Ronin’s lips swept across the shell of her ear. “You sound disappointed.”

“No! I’m not.”

“If I wanted to punish you, I’d use a hojojutsu binding.” His arm snaked under hers and he wrapped his fingers around her throat. “Those ties include neck restraints.”

She swallowed hard.

“The challenge isn’t in the binding but in the chase and capture beforehand.”

Holy crap. A chase? Then a capture? That sounded a little scary.

“I feel your heart racing, Amery. Relax. Tethered turtle pose celebrates the duality of the creature—the beauty of a hard exterior that protects the inner softness.”

“Oh.”

“You ready to begin?”

“Yes.”

“Climb onto the coffee table and I’ll arrange you.”

Once he’d positioned her, she rested her cheek against the cool wood, breathing in the scent of lemon furniture polish. Her knees were spread wide, but the rest of her body was curled in—a turtle in its shell.

“Beautiful.” He scraped his fingers down her naked back from her shoulders to the curve of her ass. “Breathe, baby, because it’s going to get tight.”

Those words, uttered in his velvety rasp, jolted through her like a shot of pure adrenaline. Anticipation was her new drug of choice administered by the man with magic hands. She craved that sense of helplessness as he bound her . . . and then the calm he bestowed on her that followed after the binding.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his black T-shirt hit the floor. He stood close enough that she saw his toes peeking out from beneath the frayed hem of his worn jeans.

Lust slid in and piggybacked on Amery’s anticipation. She knew exactly what he looked like looming above her—the strong, sexy, determined rope master. His muscles flexing. His dark hair untamed around his chiseled face. His eyes would flicker from amber brown to inky black, gauging her every reaction as he knotted the ropes and stretched them against her pale skin. His full lips would be pursed with concentration. His jaw set. His breathing faster than normal because her submission excited him.

It excited her too, more than she’d ever imagined. But along with the excitement was fear. And a little shame, which she understood was part of the appeal for her because it was shame she could control.

Ronin placed a kiss on her skin, as he always did. “I’m going to start tying you now.”

And as always, her pulse leaped when she heard the whisper of friction as he uncoiled the rope.

Relax. Breathe.

He knotted and twisted the ropes, starting at her ankles and working his way forward, until her entire body was covered. She felt as if he’d spun a spider’s web around her. Although it’d taken him a while to bind her, she hadn’t drifted into the floaty headspace yet.

Ronin had left her head and neck free from restraint. She understood he expected her to stay in position just by his will alone. His fingers tightened and tested the configuration. When the ropes abraded her flesh, his caresses eased some of the sting.

Some, not all.

If there wasn’t any pain and fear with this bondage, would she still participate?

The word no sprang into her head, unbidden.

Sweet baby Jesus. What kind of woman liked—no, craved—the way this man trussed her up every chance he got?

Then Ronin’s clipped voice burrowed into her ear. “Will gagging you keep you from giving voice to those negative thoughts in your head?”

He’d immediately sensed her internal war with herself. His intuitiveness would freak her out if she wasn’t so grateful for it and the verbal reminder on why she trusted him. “Please don’t gag me.”

“Who is holding you prisoner right now? Your thoughts?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“You are.”

“By choice?”

“Yes, by choice,” she repeated, once out loud and then again to herself, almost as self-affirmation.

He added more pressure to the binding across her shoulders. “That’s right. Every thought, every breath, every heartbeat, every pulse of blood, every whisper, every sigh, every gasp of pain, every moment belongs to me. I’m pushing you to the place where negative thoughts don’t have any hold on you and you are exactly as you were meant to be. So you will let me do this. To you. For you.” He paused. “And for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lose yourself in what I give you.” His warm, soft lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Remind yourself what your surrender means to me.”

Everything.

Tears stung her eyes. “Thank you.”

He murmured in Japanese and retreated.

She half expected his touches to become reverent, but if anything, his hands became harsher. The web of constriction more pronounced. He crafted a shell around her, even as she became the shell. Curled up and bound, she felt safe. Protected. Tethered to the table and to him.

His pleasure in her submission sent her soaring.

Amery knew the moment when he stood back and admired his handiwork. The glow of his pride flowed over her as he studied the beauty of her body reformed by his ropes. His scrutiny lasted anywhere from a minute to what seemed like forever. Then he’d untie her. Check for rope burns and thoroughly inspect her reddened flesh for other marks. He’d deal with any abrasions with tender touches, whisper-soft kisses, and on rare occasions, first aid ointment. After that he’d wrap himself around her until she settled back into normalcy from the bondage high.