Shadow Reaper (A Shadow Riders Novel Book 2)

Mariko cried through her shower and the entire time she was in the soaking tub. The water was cold by the time she could stem the torrent of emotion pouring out of her. She cried for the little three-year-old girl who was told she’d gotten into a car, put it in gear and run over her baby brother. She cried for her brother who went back and forth, along with her, believing and then not believing. She cried for her lost family. She cried to know she wasn’t an abandoned orphan no one wanted but a Tanaka, of the legendary riders. Mostly she cried for the fourteen-year-old boy who had killed three boys and permanently paralyzed another to save her, and had been made to suffer a lifetime for his courageous actions.

She understood Osamu’s madness just a little better. Her sons had been murderers. They were responsible for several deaths and contributed to the loss of the Tanaka riders. No one would want the stigma and shame of that hanging over them. Osamu and her husband, Dai, were both proud people. The thought that Ricco could at any moment change their lives would eat away at both of them.

Osamu went back and forth between loving Ryuu and hating him. She would, by turns, treat him as the son she had lost and then as the reminder of that loss. She kept him off-balance and always seeking love from her. Mariko she punished for being alive when her sons were not. She would have a hatred for Ricco like no other. He had killed her sons, regardless of the circumstances.

Over the years, Dai and Osamu had grown apart, as her madness had progressed. Dai had retreated, leaving for long periods of time to his apartment in the country, but he always came back. Could Osamu have orchestrated the attempt on Ricco’s life? The answer was yes. Certainly. She would have seen justice in using Mariko to kill him. That would explain the note delivered to her room rather than through the mail. But would she involve Ryuu? Risk his life by letting her accomplices kidnap him?

Mariko shivered as she wrapped a towel around her. Ryuu wouldn’t conspire against his sister. She was certain of that. He might have swung back and forth between following Osamu’s example of ridiculing her and being affectionate, but he would never agree to force her to kill another human being. Ryuu might try to do so himself for Osamu, but he wouldn’t use Mariko.

She let her hair down, pulling out the pins so that it tumbled to her shoulders. She should try to sleep, but she wasn’t tired. She could hear the echo of a fast-paced rhythm, thuds hitting repeatedly like the beat of a drum. She knew that sound. She knew Ricco must be hitting the heavy bag in the training room. She winced, thinking about the amount of time she’d been noting the noise–certainly the entire time she’d been in the soaking tub. Maybe longer. It was a punishing rhythm, and he hadn’t let up for a moment.

She went to the cedar drawers where lingerie had been placed. A red lacy bra and matching panties lay on top. She smoothed her hand over them. She’d always worn plain underwear. Nothing to make her think she was a woman–especially a sexy one. Ricco made her feel beautiful and sensual every time he looked at her. He had a way of focusing on her that made her feel as if she were the only woman he saw. She knew that wasn’t true, because she read the tabloids, but still, for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. More, she felt as if Ricco Ferraro saw only her.

She pulled on the bra and panties, sliding them over her pale skin–skin she’d always hated. Now it felt warm and soft. Sensual. Because she was thinking of him. She hadn’t known life could be different. At home, there was always back-breaking, unappreciated work that was never ending. She loved training, but she couldn’t train forever. Osamu was always waiting to hand her a list of chores. Even coming off missions, she wouldn’t have so much as a night’s sleep.

She looked around the room. Comfortable. Beautiful. Spacious. She’d never had anything like that room. Her own bathroom. Drawers and a closet filled with clothes. She pulled a silk kimono from the closet. Blossoming cherry trees ran up the material in soft pinks and browns. It was gorgeous. She wrapped herself up in the long robe and ran her hands down it. The silk felt sensual against her skin, and glancing at herself in the mirror, she was shocked at how she looked.

She studied the makeup in the light-up vanity. She knew enough to make her eyes smolder, but she had never used a red lipstick. Osamu would have been furious and called her all kinds of names. She could barely believe she was so daring as to choose the ruby red. She nearly wiped it off, but then she squared her shoulders.

