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Saturday, May 16th. The Taipei sky was a solid sheet of wet grey. A steady drizzle soaked the air at the Taipei Expo Park Farmers’ Market, turning everything damp and chilly. I wore a deep-blue American-style casual hunting jacket that hugged my thick shoulders and back—years of heavy training had kept me in peak shape. The weather wasn’t great for shopping, but after a brutal workweek I just wanted the simple, alive feeling of weekend street energy. The cool rain felt like a cleanse.
The market buzzed with noise. A special joint event by the Taipei and Hualien Farmers’ Associations was underway on the main stage. Umbrellas crowded the area, but my eyes cut straight through them and locked onto the most vivid splash of color on stage. Today’s host was wearing a bold watermelon-print bikini in weather barely above 20°C. The red, black-dotted bra cupped her full, proud breasts, squeezing them into mouthwatering cleavage. The matching emerald-striped bottoms highlighted an insane waist-to-hip ratio. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a high, slightly messy bun, a few damp strands clinging to her fair neck. Even in the gloomy rain, she radiated raw vitality that made it impossible to look anywhere else.
“Alright, next question for a huge Hualien specialty gift pack!” She held the mic, her voice sweet but sharp. Her bright eyes swept the crowd and landed directly on me. “That handsome big brother in the cool jacket—yes, you! Don’t run away. Quick question: which township produces Hualien’s most famous ‘Big Watermelon,’ and when does the harvest usually start?”
I paused, then smiled politely under all the stares. “Ruisui… and around June?” I guessed.
She burst out laughing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, handsome, wrong answer! It’s Yuli and Shoufeng, and the harvest actually begins mid-May—just like right now.” She winked, her teasing gaze carrying a playful challenge that instantly stirred something competitive in me. “No worries. Even though you missed the grand prize, I’ve got a watermelon keychain as a participation gift. Come find me after the event to claim it.”
I watched her keep hosting in the rain, but a strange ripple stirred inside me. At forty, it was rare to feel like the one being hunted.
By 6 PM the sun had long disappeared behind thick clouds. I was having dinner with two old friends at Mitsui Japanese Cuisine on Nongan Street. We sat by the window, chatting casually about the real estate market. Then fate decided to be playful. Across the room, surrounded by a group in suits, I saw her again. She had changed out of the watermelon bikini into a sharp Tiffany-green casual suit that made her skin look even more luminous. Only the matching green high heels linked her to the energetic host I’d seen on stage.
Our eyes met. Surprise flashed across her face, quickly melting into a deep, lingering smile. As everyone prepared to leave, she smoothly excused herself from her group and walked straight toward me. “I didn’t expect to run into you again so soon, Big Brother from the Yuli watermelon fields.” Her voice dropped low, just for the two of us.
“I’m Yi-xuan.” The words sounded deliciously sultry in the warm, slightly tipsy atmosphere. “Mitsui’s wine pairing is nice, but I’m craving a proper cocktail right now. There’s a great little micro-bar in Zhonghe. Want to join me for an after-party?”
That direct, bold invitation hit like a shot of adrenaline. I apologized to my friends and drove her to “Bar Do Nothing” above an ice-cream shop next to Zhonghe No. 4 Park. The tiny second-floor space had only six seats. Minimalist decor and soft lighting made the whole world shrink down to the two of us and the quiet rhythm of the bartender’s work.
“Two custom peat-heavy whiskey cocktails,” I told the bartender. Seated at the narrow bar, Yi-xuan’s long legs teased from beneath her green suit, her high heels dangling playfully from her toes. We talked for hours—Taipei’s pace, the ups and downs of event hosting, life. Her insight was sharp, and under the influence of good whiskey and dim lights, I let my usual business armor slip. Every shared glance pulled us closer.
“You know, a man’s eyes are incredibly sexy when he’s really listening,” she murmured, tracing a fingertip slowly along the firm forearm exposed by my rolled-up sleeve. “You’re even stronger than you look.” Her finger tapped lightly against my chest.
“And you’re a lot more dangerous than the watermelon host I saw this afternoon,” I replied, leaning in, catching the faint scent of rain still lingering in her hair.
