Lorelei James - Bound

“No.” Ronin latched on to her biceps, careful in the way he held her—firmly, but not too closely. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“If you’re so pissed off at me about this, why aren’t you lashing out at me?”

“Oh, I’m supposed to be rude after turning down a business proposition from my lover? Sorry, I’m unfamiliar with protocol.”

“Jesus, Amery.”

Her eyes searched his. “You even offering me a loan has changed things between us.”

“Bull.”

“And I’m really sorry I told you about my financial issues, which forced you into a heroic attempt to save my business. So forget I brought it up and we’ll keep this”—she gestured between them—“the way it’s been.”

Ronin moved in close—dangerously close. “And what way has that been?”

“Fun. No pressure to make it into something it’s not.”

“Like what?”

“Permanent.”

“Permanent,” he repeated.

“Yes. If you loaned me money, then we’d be tied together, for at least a year, making it awkward when one of us walks away.”

Evidently that was the wrong thing to say.

Ronin’s mouth crashed down on hers. The kiss was ferocious. Uncompromising. So blistering hot Amery was shocked the water around them wasn’t boiling.

Hard hands on her body, in her hair. She couldn’t catch her breath, his mouth was so demanding.

He ripped his lips free of hers, and his voice reverberated in her ear. “I’ll show you tied together.” Then he sank his teeth into the skin at her throat and pulled her head back. His eyes burned into hers. “I have you where I want you, how I want you, and you’ll be mine until I release you.”

She should’ve protested his tight hold on her or his warning. But she didn’t. She wanted to experience every dirty, bad, harsh thing he wanted to do with her.

“Do you understand?”

Primal lust and the need to . . . master her shone in his eyes.

In that moment she realized he wasn’t talking about binding her with ropes, but with this sexual obsession. He hadn’t disputed her claim that there’d never be permanence between them. Any other time her brain would’ve taken over, dissecting every word. But her brain wasn’t in charge right now; her body was. And it had already readied for him: heart racing, blood pumping, pussy wet, clit swollen, nipples tight. So she gave him the answer they both wanted—even when it frightened her how quick and visceral her response to this man had become.

“Yes, I understand.”

Ronin took her to the ground and fucked her until his knees were raw and her back bore the cement scrape marks of his possession. After he’d turned her mindless, he fucked her again in the swimming pool. No words exchanged. The sounds of heaving breathing, soft grunts and sighs, and splashing water became the only conversation they needed.

There was no tenderness in the aftermath. And for the first time with him, Amery felt ashamed of what they were doing to each other—not sexually, but emotionally.

“Ronin.”

“I know, baby.”

But he didn’t know. And worse, he didn’t ask what she’d meant. He retreated from her again.

They remained like that, side by side on the pool deck, staring up at the sky, not speaking because neither knew what to say.

AMERY had just settled in behind her desk on Friday morning with a cup of coffee when her office door opened.

“Delivery for Amery Hardwick.”

She glanced up. Chaz stood in the doorway holding an enormous bouquet of flowers.

He lowered them and met her eyes. “A peace offering for jumping to conclusions and jumping your shit. I’m sorry. It was a dick move and it’ll never happen again.”

“You sure about that?”

“Oh, I’ll probably be a dick to you again, but it won’t be for the same reason.” He set the flowers on top of the filing cabinet and fiddled with them. “Friends support each other. I didn’t support you, ergo, I’m a shitty friend. I’ve felt so freakin’ guilty I couldn’t even show my face around here.”

“I missed your ugly mug, Chaz.”

“Not even on my worst hair day am I ugly on the outside.” He sobered. “But on the inside . . . different story.”

Amery got up and gave him a hug. “We all have ugly days. I’m glad today isn’t one of them.”

“I am too, ma chérie. So am I forgiven?”

“Only if you buy me lunch.”

“Done. Indian sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect.” She gave him one last squeeze. “Thanks for the pretty posies.”

“Guilt flowers are the best kind.”

“HARDER.”

“No.”

“Yes. Move into it with your whole body. Perfect. You’ve got the rhythm. Now pull back slowly.”

Amery panted and slumped against him. “You’re wearing me out, Ronin.”

“That’s the point. Come on. Stay with me here. We’re almost there.”

“I can’t.”