Ricco Ferraro was a good man. A worthy man. By every account he was considered one of the best shadow riders. If she had a small amount of time left, she wanted it to be spent with him. She wanted to feel like a beautiful woman. She had gone over and over where her brother could possibly be, but she had no clues. No information. Nowhere to start. She could only hope that if Osamu was in on the conspiracy to kill Ricco, after Mariko’s death she would have Ryuu released unharmed. In the meantime, Mariko was going to spend as much time as possible with Ricco. She’d continue to try to find her brother, but she knew the odds were stacked against her.

She took one last look in the mirror at the woman she didn’t really know and resolutely turned toward the sound of that heavy bag and the pounding rhythm that hadn’t once paused. Heart pounding, she continued at the same pace, not fast, not slow, but graceful, silent, moving in the silk of the kimono, feeling it against her bare skin. She had never been more certain, or more nervous, about a decision.

Ricco moved around the bag with the fluid grace of a fighter. She couldn’t help but admire him. He was a gorgeous man, a perfect physical specimen if she was going to be clinical. She much preferred to be clinical over the surprising well of emotion he invoked in her.

“You shouldn’t be in here right now,” he said.

He didn’t turn around or even glance her way. She was behind him, their shadows hadn’t touched, yet still, he was aware of her. That was good, because she was acutely aware of him.

“You have to stop.” He was hurting himself. She knew why. She’d used physical exercise to try to stop the pain and the chaos in her head when Osamu had driven her to want to hurt something or someone–usually herself. Just as he was doing.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he repeated. “Give me another hour or so.”

“There has to be a better way. Hurting yourself isn’t the answer, Ricco.” She kept her voice very low, just like his. Her tone was sultry; his was commanding and it vibrated right through her.

He stopped hitting the bag and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dark and enigmatic. She shivered at the mixture of pain and rage she saw there.

“I have two ways to rid myself of this: working the bag and Shibari. This seemed safer.”

She stood her ground, although it took more courage than riding the shadows ever had. “I’m here to be your rope model.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t safe when I’m like this. I could hurt you.”

“No, you couldn’t.” If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Ricco Ferraro would never hurt her. She was shocked at how certain she was of that fact. Clearly, when their shadows touched, it revealed far more of him than she understood until that moment. She could spend a lifetime getting to know another man and she wouldn’t know him as well as she did Ricco. “You would never harm me. I very much would like to do more rope art with you, that is if you want it, too.”

The drumming of her heart was loud in the ensuing silence. She had no idea if she was stepping over some invisible line with him. She didn’t know enough about relationships of any kind, let alone the strange one she found herself in now. She only knew that she had to stop him and the only way to do it was to give herself to him.

“I was late, Mariko. You understand if I had gotten there on time, I might have stopped the massacre. I got lost.”

“I hesitated coming out of the closet after Nao pulled Ryuu out. I was so terrified, I hesitated.”

He swore in Italian. One of the first things all riders had to learn was multiple languages, and she winced at the extremely foul expletives. He finally switched back to English. “You were three fucking years old.”

“You were only fourteen,” she countered. “You probably would have been killed had you gotten there earlier, and then I would be dead and so would Ryuu. You gave me back my family. Osamu had convinced me I was left on the street. Unwanted. A female devil child bringing bad luck to anyone I encountered. She told me my mother was a whore and that I had gotten into a car, taken it out of gear and run over Ryuu. I know now that isn’t the truth. I wasn’t the one to hurt him.”

He erupted into another long litany of very angry foul language while he jerked the thin leather gloves from his hands. “I will be paying Osamu Saito a visit. The world of riders will know exactly what she did as well as the crimes her sons committed. I can’t believe she made up such an ugly story. She had to have done it to separate you and your brother.”

