“What would you do, if you could do anything?” I took a step toward him, closing the space between us. “This,” I said. And then I kissed him.” ― Sarah Dessen,
Red lips framed pearlescent teeth in a smile perched on an upturned face. Faith’s hair was tied in a ponytail that danced between outstretched arms. The mist caught the light breaking through the branches of rain-kissed pines casting a glow on the skin of her face, arms, and legs like a candle under a burning wick.
She laughed at me for suggesting we go inside out of the rain and abandon our morning jog along the Han River in Seoul. I caught a glint in her eyes as she turned to look at me, questioning my seriousness. Her smile signaled a new plan had entered her fertile mind.
Almond eyes guarded by long lashes locked on my gaze as she drifted to me in the light of dawn. The tap of short steps and the swish of fabric on swaying hips and smooth skin highlighted her seductive smile. Serious eyes of polished agate wandered over me.
She moved like smoke emanating from an ember of a neglected campfire. The twist of her hips and the rock of her shoulders as she walked toward me enveloped my mind and created a spark in the pit of my stomach.
The specter of sensuous grace distracted my want of comfort. A flicker of flame, a licking flame of desire, reached up my legs. The burn in my groin engulfed me in a craving for her and the morning air to fill my lungs and soothe my racing heart.
She glanced down and touched my waist. Her fingers drifted along my side reaching around to my back, pulling, tugging, and closing the distance between us until chest to chest we held each other in a silence that took us away from the raindrops gathering on our clothes and skin.
A scent of feminine musk mingled with lavender, citrus, peonies, and damp hair. Her essence swirled around me as she leaned against me. The right foot lifted to the curve of her bottom. A foreshadowing of my immediate future, I hoped.
Palms rested on my chest; the pads of her fingers under manicured nails gathered the fabric of my shirt. She pushed me toward the porch we just left. I reached back for the handle on the door as her mouth found mine. Her lips massaged me; lipstick smearing, adhering to my chin, my jaw line, under my ear, down my neck until I had to have her. I wanted to feel her skin on me and taste her like aged Beerenauslese wine. Her love was an ambrosia enjoyed a sip at a time.
Screw the door. We held a probing kiss and played a game with hands and fingers drifting across damp skin and cloth feeling the hard and soft landscape below. Drops of water clung to arms and reflected a glow like gemstones against a backdrop of bronze skin painted in shifting shadows and light.
Her elixir of eroticism left me feeling drunk as shadows crept away from the light of day awakening me from a dream with the impetus of her love. Touches across centers of rising pleasure gave way to burning desire. Under a low ceiling, framed in the archway of the porch, we let our passions run wild.
She made a sound in her throat, a hum like she was enjoying dark chocolate with a vintage port wine. Her lips and tongue implored me to enjoy the delights she held in her imagination, which I’d learned centered in the erotic arts and delicacies of lovemaking only a woman can master.
Hungry lips, wet and smeared, reminded me where she marked my face and neck. I had to laugh as I looked in the surreal cast of her eyes on my face.
“Do I amuse you?” She asked with a touch of impatience.
“You set me alight like Ouzo at a Greek wedding. Drink slow and careful or get burned.” Her eyes hypnotized me as I spoke. The words fell from my mouth but sounded like they came from another.
“What if I like getting burned by your passion?”
She reached down, the heel of her hand riding up along the front of my jogging pants with fingers trailing along exploring every detail of my lust for her. My siren looked up to judge my pleasure as she lingered with a playful touch. Twinkling eyes and a coltish smile gave away her satisfaction with my response.
“Then come inside and we’ll start a fire.” I thought I sounded like I was begging.
“What’s wrong with right here?” She whispered as her lips reclaimed some of the red colors she had left on my neck.
“Oh, what the hell,” I mumbled my unconditional surrender to the spell she cast over me.
We made love like wild beasts in the corner of the porch. Her eyes narrowed into slits with a blaze of light refracting from the liquid pools of her dilated pupils. I buried my face in her neck and held on to her.
She leaned back and braced herself. Soft cries kept time with our frantic rhythm. The sound of her pleasure drove me out of my mind with the need to feel every centimeter of me plunged into the pleasure she gave me.
Glassy eyes looked up into my face as Faith leaned back against the corner. She held on to my shoulders and surrendered to my obsession never taking her eyes off of me. I couldn’t resist any longer. Lost in the moment, I felt her press against me.
In the heat of passion I lost myself to the sensations of arms wrapped around my neck, her chest tight against mine as she pressed herself fast against my hips. My climax pulsed so quick I almost dropped her; my legs gave out as strength drained from me like water poured from a bucket.
Strange, what clear visions come to mind in those moments. When someone releases their mind, body, soul, and heart to another, it burns an artful expression in the retinas that remains long after the moment has gone. Seeing and feeling the woman of my dreams lose herself to me sent me over the edge, and I slipped deeper into the web she cast.
My dark-eyed dream released me and let her legs slide down to the ground pressing against me and shaking in my arms as I held her. My breath came in spasms as we embraced. I felt like I was lying in the hot sand on the beach as the waves ran up and over me. She tapped me on my backside to wake me from my stupor.
