Once his preparations were complete, he returned inside to the reflection room. He’d grown up with a space like this in his childhood home: a room formed from four sliding walls, empty, save for the small altar. His mother used to send him or Shiori into the reflection room if they’d been fighting. Sometimes she used it when she needed a quiet place to gather her thoughts. With the addition of futons, it served as a guest room. So the space wasn’t solely for meditation or reinforcing a spiritual connection. But that was exactly what it felt like now.
Ronin removed his street clothes and slipped into a white gi. Instead of using one of his official belts proclaiming his jujitsu rank, he tied a han obi around his waist. The informal belt had been crafted from the same fabric as Amery’s yukata. It was a small thing to retain that thread of connection between them, but one he needed. And the bonus? The belt also doubled as a blindfold.
A few katas loosened his muscles. He pulled his hair back, bowed to the altar, and slipped out of the room.
As soon as Ronin stepped onto the patio, the buzz of power sizzled through him upon seeing Amery—his wife, his rope model, his everything—waiting for him on her knees, her head bowed, her hands folded, wearing the clothing he’d had created specifically for her.
She’d twisted her hair up and secured it atop her head, leaving the back of her neck exposed. He longed to rub his mouth on the tiny, sensitive hairs there, where he could gauge how quickly they bristled against his lips, feeling her skin quiver from his touch.
Tonight the stillness in the atmosphere fit his mood, yet even without a breeze the sweet scent of cherry blossoms perfumed the air.
Before he approached her, he spread the blanket beneath the cherry tree in the garden. Then he knelt behind her and feathered a kiss at the base of her hairline.
Her answering sigh sounded like the sweetest music to him.
His breath remained hot on the nape of her neck as he traced the edge of the robe where it’d slipped, baring her shoulders. With deliberate slowness he slid the robe down, exposing her back and freeing her arms, allowing the silky material to pool next to her thighs and to cover the bottoms of her feet.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, letting his fingertips trace her spine. “Please stand.”
Amery stood gracefully—her years of practicing yoga made the movement natural and fluid.
He picked up the robe and draped it over the papa-san chair. Then he untied the han obi and shrugged out of his gi top, layering it over Amery’s robe. When he glanced over at her, he caught her staring at the length of fabric before she lowered her gaze.
The silent pause between them lingered and when Amery didn’t ask any questions, he understood he’d earned her trust tonight. He never took that precious gift for granted.
First he moved in behind her and blocked her sight with the han obi.
The bundle of ropes made a softer thud landing on the tatami mat than it did on the mat in his practice room at home. Even the whisper of his gi pants was dampened by the outside elements.
He started out with her clasping her hands behind her back. Because the ropes compressed her rib cage, he focused on caressing her nipples on every pass as he finished the chest harness. He slipped a long bamboo stick diagonally across her back beneath the ropes, tying the top of the stick to the rope dangling from the rafters. This wasn’t a suspension pose so he didn’t need the rope tie strong enough to hold her, just to stabilize her when he began the binding process on her legs.
Moisture dotted his forehead and sweat snaked down his spine. Physical exertion during a kinbaku scene didn’t compare to the energy he expended during his martial arts training. It’d shocked him the first time Amery had asked him to press his damp body to hers, using her skin as his towel, because the intimacy of having his scent on her calmed her.
Now he couldn’t resist marking her in such a primal way. He nuzzled her neck, then dragged his damp forehead across her nipples. Easing back, he blew on the tips, watching her face as he did so.
Amery bit her lip to stifle the groan.
Just that one heated moment instantly made his dick hard.
Focus on the binding. How the rest of her skin will feel beneath your hands. How perfect her creamy flesh will look scored by your red ropes.
Ronin scooted another bundle of rope closer with his foot, forcing his attention to how he’d maneuver her limbs and torso to create the finished image.
Lowering to his knees, he added more rope, creating a modified diamond pattern down her thigh. He became so engrossed in the sound of the rougher rope sliding across the mat, and the frayed look to the rope wrapped around her skin, that he completed the tie on the back of her leg without moving behind her.
As he pulled the rope between her thighs, he kept the two sections separate as he nestled it in the crack of her ass. Once the ropes reached the pucker of her anus, he crossed them, creating a point of constant friction against the nerve-rich tissue there.
Amery made a soft gasp.
Ronin looked up, greedily studying her face as he tugged the rope up and tucked it against her pussy lips along both sides of the split in her sex. After he’d tied the rope off, he ran his thumb down her slit, resting it at the opening of her pussy. He bit back a snarl of satisfaction at the warm yielding of her body as he pushed his thumb in, coating the digit with her wetness. Immediately an intense need to sink his cock into her arose. To feel the jute abrading them as he fucked her past rope subspace into unsurpassed orgasmic bliss.
With renewed anticipation, he dragged his thumb up the pink flesh exposed by his ropes. He teased her swollen clit with a light touch, denying her an orgasm and denying himself even a quick taste of her sweetness.
Ronin snagged another coil of rope and tied it off, beginning the diamond pattern down her left leg. His fingers flew with confident strokes. After finishing, he scrutinized the work. Not his greatest results. It showed when he didn’t take care with the tying.
No, it shows that you haven’t been practicing as you need to. Keeping up with your rope work is muscle memory and as important as any martial arts training.
While he knew there was no such thing as perfection, striving for it had always been his goal. His cheeks heated as the flaws in his technique leapt out at him. Flaws not in the canvas but with the painter.
He further studied his design. His finger traced each wrap on the front side of her body. Then he moved in behind her. With the uneven rope spacing and the odd placement of the bamboo stick, this binding screamed “amateur.” Now he was relieved there wouldn’t be photographic evidence of his less-than-stellar rope work.