She’d never had a champion, someone to take her back. She didn’t know how to feel without falling apart. She was offering him her body as a canvas, and that meant his rope, an extension of him, would wrap her up. Instead of feeling frightened, she had felt safe in his ropes. Now she knew why. The shadows connecting her to him had allowed her to see him for what he was–a man to be counted on. For whatever reasons, she’d fallen under his protection, and he took that seriously–every bit as seriously as when he was fourteen years old. Maybe more so.

“What would you like me to wear, Ricco?” she murmured softly, hoping to ease the anger in him.

He went still. “Are you certain? I don’t want to frighten you. Having you for a rope model is extremely important to me. My sister says I’m very scary at times.”

“Your sister is right,” she admitted, “but you don’t scare me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She couldn’t help but smile. “You intimidate me, which isn’t the same thing, and only because I’m out of my element.”

Immediately she saw tension drain from his face. He still looked–intimidating–but she knew he would always be that to her. Just a little. Just enough to make it interesting. Still, he’d relaxed. She’d managed to tame the demons that drove him, and that made her feel very, very powerful. Once again, she had his complete focus. Not the past. Not the problems in the present. Just Mariko.

“You aren’t out of your element,” he corrected. “I like what you have on. Are you comfortable in what you’re wearing?”

She’d chosen the red lace because the color made her feel sexy. The silk kimono with the cherry blossoms across it made her feel at home and exquisitely beautiful. She nodded.

He held out a hand to her. She didn’t hesitate to put hers in his. His fingers closed around hers. Hard. Warm. He led her from the training hall toward the studio. Already her breath was coming too fast, but it was from excitement, not fear.

“Will you be uncomfortable if I remove the kimono?”

Could his voice be any gentler? Still, it held that soft, low male note that set her blood on fire. How did he do that?

“I couldn’t do this with anyone else.” She had to tell him that. Making herself so vulnerable was a gift to him. It took courage. More, she feared she was giving him more than her body as a canvas. Somehow, each time he touched her, spoke to her, or their shadows connected, the threads binding them together became stronger than the ropes he tied her with.

“Mariko. I need to know if you’ll be comfortable without the kimono. I can bind you either way, but my preference would be without. The rope will leave marks. Not bruises, just marks, but they’ll fade quickly.”

“I’m fine with that.” Who was going to see them? No one. She had no one. She answered to no one. Here, she had a freedom she’d never had before. She felt safe to explore who she was and who she wanted to be as a woman. For just a short while, she was Ricco Ferraro’s woman. She was going to live every single second of that time to the absolute fullest.

He traced the nape of her neck beneath the fall of her hair, just ran his finger down it while they walked together. She felt his touch all the way through her body, as if he had an electric coil that shimmered through her veins and arced bright and hot through her bloodstream. He made her feel beautiful, whether she was or not. He obviously thought she was. He stroked her so gently, yet the power of their connection made her feel as if he not only saw through her, but could reach through her skin and touch her soul.

“You don’t have to do this. I’m okay now,” he murmured as they moved down the hallway.

“I’m doing it for both of us. I’m looking forward to it.”

He gave her another one of his smiles. This one lit his eyes for a brief moment and turned her heart over. A reward for her bravery, maybe. Whatever it was, her body responded along with her heart.

He brought her into the studio and walked across the room to the small refrigerator in the corner. Reaching in, he took a bottle of ice-cold water out and returned to her. “The bathroom is over there.” He indicated a door with one finger. “This is going to take longer than last time and I want you comfortable. You can get prepared while I ready the room.”

He walked away from her and she stared after him, caught in his spell. She didn’t understand how he could be so intimidating and so gentle at the same time. So commanding, and yet his voice was velvet soft. He moved with grace, like a large jungle cat, every muscle rippling beneath the thin material of his clothing. He was barefoot and he didn’t make a sound as he crossed the room to select music. He was no longer looking at her, but she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him, and that somehow centered her.

