Bound by Tradition Page 5

  I still didn’t know Shiro’s intentions. I didn’t know if or when I would ever fit time in for dinner and a movie. We might never see each other again. I wasn’t taking any chances, and with him in my bed, I was more than ready to get on with my side of business. I was slick, slippery, and there were embarrassing wet-flesh sounds that I tried my best to keep minimal. He laughed. I blushed.

  “Relax with me, Stephanie.”

  I don’t know how to relax. Closing my eyes, I found the soft, floaty place in my head that instinctively directed my body into a perfect rhythm, and pleasure was almost immediate and intense. I cried out as a crazed vortex lifted me higher and higher. Dropping my head back, I arched my back and rode him. Hard. Fast. My hips bucked, and the spiral lifted me higher.

  “Look at me.”

  I opened my eyes and met his gaze, then toppled over the edge. I wanted to look away, but there was something in his gaze that compelled me to keep looking. My hair fell forward, covering much of my face, hiding me a little as I rode out the storm raging inside my body.

  “Unlock these cuffs.”

  I had no idea where the key was, but looking at his hands, I saw he’d palmed it. He could have unlocked himself at any time. He hadn’t. He was waiting for me, and he chose this moment when I couldn’t put two thoughts together?

  I took the key and managed to get one cuff unlocked. He pulled the chain free, and then his hands were on my hips, rocking me, making another wave crash through me. I screamed and writhed in pleasure. He was coming too, gasping, arching, matching my rhythm as he lifted his hips to force himself deeper. It was enough to lift me a little higher on the vortex. No nono. I wanted to plunge. I wanted to lose control.

  He rolled me and covered me with his body. He opened me with his fingers, pushing deep. “I think you asked me to finger fuck you?”

  Hours ago.

  He met my gaze and held it. His fingers, only after an excruciating wait, dipped into my aching depth in a slow, smooth, flesh-stretching plunge. He opened me, filled me with his fingers. I don’t know what I expected, maybe everything, maybe nothing, but as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, I felt touched, not just physically, but deeper…

  As if.

  I’ve never been a spiritual person, but my God.

  If there is such a place as a spiritual plane, he took me there.

  I bucked, my pussy trying to take him deeper. My shoulders and thighs screamed with the exertion. I screamed, “Oh God,” and was embarrassed by the sound of my voice, but he didn’t give me time to dwell on it. He took me higher.

  How long did he finger fuck me? Minutes? Hours? I was cursing, my need threatening an implosion. Tears fell over my cheeks. “Stop, stop, stop.”

  He slowed the motion, still filling me softly with his fingers. In, out, in, out. With his free hand he tilted my chin, making me look at him. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Listen to what your heart is saying.”

  “I want to let go. I want to stop thinking.”

  “Yes?”

  “Tie me up again.” I met his gaze and realized there wouldn’t be any coercion required. I could see the wheels turning in his mind as he planned what he was going to do to me.

  Chapter Five

  Much later he admitted, “I’ve never allowed anyone to restrain me before.”

  We were lying in the dark, too exhausted to move—at least I was too exhausted to move. I’d lost count of the number of times I came. “Not even in one of your shibari classes?”

  “Not even.”

  I smiled against his chest, giggling. “Why?”

  “I don’t trust very easily, maybe.”

  “Or you like to be in control?”

  “Possibly,” he agreed with a wicked grin.

  “So you trusted me tonight because I trusted you in the desert?” I asked, not waiting for him to answer. “Because that was a very dangerous and ill-advised thing I did today, letting a complete stranger tie me up. That was crazy. Insane!”

  “You knew me by association. What was I going to do? I’m the son of your father’s—”

  “Number-one rival?”

  “I was going to say best friend.”

  “You mean ex-best friend.”

  Shiro turned to face me. “If so, the ex is only on your father’s part. My father’s heart has remained loyal. He still considers Stephano Ricci his best friend.”

  I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I’m not sure when I’d been old enough to learn of the rivalry, or more to the point my father’s intolerance of Gichin Miura’s name, because it seemed I’d always known.

  “I’m going to open a real can of worms here, and this is probably the wrong time to talk to you about it, but I’m worried about you. Tell me what the deal is with your dad? Why does he push you so hard? I mean, I get it, you went undefeated for eighteen years, you’ve never lost, never taken second, but from what I’ve heard, he acts that way even when you take first.”

  “I guess I’m his legacy. It’s about carrying on a tradition.”

  “The tradition of being an asshole?”

  I went rigid in his arms. My father might indeed be an ass, but no one called him that—at least not when I was around to defend him—and I did not want to fight with Shiro. I really wanted to fuck a couple more times before he left.

  “What heritage are we talking about exactly? The one where he intimidates you into carrying on the family business? And then what, you have children that you coerce into carrying on the—”

  “Stop. No. If I ever have children, and that’s highly doubtful at this point, they are not ever walking onto a karate deck. I am not letting my children’s childhood be stolen like—”

  “Like yours was?”

