Lorelei James - Bound

Amery basked in the passion that ignited between them. Every kiss, every touch was filled with heat and promise.

“Come home with me,” he murmured. “We’ll talk all night and all day tomorrow if you want.” He pressed soft kisses down the side of her neck. “Please. I’m dying for you.”

“Yes.”

Ronin slowly released her. “Let’s get out of here.”

Amery scarcely remembered leaving the club. She wasn’t sure they spoke at all during the drive to his place.

Upon reaching his penthouse, she kicked off her shoes and Ronin reached for her. He traced the edge of the cotton material to the V of her cleavage. “I like you in my shirt.”

“I’m a little low on sex club wear. And I should change.”

“Don’t. You look great.” He took her hand and led her into the living room.

Amery sat on one end of the couch, facing the opposite end, with her feet in the middle cushion, putting some distance between them.

Ronin mimicked her position, but he immediately grabbed her foot and set it on the inside of his thigh. His fingers swept over her ankle bone and the back of her calf in a continual arc.

The man’s face gave nothing away, so the fact that he needed to touch her to establish a physical connection allowed her to relax. “I’m so sorry for the shitty things I said to you last Saturday.”

“I know you are.”

“Can you forgive me or will my knee-jerk reaction always be a sticking point between us?” When he didn’t immediately respond, another thing occurred to her. “I’m not the first woman to react that way, am I?”

“No. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson. Or at least learned to have better timing.”

“Why did you pick Saturday night?”

Ronin’s dark eyes bored into hers. “Because you told me no boundaries and I ran with it.”

She had tossed that out. Why had she been so shocked he’d taken her bold words at face value?

Because you’re never reckless and you expected civility from a man who deals in violence.

“In retrospect . . .” He shook his head. “Just ask me the questions I see in your eyes.”

Unsure on how to phrase her question or issue or whatever the hell it was, Amery focused on her ragged cuticles.

But Ronin didn’t allow it. He moved closer. His warm fingers slid below her chin and he tilted her face up. “Don’t be shy with me, Amery.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the rope stuff from the start? If it isn’t a hobby and it’s part of who you are?”

“I’ve hidden a lot from you. I don’t blame you for wanting to get away from me.”

Amery watched as his features softened. And dammit, the vulnerable side of him softened something inside her.

“I’ve been training in martial arts every day for as long as I can remember. And by training, I don’t only mean the physical side, but the psychological aspect, the spiritual aspect, and the long-held traditions that are part of the discipline. Living the philosophy really kicked in when I sequestered myself at the monastery.”

“On a spiritual level?” she asked.

“To some extent. I immersed myself in training. Over the years I’d worked with swords, knives, sticks, every weapon at my disposal. To be honest, I wasn’t particularly skilled at any of them. I excelled at the hand-to-hand drills and utilizing pressure points to disable an opponent. So the idea of learning the ropes, so to speak, didn’t excite me.” He paused. “It surprised me when a rope in my hand felt natural and I picked up everything quickly.

“By the end of my second year of training, at age nineteen, I equaled my teacher in skill. He enlisted help from another rope master. His specialty was . . .” Ronin’s eyes met hers. “Shibari.”

“Did he demonstrate on you?”

Ronin shook his head. “He had three female companions he ‘lent’ to me. They were knowledgeable and vocal about what did and didn’t work in my tying techniques.”

That crazy punch of jealousy hit her again. “These women had no issue being lent out to you by their master like some kind of fuck toys?”

“I didn’t fuck them, Amery. I bound them.”

“Oh.” But she couldn’t let it go. “Were those his rules? Or their choice?”

“Are you asking me if I would’ve fucked them if they’d wanted it?”

Amery raised her chin. “Yes.”

He twisted a hank of hair around his fingers and tugged her closer for a quick kiss. “No. They were strong with supple bodies and completely unashamed of their nakedness. During that time—I didn’t treat them like women, but as objects I could bend to my will. To my vision. That’s when I understood I needed the beauty and artistry of shibari and kinbaku in my life as more than just tying a woman up like a package. I wanted the intimate connection.”

This was a much deeper look into him than she’d expected to get from him tonight. Amery reached for his hand. It was the first time she noticed his knuckles were raw, red, and scraped up more than usual. “What happened?”

“I worked out harder this week than what I normally do.”

Knox had mentioned that to her. “Why?”

Ronin twisted his hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth for a soft kiss. “I was on edge and needed a way to channel my frustration besides taking it all out on my students.”

“So you . . . ?” she prompted.

“Hit the heavy bag. A lot.”

“Ronin. Why didn’t you wear hand protection?”

“I did.”

She closed her eyes. Images of him methodically beating the shit out of a heavy bag, his face placid as pain exploded from his hands, twisted her stomach in knots. “Does it hurt?”

“What? My knuckles?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve had worse.” He paused. “Do the marks and scabs bother you? Would you rather I didn’t touch you until they’re healed?”

Amery opened her eyes. “It bothers me that you’ve been hurting.”

“Being in pain is the story of my life. These hands have been broken, bruised, bloodied, scabbed, and scarred. I’ve hurt people with these hands.” Ronin dropped his head and stared at his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. He curled his fingers in and then stretched them out. “When I realized I had a knack for ropes, I wanted to find balance between using my hands for pain as well as beauty. I wanted to create something beautiful, even if it was as fleeting as pain. I’ll never be an artist in traditional mediums, but with a rope in my hands and a vision in my head, I become an artist.”

Amery let his words flow through her and it set something inside her free.

This man was beauty.

She dropped to her knees in front of him.

Ronin’s surprised eyes hooked hers.

She took his right hand in her left, threading their fingers together until their palms met. Then she brought his left hand to her mouth, letting her lips drift across his ravaged knuckles. She pressed kisses on the back of his hand, the joint of his thumb, and the tips of his fingers. Then she pressed his hand to the side of her face. “I think your scarred hands are beautiful. Will you use them to create that rope artistry on me?”

“You really want that?”

“I really do, now that I understand it. Now that I understand you.”

“You undo me, Amery.” He stroked her cheek with the ragged pad of his thumb. “I should be on my knees before you.”

She melted.

Ronin stared at her, his face again devoid of expression and it scared her.

“What?”

“Do you know why I took an interest in you that first night you showed up at my dojo?”

Hoping to lighten things up, she tossed off, “There’s another reason besides you recognizing my natural untapped abilities in martial arts?”