She tried the cap on the bottle, found it loosened and drank. It was the little thoughtful things, she decided. He had done that before, loosened the cap so she didn’t have to. Opening doors. Walking with her on the inside on the street. Making her feel special and never leering at other women when she was with him.

She contemplated that as she went into the bathroom. When she’d been with him in the restaurant, various women had been trying to make eye contact with him. He had focused on her. He’d been sweet to the waitress, although firm with her. There were a lot of good things about Ricco Ferraro. He might like to live his life in the fast lane, but when he was with someone, he took care of them.

She secured the kimono tighter and stepped back into the studio, found a place to put down the water bottle and caught a glimpse of herself in one of the long mirrors. Her face was flushed. Her hair was a little wild. Her eyes were bright, and the color of her lipstick emphasized the pout of her lips–the pout Osamu had pointed out a million times, sometimes slapping her and calling her a “whore just like your mother.” It was the natural shape of her mouth–there was little she could do about it. She hadn’t considered that the lipstick would make her mouth even more noticeable. She’d been thinking in terms of what Ricco would like for his rope art.

Or had she? Osamu’s voice screeched in her head, a long litany of insults she suddenly couldn’t block out. She wrapped her arms around herself, ashamed that she’d come to him dressed in the red lace bra and panties. Osamu was right about her. She hadn’t been thinking about rope art. She’d been thinking about Ricco Ferraro.

Movement caught her eye as he turned and looked at her, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. His handsome features went from relaxed to scary, the lines deepening, his eyes twin black diamonds, hard and cold and very, very piercing as he strode toward her, bundles of black and red ropes in his hands.

“Fuck,” he spat out, the sound dark and ugly.

Mariko felt his fury as he strode across the room, the first aggressive move he’d ever made toward her. His rage was tangible, filling the spacious room, an ominous warning of his black mood. She couldn’t help but think the ropes were an extension of him, depicting the storms that raged in him in the color and texture of the various coils.

She stood her ground for two reasons. First and foremost, she was a shadow rider–an elite rider–and had confidence that she could defend herself if she needed to. Automatically her mind was already cataloging targets on him. Second, she believed absolutely that he would never hurt her.

Ricco kept coming until he was standing directly in front of her, in her space, so close their bodies were touching. He dropped the coils of rope on the floor and reached for her, his palm curling around the nape of her neck. Possessing her. When he did that, touched her neck, she knew he was connecting them together. Giving her his power. Taking hers. Exchanging. She felt empowered when he did that. Centered. Grounded. More, it made her feel as if she belonged to him and he to her–that there was only the two of them and he saw only her.

“In this room there are two people, Mariko: You. And me. No one else. Ever. Do you understand?” He pulled her hand up to his bare chest, her palm over his heart, her flesh touching slashing scars that told her he had saved her. “You and me. She will never be welcome here. I swear to you, I’ll deal with her.”

Just like that he made Osamu small and unimportant, because he knew. He saw the real Mariko, everything about her, even her insecurities, and he still wanted her. She could see that in his eyes, feel it in his touch.

She shook her head, dismissing the idea of him having to confront Osamu. “I stopped letting her hurt me.” She wasn’t certain he would believe that, because she didn’t know if she did.

“Look at me. I want to see your eyes. I want you to see mine because you have to believe that I’m telling you the absolute truth.”

She couldn’t resist. Who could? There was always that gentle note of command. Steel wrapped in velvet. She lifted her lashes and her heart jerked hard. Her sex clenched. Needy. Hungry. Shocking. His eyes were alive with so much. Rage that Osamu had made her feel less than she was. Hunger. That shocked her. It matched her own, maybe was even more. Something else. Something she’d never seen. It was difficult to recognize exactly what was there, but it made her heart flutter.

“She stole your heritage. At three, and even then, you were magnificent.” His eyes blazed with the fire of pure truth. “Absolutely magnificent.” He believed that and wanted her to believe it. “You’re even more so now. Do you understand me?”

