by Gia Dawn
She thought she heard a rumble of amusement in his chest but decided it was still safer to keep her eyes toward the floor.
“I can understand your confusion, keisei.” He reached out again to trail his hand down her hair. “Both skills require patience, intense practice and the ability to perform them in meticulous detail.”
“So for you it’s all about the self-discipline.”
“Not only of self.”
The implication caused her skin to overheat. Sakura had gathered from his show that night he was probably into the whole BDSM scene, but she was uncertain how far he actually took his practice. While she thought it might be fun to be handcuffed or tied to the bedposts on occasion, she had no desire to be bound as his models had been tonight, their lady parts displayed for the entire world to see. Or be chained to her master’s side and spanked if she tried to do anything without his express permission.
She was absolutely not going to remember how she’d relished the feel of his hands in her hair, or how her body had reacted when he’d ordered her to sit at his feet.
And she was beyond determined to forget the way her heart had hammered when he’d called her beautiful and praised her for her obedience.
In an act of defiant self-respect Sakura raised her head and glared at him, clenching her jaw against the need that continued to taunt her despite her best efforts at control. She knew she’d failed when he twisted his mouth into an arrogant grin.
“Your eyes betray you, even though you think you are hidden behind that mask. What thought made you clamp your lips so tight together, I could not manage to slip my tongue inside even if I pried your jaw apart?”
“I don’t want to be your slave. Or your sub. Or whatever else it’s called these days. I just want to know if you would be willing to teach me the Tea Ceremony, since you claim to be a master of the tradition.”
His face took on an expression that made her entire body tremble. If she’d met him by happenstance, his mask alone would have been enough to give her pause. It had eyes that were elongated to the point of grotesqueness with brows that dipped so far in a frown they nearly touched the bridge of the nose. It was painted in red, black and blue lines against a stark white background. A jeering face meant to intimidate. When his jaw set to stone beneath it and his mouth turned down in perfect imitation of the eye-slits, he took on the appearance of a samurai of old, a heartless warrior whose only goal was to slay the enemy or die an honorable death in the battle.
He was silent for so long Sakura felt certain she had offended him to the point he would pull out his knife and threaten hara-kiri if she did not take back her words and restore his beleaguered honor.
Or cut her down for the insult.
But this was the modern world and such things just did not happen these days—although he did look as if he would be more than willing to throw her across his lap and punish her accordingly.
So why were her breasts suddenly knotted into peaks and her panties grown damp with the proof of her arousal? Surely she did not want to have any physical relationship with this man. Did she?
“Um…I don’t think this is a good idea after all,” she mumbled, standing to leave. “Forget it. But thank you for your—”
She was brought up short when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap…just exactly as she’d anticipated! And while she sputtered and protested and fought to break away, the man was strong enough to plant her firmly on his thighs, the strain of his erection pressing hard against her ass. “Coward,” he whispered rough against her neck. His free hand took a hunk of hair, pulling her head back until it rested upon his shoulder. “I smell your need,” he continued, grinding his hips beneath hers. “I could make you come with a flick of my fingers and you would beg me for more.”
She tried to shake her head, but he held her so tightly she could not move a muscle. “N-no. That’s n-not what I want.”
“Prove it.” His hand released her wrist and dropped to slide up the length of her thigh. “Spread your legs and let me touch you. If you do not call me Bakushi and beg me to fuck you, I will walk away and pretend this never happened.” Now his hand pressed between her knees, forcing them apart. “But if I am right and you shatter at my touch, you will become my student—in both the Tea Ceremony, and in kinbaku.”
Kinbaku. Bondage. Exactly what she’d sworn she would never do.
But that was before she’d met this man, she argued with herself. It had been too long since she’d had a lover. Her body was already clamoring for his attention, her breasts swelling beneath her shirt, the ache between her legs reaching desperation point. He was willing to teach her the Tea Ceremony in exchange for his pleasure. What would it hurt to play the submissive if that was what he wanted…especially if it got her what she wanted in return?
And right this minute the only thing she wanted was him. His mouth against her neck. His hand between her legs.
“Here?” she heard herself whisper. “Where anyone can see?”
His chuckle vibrated against her back. “Who can see us, keisei? The room is big and others are more concerned with their needs than anything we do here. But if you are concerned—” He swept her into his arms and carried her to a corner, standing her on her feet as he pressed his body along the entire length of hers. “Now no one will see you tremble or hear when you beg me to let you find release.”
He was serious. Sakura’s heart pounded so hard she thought it must shatter into pieces with the effort. Her knees shook and her breath grew faint as he nudged one leg between hers and forced her thighs apart.
“Please,” she whimpered, but even she did not know whether she was begging him to continue or begging him to stop as he thrust his hand between her thighs and cupped his fingers around her mound.
“Wet. So wet.” He bent his head to run his teeth along her neck. “And I haven’t properly touched you yet.”
“S-stop.” Sakura finally managed to gasp out the word as his fingers curled beneath the flimsy fabric of her panties, his thumb circling the overly sensitive knot of her clit.
