fully on the mattress. She adjusted herself to rest on her side and look directly at him.
“Zhi-Gang,” she whispered. “What is your path?”
He smiled, the expression both tender and mocking. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice raspy with exhaustion. He blinked, momentarily breaking their connection.
She squinted, wishing there was more light. “What—”
“I saw you. The whole time. Only you.”
From Anna Marie Thompson’s journal:
December 9, 1899
I saw him again. The Emperor’s Enforcer. He’s becoming very well known in the northern villages. I saw him kill. I saw him cut open Governor Wan without so much as a blink or a twitch in his expression. He killed the governor’s eldest son too, because he was an addict.
And he killed other men because they were too drugged to move out of the way. He walked into the house and killed them all.
I saw it. I was watching from the women’s room where he didn’t come. He could have, but he has a softness for crying women, and so we are alive.
He cut the men’s throats. He called them indolent wastrels and said their wives were better off without them smoking away their money. He killed them, I think, because he knew they were all distributors—like the governor—or runners tike me. He just didn’t want to believe a woman could be part of such unholy commerce.
I could have laughed at that. Women have always been the lifeblood of this unholy commerce. Some by choice, some forced into the life.
I hate it. I hate it. I hate it!
I couldn’t quit. I didn’t have the strength. I had the hate, but not the strength.
But I can now, and for the silliest reasons. I saw him. I saw the Emperor’s Enforcer cut out the heart of the governor. The threat wasn’t in the man’s hands—that’s where everyone watched: the two deer-horn blades he
wields—but that’s not where the danger is.
It’s in his eyes. It’s the darkness in his eyes.
I can’t escape them. Every time I reach for opium or the pipe or the flame—anytime I even think of it—I remember his eyes.
He is the angel of death to any who deal opium. As long as I remember his eyes, I can quit.
It’s already been a week and I haven’t touched a drop. My hands shake, my belly twists and bums, but I haven’t touched it. And I won’t ever again.
Because of the Enforcer’s eyes.
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge from “Kubla Khan: or, A Vision in a Dream. A Fragment”
Chapter Eighteen
“So, this is my new son-in-law.”
Zhi-Gang bolted upright in bed. Beneath him Anna gasped as well, the sound ending on a shortened squeal of alarm.
Where were his knives?
He blinked even as he kicked a leg out of bed. Then he froze, his vision clearing into a fuzzy and unfortunate tableau. It was morning. He and Anna were naked. And standing around the bed were, in order, a large Chinese man holding both of Zhi-Gang’s deer-horn knives, a middle-aged white man with a long salt-and-pepper moustache, and a wiry Chinese man holding a pistol in lax hands. How had he not heard them enter? And where were his glasses?
Zhi-Gang sized up the nearest man, who smiled and taunted him with his own knives. The bastard was pretending not to know how to hold or manage the blades, but his fingers betrayed him. Though his grip was off center, his fingertips were settled in just the right way to quickly readjust. Zhi-Gang suppressed a grimace of frustration. The man knew how to wield the knives and would not be disarmed easily.
“So, what number wife are you, Anna?” the white man drawled. “Six? Seven?”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Anna lift her chin. “I am his only woman,” she said. Zhi-Gang winced. That wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t have time to explain. Meanwhile, her adopted father—Samuel—barked a mocking laugh.
“I doubt that, daughter. I most sincerely doubt that.”
Zhi-Gang pushed up, ignoring his nakedness. Though he was tall for a Chinese, he only matched the white man’s height, and he was clearly shorter than the man with his knives. “You will leave our bedchamber,” he said with the arrogance he’d learned from the Emperor himself. Then he grabbed a corner of the blanket and threw it over Anna. She wrapped it tightly around her torso, covering herself but leaving her arms free.
Odd, how the sight warmed him. When other women might be screaming in hysterics, his wife did not act the fool. She was already shifting her legs beneath her, readying herself to fight. Except, there would be no fight. Zhi-Gang stepped forward to eye the white man. He was now close enough to focus. Now he could see signs of age: wrinkles around the mouth, a slight stoop to the shoulders. That was something.
“You will wait outside while we dress,” Zhi-Gang ordered. “Call for tea and dumplings.”
Samuel leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “I assure you, my daughter is well used to men in her bedchamber.”
“That’s not true!” Anna cried, though her cheeks flushed with shame.
Zhi-Gang waved his hand in dismissal. “I care not for the past,” he said. “What concerns me is the present. And the future.” His voice dropped to a lower register. “Leave now, or I will take my business elsewhere despite my wife’s urging.”
Samuel’s lips curved in a sneer. “Or I could kill you for killing Halfy.”
“Halfy was—,” Anna began, but Zhi-Gang cut her off.
“The idiot touched my wife,” he said, real fury darkening his tone. “And if you cared for his life, I would already be dead.” He folded his arms, echoing Samuel’s posture. “Leave now or never see your daughter—and my business—again.”
Samuel’s eyes darted around before finally coming to rest on Anna’s face. “This is not new business. I already control Jiangsu province.”