She nodded because she couldn’t speak. No one had ever made her feel the way he did. No one had ever believed in her. Or complimented her. Or made her feel of value.

“This room is sacred. She can’t come in here and make you think less of yourself. Not here. I have to know you’re with me on that.”

Mariko nodded again. She didn’t want any other person in this room. Ricco created intimacy here–a sensual experience encompassing the two of them. A power exchange to be sure, but one that benefited both. It was mutual. She gave herself to him, trusting he would make the experience good for her. He accepted her gift of trust and made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world for him. Strangely, that feeling carried outside of the room as well.

“Here, you look in the mirror and see what I see. See the incredible, courageous woman I see. You give yourself to me. You stand there quietly, waiting. Believing I’ll take care of you. Trusting me. That kind of gift, woman, is beyond any price, but especially when given from a woman born and bred on control and discipline. Don’t think for one moment that I’ll ever take that for granted. I won’t. I know how vulnerable this makes you feel. By surrendering yourself to me, giving yourself into my care, you’ve given me more than any other person could ever give, and I’ll treasure that gift for all time.”

There was no way for Mariko to continue looking him in the eye. He saw into her soul, into secret places, desires she had pushed down and buried deep. Needs she didn’t want to acknowledge. She’d forgotten how to dream. Until she met Ricco Ferraro, she had existed to bring justice to criminals. He had opened an entirely different world for her, and all her secrets were there for him to discover. He was uncovering them one by one.

“Mariko.” He said her name in the way that he had. Pouring everything into one word. “You’re safe with me. Everything about you is safe. What and who you really are. Outside these walls, you’re the shadow rider. Inside, you’re all woman. Unbelievably beautiful. Your soul shines through. You can see it in the photographs. I’ve developed the ones from our last session and they’re incredible.”

He caught her chin and lifted it, forcing her gaze back up to meet his. “Are you with me on this?”

She was with him on everything. She hadn’t even realized she craved human contact. Kindness. Decency. To think that even for one moment she’d contemplated killing him, removing a man like him from the world.

“I came here to kill you,” she blurted out. Ashamed. Horrified. Her eyes filled with tears. With remorse. With such guilt she could barely hold her head up.

“No you didn’t, bella. You came here to save me–and you have.”

She blinked. She didn’t know what that meant. Save him? He looked at her as if she were special to him. As if she were that one woman. She wanted to be, but she knew better. He was a good man, but a poor bet for a woman to take on. She didn’t share. She might not know many things about herself, but she knew that. Still, she could have him for a little while.

She was going to continue to try to find her brother. There was no trail to follow, but she planned to backtrack. She had to have missed something. Sooner or later, her enemy would strike against her, but in the meantime, she would live and enjoy every second Ricco had to spare for her.

A slow smile moved over his mouth, softening the edges but not quite lighting his eyes. He was gorgeous. The scars only made him more so. A beautiful warrior with a poet’s soul. She smiled back and nodded that she was ready.

The change was instant, complete confidence in every line of his body. He stepped back but as he did so, one finger slid down the nape of her neck. His claiming. His connection with her. The brush of that finger linked them together, so his confidence became hers. Her vulnerability became his. She ceded power to him and, in doing so, gained his power. She understood that now.

He took her hand and placed it on his chest as he moved first one way and then the other, breathing normally as he did. “We’re connected, our breathing, the way we move. I want you to feel me the way I do you. Be aware of me.”

She already was. She knew every line of his body, every ripple of his muscles. The way he set his feet on the floor, the way his shoulders moved and his neck turned. She’d never been so acutely aware of another human being. Beneath her palm his skin was hot. His heart beat solidly, a steady rhythm she could count on. She nodded to show him she got it.

He caught up the bundles of rope, his eyes moving over her and then to the ropes. He dropped the red coils, retaining a black bundle, his gaze never leaving her. He circled her, his hands sure as he shook out the rope, sliding it through his fingers, feeling for splinters to keep from hurting her.

