Whoo-boy did the man define passion. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Not only in the privacy of their condo, but he always had to be touching her in some way in public. The hard-eyed sensei who eschewed PDA at home embraced it fully here, which had been a welcome surprise, because she noticed most other couples were very hands off.
The morning of day four dawned rainy, so they’d explored the Nishiki Market, where restaurants and individuals could purchase locally produced Japanese food items. Ronin found bizarre things for them to sample, which was equal parts fun and gross—Amery wasn’t a fan of fermented whale blubber.
While they wandered through the stalls, she wondered how the food vendors would react if they knew they were serving their wares to an Okada Foods heir. Okada food trucks were everywhere throughout Kyoto. But as usual, Ronin did nothing to reveal who he was. How the man could be so arrogant and yet so humble continually baffled her.
But she knew he used his connections to secure a table at the best restaurant in Kyoto for them. Then he surprised her with tickets to Kabuki Theater. Afterward they ended up in a raucous nightclub and got sucked in by the energy of the techno music and the club-goers. Fueled with a few potent cocktails, they found themselves grinding against each other in the midst of hundreds of other couples. Watching her hot man cutting loose and gyrating that fantastic body like a world-class stripper made her hot, made her wet, made her anxious to get the fuck out of there.
They left the club immediately.
Ronin didn’t drag her to the bus stop; instead they cut through the alley behind the building that abutted a wooded area.
“Is this a shortcut back to the condo?”
“No.” He ducked beneath a canopy of kudzu vines, pulling her along behind him. “This place is known as lovers park.” He pulled her back against his front and tipped her head to the side to get at her neck. “I am out of my mind to fuck you, after the way you were dry-humping me in the club.” His lips teased her ear while his hands squeezed her hips. “Sweet Jesus, woman. What you do to me with your clothes on.”
“Surprised that a preacher’s daughter can move like that?” she said huskily and swayed her hips side to side, raising her arms above her head.
“Oh, I know exactly how well you move, baby. That’s why I couldn’t wait until we get home to feel you grinding against me when I’m buried inside you.”
“And if someone strolls by?”
“I don’t fucking care.”
That low growl burrowed into her ear and sent little spikes of need buzzing across her skin.
His rough-skinned hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt. “Bend over and grab the back of the bench.”
The concrete bit into her palms as she braced herself for the powerful surges of his body. In the stillness she heard the soft whoosh as his pants hit the ground. She canted her hips and waited breathlessly for that first heated touch of his skin to hers.
Ronin hiked her skirt up, pulled her panties aside, and plowed into her.
Amery didn’t care who heard her cry out at that first deliciously hard thrust. Or the second. Or the third. Then he slowed down, swiveling his hips and rocking his pelvis, fucking her in the overpoweringly sensual way that reminded her she belonged to him.
Afterward, he kissed her. Possessively. Decisively. Then his mouth formed a smirk and he whispered, “Thirteen.”
Chapter Three
While Amery snapped pictures of whatever struck her fancy on the crowded street, Ronin ducked into one of Kyoto’s famous textile houses and picked up the yukata he’d ordered for her.
Throughout their last day exploring the city, he’d kept the sexual tension high—toeing that line between anticipation and frustration.
Things had changed between them since they’d come to Japan. He hadn’t realized how uptight he’d been in the months following his neurologist’s edict of no combat sports training. Amery had supported him unconditionally, which had been exactly what he’d needed, during those times when he wasn’t quite sure himself where his head was.
But his heart was with her. Always.
Ronin had foregone rope play during their stay in Kyoto because he had something special planned for their last night. He wasn’t sure how Amery would handle how things were about to change for them, when his focus would be entirely on his training. There were no days off. If Master Daichi had his way, Ronin would train for two weeks, take two weeks off, return and train for two more weeks, and repeat.
But he knew his body well enough that it’d take week one to reach his prime condition. Week two he’d push himself. Week three he’d begin to tire and need a mental and physical break. And a week alone with his wife on a private beach would rejuvenate him.
Ronin just hoped they both survived the three-week stint of intense training leading up to sand, sun, and surf.
She sat on a bench waiting for his return. She frowned at the package he carried. “I thought we were waiting to buy souvenirs?”
“We are.”
“So what’s that?”
“A gift.”
“For your sensei?”
“No. I brought a case of whiskey for him, remember?”
“Then who’s it for?”
“You.”
When she leapt up and attempted to get in his face, Ronin crowded her against the wall behind the bench. “Hold that sassy tongue, woman. This is the first goddamned thing I’ve bought you since we got here.”
“This is not fair. You wouldn’t let me buy you that funky geisha clock that would’ve looked awesomely obscene in your office at the dojo.”