He stilled instantly, but to her horror she continued to move against his hand, unable to force her body to do what her brain had ordered. She’d never been so turned on in her entire life, she realized in shock. No other lover had aroused her to this level of hunger with the very briefest of caresses.
Between the music thrumming in the background, the impossibly erotic show she’d watched earlier in the evening and the feel of the seductive stranger’s thumb still pressing against the swollen bud of her pleasure, Sakura was unable to make any rational decision. Tugging aimlessly at the hem of her shirt which had ridden nearly to the bottom of her breasts, she struggled to regain some semblance of control before she crossed the line of self-respect and found herself in the land of the lost.
“This is why you need a master.” The man pulled back to study her face. “Your thoughts are like leaves tossed by a storm. They spin too fast and fly beyond your reach. You question. Second-guess. How can you ever feel true pleasure when your mind is filled with doubt and distrust?”
“You expect me to trust you? A stranger?” Her hands came up to push his chest, already putting distance between them.
“I expect you to trust the way you feel in my arms,” he replied simply. “We are in a public place with enough people to keep you safe. Let go. Let me please you.” His tone had turned soft and seductive, calculated to manipulate her into submission.
And it was working amazingly well.
“And then?” Sakura forced herself to take a breath and give her brain the oxygen it needed to function. “I get to kneel at your feet and you get to spank me whenever you think I need the humiliation? Not my idea of a balanced relationship.”
“There is ultimate balance between submission and domination. Balance is necessary in all things,” he reminded her, “except where human choice is involved. The river knows only it seeks the ocean—the grass knows only it seeks the sun. They do not qu
estion their place or their desire. They obey the laws of their nature without question.”
“But I need to have a choice,” she protested weakly, wanting nothing more than to let herself go, yield to his touch and end the need that burned like fire between her legs.
“What are you so afraid of?” His thumb pressed more insistently on her clit while he trailed his other hand lightly across her breasts, sending her reeling from the sensuous contact. “That you are right…or that I am?”
Without waiting for a reply he bent his head and took her mouth with his, searing her with the contact. Despite his earlier statement his tongue slid between her lips without a bit of effort, forcing her mouth open even further with the invasion. Then he reached beneath her shirt to pluck one aching nipple, the contact sending a bolt of electricity directly to where he slipped his other hand beneath her panties and snugged one finger into the opening of her cunt in the lightest of intrusions, not nearly deep enough to slake her rising need.
He pulled his mouth away. “Tell me to stop now. This is the last chance you get.” His lips hovered close to hers. “No? Going once.” His finger nudged deeper into her sex. “Twice.” He pulled out and thrust inside once more, his thumb torturing her clit until Sakura felt the first stirrings of release. “Gone,” he ended on a satisfied note, returning his mouth to hers.
Chapter Two
Sakura held on to the man’s shoulders for support as she gave in to her body’s demands at last. Then he thrust a second finger into her along with the first, causing a gasp of dismay to escape her throat as he stretched her too far too fast.
“I never dreamed you would be so tight,” he murmured apologetically in her ear, pulling his fingers free. “I can’t tell you how much that turns me on. Spread your legs farther apart and tilt your hips forward.”
He grunted in satisfaction as she did what he’d commanded, only to cause Sakura to jump in shock when he tore her panties free and let them fall to the floor. “I will buy you another pair.” He licked along her neck before scraping his teeth across her skin. This time he took greater care as he slipped his fingers into place, twisting them back and forth as he drove them into her with agonizing slowness.
“More,” she heard herself beg, jerking her hips in frustration when he stopped midway and left her hanging.
“Ask me with respect.” He refused to move a millimeter more. Even his thumb stopped circling her clit as he waited for her to answer.
“More, please, B-Bakushi,” she gritted out, every muscle tensed in erotic expectation.
“Well done,” he praised her, returning at last to the task at hand.
Sakura closed her eyes as he continued to fuck her with his fingers, moving them in and out in a rhythm that left her breathless, unable to utter a single sound as he drove them deeper with each successive thrust. Her cunt ached in a way she had not felt for ages, her dormant sexuality roused to full force by the Bakushi’s skillful hands. She ground her hips hard to his, the length of his erection a solid mass against her stomach.
Suddenly, she wanted to slide her own hand between them, take hold of his rigid flesh and circle it with her fingers. She reached for the zipper of his jeans. “I want to touch you.”
“Iie. Move your hand. Now,” he added in a sharper tone when she continued to fumble with his pants. To add emphasis, he clamped his fingers so hard around her clit Sakura cried out and buried her face into his shoulder.
To her chagrin she realized she loved the way he took control. The way he touched her. Even the way he ordered her around. And the more she let go, the more he took over. Now he lavished all his attention on her swollen clit, rubbing and pinching and stroking the knob of flesh until it grew so sensitive Sakura bit her lip to keep from crying out. Sensation after sensation rolled up from the pit of her stomach. Her skin puckered and her nipples grew hard as polished beads of glass. She rubbed her chest against his to enhance her pleasure, loving the way she could feel his nipples had tightened to match her own.
