Bound by Tradition (7 page)

My father was pissed. Still. It went without saying, so in essence the silence was good, because it meant neither of us was yelling. It also meant none of the things I needed to say were said, so by the time I finally got to class…

If I said I wasn’t having a very good day, it wouldn’t be a lie. The truth was, and the part that was hurting me to the core was, that I felt like I wasn’t having a very good life and I was finally willing to admit that. I was through with telling myself I was stressed out, burned out…

His text, after the run, before my first class had even begun—
Your problem is that you aren’t committed enough
—sent me over the edge. That is, if there was an edge to fall over.

“I’m not committed enough?” I started laughing hysterically.

Before that text, I had been dreading facing not only my father but the other students and black belts at the dojo that night. I would feel the full weight of their disappointment and my father’s shame. After the text…

“Fuck it!”

Taking second place to Suki Miura was a damn good show. I loved competing against her. There was no shame in that. No reason for disappointment. Sure, I could work harder, develop a deeper understanding of the skill sets…

Why? As in why bother? Why not just accept that on that day, she was the better competitor?

Maybe next time I will be or maybe a total stranger will bust onto the scene and blow us both out of the water. I snorted. Wouldn’t that be something?

A year ago I would have blown off classes and spent the entire day in the dojo after such a failure, but today I didn’t see it as a failure. As the professor walked the class through a PowerPoint, I replayed each move in my head. Hers. And mine. Her kata was flawless…until the ankle wobble in the sai kata. Mine was equally flawless…but still, the scores could have fallen either way, and if I was really honest, really, really honest, her performance was polished, fierce, and primal. Mine was only polished. I showed no passion.

The students exiting woke me from my mental fog, and I stood to go. I gathered my books and dropped them into my backpack and saw my bright red dildo in the bottom of the bag.

* * * *

“Vibrator!”

He patted his chest, pretending to check for pockets. “Sorry, all out of vibrators. I could—”

I interrupted whatever he was going to say. “I have a vibrator in my backpack. Get it!”

He’d tied me to the bed with the handcuffs and a couple of belts. Somewhere in my mind I’d thought he’d release me before retrieving the vibrator from my backpack, but that didn’t happen. When he returned to my side with the backpack and not my vibrator, I was confounded.

“I’m not comfortable going through your stuff.”

I snorted, thinking the guy was a freak. He had no problem tying me up or finger fucking me, but he didn’t feel comfortable looking through my bag? “Shiro! Please. Go through my shit. Main compartment. Bottom of the bag. Big red vibrator. You can’t miss it.”

He rummaged a little and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs, lifting his eyebrow as he questioned, “I thought you had no experience with kink.”

“I’m not into kink. If I take a stranger to my hotel room, I make him let me handcuff him to the bed before I have sex with him. It’s a safety precaution, like condoms.”

“And then what? You ride him? You control every second of the situation?”

“Yes,” I admitted softly. “I control everything.”

He laughed, dropping the cuffs back into the bag, rummaging deeper. “How’s that working for you today?”

“Ha-ha. Losing interest here. Just untie me.”

Shiro pulled the vibrator—molded like a long red penis with a clitoral stimulator shaped like the head of a bull—from the bag. Seeing it, he chuckled.

“Stop. Just untie me,” I demanded, all humor gone, any desire that I had to orgasm disintegrated. I could feel my face heated with humiliation.

He moved between my legs, not untying me. He snorted and scuffed his knees against the sheets, pretending to be a charging bull. I got angrier.

The vibrator made contact with my labia as Shiro pretended to charge.

I started to tell him to knock it off, to just stop it, but my anger only got me as far as, “St—” before the tip of the dildo sank home and my need came back tenfold. Holding the device solidly inside me, he pushed the switch that controlled the vibrator, angled the mini bull horns directly over my clit, and allowed the sex aid to do the fucking while he watched.

I unraveled. Seconds? Milliseconds? My orgasm crashed over my body with embarrassing speed, leaving me gasping, crying, cursing. My limbs struggled against the cuffs, but it wasn’t a conscious struggle; my mind could only focus on the sensation. No thought.