“Bai is dead!” Anna snapped. “Killed because of gambling debts.” She jerked her head at Zhi-Gang. “He is the new governor. You must negotiate a new deal with him.”
Samuel took an angry step forward. “You dare challenge me? After disappearing with an entire shipment?”
Anna swallowed and nodded, clearly anxious. “I had to run. The Enforcer was coming.”
Samuel cursed and spit onto the floor.
“But I would never return to you empty handed,” she continued. “You know that.” Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. “I know that.”
Samuel pursed his lips. “A husband with a new province. Hmph. We shall see.” His gaze flicked back to Zhi-Gang. “I’ll be in the office. Don’t make me wait.” Then, with a clenching of his thick jaw, he turned and walked out. His men followed, the one with the knives leaving last.
Zhi-Gang waited until the door shut behind them before turning to his wife. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, already reaching for her clothing. “You?”
“I don’t know how I didn’t hear them.” He said the words, but he did know. Last night’s experience had been so overwhelming, so exhausting, he had lost all sense of the world. All that seemed real to him was her. Even now, with the threat of the men gone from their room, his eyes traveled to her body as she pulled on her skirt. His gaze followed the curve of her hip and the bounce of her breasts while his memory recalled her scent, her taste, her joy.
Their joy.
Their love.
He sat down on the bed, covering his shock by pulling on his trousers. Had he truly fallen in love with a white woman? An opium runner and the adopted daughter of one of the worst of her kind? It was insane. And yet, was it a surprise?
“Are you all right?” Anna asked, her voice slipping into his thoughts as easily as every other aspect of her had infiltrated his body and mind.
He nodded, pulling on his boots without comment. He had to focus on the situation at hand. He was the Emperor’s Enforcer, which needed his attention. Both their lives depended on it.
And yet, his mind was still soft with the memories of last night. Never had he thought he would live a Chinese love story, one of doomed lovers and tragic death. He had worked hard, his whole family had sacrificed everything—including his sister—so that he would gain the status and power he now enjoyed. He had his choice of brides. Why ever would he pick a white drug-runner?
He wrapped his tunic about him, leaving it just tight enough to keep him warm but loose enough to allow him to fight. He could not allow Samuel to continue to ply his hideous trade. He would do better to establish an agreement with Samuel, then return later with a battalion of men. That would be safer for him. Safer for Anna. But would he get a better opportunity?
“Almost done,” she said as she offered him his glasses.
He frowned as he looked at her. She was fully dressed. Even her hair was pinned up out of her way. At his confused expression, she smiled and continued. “You are almost done with me,” she said softly. “We need only finish with this, then all will be over. We can both move on.”
She meant she could board Captain Jonas’s boat and head for her family in England. Which was as it should be. He nodded, though the motion felt as though it tore his chest open. The pain was almost unbearable.
“It would be safer to delay,” he said, slipping on his glasses. Anna abruptly became that much more beautiful. “We are vulnerable this way.”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she slowly stepped up to him. He spread his arms, welcoming her into his embrace without hesitation. And just that easily, his heart sealed, the pain faded. He pressed his face into her hair, closing his eyes as he gripped her tightly. She lifted her face, and he drew back, thinking she meant to kiss him. But before their mouths met, she whispered into his e
ar.
“You cannot maintain this fiction long. Someone will recognize you and you will never get close to Samuel again. We must end it now.”
He swallowed, feeling a surge of anger that she could think so clearly. This was his job, and yet she was the one who focused on the task, who spoke logically while he was still trapped in the mists of last night’s wonder. Was she truly as unmoved as she appeared? Or…
He drew back, searching her eyes. “Last night you said you loved me.”
He saw a momentary panic swirl through her eyes before her gaze steadied. She did not hide from him, merely met his eyes with an open sorrow. “I did,” she finally whispered. “I do.” Then she glanced toward the door. “He will not wait much longer.”
Zhi-Gang nodded, knowing she was acting exactly as she ought: putting away the past to concentrate on the present. And how easy it seemed for her. He ought to be following her example, and yet his belly churned with doubt. Had he misjudged everything? Did she truly love him? And did that matter?
“I have other wives,” he said, stunned that he would speak of it now. “Some dead, another a political alliance. They mean nothing to me, but I am marrie—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping his words. “I don’t care.” She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against his. “It’s the truth: I love you the same whether you have no wives or a million.”
“Only one,” he whispered. “Only you.”
He would have kissed her then. He would have tried to express what was in his heart, but he didn’t have time. Only one thing was clear: nothing could be decided by hiding in this room. To move forward, he had to deal with Samuel. He had to be the Enforcer. As soon as that was done…
She would leave for England and it would be done for good.
He nodded, taking one last moment to breathe in her scent. “So be it,” he finally intoned. Then he set her away from him and turned to face one of China’s darkest enemies.
The office smelled something like burnt tea. It took a moment for Anna to recognize the scent, but then she closed her eyes in memory. Her real father had loved Turkish cafe. That Samuel enjoyed the same brew was one of the ties that had bound her to him in the first place.