  “You know what it’s like, right? You took classes from your dad. Your sister did. And your dad probably learned from his father. You have a real legacy. I have a father who would do anything to turn us Japanese.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “You haven’t seen our house, or the dojo behind the house. If you took it out of the Nevada desert and smacked it onto a Japanese landscape, it wouldn’t be out of place. Same goes with the interior. We sleep on mats on the floor. We have different shoes designated for inside and outside. And even other shoes for the gardens. We eat with chopsticks every day.”

  “What?” Shiro’s eyes went wide. “That’s not normal?”

  “Normal for you. Both my parents were full-blooded Italian.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “I’m not bitter. I’m tired. And for the first time in a long time, I really miss my mom today. I wonder if my life would have been the same if she’d lived. I just feel off-kilter…and the tension between me and my dad may or may not be worse because of who beat me, not because I lost.”

  “Took second.”

  “Same difference,” I argued but was silenced by his kiss. By not asking what happened to my mom, he got extra bonus points. Although he probably already knew that my mom was killed in a car wreck when I was ten.

  He lost points when he broke off the kiss and said, “Your father is a bully.”

  I shook my head, denying the truth.

  Shiro pulled me closer. “He’s never hurt you, has he?”

  I started to pull away, but he held me tighter.

  “Has he hurt you?”

  “Only on the deck,” I answered softly. “And only to teach me to be better, to teach me to react faster.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Don’t make excuses for him. Not to me. I don’t ever want you to lie to me about anything.”

  I relaxed in his arms, defeated. I could try to explain my father’s faults, why he was the way he was, but I was exhausted and so tired of defending him. I cried on Shiro’s shoulder instead, and he let me.

  I lay in the arms of the son of my father’s archenemy, and I felt more at peace than I ever had. I felt safe and was certain ther
e was something totally messed up about that, but I didn’t want to psychoanalyze. I just wanted to soak up his warmth and tenderness and acceptance of me. “I’ve screwed my share of strangers because I don’t have the time or energy for relationships, and I hope that doesn’t make you think less of me…but this seems different.”

  “I’m not a stranger. Our families have a deep connection. As for throwing stones, you’ve seen my photo album. I’m no innocent.”

  Sighing, I cuddled closer. “I envy you. Your parents run a large martial art school, but you aren’t pressured into a life you don’t want.”

  “You can walk away.”

  I laughed, and it was harsh and angry sounding. “You did not just say that. You are Japanese. If anyone could understand what family, and duty, and expectation mean, it should be you. Just because you aren’t expected to be a martial arts master doesn’t mean you haven’t been exposed to the ideology. I cannot walk away. I was duty bound from the moment my first gi was bought.”

  “You are as free as you want to be. You aren’t living in feudal Japan. The control your father has over you is in your mind and in your heart, because you love him and don’t want to disappoint him. What you have to remember is that he loves you too. He wants you to be happy.”

  I snorted. “You obviously don’t know my father. My happiness is the last thing on his mind.”

  “If your happiness isn’t his first concern, you owe him nothing. You’re an adult, and your happiness is your responsibility.”

  He was right. I was an adult, and my happiness was my responsibility. I needed to start acting like it. He rolled onto his side, and I followed his movement and spooned against his warmth, tucking my thighs and knees in the warm shadow of his. I wrapped my arms around his middle, and his arms slid over mine.

  “This is nice,” he whispered. “I could get used to this.”

  I could too. “Will you be flying back to California tomorrow?”

  “My parents and sister will. I live here in Las Vegas.”

  I bolted, sitting up. “You live here?” I realized immediately it sounded accusing and I sounded panicked, but I couldn’t help it. How had I been so stupid? Why didn’t I ask? Why did I assume?

  He sat up to face me, and in the dark I could make out his features. “Is that a problem?”

  “Yes.” I jumped from the bed and started putting on my clothes. “I have to get ready to run with my dad. You should have left before now!”

  Shiro stood too and stopped my actions by grabbing my shoulders. “What just happened?”

  “Nothing. Nothing happened. We had fun. I’m glad you stopped by.”

  “Stopped by?” he demanded, sounding astounded. “We just made love for four hours. I call that a little more than stopping by.”

  “Made love?” I repeated. “Why give sex a fancy name? It was great, but—”

  He moved closer. “I didn’t have sex with you. My soul communed with your soul. You can deny feeling anything, but deep down I know you felt that.”

  I shook my head, but denying that something special had happened was impossible. My throat clogged with emotion.

  “I want to see you again. I want to see you as often as I can see you. Please don’t push me away.”

  He leaned closer, like he was going to kiss me, but didn’t, and the gap between our lips was agonizing. I bit my bottom lip and forced back emotion. “You should go.”

  He dropped his face and whispered, “Damn,” against my shoulder. His warm breath on my skin sent a shiver down my spine. And then he released me.

  I couldn’t watch him dress. I closed my eyes and stood there shaking because something real had passed between us, and while I didn’t know anything about souls comingling—hell, I didn’t even know if I had a soul—I did know I wanted to feel whatever it was again.

  When the hotel door closed softly behind him, I whispered, “Damn,” and then I allowed myself to cry. Again. After years of not shedding a single tear, I was sure turning into a blubbering idiot.