Zen.

There was a moment’s registering of a lightbulb going off over my head that this was a perfect moment in time, but I didn’t dwell on what it meant.

* * * *

I pushed my books into the bag and zipped it closed. I could not waste any more time or energy thinking about Shiro, because if I thought too long, too hard, I’d remember how it felt to be kissed by him. I’d remember how it felt when his erection pushed inside me…

“
We just made love for four hours. I call that a little more than stopping by
.”

“Get out of my head, Shiro Miura.”

I hurried across campus to my next class. I was going to be late and hoped the professor hadn’t taken attendance yet. “I have to get my head straight!”

“
My soul communed with your soul
.”

My feet stopped moving. I almost stumbled and fell headlong onto the grassy lawn.

“I am too busy for a relationship. Hell, I’m too busy for a relationship with myself. I don’t have a single private moment, for a single private thought.”

I sat on the grass and grabbed my phone from the backpack. I opened a search window and typed in Shiro Miura. I don’t know what I expected, maybe nothing, but I knew I wanted something to pop up. I got more than I bargained for when it opened to the home page of his Web site detailing his shibari classes and schedule. There was even a blog.

I should not go to his blog
. Not really taking my own advice today, I ended up staring at a picture of him. Just as gorgeous as I remembered.
You have a very wicked smile, Mr. Miura. And God, those eyes.

I read from his page:
Through photography and artwork, my students and I explore the taboo subject of shibari, a Japanese style of rope bondage. The heart and soul of my shibari school lies in self-discovery. While we explore our own creative interests, we also wish to spread appreciation for this previously secret art form.

His hours were listed. And his phone number. Without thinking I pressed Dial, and when he answered, I skipped formalities. “I just found myself with a free hour. Think you could come to the campus?”

* * * *

I was shaking by the time I saw Shiro’s Jeep turn into the campus parking lot. I’ve never purposely skipped a class, especially not for a secret rendezvous. I stepped closer to the curb, so he would be certain to see me. My heart was racing, and my palms sweating. No competition had ever made me this insane.
What am I thinking? Why did I call him?

He pulled up directly in front of me and spoke to me through the open passenger window. “Hiya, beautiful.”

He seemed so cheesy, all the time, but then he flashed his brilliant thousand-watt smile at me and his beautiful dark eyes squinted with joy, leaving me to float for a moment on his happiness, and I didn’t care how clichéd his expressions seemed, because he gave me something I was in no position to give myself: a reprieve from the stress that was my life.

I opened the door and slid into the seat beside him. His hair wasn’t tied back and hung straight down, slightly longer than shoulder length. He seemed even more perfect. He was wearing a tank top and khaki shorts. He obviously hadn’t made any special effort… But God, even dressed down for a casual day, he was sexy as hell. “I probably shouldn’t have called. I just hated the way we left things last night. I’m glad you didn’t mind coming here, so we could talk.”

His smile widened. “I’m just glad you chose to spend the free hour in your schedule with me.”

“Do you do that with every girl you meet? Make them feel like they’re the most important person in the world?”

He met my gaze. “You are the most important person in the world—for me, in this moment—because you’re here with me.”

I wanted to challenge what he was saying, ask him if he meant that in the next moment he’d feel that way about whichever girl he had in his rope, but I didn’t because I knew I wouldn’t like his answer. His focus was pure and moment driven. Wasn’t that the true heart of Zen?

“I actually have the entire night free, if you end up with more than an hour.”

I looked at him with longing, not because he was so damn hot, although he was, smolderingly so, but because he had an entire evening free. “What’s that like?”

He looked at me, still smiling, but as our gazes connected his smile faded. “You really don’t know, do you?”

I shook my head. “I’m only sitting here with you now because I ditched class. After this I have one more class, and then I work for four hours. After that I’ll be at the dojo from six to ten, or midnight, knowing my dad and because of my poor showing over the weekend.”

“When do you study?”

“Sometimes I have to choose. Sleep? Study?”

