Schooled

by Lorelei James

  place and I’m too exhausted to hold off.”

  She rubbed her lips down the shell of his ear and gently blew inside. “I love that my sacred pussy is your happy place.” She stopped plunging his hard cock in and out and ground her pubic bone against him. “Kiss my neck.”

  His warm lips glided across her wet skin, making her shiver. Her entire body trembled when he latched on to that secret spot that sent her soaring.

  Amery arched even farther as she thrust forward. The orgasm sideswiped her with tiny, powerful pulses that milked Ronin’s cock and set him off. They barely moved in the heated water, letting the synchronicity of their bodies take over.

  After she opened her eyes, she noticed the banks of fog. “I think we heated up the air and the water several degrees.”

  “Either that or it’s a temperature inversion.”

  “Spoilsport. I think we oughta do that again so I can prove I’m right.”

  He sighed. “As much as I’d love to stay out here all night and fuck you until you scream, if I don’t move soon I won’t be able to move.”

  “You are too solid for me to heft in the house.”

  As she separated their bodies, he squeezed her ass. “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I let you even try to carry me.”

  Amery stood and held out her hands. “But you can lean on me if you need to.”

  Ronin let her help him out. “I know.”

  Her eyes searched his. “Do you?”

  “Yeah.” He framed her face in his hands. Then he gave her that wicked, wicked grin. “But you can give me a reminder like that anytime.”

  Chapter Five

  Amery told herself it was natural to be nervous.

  She held the platter of muffins as she started up the long path to the front door. Ronin hadn’t been clear on whether the place where he trained was Sensei Daichi’s home, or a training facility.

  The place was certainly off the beaten path. Trees arched in a canopy over the walkway. A barrier of thorny bushes lined either side of the structure—nature’s way of saying KEEP OUT. The door itself was imposing; heavy iron strips crisscrossing the distressed wood. As far as she could tell there wasn’t a handle anywhere.

  Then how the devil did anyone get in?

  She lifted the heavy knocker and banged it into the rusted metal plate.

  The door creaked open and an older Japanese man stood in the doorway. He bowed to her. “Welcome, Amery Black.”

  “How’d you know who I am?”

  “Ronin-san sent photos from your wedding.”

  “Oh.”

  He gestured for her to come inside.

  “Thank you.” Amery stepped onto the mat and immediately kicked off her shoes. “Forgive me for asking, but are you Master Daichi?”

  The man barked out a laugh. “No. Master Daichi doesn’t answer the door since he prefers no visitors. I am Yasuji. I live here and I’m delighted with visitors. Especially beautiful ones.”

  Amery blushed. “Thank you. Your English is very good.”

  “I spend more time with English speakers than Daichi.”

  “It shows, Mr. Yasuji.”

  “Not Mr. Yasuji. Just Yasuji.”

  “Okay.” She handed Yasuji the platter. “These are chocolate chip muffins.”

  “Thank you. Would you like tea?”

  Tea? Crap. Protocol for a formal tea ceremony was one thing she hadn’t studied. Since Ronin loathed tea she assumed it wouldn’t be a possibility. “Ah, sure. But I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  He smiled. “Do you share Ronin’s dislike of tea?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I will prepare it for us.”

  Left alone in the foyer, she wasn’t sure if she should follow. Offering to help him would be an insult. Wouldn’t it?

  Maybe not.

  Yasuji didn’t seem surprised to see her enter the kitchen. He gestured for her to be seated at the low table in the corner. After she’d settled on the cushion on her knees, Yasuji brought over the tea service. He poured the pale brown liquid into two delicate teacups.

  “This is wonderful. Such an unexpected treat.”

  “For me also. We have few visitors this time of year.” He slipped three small squares—a lemon bar, a date-filled pastry, and a marshmallow cookie on each of the two plates, pushing one toward her. “The older Daichi gets, the more he turns into a . . .” He tapped his lips as if searching for the right word. “Troll?”

  Amery managed not to choke on her tea. “You mean a hermit. Someone who doesn’t leave the house.”

  “Yes, a hermit.”

  Yasuji used chopsticks to pick up a morsel and popped it in his mouth.

  Her chopsticks skills had improved since she’d married Ronin. She chose the marshmallow cookie. It wasn’t as sweet as American desserts but it was still tasty.

  “So are you here to visit Ronin?”

