Check out our Specials


Subscribe to our newsletter for periodic updates and valuable coupons.

Email Address:

The One by JM Dragon

Chapter One


In a dimly lit room, a tall figure stood at the window, watching shadows move on the rickety cane blind. Occasional bright light, from revelers in the procession going by on the street below, bounced off the dust-encrusted window dressing.


A woman lay indolently on the crumpled bed—the naked torso stretched to full length, conveying contentment. Black hair, as deeply dark as a raven’s wing, moved over her thin shoulders. Almond-shaped eyes glanced at the naked form silhouetted against the window. She moved off the bed and padded silently to stand behind the person. Sure hands splayed over the enticing chest. A satisfied smile curved thin lips as the body under her touch reacted with a squirm and turned in her hands.


“Come back to bed. We have another hour before I have to go.” Her voice had a delicate ring to it, the words spoken in broken, accented English.


There was a tensioning of cheekbones as if the comment had been abhorrent.


“You could stay with me and kick that son of a bitch out for good this time.”


The slow deliberate movement on naked skin was working its magic. Lust, rather than anger, became the overriding emotion invading the air.


Dark brown eyes gazed up into flashing pools of steel blue. With a sigh that creased the otherwise flawless olive skin, the petite woman shook her head.


“You know it’s impossible. My father chose him and I refuse to disobey his wishes. You understand what it means if I betray the bond.”


A dainty hand snaked its way down the taunt belly of her prey and she felt the shiver reverberating in her ear as she nuzzled into the tanned neck.


“I can look after you. You don’t need your father’s money or his permission, Ming.” There was a harsh laugh. “You’re thirty years old. You can make your own decisions.” A tanned hand stilled the questing one on its travels.


A tinkle of delicate laughter floated between them as the hand moved again, the restraint ignored. This time it moved to curly hair, the color of yellow cornflowers, and slithered fingers through the juices that flowed there.


“We’ve talked about this numerous times in the past year, Phil. You don’t make enough money to give me what I need.” Ming smiled. “Now please, let me make love to you and forget about words. Our time together is so short.” Her hand moved insistently through the curls and found what she was looking for—the perky nub the evidence of a sexual response to her journey.


Phil groaned, then lifted Ming in strong muscular arms. Seconds later, they landed on the bed, minute particles of dust rising into the air around their bodies.


Discussion forgotten, the bodies intertwined and began a hurried, passionate lovemaking session.



An hour later only one occupant remained in the dingy, back street hotel room. Phil once again took a stance to watch over the street below. People below, in a dragon train, continued their cruising through the street. Tonight had been the blessing of the virgin, or some other ridiculous ritualistic theme the people followed. Ming had been right; it was all about the money here in the city. With only a meagre commission flying cargo in a beat up, late twenties plane, her bank balance wouldn’t be enough to keep someone like Ming in the luxurious life she was accustomed too.


Turning to survey the room, Philomena Casters decided that Ming was right, it was best to keep their relationship only in the lust category. She didn’t have the money or the lifestyle to settle down—probably never would.


She grinned. God, but wouldn’t Ming’s pompous father and idiot husband be livid if they ever found out that their dutiful daughter and wife saved up all her passion for a woman? And a foreigner to boot.


She checked the clock and climbed back onto the bed. Her next flight out was in six hours, giving her enough time for a nap and a shower before she had to head off to the airstrip. She pulled the covers over her body, more out of habit then any need for the warmth. When she closed her eyes, however, a picture of Ming, nipples erect and body humming for what only she could provide, came to mind in glorious Technicolor. Sleep evaded her as she masturbated.



Hours later, she walked through the door of the reception area of Saunders Airlines.


“Phil, am I glad you’re early. I have an emergency run for you.” Blake Saunders, the owner of the airline, a pudgy man who resembled a monkey because of his profuse body hair, placed a map and a letter enclosed in a waterproof pouch in Phil’s hands.


Phil took the pouch and gave it a cursory glance, then looked at the retreating back of the older man. He was wiping his hands to remove the sweat that profusely ran from him all day long. The humidity in this part of the world was horrendous. In the cities, in the hotels, it was tolerable, but venture outside the town boundaries and into the countryside and it was a completely different story. You had to be mad to work in it—especially a European. At least Saunders had opened his wallet and purchased a few fans to place around the major work areas.


“What about Jamie? I thought he had the early shift. Have we been inundated with work since I left yesterday?”


Blake stopped walking and turned around to face the woman. He scratched the side of his head before trailing sweat and oil over the rough stubble on what looked like a week old beard. “Jamie has a stomach bug.”


“Again? I keep telling him he should stay away from the whore houses,” Phil said.


“He’s wet behind the ears. Too much, too soon.” Saunders scratched his cheek.


Phil shook her head. He was a stupid fool, barely out of school. His Clark Gable looks had infatuated every girl who looked his way and he was naïve enough to think each one loved him. Silly boy. “I agree. This run, I guess it’s the usual?”


“Read the letter while I check out the plane.” Saunders turned away.


She slid a fingernail across the top of the envelope and retrieved the contents.


Mr. B Saunders

Saunders Airlines



May 12th, 1937

Dear Sir,

     We require you to collect a package of delicate disposition, from Selah in the interior of the Rashid kingdom. Ask for Rosa Moran and give her the sealed envelope enclosed. When collected you must forthwith return to Zongnan and dutifully deposit the package to the British Consulate. They in turn will complete the final transaction and your ultimate negotiated fee.

     In good faith, we deposit in your account the amount of a thousand pounds on the 23rd May.

     The package must arrive within five days of this deposit or the deal is rescinded.

Joseph Bertram Ponsonby.

Solicitors of law

Ponsonby, Gold and Locke

23B Greyfriars Street




Phil frowned as her eyebrows almost reached the top of her head. She whistled at the amount of the deposit and strode toward the supine figure of her employer who was under the Cessna.


“Boss, if the deposit is a thousand, what’s the whole job worth?”


There was a curse under the fuselage as Saunders emerged. He was rubbing his head. “Now that’s my business, Phil. Yours is to do the job.”


“That’s almost impossible.” She frowned. “You know we have to give that area a ten day notice for fuel. We have exactly….” She glanced at the Bank of England calendar on the wall of the office area. “Four days.”


“Almost, you said.” He grinned. “Sure, if Jamie was on the run, or anyone else in these parts, it would be. You, Phil, are something else when it comes to breaking records in flight. I know we’ll do it.”


“Appealing to my pride right?”


“Works every time, I’ve found.” He looked solemn. “Actually, I’ve used some of the retainer to pay four outstanding fuel and maintenance bills. I guess you understand that the pockets were empty. Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. If you pull this off, we could talk partnership.”


“I didn’t know you were in that much financial trouble.” Phil looked at her short clipped nails then turned her eyes to the man who was waiting pensively. “Are we ready to go?” she said, idly flicking a speck of dust off her jacket.


“Yep, Gilda’s ready and waiting.” Saunders grinned and slapped her back. “See you in four days.”


Phil nodded. She moved toward the ladder, climbed into the cockpit of the Cessna, and began her preflight checks. A few minutes later, she waved at Blake Saunders and took off.


To purchase eBook. click here.


To purchase print book, click here.


To read Terry's review, click here.


Affinity Rainbow Podcasts

Listen as our authors read from their books.

Zen4dummies, our web-mistress