His eyes filled with sadness as he stroked my cheek, but then he shuttered away the dark look and forced a smile, and strangely, even though I barely knew him, I was beginning to know the difference in his smiles, and the one he was giving me in that moment was forced, a little overexuberant. “What do you want to do with your free hour?”

I took in a deep breath. I hadn’t really thought beyond the moment where I actually got to see him again. “Apologizing for being a jerk would be a good start.”

He shook his head. “No apology required.”

“In that case, I don’t care what we do as long as it involves being with you.”

He nodded and looked through the windshield, maybe for inspiration. The only options close by were fast-food venues and a mall, and neither seemed appealing.

I touched his arm, drawing his attention back to me. “And kissing. You are required to kiss me.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Can I do more than kissing?”

I looked skeptical. “It’s broad daylight, but if you can manage more than kissing without an audience…go for it.”

He laughed and revved his engine before pulling out onto the road. He said confidently, “No problem.”

We drove around the block, and he parked behind one of the fast-food joints. He pivoted to look at me. “How brave are you?”

I looked around the parking lot and realized we weren’t completely alone. Turning back to him, I was sure he wasn’t serious, at least until I got caught in his smoldering gaze. I whispered, “I’m not very brave. If we get caught—”

He leaned forward, kissing me softly, whispering against my lips, “We won’t get caught,” as he slid his hand under my T-shirt to tweak my nipple through the fabric of my bra.

His lips teased mine, and he pinched a little harder, making me squirm in my seat and moan.

He pulled away only enough to meet my gaze. “The secret is to stay very quiet and pretend nothing is happening.”

His hand was still under my shirt, his fingers still rolling my nipple. My hips rocked against the seat cushion. He might only be playing with my nipples, but I felt it all the way through my vagina. His other hand slid up my thigh. “You wore a skirt. That’s lucky.”

I hadn’t really thought about it, other than knowing I’d never see him again and thinking, if I ever did, I’d want him to see me in a skirt. I wanted him to see my legs, and I’d worn the white cotton skirt because it made my tan legs look fabulous.

His hand disappeared under the edge of flimsy cotton, and his fingers played with the lacy edge of my panties, teasing under, coming back out. In, out, in, out. He wasn’t even touching my genitals, but still I moaned and bit my lip.

Embarrassed, I hid my face against his shoulder.

“Keep your eyes on mine. Don’t look away,” he commanded, and all hint of humor was gone from his voice. I looked up and the expression of raw need in his face was discomfiting. Maybe it was the sunlight, exposing us to anyone who would glance our way, but I think it was more—that if I could see what he was feeling so clearly, he might see what I was feeling too.

His fingers twirled my nipple, pinching, pulling, making me want more. Need. More.

The fingers playing with the edge of my panties finally slid under and stayed under the fabric, finding my wet slit. He pushed into the wetness, separating my lips. I tried to look away, feeling myself flush with embarrassment, but his face ducked with mine so that our gazes stayed locked. “Why don’t you want me to see you?”

“It’s scary.”

“New territory?” he asked softly. “I’ve crossed the line from stranger you’ll never see again to something more, something yet undefined?”

“Something like that.” I swallowed hard, gasping when his fingers pinched my clit, making my need rise.

“You like this?”

“Yes,” I hissed.

His fingers slid deeper, sinking into my vagina—in, out, in, out—curling inward, stroking my G-spot. “Which part? The naughty part? We might be seen? Might be caught? Or the part where you’re dallying with daddy’s archenemy’s son?”

Ahhhh
. The pleasure was so intense it almost drowned the pain in his voice, but I heard it.

“The part where I feel your soul trying to find mine and knowing there’s no soul there for you to find.” My orgasm crashed over me, dragging me under for a moment, stealing all thought of whether I was making too much noise, or if anyone was watching our indiscretion. In that moment I didn’t care about any of it, because I could almost believe he’d found I did have a soul.

* * * *

He drove me back to the campus. “I wish you had longer than an hour.”

“God, me too.” I’d ridden with my eyes closed, trying to hold on to the bliss I’d found with him for as long as I could. When I felt the Jeep come to a stop, I opened my eyes. “What would we do if I had more than an hour?”