“Bruises on your beautiful neck. That kills me.” Soft, wet kisses followed the arc of her throat, and he followed the sweetness with heat, gifting her with a shiver-inducing pass of his warm breath on the spots he’d just kissed.

“Ronin, I’m fine.”

“I’m not fine. Not even fucking close to fine.”

“Then let’s make it fine. Better than fine.” Amery reached between them and jacked his shaft until he hissed with pleasure. “Good. I just want to make sure you’re as pumped for this as I am.”

He groaned against her throat when she repeatedly rubbed her thumb over the sweet spot beneath the head. “I am. Grab the shower bar.” Ronin slipped his hand behind her knee and pressed it into the wall. “Lift your leg. Higher. Come on. You practice yoga.”

There was her bossy man. She kept her eyes on his face as he raised her thigh so her kneecap was parallel to her shoulder.

“Hang on to me.” He moved in until they were groin to groin. Then he finally stroked her pussy. “You’re wet.”

“Being naked with you does that to me.”

He slowly fed his cock into her. He circled his fingers around her ankle, sliding her leg up, and pushed farther inside her.

“Omigod. That’s like . . .” She gasped when he did it again.

“Like what?”

“Stretching me so much that I can feel you on me and in me.”

“I want you wide open so I can hear that sexy little fucking moan when I do this.” He withdrew his cock and ground against her as he slid in deep again.

Amery moaned.

“That sound right there means I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing everything right.”

His lips followed the shape of her ear from the lobe to the upper shell. “Fast, slow, sweet, rough . . . it’s so good every time. When I’m with you like this, it feels like I’m where I belong.”

Words like that . . . Even with the passion flowing between them so strongly she could scarcely think of anything else, his admission brought a quick sheen of tears.

The heat between them took time to build. And Ronin dragged every bit of anticipation out of them both.

His hand gripping her ankle, his mouth licking and sucking on her skin. His cock powering into her. Every stroke created friction on her clit. Every brush of her nipples against his chest sent more tingles skittering across her flesh.

“Amery.”

“I know. Me too.” Her hand curled around the back of his neck. “Take us there.”

And he did, with the erotic precision he’d mastered. They came at the same time, which didn’t always happen. But when it did? Holy shit.

“Okay,” she panted. “You don’t suck at shower sex.”

Ronin chuckled against her throat. “Neither do you.” He slowly lowered her leg to the floor and eased out of her body. Those wonderfully rough hands skated up the curve of her hip, the bend in her waist, and over her breast. “Thank you, baby, for knowing what I needed and pushing me to take it.”

She traced the edge of his collarbone up to his throat and tipped his chin back to look into his face. Some of the tension had lessened, but not all. Not enough. “I know something else you need.”

He blinked in that measured way that let her know he was still thinking about sex. “What would that be?”

“You need to create something beautiful with these hands. And I need the connection with you and how you make me feel.”

“How’s that?”

“Like it’s more than just rope binding us.”

“It is more. A lot more. And yes, after all that’s gone on today, I could use the concentration and the focus entirely on you.” He twisted a section of her damp hair around his finger. “Would you give me that?”

“Of course. Should we make this a formal binding?”

His eyes searched hers. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No. We haven’t done that in a while. Won’t it be more formal between us at the club?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Okay.”

“Your robe is in the guest bedroom.” Ronin kissed her cheek. “Ten minutes.”

Amery quickly dried off. After slipping on her cherry blossom robe, she arranged her hair in a messy knot on the top of her head, securing it with a pair of ornamental chopsticks Shiori had given her.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply for ten breaths before she moved into the practice room.

Ronin had lit candles on the small altar in the corner. Rope work was a deeper kind of meditation for him even when he claimed it was all about her.

Amery was aware that Ronin meditated in his Zen garden as well as at the altar he’d installed in this room. Since she’d never dated a man who wasn’t Christian, she’d read up on Shintoism so she wasn’t so freakin’ clueless. It wasn’t an organized religion that expected followers to profess faith and adhere to strict rituals, but a spiritual way of life that celebrated Japanese traditions and history, as well as belief in kami—a sacred life force that dwells within all humans and nature.

