Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
As I awaken, I’m floating on that single thought. Funny how my first contemplation every morning was a new The Red Dragon chapter or the occasional prayer that my students might pass the final exam. Today, my eyes open in utter bliss. My arm rests over my head, and I notice bamboo silk rope along my wrist.
Ryoichi unbound me last night. Had to.
Nevertheless, sensing that I craved our intimacy to last a little longer, he'd looped the rope around my left wrist like a bracelet three times. Ryoichi tied it, then tenderly touched his lips to the small patch of skin there. I’ll be damned if this isn’t a dream I never want to awaken from.
But I have.
I grin giddily at Ryoichi's dominant yet delicate gesture. I may never take this silk off my wrist. And then I hear the faint slice of air.
A smooth whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. I flip over in bed and have the perfect purview of Ryoichi’s massive bedroom. The room is so huge it’s divided into sections by priceless standing vases and opulent chaise loungers. He stands in a space surrounded by katanas.
Again, the air slices in time with Ryoichi’s agile movements as he practices his swordsmanship.
Dark ribbons of hair cloak Ryoichi’s face when he turns quickly, cuts down an invisible foe, then slices another from behind.
Okay, that’s a bad mama jama.
Placing my palms on the soft bed at either side of my hips, I slide into a sitting position. I’m speechless, breathless, beguiled.
With another spin, Ryoichi’s long hair whips into the air as he turns toward me. The katana is swiftly sheathed.
“Good morning, Ry.” Ryoichi’s staring at me as I gawk at the trails of sweat coasting over his chest. One drop slides along an abdominal and cuts across the alluring v at the side of his waist.
I’m flustered. Pleasantly so. Thus, I try my hand at sarcasm. “Why didn’t you tell me that you could chop me up like hibachi?”
“I cannot.”
I snort, and subsequent embarrassed laughter trembles from my lips.
“Come here, Ryann.”
“First, I don’t respond to orders. Until now.”
The sexy smile he flashes indicates why it’s easy to comply. I saunter to him, naked as the day I was born, chin high.
Ryoichi strolls toward the sword mounting, grips another katana, and hands it over.
“I remember you have a fondness for wild imaginations. Your manga.”
“Uh, not when my opponent has a black belt.” I squeak, considering not accepting the katana, but if I drop it, there go my toes.
Tight fisting the handle, I move into a wide-legged stance. Ryoichi retrieves his katana from its sheath. “Now, strike.”
I weld the damn thing like a home run’s in my imminent future.
Ryoichi gestures to a more relaxed position. “Like so, Ry.”
“Okay. I was just leveling the playing field.”
His brow lifts. “Leveling the playing . . .”
I chew my lip, considering another term. “Gain the upper hand . . . no, that’s still too American. Make this equal. It can’t be equal, though; you have an advantage.”
Ryoichi gestures with his chin, and I strike. My sword clinks against his again and again. “You lie, Ryann.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, realigning my hips and shoulders to power through better.
“It is not I who has the upper hand. You do. You may hit me. I cannot hit you.”
I stop, mouth twisting a little as his words penetrate. “No, I . . . I wasn’t going to hurt you. The other day, I was angry, just throwing my weight around. And I-I understand now that your mom. And you didn’t kill that guy. I thought we’d resolved this.”
He removes the katana from my hand, pitching it away so the blade skips across the floor. Hands frame my neck and cheeks. “You said that I hurt you. Deceived you, Ryann. You’re right. I should have listened to you. I’ve had time to think this morning. Now, my word might not mean anything—”
“Ryo, stop. I love you!” As my very own words permeate the air, I throw a hand to my mouth. We stare at each other. No. Stop this, Ryann. Speak up for yourself. I drop my hand to my side. “I love you. I’m sorry. That came out of nowhere. But I’ve never had these feelings for anyone.”
“Ryann—” As he speaks, we’re interrupted by a continuous knock at the door.
Quickly, Ryoichi tugs a cashmere throw from over a vibrant oriental settee and wraps it around me. His facade tenses.
I’ve seen that look.
He’s enraged.
“Ryo—”
“Stay,” he prompts, still holding the blanket's edges with me snug in the center. Ryoichi pulls me close against the hardness of his body, and his lips press tenderly against mine.
“You’re angry.” My murmur was meant to be rhetorical, but when he touches me, the fire consuming his eyes seems to douse.
“Do not move.”
A second later, the door opens. I gather from the glare Ryoichi tosses this isn’t a regular occurrence.