He peered down at her, their faces so close she saw sweat beaded on his jawline. She licked her lips, wanting a taste of salt and Ronin.

“Stop with the bedroom eyes. Take a breath. Then we’re going again.”

She moved back and brought up her hands into position. Then she let fly, hitting the heavy bag with all she had.

“I knew you could hit harder.”

“That’s because I superimposed your face on my target area,” she panted between punches.

“Whatever works. Fifty more. Make them count and this will be it.”

Amery gritted her teeth and smacked the meaty part of her forearms into the bag. Left, right, left, right.

“Don’t hunch your shoulders. Change the pattern. Three strikes with the right, then one with the left.”

She kept that pattern for a dozen strikes and focused on a fast switch when he changed the rhythm again to two and two.

“Ten left. All left strikes.”

Wham. Wham. Wham. So much sweat ran into her eyes she could hardly see. But she didn’t let it deter her as she counted out the last seven blows.

“Strong finish. Excellent work. Grab a drink.”

“I don’t think I can move.” Her words were muted since she’d face-planted into the heavy bag.

“Either let go and get a drink or I’ll add another hundred drills.”

She cracked one eye open and glared at him. “Bite me.”

Outside class Ronin would’ve laughed at her. But being as they were in the dojo . . . he lifted one imperious eyebrow.

“Sorry, Sensei. Getting a drink now.” She trudged to the bench and uncapped her water, taking four gulps. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to sit on the bench, but she didn’t care. Her legs were noodles.

“The extra training classes show marked improvement in your form and stamina.”

“How did this go from being in a self-defense class to private instruction with boxing and takedown techniques?” She knocked back another mouthful of water. “You training me for women’s MMA?”

“Not hardly.”

“I’m getting special treatment because . . . ?”

“I deemed it so.”

“Or because I’m fucking Sensei Black?”

Ronin smirked. “That too.”

“I know I’m supposed to respect the teacher/student line when we’re in the dojo.”

“But?”

“But all I can think about is you tying my arms with that nylon resistance strap and fucking me against the wall.”

“For that obvious insubordination, I’d give you ten lashes with that strap before I bind you and fuck you.”

Amery hid her smile behind her water bottle. “I apologize for putting such raunchy thoughts in your head, Master Black.”

“Class dismissed, Ms. Hardwick.”

“Does that mean we can . . . ?”

He made that low growl. “Not here. But I’d better find you on your knees in my practice room in an hour to make the raunchy images you put in my head a reality.”

Her pulse spiked.

“Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stopped in the doorway and turned to give her a slow once-over. “Don’t bother showering. You’ll need another one by the time I’m through with you tonight.”

A shiver worked through her. She couldn’t wait.

A few days after Chaz apologized, Emmylou had shown up at Amery’s loft after hours, with a bottle of whipped cream vodka and two bags of Amery’s favorite Lindt chocolates.

The conversation had started out surprisingly awkward. Emmylou had apologized for listening to Tyler and not recognizing his true motives. But then she’d admitted Tyler wasn’t the only one who’d expressed concerns about Ronin and his business connections. One of Emmylou’s clients had seen Ronin leaving Amery’s business when she’d come in for a massage.

She’d assumed Ronin was Emmylou’s massage client and proceeded to tell her about Ronin’s connection to Thaddeus “TP” Pettigrew, the mogul who owned half of Denver. The source swore that several years ago Ronin had dealt with the vagrants, dealers, and squatters at several abandoned buildings in the Platte River Valley District. Once the commercial and residential buildings had been cleared of undesirables, including existing tenants who put their buildings up for sale, TP bought up a huge chunk of the area and applied for urban renewal funds.

Not exactly illegal, but it sounded suspicious given Ronin’s hard stance on ethics in and out of the dojo.

Emmylou’s source, a real estate broker, swore it was common knowledge but no one had shared details on exactly what Ronin had done to force people out. But rumors ran rampant.

So despite Emmylou’s apology, Amery had a sense of disquiet about the information. Especially since she knew Ronin and TP were friends and they’d left the Colorado Sports Banquet for a private business discussion. She’d tracked down a few articles on TP, and the more she read, the more disparaging the pieces were on TP’s questionable business practices and the organizations he supported. Being associated with TP often resulted in a tainted reputation—guilt by association. So why would Ronin subject himself to that?