Of all the people she’d met in her life who professed to live by the tenets of their belief system, Ronin Black actually did.

Waiting on her knees, facing the wall of ropes, was a form of meditation for her. She never felt subservient in this position. It allowed her anticipation to build, reminding her of the savasana pose at the end of yoga practice—where her mind floated and her body was still.

Ronin normally moved with such stealth, but he made a point of entering the practice room with enough noise to keep her from being startled. Usually their sessions or scenes were done in silence. She loved the auditory part of the connection before the binding. Hearing his ragged breathing. The thump of rope coils as they hit the floor. The rasping sound of the rope moving through his rough-skinned hands and the friction between two pieces when he crafted knots. Sometimes he pulled the rope back almost like a rubber band, so it made a resounding thud against her skin. Throughout the binding process, the whisper of his gi pants and the scratch of his callused hands on the satiny robe added to her already heightened sensations.

So today it surprised her when the soft, soothing sounds of music drifted from the corner.

“I’m glad you wore your hair up,” he murmured against her ear.

She said nothing.

“Aren’t you talking to me?”

“We don’t usually talk during a formal binding.”

“I thought we’d mix it up today.”

“Is that why there’s music?”

“Yes.”

The change in him made her nervous. “What is this music?”

“Ensemble pieces using a samisen, a koto, and a shakuhachi—traditional Japanese instruments.”

Very, very slowly, Ronin began to slip the robe off her shoulders.

“Is this in preparation for the club demo? Do you play music then?”

“No, it’s just background noise. Reminds me of the years I spent in the monastery.”

“Did you play an instrument?”

“I learned the basics of a shakuhachi—the bamboo flute.”

“Why that one?”

“Because it’s also a weapon.”

“Why—”

“Amery.” His hand on her lower back and his heated breath on her bared shoulder stopped the rapid-fire flow of words. “Why are you babbling?”

“Because this is so different from every other time we’ve been in this room, and I don’t know what to expect,” she blurted out.

“That’s not a bad thing. Can you face me please?”

Amery rose to her feet and turned around to see Ronin still on his knees. “Oh. Was I supposed to—”

“No, baby, stay like that. I wanted to see if you had bruising or marks on your stomach. Tell me where it hurts.”

She had the childish urge to push him away, but she tamped it down. “He hit me kind of dead center.”

“Did it knock the wind out of you?”

“No.”

He scooted closer and spanned her waist with his big hands. “Soreness by your ribs?”

“Mostly my face hurts.”

Ronin strung kisses from one side of her belly to the other. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his palms into her shoulder blades. “I want to do a modified chest harness on you. It’s a complex pattern, and it’ll take some time. Are you up for that?”

“Whatever you want, rope master Black.”

He rocked to his feet. “This binding will be face-to-face.”

Amery wanted to ask why but refrained. “So do I get to ask what kind of rope you’re using?”

“Plain jute. Fairly small diameter.”

Ronin sauntered to the wall with the ropes and snagged four bundles from the top row.

Seemed like a lot of rope for just an upper-body binding. But again, for as talkative as he seemed, she worried if she started questioning him about his techniques, he’d clam up.

He pointed to the bench. “Straddle the bench.”

“Where will you be?”

“Sitting in front of you.”

A seated binding? That was novel.

They sat knee to knee, and Amery had the urge to cover herself. Normally she barely noticed her nakedness when he was tying her. But being this close to him, with her sex bared and him wearing gi pants, she felt more exposed than ever.

Ronin undid the rope, and it made a soft swish as the length brushed the wooden bench. He leaned forward, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in.

Just that small intimacy allowed her to relax.

“Wrists together, palms facing toward you,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss on the pulse point on her throat.

Amery watched his focus take over. Eyes dark, full mouth pursed, a bit of color highlighting his cheekbones.

He did a hojojutsu quick tie—she’d come to differentiate them from other ties—each wrap perfectly placed. Then he pressed her wrists against her chest, her palms over the tops of her breasts. “Hold like that.”