“I’m ready to go inside now,” she whispered before biting my earlobe.
There were many times like this moment. She was spontaneous, even volcanic at times. It was her Asian nature, I suppose. I did my best to ride the tempest of our passion without losing my head over her.
She came and went as she pleased. I would miss her for days and then she would call and see if I had time for her. I always did. Even if I didn’t have time, I made time. When she popped in at whatever place we agreed to meet, that smile, those full lips, and laughing eyes surged past my defenses. We started up wherever we left off as if no time had passed between us.
We traveled to places she wanted to show me and ate at restaurants in the old parts of the cities we visited. Introductions to people she knew were a blur. She had a sound knowledge of the local history for many of the places we visited. The staff of those out-of-the-way places we went to always showed her a subdued fealty. The people she greeted with open friendliness knew something I didn’t.
I saw a lady of exquisite taste and a proper manner in public while she remained an untamed tigress in the shadows, hotels, and apartments we shared together while on travel. She was a storm of emotion at times and tranquil like a mountain lake on other occasions.
Regardless of her mood, each time we were together she searched my mind, my heart, and my soul for clues of my connection to her culture and my bond with her. I’d never experienced anything like her before.
I wanted to love her. My mind wandered across dreams of her visitations and an elusive promise to stay with me. It hurt to know as much as we made love and spent time together, I hardly knew her at all.
She was an enigma to me. I had no idea what her reason for including me in her life meant to her or me. I just knew I needed her. I felt a clawing addiction to her. I suspect that was what she waited for and wanted all along. She had to know how fathomless my bond to her was before she allowed me inside of her world.
It was during this time she opened up and guided me to the discovery of who she was and why she chose me as her lover. She told me the story of her life as a Dragon Sister. A Sentinel, she called herself. I drifted back in time as she told the stories of her Dragon Society and its origins.
She was a Black Dragon. They were the most feared of all the house of dragons. They symbolized the dragons of dark waters and deep shadows of the north, which was the land of death in the mythology of her Mongolian heritage.
The Black Dragons were the keeper of secrets. They were also the enforcers for the rulers of the clan. She was a Sentinel of the Black Dragon Society. She served the Masters and did their bidding, and they bid her seek me out and become my pair-bonded mate. Her seduction worked.
I joined their society, pledged my loyalty, and received the keys to an ancient past rich with history, culture, and secrets. It was the old Master’s hope that I would tell the story and break the millennial silence to herald the beginning of their prophecy.
Their prophecy tied mortal humans to the constant force of the universe and lived in the memories of those who accepted the bond with the Dragon. Legends and skill passed from one generation to the next folding time and advancing their singular unified goal across the centuries. Their goal was nothing less than advancing science to improve themselves through bio-engineering, mind, body, and spiritual conditioning. From what I saw of the world, I preferred the Dragons.
My Dragon Sentinel called herself Chungshil Chuŏk; it translated to heartfelt and faithful memory. She was my Mnemosyne. I called her Faith. Her name represented all things of a female nature. Faith was Yin to her Asian clan. She called me Nae Yong, her Dragon. Hyperion was hard for her to pronounce. It made me smile every time she tried.
Often, my Asian siren rested on her back with her head on my lap, and her knees were bouncing to some melody as she told about her life and her clan. My Sentinel had a long and storied past, and she wanted me to hear all of it.
I kept my thoughts to myself and let the story unfold in moments shared together on park benches under the shade of Wisteria trees. We talked over meals with sweet aromatic rice, exotic vegetables, and fish or fowl. We talked on the sofa looking out over the East China Sea on the coast of Jeju Island as the sun kissed the playful waves and wisps of clouds moved like fingers to reveal the cerulean sky.
In the high-rise apartment overlooking Hyundai Beach in Busan, Korea she would lie against my shoulder and trail her fingers across my chest and stomach or rub my thighs. Sometimes she used her long nails as if she were playing a stringed zither tied to my heart’s rolling passion. I rested in a somnolent mood as she told a remarkable tale of intrigue, duty, honor, and fealty to the Masters.
On the balcony of a hotel in Singapore, we overlooked buildings of steel and glass. The sky dappled with dim sum-like clouds reflected in every panel against a backdrop of the bay full of all types of ships. She looked out over the city and leaned against the railing as she talked.
The graceful curves of her waist set under a slight arch in her back flaring out to straight shoulders and sloping down and out to tight hips emphasized her body. She was sleek like a mountain lion and her movements, though graceful and smooth, always seemed like a well-trained predator. It was this predatory grace that intrigued me and made me hunger to join her for whatever it was she hunted.
The light of day bathed her in light showing her body through the fabric of her shirt. The nightshirt was too short to cover her, exposing her raw sexuality to me as she spoke. I sat mesmerized by her comfort at letting me take in her strength and beauty as she took me on this journey of indoctrination into an insular society that hid in plain sight.
I was her Dragon, her bonded mate, and the scribe of her exotic tale. What follows is her story told me over the course of several years. I guess it’s always best to start at the beginning.
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