  “I assume there’s a ‘no observation’ rule here as it’s a rule my husband has implemented at his dojo.”

  “That is not an answer,” Yasuji chided with humor.

  “Yes, since it’s the last day of this first training session, I hoped to watch him so I have some idea of what he’s been doing these last three weeks.”

  “Ronin doesn’t tell you?”

  Amery snorted. “Are you kidding? He never divulges his secret ninja stuff. Not that I haven’t asked.” She sent him a sly look. “Or tried to get a sneak peek.”

  “You get in trouble for breaking the dojo rules in America,” he guessed.

  “Once in a while. Gotta keep Master Black on his toes. Besides, his punishment for breaking his rules can be very creative.” Amery froze. Had she really just blurted that out?

  Yasuji laughed—a real gut-buster. “Ah, Amery-san. You are the perfect match for Hachidan. A woman who challenges him.”

  “He challenges me too. He has from the moment we met.”

  His dark brown eyes twinkled. “Shall we break some rules and watch him train?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  “No. I’ve been interested to see what torture my brother has been putting him through.”

  She hadn’t seen that one coming. “Master Daichi is your brother?”

  “Older,” he clarified. “I moved in with him after my wife died. She’s been gone ten years. It seems like ten lifetimes.” He pushed up from the table. “Come. Let’s adjourn to the training center.” He pointed to the door. “You’ll need your shoes.”

  They exited into a gorgeous Zen garden—the largest private one she’d seen. How tempted she was to sink into the moss beneath the flowering trees and drink in the serenity. As they crossed the pebbled path, she noticed many of the trees had been trimmed to bonsai. “This space is astounding.”

  “This is part of the reason I came back here. My wife, Rikya, designed this.” Yasuji pointed to a structure within a grove of trees. “Here we are.”

  On the outside the training center looked like a small shrine. As soon as she stepped inside, her jaw dropped. The two-story room was eight-sided. Pegs, ropes, spikes, and hooks were scattered at random intervals from the floor to the ceiling. Modern sparring mats covered the floor.

  In the center of the room, two enormous pieces of wood, at least a foot in diameter, were braced on the floor and rose up twenty feet. A thick beam separated the two pieces at the top. Gouged into the backside, every twelve inches, were steel brackets that stuck out three or four inches.

  Just as she turned to ask Yasuji what it was, voices echoed to them from a hallway off to the left. She recognized Ronin’s voice, although his inflections were different when he spoke Japanese.

  Before she could call out, Yasuji pulled her behind a spiked tree and put his fingers to his lips.

  As always, her heart beat a little harder at seeing her husband. And she really, really loved seeing him like this, in full-on Master Black mode.

  Ronin’s hair had been pulled back into a samurai ponytail; secured high at
the back of his head, but leaving longer sections of hair beneath. He wore a white gi, no patches or ornamentation. No belt. He clutched a metal rod in one hand and a towel in the other.

  Then her gaze moved to the man speaking to Ronin.

  Master Daichi looked—there wasn’t a PC way to say it—ancient. He wore a black gi top that had faded to the same dull gray as his hair. His pants were wide; the fabric bagged around his legs. His black belt wasn’t simple, but heavily adorned.

  Speaking in a taunting, singsongy tone, he gestured to Ronin, then to the apparatus in front of them and snatched the towel from Ronin’s hand.

  Ronin swung the steel metal bar around like a staff, circling Master Daichi, keeping the rod in constant motion as he crouched and jumped. Twisting and turning his body one way, letting the rod function as a third arm. When he swung, air whistled through the metal. She held her breath as each strike came closer to Sensei’s head.

  But Master Daichi didn’t flinch. Or blink. Or close his eyes. He remained statue-still.

  On the next swing, Ronin sliced down like he held a katana. Sensei used the towel to trap Ronin’s leg. In a nanosecond Master Daichi had Ronin immobilized on the floor with the rod pressed against Ronin’s face.

  Holy. Shit.

  One time Deacon had done a move on her like that.

  Did it embarrass Ronin as much as it’d embarrassed her?

  Ronin stayed still as his teacher delivered a lecture. Then he offered a hand and helped Ronin to his feet. He handed him the metal rod.

  She pointed to the wooden tower that Ronin had moved to stand in front of and whispered, “What is that?” to Yasuji.