She stayed very still, feeling him close, his heat. His power. That absolute confidence. He came back to stand in front of her, one hand reaching down to the knot at her waist where she’d secured the kimono. It took him less than a second to slip the knot and open her robe. Her breath caught in her throat. It was one thing to say she was fine with just her bra and panties, another altogether when he was looking at her under the lights.

He pushed the robe from her shoulders and the silk felt sensual as it slid over her skin. Before the kimono could float to the floor, he caught it, bunched it in his hand, and tossed it toward the table where his camera was already set up. She heard his breath catch and deep inside, her sex clenched and went damp. With just that one small action, he made her feel beautiful, made her realize that the living art form of Shibari was also a sensual expression of sexuality. Hers. His. Theirs together.

“Just so you know what’s going on here, before we get started, it’s important for you to know I intend to seduce you. That means touching you. If at any time you’re uncomfortable with the way I put my hands on you, say so.”

Her head jerked up. He spoke matter-of-factly, as if talking about the weather. He always found a way to throw her off-balance. Now she would be waiting. Anticipating. Wondering every moment if he would touch her. Where he would touch her. How it would feel . . .

Her breath caught in her lungs. Her throat closed. His eyes were on her, noting every reaction. He had to see her nipples harden beneath the red lace. He had to know how she responded to his declaration. She inclined her head, wanting him to know she understood and wasn’t protesting, but she couldn’t speak.

Ricco stood for a moment, sliding the rope through his hand, just drinking her in. Absorbing her. Everything about her appealed to him. She looked sexy as hell in red lace and nothing else. Automatically, he folded the rope in two, finding the center point without looking, keeping it in his hand while he breathed in and out, studying her feminine form. He was pleased that she was courageous enough to acknowledge she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He could read her desire in her body, in her eyes, the rise and fall of her breasts with every ragged breath she drew.

So beautiful. Such a gift she gave him. He focused completely on the soft feminine curves of her body, allowing the world to slip away until there was only the two of them. As he observed her beauty, his vision began to form. Something simple to continue to ease her into the world of his living art, but more than the simple harness he’d used on her before. Adding to that would be good and make her feel secure.

He stepped close to her, inhaling her scent. She was his woman whether she fully accepted it or not. He had a long way to go to convince her, but here, she was all his. No question. He caught her bare shoulders, feeling the cool silk of her skin. She shivered. He slid his hand down her arm to her wrist, moved his fingers over hers several times, to relax her, to ease the tension out of her, to know the temperature of her skin so when she was tied he could tell with a touch if his rope was cutting off circulation.

In the bright light of the room their shadows were connected, and as her apprehension was reduced he could feel other emotions slipping into him. Her feelings. The beginnings of true affection. Hunger. Need. Those deepening passions gave him more power, her power, but it also fed her his as well. She was drifting a little, letting the anticipation take her away from him.

He caught her hands and jerked her close. The movement was swift, hard and unexpected. Her gaze jumped to his. That action certainly got her attention focused wholly back on him quickly. Already he was wrapping her wrists, paying little attention to the actual rope. It was an extension of his body and moved exactly the way his mind instructed.

The moment he took control of her body, erotic dominance consumed him. Became him. Something new. Something to feel that was wild and wonderful. Passion was consuming and he let it take him. He wrapped the ropes around her arms, making certain the lines were perfect on both sides. The rope traveled under her breasts and then above, the coils of black framing the beauty of the red lace just as he knew they would. He was very careful with the underarm hitch. Not wanting to take a chance of pinching her, he slid his finger between her satin-soft skin and

the rope while cinching the line.

He couldn’t resist using that moment to brush his knuckles along the underside of her breast, a soft, loving stroke. Barely there. Her breath hitched. He didn’t smile, but inside, he felt like it. She wasn’t fighting being in the ropes; instead she was sinking into the experience.

