Then Ronin began sweeping the pad of his thumb across her anus. Tender sweeps that heightened her arousal. So when his thumb pushed past the ring of muscle, she gasped.
Did he plan to f**k her ass tonight as he’d warned her?
The wet whip of his tongue on her clit brought her focus back to that buzzing tingle building at the base of her spine.
He was persistent in pursuit of her orgasm. As soon as that first spasm hit, he thrust his thumb in and out of her ass in time to the blood pumping into her clit. Every swirling plunge of his thumb brought awareness to the nerve-rich tissues. The added sensation prolonged her orgasm—she cried out and lost herself in the moment of pleasure.
Ronin drove his c**k into her and she immediately felt another orgasm gathering steam. He wrapped his hands around the place where her ankles and wrists were bound together. The gentle caress of his fingers over hers while he was pounding into her so furiously was a perfect dichotomy—so perfectly Ronin. When he whispered, “Let go,” she did.
The sweet, sweet throbbing took on a sharper edge with the violent movement of his pelvis. This time Ronin didn’t come in silence. He came with a roar, after demanding, “Look at me.”
In that moment she knew his passion for her was the real beauty.
And her passion for him had turned into love.
Tell him.
His mouth brushed her ear. “Tell me what?”
She tried to remember if she’d blurted that out but her thoughts were still muzzy. “What are you talking about?”
“You said, Tell him. Tell me what?”
Her stomach had knotted with nerves. Instead of confessing her true feelings, she tossed off a breezy lie. “Just that I should give you gifts more often.”
He’d laughed then. He’d laughed so hard the bed shook.
But now she regretted that she hadn’t told him the truth.
Amery snapped back to reality. Shit. What was wrong with her? She didn’t have time to moon dreamily over a coil of rope. She had a presentation to give in . . . fifty minutes.
But that memory had kicked a memory of something else that Ronin had once told her about Japanese customs. Every time he trained in Japan, he brought a gift for his sensei. At the beginning of a business meeting, before any business discussions were done, the person who required the favor always presented a gift.
Since she needed Okada to hire her, she needed to present VP Hirano with a gift.
Dammit. Amery was fresh out of gifts with no time to buy one.
Except . . . she had picked up a small token at the downtown Renaissance Faire a few weeks back. A small tintype of a Japanese Zen garden she’d planned to have mounted and framed for Ronin’s office.
Sorry, Ronin, I’ll get you something better, I promise.
She dug it out of her pajama drawer, hastily rewrapped it in a piece of brown paper, and tied it with twine. If she had time, she’d tie a better bow, but after her flashback to last night’s bondage games, she had ten minutes to make herself presentable.
• • •
HER courage from the pep talk she gave herself on the drive to the Ritz-Carlton vanished when she stepped foot into the hotel’s luxurious lobby.
Uh, yeah, this opulent place was way out of her league. On so many levels.
And she still hadn’t figured out how this pop pitch to the Okada Foods VP had come about, when she’d been dealing with Maggie Arnold in Seattle exclusively. But guaranteed she’d get to the bottom of it today—for better or for worse.
She adjusted the strap on her leather portfolio as she waited at the front desk.
“How may I assist you?” the clerk asked.
“I’m Amery Hardwick and I’ve got an appointment with Okada Foods. I’m to ask which room we’re meeting in.”
The clerk’s fingers clicked on her keyboard. “Yes, Ms. Hardwick. I’ll need to see a photo ID for security purposes.”
Security? Amery dug out her wallet and flashed her driver’s license.
“Thank you.” The young female clerk picked up the phone, poked a few buttons, and waited. “This is the front desk. Ms. Hardwick has arrived. I’ll tell her. You’re welcome.” The clerk smiled at Amery with a practiced hotelier smile. “They will meet you on the eleventh floor. The elevators are around the corner.”
“Thank you.” Amery hoisted her heavy portfolio again.
On the eleventh floor Amery didn’t have to guess who’d been tasked to escort her. The man standing just outside the elevator bay could’ve passed as a sumo wrestler.
His eyes met hers and his face was devoid of expression. “Ms. Hardwick. She has requested you meet her in the penthouse suite.”
Penthouse? Sweet. She kept cool. “That will be fine.”
Sumo Guy punched the elevator button. Inside the car, he swiped his key card and poked the code for the top floor.
Amery studied his thick neck and broad shoulders. For the sheer size of him, his body held that same stillness that surrounded Ronin. She wondered if eighth-degree black belt Master Black could take down a sumo wrestler in hand-to-hand fighting. She bit back a smile. Talk about an interesting conversation starter.
Her escort didn’t face her when the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. He cut down a short hallway to a set of double doors, knocking twice before entering.
She followed even when she wanted to gawk at the carved marble columns, vivid artwork adorning the linen-covered walls, and the domed glass ceiling over the entryway.
“Jesus, Amery, don’t act like such a rube.”