  “It’s called the salmon ladder. Haven’t you ever seen one?”

  She shook her head.

  “They’re popular in those ninja warrior competitions on TV. Almost all of those obstacle-course challenges were taken from advanced martial arts training exercises.”

  “Are you upset your ninja training secret has been revealed and used for entertainment?”

  Yasuji offered her a contemplative look. “Everything becomes entertainment in this day and age. We use the exercise differently—not just to showcase strength but to condition the mental response. We don’t see it as an obstacle to overcome once but one to master.”

  “So just because someone can climb to the top of the salmon ladder doesn’t mean they’ve mastered that skill.”

  “Precisely. But watch Ronin-san. He’s not allowed just to climb it. Daichi will tell him how he wants him to climb it.”

  Ronin held the steel bar out and jumped. The bar connected with the fourth set of grooves. He hung there, waiting for instruction.

  Master Daichi barked an order and Ronin pulled the bar out of the slots and threw it—and himself—up to the next level.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God. She had to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. That had to be the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. The power of his body as he worked his way to the top of the structure. Then he dangled there, waiting.

  Daichi said, “Daun.”

  Wait. Did he say . . . down?

  Sure enough, Ronin reversed the action and dropped down the ladder.

  One.

  Set.

  Of rungs.

  At a time.

  Holy fuck.

  Amery had seen Master Black do some very impressive things. She’d watched him fight and teach and bind and fuck. But this?

  This was pure power. Pure beauty. Pure skill.

  Pure sex holding on to a metal stick.

  His body shook and she heard his labored breathing as he reached the bottom rung. But he paused. That, too, was sexy—Master Black’s deferment to Master Daichi. In a lesser man that obedience might’ve put him in a different light. But witnessing a powerful man such as Ronin relinquishing his role as teacher and becoming a rapt student sent goose bumps cascading throughout her body.

  Daichi said, “Nugu.”

  What did that mean?

  Ronin let go of the bar with his right hand and his gi top slid off his left shoulder and arm. He wiped his free hand on his gi pants and then switched arms, shrugging out of his gi entirely. After wiping his right palm on his pants, both hands returned to the bar.

  If nugu meant get undressed she wondered why she hadn’t heard Ronin say it to her.

  The muscles in his back rippled, each sharp cut of flesh accentuating the sinew beneath his skin. His arms, those arms that held her every night, were corded and gleaming with sweat. Even with as many times as she’d seen her husband’s body, from this angle with this exercise, she had a whole new appreciation for his spectacular form.

  That man is mine.

  Then Master Daichi snapped, “Mata.”

  Mata. That wasn’t stop—yamete meant “stop.” Amery looked at Yasuji with confusion and whispered, “What does mata mean?”

  “Again.”

  No way.

  Ronin threw the metal bar up.

  Holy fucking shit. Seeing him do this whole routine again with his shirt off? She almost came on the spot. Her body clenched—teeth, hands, stomach, pussy, and thighs. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare. And lust after the beautiful man she’d married.

  When Ronin reached the bottom rung again, he still didn’t dismount. Master Daichi circled him. Then she heard three sharp whacks and realized Sensei had hit Ronin on the front side of his body with his belt. He leisurely strolled around behind Ronin and grabbed a long pole that was out of Ronin’s line of vision. Before she could figure out what the sadistic bastard intended, the man smacked Ronin’s knuckles. Hard. Twice on each hand.

  She expected to see Ronin hit the floor.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in him, but he was exhausted and hanging on by a thread. It’d be a natural reaction to let go.

  But not Master Black. He didn’t even flinch. Not even after four more hard raps on his knuckles.

  Finally Master Daichi poked Ronin between the shoulder blades with the bamboo pole.

  Ronin dismounted and stood very still, head bowed, arms behind his back military-style. But he couldn’t stop his shoulders from heaving as he struggled to find his balance and his breath.

  It took every ounce of willpower Amery owned not to go to him. Not to snag the towel from the floor, drop to her knees, and tend to her man.

  Yasuji cleared his throat.

  Ronin didn’t move but his sensei peered over Ronin’s shoulder at his brother. His mouth snapped shut when he saw Amery.

  That’s when Ronin turned. His eyes locked on to hers. He said nothing. Daichi said nothing. Tension thickened the air.

  Then Amery gave him a little finger wave.