Ricco laid the lines over her shoulder, paying attention now to his art. To the beauty of the piece he created for her. He could lay in tandem, both hands moving at the same time, so there was no twist in the lines and they lay beautifully against her skin. He laid two pairs of perfectly symmetrical half hitches at her cleavage. Her body was made for this–the beauty of Shibari. The way the rope looked against her skin inspired him.

He was careful not to twist the ropes. The tension was perfect. Each line was in exact symmetry with the other side. He was precise and careful of her comfort. He frowned down at her. She knew he was building the chest harness, and although she watched him, she was allowing her mind to wander. Erotic fantasy or not, she had to learn to stay completely focused on him always.

The rope, like a living snake, slithered through his palms and he let it fall, staying close to her as he did so. Very gently he traced the pad of his finger over the curve of her right breast, down into the valley between and then over the left breast. So very gently. She leaned into his hand, arching her back just a little to give him better access. With his finger circling her nipple, centering her attention there, he reached for the loose rope with the other hand. One swift jerk up and then down.

Mariko’s eyes widened, her gaze locking on his as she gasped at the fiery flare of heat radiating out from her breasts to the rest of her body. Coming up onto the balls of her feet, she arched her back even more as he leaned into her, nuzzling her neck.

“Oh. My. God.” Desire turned her hazel eyes to a deep amber.

“Breathe, farfallina mia. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.” His voice was low, reassuring. She wasn’t used to heat and need rushing through her veins like a fireball.

Her head fell onto his shoulders and she breathed deeply, as if drawing him into her lungs. He pressed his body tightly against hers, feeling her softer body melt into him. Very gently he lowered her back onto her feet, steadying her, letting her feel his power.

“I’ve never . . .” She trailed off.

“I know.” He did. He was grateful he had this to give her–something erotic and intimate in exchange for everything she gave him.

Ricco brushed a kiss onto her temple, and then swept more down the line of her jaw to her neck. Moving back in front of her, he tied off the line above her wrists and reached for more rope. The harness looked good on her. He’d chosen to use a diamond pattern and wanted to continue it in the corset he was forming for her.

He measured out the length of rope in his mind to get it perfectly. Already his hands were moving. He quickly wrapped just below her waist where the sweet lace of her panties began, weaving the line into the diamond corset. Using a lark’s head knot, he wrapped more rope, careful to keep tension without in any way restricting her breathing. Using a half hitch at her belly button, he tied off the waist lines and pulled to tighten. He ran the doubled line between her legs, front to back, taking extreme care to lay ropes against her sex. He didn’t want it tight, nor did he use knots that would have added stimulation. He didn’t want it against her clit, that experience would be too much for her second time, although she was extremely responsive in the ropes.

The panties were barely there, a thong only, so he took great care to make certain her skin wasn’t burned or pinched as he worked. He wanted to make this a pleasurable experience for her. He wanted every movement in the ropes to heighten her awareness of him all around her, surrounding her with him, to make her feel as if the rope’s embrace was truly his hold on her, making her secure. Using another half hitch, he tied off the line at her back.

He slid the rope along her lower lips and then worked it from her back to her front, creating a series of diamonds on her body, all the way around. He used red rope for the diamonds so that the pattern ran through the black, setting the color off and drawing attention to the red lace barely covering her mound and her breasts.

Mariko gasped and writhed in the ropes, her eyes meeting his in shock as the double ropes moved lovingly over her sex. He directed her into position again and she yielded with absolute grace, her body following the guidance of his hands like a dance partner, almost as if she knew where he would place her just by the ripple of his muscle and his steady breathing. Their connection was growing with every diamond he laid against her skin. All the while his fingers brushed against her, judging the temperature of her body, always aware of her state of health. Right now, her desire was heightened, her need for him growing.