Her body coiled into a spring so tight she swore she could feel every muscle fiber tense as the orgasm approached. Her legs buckled when he thrust two fingers back into her cunt and flicked them against the front wall of muscle, over and over until she was close, so close, ready to topple over the edge, ready to give him anything he wanted if he would just push her and allow her to fly.
“Come for me, keisei,” he finally commanded, rasping his thumb so hard on her clit she could not stop the whimper of pleasure that spilled from her throat as she did what he ordered, her hips bucking against his hand, her cunt clamping tight around his fingers as she came, shattering from the pleasure until at last she sagged in his arms sated and content.
“That was amazing,” she managed shyly, uncertainty taking over once more as she returned to the real world—the music and the club and the stranger who held her.
She could not read anything of his expression. He now seemed as cold and distant as the mask he wore. “You will meet me here in three days’ time. I will teach you and in return you will do anything and everything I demand. Good night, keisei.”
With that he stepped away, bowed and left her standing alone in the corner, dazed, wondering what seductive demon she had just agreed to let have control of her body and her mind.
* * * * *
Sakura’s father had been in a miserable temper all morning. He’d called the cleaning service with a plethora of complaints about work that had not been done to his satisfaction at the office. He’d spent nearly fifteen minutes ranting at them in both Japanese and English that they had not scrubbed the bathrooms to anywhere near an acceptable level. Then he ordered his secretary to call them back and demand a refund, promptly firing the woman who had spent twenty years in his employ when she refused to make the call.
By noon, Sakura had been summoned to try to convince Katashi Nakao the bathroom floors were clean enough to eat from and that his secretary would not only be rehired on the spot, but that she would receive a five-hundred-dollar bonus to make up for his bad behavior.
But her father’s temper could only mean one thing—Ian Shoji was making an appearance at last.
Her mother had let it slip that morning that the Shoji heir—and her soon-to-be fiancé if their combined families had anything to do about it—had already arrived in Charleston and would be stopping by Nakao Enterprises that afternoon to introduce himself. With that, Sakura had promptly refused to set a single foot into the office, until the panicked voicemail of her father’s secretary persuaded her that things had blown completely out of control.
Now she was stuck. She watched helplessly as the heir apparent walked through the front door mere seconds before she’d managed to escape out the back. And her father had worked himself into such a state she feared he would have an aneurism if she abandoned him now. With her best forced smile plastered on her face, she went to greet Ian Shoji, hoping she didn’t look as harried as she felt.
Although she tried her best not to show it, Sakura was impressed by her first sight of their honored guest. The man was nothing at all as she expected. Nearing six feet tall, he was lean of build with sleek muscles that rippled beneath his clothes when he moved to meet her. He wore casual jeans and a light-blue shirt, the cuffs rolled up haphazardly.
She knew he wasn’t pure Japanese—her father had made a point of dissing his American heritage every chance he could—and it showed in the jut of his jaw and the more rounded shape of his eyes. A piercing black, she thought in fascination, that went perfectly with sculpted cheekbones and the golden skin of his Asian ancestry.
She bet he possessed Western mannerisms as well, and to test her theory she held out her hand in a true American greeting as she crossed the room. He took it with a smile, his fingers closing firmly around hers, not even bending his head in a trace of a traditional bow. And he met and held her eyes for so long she was the first to look away.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Nakao.” His voice was pleasant, as relaxed as
his posture, his mouth turned up into a luscious smile that gave her a tingle all the way to her toes.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Shoji.” She dragged her hand away with an effort. “I hope you are enjoying your visit to Charleston.”
“I am enjoying it immensely.” His face held an expression she could not read, something between conquest and seduction, a dazzling combination. “Your hair is an amazing color,” he stated unexpectedly, reaching out to fondle one of the purple-colored strands, leaving Sakura too flustered to think of a response.
Luckily she was saved any more embarrassment when her father came to stand behind her. “Serve tea,” he ordered, waving his hand to dismiss her. “And bring food.”
“Iced tea or hot?” she shot back, knowing her father thought putting ice in tea was one of the greatest sins imaginable.
“Iced, for me,” Ian interjected. Again that brilliantly decadent smile.
“Me too,” she whispered, turning her head so her father wouldn’t see. “But Nakao-san will only drink his hot, as tradition dictates. Isn’t that right, Papa?” she added so he could hear.
“Call Jiro’s Sushi. Order Chef’s choice. We will eat in my office.”
“Of course.” The restaurant was just a couple of blocks from the Nakao business offices, and her father ate there most every day. Sakura wasn’t known for her cooking skills, and her mother had developed a taste for fried chicken and mashed potatoes, much to her husband’s consternation.
Sakura took after her mother, however, and was determined to have something that was actually cooked—even if her father killed her—and watching Ian frown at the mention of sushi, decided he might be in the mood for a change of pace.
“Mr. Shoji, can I interest you in something more homey?” She used the American form of address, but he didn’t correct her so she assumed she hadn’t done anything to insult him.
