I’m not as vanilla as you think and I’ve got the rope marks to prove it.

Amery just smiled and said, “Probably.”

• • •

WAXING hurt.

Like really f**king hurt.

Even after Amery followed all of Emmylou’s aftercare instructions, she felt too sensitized to spend the night with Ronin. Seeing him wasn’t in the cards because seeing Ronin meant f**king Ronin.

In true Ronin form, he hadn’t demanded an explanation on why she’d canceled. He hadn’t been happy she’d backed out of their dinner plans, but he’d retreated to unflappable Master Black and ended the conversation.

That caused a pang of . . . not sadness, but something she couldn’t put her finger on. Almost as if he didn’t care what she did when he wasn’t f**king her or binding her.

Her acceptance of his kink and the shocking self-discovery that she liked it had intensified their connection when they were alone. Their foray into doing couple things had lasted barely a month. They rarely went out together in public.

Although that wasn’t entirely his fault. Amery had been content to hang out with him in his penthouse. Whenever he showed up at her loft, they were all over each other and fell asleep afterward.

How long had it been since she’d gone out for a drink just because she could? She’d also gotten out of the habit of trying a new restaurant every week.

That’s when she realized she’d thrown herself into this affair with Ronin just as she’d done with Tyler. She’d adjusted her schedule to fit Ronin’s and he’d kept odd hours recently, but when pressed on his nocturnal activities, he’d said, “Business,” and ended the conversation.

She reminded herself of how hard she’d worked to be independent. It’d been a point of pride the past few years that she’d learned to enjoy doing social things alone.

So there was no reason to stay home and mope because she couldn’t see him. She’d dress up and head down to the Bistro. Listen to some light jazz, knock back a Moscow mule, nibble on a plate of bruschetta, partake of Denver’s nightlife for a few hours.

Just as she stepped into the alley, she heard the whirring whine of Ronin’s motorcycle.

He killed the engine and removed his helmet before dismounting from the bike. He dropped his gaze to the toes of her high-heeled boots; then his eyes wandered up her skinny jeans, over her dusty rose lace blouse, and stopped on her face. “Going somewhere?” he asked coolly.

“Ronin—”

“Who are you meeting?”

“No one.”

“Bullshit. You’re dressed to go out. Did you cancel our plans tonight because you received a better offer?”

Amery stomped over to him. “No. And f**k you for thinking so highly of me. I was headed to the Bistro, by myself, to grab some food, a drink, and take an hour to unwind.”

“By yourself,” he repeated.

“Yes. I used to do a lot of things by myself. I realized tonight since I’ve hooked up with you I stopped doing some of the things I used to enjoy.”

“That’s why you didn’t come over? Because you need to prove you’ll be fine going it alone after we’re done hooking up?”

He added a sneering tone to the words hooking up that set her on edge. “You’re taking this completely out of context.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. Good night, Ronin.” Amery slammed the back door and locked it.

Then she found herself pushed up against the cold steel. Calm, cool, and collected Ronin? Gone.

It boosted her confidence that she could rattle him outside the bedroom. “What?”

“What is going on with you? You never play these games.”

“Not a game. Tonight I wanted to go out. That’s it.”

Ronin studied her in that unnerving manner of his. But she caught a rare flash of vulnerability, and her heart caught.

She tried a less combative tactic. She curled her hands around his face. “Come with me to the Bistro. We’ll split an appetizer, have a drink, soak in the weeknight crowd in a Denver hipster bar. It’ll be fun.”

His rigid stance relaxed. He rested his forehead to hers. “I’d like that.”

“Let’s go.” She pecked him on the mouth and he stepped back. “It’s two blocks down.”

Ronin took her hand and led her to his motorcycle. “I’ll drive slow since I didn’t bring your helmet.”

Amery shook her head. “It’s a short walk.”

“I like you on my bike. And that wild girl wants to feel the wind in her hair even if it’s only for two short blocks.” He traced the edge of her jaw. “Or are you saying no because it’s not cool to show up at a hipster bar on a Jap bike? We’d fit in better if we pulled up on a Vespa?”

She laughed. “Fine. We’ll take the bike. Especially since you’re looking more badass than usual in this wifebeater.” Her finger followed the scoop neck of the skintight ribbed tank top. Her fingers migrated to the deep cut of muscle in his biceps. “I really like when you show off your impressive arms.”

“Don’t get used to it. I was in such a hurry to get to you that I switched out my gi pants for jeans and forgot about my upper half.”

“Why don’t you wear this kind of shirt more often?”

“Because I feel exposed.” He kept stroking her jaw. “Sounds weird coming from a man who prefers his partners naked. But I grew up wearing a gi from morning until night. Having my body covered is natural to me. I only wear short-sleeved shirts when I know it’ll be hot or if I’m working out. I only strip off my shirt when . . .”