With every length of the rope, he was wrapping himself around her. Claiming her. The coils were an extension of him, his desire and lust. His growing love for her and his need to protect her. He gave her diamonds because to him she deserved diamonds. She was a treasure he cherished.

He guided her with his hands, knowing every movement of her body sent that rope sliding over her pulsing sex. He couldn’t touch her as he wanted yet. He couldn’t use his hands and mouth to bring her pleasure, but he knew other ways and he used them. Ruthless. Wicked. Allowing passion and art to flow together. Talking to her without words. Hoping she understood where his heart was going. His soul. He was laying it out for her as surely as he laid the rope against her skin.

He stood in front of her, looking at his work, the contrast of red and black, the lace and emphasis on her breasts and sex. She looked beautiful, even more so than when he’d started. Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright with desire.

“Are you comfortable? Enough for me to photograph you?” He stayed close to her, absorbing her heat. Her scent.

She touched her tongue to her lips, moistening them. “Yes.”

“I’m going to kiss you, because if I don’t, I don’t know if I’ll survive the next few minutes.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t ask for permission this time. He told her because that was fair.

He pulled her to him, using the ropes to bring her into his body, deliberately allowing the diamonds to rub deliciously over her body as the double ropes sliding between her lips sent darts of fire straight to her sex. His mouth settled over hers, and instantly he was gone. Transported. There was a kind of paradise in the sweetness of her taste. The velvet heat of her mouth.

He heard himself groan. He was so far gone on her. His body hurt from constant arousal, but this was for her. To show her how beautiful she was. How powerful. How much he wanted her. That he was giving himself to her. All of him. Bad and good. He kissed her over and over, deliberately shifting her in his arms to keep her arousal high. He rubbed his chest tight against her nipples, stimulating them as well. When he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull back if he didn’t stop, he lifted his head and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Thank you, Mariko. Thank you for this.” She’d come to him. Initiated their session. Given herself to him to keep him from pounding out his anger on the heavy bag.

She lifted her long lashes and looked into his eyes. He saw her surrender there and his heart stuttered in his chest and he had to let go of her before he lost all control.

“You have to know I want you with every breath I take,” he admitted.

She smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Resolutely he turned away to get the camera. He spent the next forty minutes photographing her. Positioning her. Watching her desire rise with every frame he took. Every movement of the ropes. The flush on her skin. The need in her eyes. Her breathing. He captured the moments on film knowing he would never let another living soul see her this way. She was for him. This was private. An intimacy only between the two of them. He also knew he would put some of these pictures on canvas and hang them in his private studio.

Just as he was putting down the camera, judging that she was near her limit and still had to allow him to untie her, his phone vibrated. Not the normal vibration, but the one that was programmed in by Taviano–his genius of a brother who came up with all sorts of gadgets for them. He glanced down at his phone. Emilio. This particular vibration meant one thing: they were under attack.

He caught up the shears he always had on him when working and hurried to her. Wrapping one arm around her, he began to carefully cut away his ropes. “I know you’re exhausted, Mariko. You should be lying in my lap, my arms around you, holding you close while you come back slowly, but we don’t have time. The enemy has found us here and we’re going to be in a fight any minute. I’m going to cut you loose and carry you to the chair. I want you to drink water and then put on my T-shirt.”

Mariko nodded, clearly struggling to come out from under the effects of the ropes. “I’m with you, Ricco.”

Dio, he loved her. Right then. That fast. She was somewhere deep in subspace, floating in a web of sensual delight, and just like that she was his warrior woman, prepared to fight at his side. Who wouldn’t love a woman like that?

The ropes dropped to the ground and he lifted her into his arms and took her to the chair. For one moment he cradled her to his chest and brushed her forehead with his lips. “Drink. Hydrate. The T-shirt. I have no doubt you can fight in your lingerie, but I prefer to be the only man who ever sees you like this.”

She nodded, blinking rapidly, reaching for the water bottle, preparing herself, not asking questions, trusting him to get the information they needed to stay alive.