Near midnight the city had fallen into a damp, quiet slumber. I drove her back to her sleek apartment in Yonghe. The moment the elevator doors closed in the tight space, the heat of alcohol and raw desire collided. When we stepped out on her floor and stood outside her door, the silence crackled.
She unlocked it and glanced back at me over her shoulder. The playful hostess from the afternoon was gone; in her place was pure, ripe hunger. The instant the door clicked shut behind us, before the lights even came on, I pinned her against the entryway wall. My hands gripped her waist, feeling the incredible elasticity beneath the suit fabric. Her breathing turned ragged as her fingers climbed my shoulders.
Our kiss turned fierce and devouring. I scooped her up effortlessly—years of heavy training made her feel almost weightless in my arms—and carried her straight to the master bedroom. I laid her down on the large, soft bed and peeled off her green jacket, revealing a thin white camisole with nothing underneath. Her heavy breasts strained against the fabric, nipples already hard. Clearly she had planned this.
I slowly pushed the camisole up, freeing two full, beautifully rounded breasts that quivered in the cool air, their tender pink peaks begging for attention. I buried my face between them, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating scent while my large palms kneaded the soft, heavy flesh. A low growl escaped my throat. My tongue traced and licked across her skin as her soft gasps filled the room. Then I flipped her onto her stomach, pinning her gently against the pillows. I spread her legs and attacked from behind—alternating slow, teasing circles with my middle finger and hungry licks from my tongue—until her thighs shook and her slick heat coated my chin.
Needing more, I rose onto my knees, gripped her hips, and sank deep into her from behind in one smooth, powerful thrust. The tight, scorching heat of her core clamped down hard around me. I held her waist and began driving into her with long, heavy strokes, her body rolling in waves beneath me. Her long blonde hair spilled wildly across her back as the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin echoed through the quiet apartment.
When I felt myself getting too close, I slowed, pulled out carefully, and guided her to turn over. “Come here,” I murmured, sitting back against the headboard and pulling her on top. Yi-xuan straddled me eagerly, hands on my shoulders as she sank down, taking every inch. Her heavy breasts swayed right in front of my face while she rode me with deep, rolling movements. I gripped her ass, helping her find the perfect rhythm. Suddenly her spine arched, toes curling as her inner walls began to flutter wildly.
Feeling her climax building, I wrapped my arms around her, stood up from the bed in one fluid motion, and lifted her completely off the mattress. My hands hooked under her knees, holding her suspended in the air while I stayed buried deep inside. She gasped sharply and clung to my neck, legs locked around my waist. With nothing to brace against except my raw strength, every upward thrust drove impossibly deep. Gravity and momentum turned each stroke into a heavy, wet, breathless collision. Her moans fractured into broken cries as the weightless, pounding sensation overwhelmed her.
I took her hard in that airborne position, driving toward the finish with relentless power. Her core clenched violently around me, silently begging. With a deep, guttural roar I slammed up one final time and erupted, flooding her trembling depths with the thick, scalding rush of my release. She screamed in pure ecstasy, her entire body locking into a long, shaking orgasm that milked every last drop from me.
The room fell quiet except for our heavy, tangled breathing. The air smelled of sweat, sex, and faint whiskey. Yi-xuan’s eyes were closed, her face soft and utterly satisfied—like a cat who had finally gotten all the cream.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, voice husky and raw, grabbing my hand. “The rain hasn’t stopped. Stay and keep me warm.”
I smiled and slid back down beside her, pulling her soft body into my arms. That night I slept deeper than I had in months.
The next morning, sunlight finally broke through the clouds over Yonghe. We made love again—slow, lazy, and tender in the gentle morning light, completely different from the wild storm of the night before. Afterward we dressed and walked to the nearby “Warmth brunch & cafe.”
The bright, Korean-style spot had perfect natural lighting. We sat at the photogenic window table. She ordered the signature French toast with Italian roasted chicken thigh; I chose the salmon eggs Benedict. The food looked beautiful on the marble table, but the real treat was the natural, radiant beauty sitting across from me—far from her stage persona.
“So, Big Brother,” she teased, cutting a piece of chicken and feeding it to me, eyes sparkling, “do I need to test your watermelon knowledge again today?”
“No need,” I replied, biting into the tender meat and looking at the woman who had shared that wild night with me. “I’ve already tasted the sweetest part of this summer.”