  Chapter Six

  We ran in silence. It was dark when we hit the sidewalk, although in Las Vegas the sidewalks are never less than brightly lit. We ran past casinos and movie theaters, storefronts, and gas stations.

  My father was pissed. Still. It went without saying, so in essence the silence was good, because it meant neither of us was yelling. It also meant none of the things I needed to say were said, so by the time I finally got to class…

  If I said I wasn’t having a very good day, it wouldn’t be a lie. The truth was, and the part that was hurting me to the core was, that I felt like I wasn’t having a very good life and I was finally willing to admit that. I was through with telling myself I was stressed out, burned out…

  His text, after the run, before my first class had even begun—Your problem is that you aren’t committed enough—sent me over the edge. That is, if there was an edge to fall over.

  “I’m not committed enough?” I started laughing hysterically.

  Before that text, I had been dreading facing not only my father but the other students and black belts at the dojo that night. I would feel the full weight of their disappointment and my father’s shame. After the text…

  “Fuck it!”

  Taking second place to Suki Miura was a damn good show. I loved competing against her. There was no shame in that. No reason for disappointment. Sure, I could work harder, develop a deeper understanding of the skill sets…

  Why? As in why bother? Why not just accept that on that day, she was the better competitor?

  Maybe next time I will be or maybe a total stranger will bust onto the scene and blow us both out of the water. I snorted. Wouldn’t that be something?

  A year ago I would have blown off classes and spent the entire day in the dojo after such a failure, but today I didn’t see it as a failure. As the professor walked the class through a PowerPoint, I replayed each move in my head. Hers. And mine. Her kata was flawless…until the ankle wobble in the sai kata. Mine was equally flawless…but still, the scores could have fallen either way, and if I was really honest, really, really honest, her performance was polished, fierce, and primal. Mine was only polished. I showed no passion.

  The students exiting woke me from my mental fog, and I stood to go. I gathered my books and dropped them into my backpack and saw my bright red dildo in the bottom of the bag.

  * * * *

  “Vibrator!”

  He patted his chest, pretending to check for pockets. “Sorry, all out of vibrators. I could—”

  I interrupted whatever he was going to say. “I have a vibrator in my backpack. Get it!”

  He’d tied me to the bed with the handcuffs and a couple of belts. Somewhere in my mind I’d thought he’d release me before retrieving the vibrator from my backpack, but that didn’t happen. When he returned to my side with the backpack and not my vibrator, I was confounded.

  “I’m not comfortable going through your stuff.”

  I snorted, thinking the guy was a freak. He had no problem tying me up or finger fucking me, but he didn’t feel comfortable looking through my bag? “Shiro! Please. Go through my shit. Main compartment. Bottom of the bag. Big red vibrator. You can’t miss it.”

  He rummaged a little and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs, lifting his eyebrow as he questioned, “I thought you had no experience with kink.”

  “I’m not into kink. If I take a stranger to my hotel room, I make him let me handcuff him to the bed before I have sex with him. It’s a safety precaution, like condoms.”

  “And then what? You ride him? You control every second of the situation?”

  “Yes,” I admitted softly. “I control everything.”

  He laughed, dropping the cuffs back into the bag, rummaging deeper. “How’s that working for you today?”

  “Ha-ha. Losing interest here. Just untie me.”

  Shiro pulled the vibrator—molded like a long red penis with a clitoral stimulator shaped like the head of a bull�
�from the bag. Seeing it, he chuckled.

  “Stop. Just untie me,” I demanded, all humor gone, any desire that I had to orgasm disintegrated. I could feel my face heated with humiliation.

  He moved between my legs, not untying me. He snorted and scuffed his knees against the sheets, pretending to be a charging bull. I got angrier.

  The vibrator made contact with my labia as Shiro pretended to charge.

  I started to tell him to knock it off, to just stop it, but my anger only got me as far as, “St—” before the tip of the dildo sank home and my need came back tenfold. Holding the device solidly inside me, he pushed the switch that controlled the vibrator, angled the mini bull horns directly over my clit, and allowed the sex aid to do the fucking while he watched.

  I unraveled. Seconds? Milliseconds? My orgasm crashed over my body with embarrassing speed, leaving me gasping, crying, cursing. My limbs struggled against the cuffs, but it wasn’t a conscious struggle; my mind could only focus on the sensation. No thought.

  Zen.

  There was a moment’s registering of a lightbulb going off over my head that this was a perfect moment in time, but I didn’t dwell on what it meant.

  * * * *

  I pushed my books into the bag and zipped it closed. I could not waste any more time or energy thinking about Shiro, because if I thought too long, too hard, I’d remember how it felt to be kissed by him. I’d remember how it felt when his erection pushed inside me…

  “We just made love for four hours. I call that a little more than stopping by.”

  “Get out of my head, Shiro Miura.”

  I hurried across campus to my next class. I was going to be late and hoped the professor hadn’t taken attendance yet. “I have to get my head straight!”

  “My soul communed with your soul.”

  My feet stopped moving. I almost stumbled and fell headlong onto the grassy lawn.

  “I am too busy for a relationship. Hell, I’m too busy for a relationship with myself. I don’t have a single private moment, for a single private thought.”