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 br**sts. “Hold like that.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Every brush of his fingertips as he wound the rope around her back, every hard tug of the rope over her crisscrossed arms. Every loop and knot precisely placed with such a loving touch. He even stopped to kiss her shoulder, which was a rare reaction from him when he was in the Zen zone as he bound her. Then he kissed the tips of each of her fingers, spread out like starfish over her chest. He caressed her thighs every time he reached for a new rope.
Normally the binding process sent her into a fuzzy headspace. Not tonight. Tonight it wasn’t about sensuality, but comfort.
Not comfort for her, but for him. Putting him in a place where he had total control over her. Where he could soothe her, cherish her, protect her.
With each new section he added, Amery saw him coming back to himself.
Her arms were numb, but she couldn’t break the unity between them.
Finally Ronin lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. “Done.”
Amery glanced down at the plain tan ropes that covered her from shoulders to belly. On the outside, the design resembled a messy, misshapen spiderweb, but on the inside, over the center of her torso, was an exquisite flower, with perfectly shaped petals.
Ronin stared at her bound, pleasure and gratitude on his face.
She blinked back tears. She did this for him. Letting him use her body as a canvas, as a cushion, as a haven, as the chance to create something beautiful and special.
“So unbelievably lovely,” he said softly.
“The rope work is stunning. Does the pattern have a name?”
His darkly golden haze hooked hers. “No. I combined two patterns. But I’m thinking of naming it . . . Absolution.”
“Ronin. You don’t need absolution for anything.”