When he loomed over her, the scent of her skin drifted into his lungs as a potent lure. Lust grabbed him by the balls and distracted him.

Before he crafted a response, Shiori dropped to her knees into the submissive pose. She tore off her mask and let it fall to the floor.

Shocked, he just stared at her as she lowered her body even more, in a traditional dogeza bow, her forehead and arms to the floor, the Japanese way of showing the highest level of respect from the most humble position.

He’d sensed their intense conversation had drawn interest from the club members. But after Mistress B genuflected at his feet, the room had gone quiet.

Knox’s heart raced. Sweat broke out on his brow. His eyes burned. And everything that had been tight and angry inside him . . . loosened.

Shiori sat up and snaked her hand around his calf, pressing her face against his knee. Her whispered, “Please forgive me,” was reverent and quiet enough that he doubted anyone else heard her.

But he’d heard her, and that was all that mattered.

In that moment Knox finally understood what he meant to her. And he couldn’t deny what she meant to him. He lowered into a crouch and cradled her face in his hands, wiping away her tears. “My Mistress should never sit at my feet. I should always sit at yours.” He kissed her softly, chastely, showing them both the power in their connection. “You’re forgiven,” he murmured against her lips.

With innate grace, she returned to a standing position. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, she helped him up.

Once he was upright, she slid her hands around his neck. The rush of emotion arcing between them had him swaying into her. “Can we please get out of here now?”

“Yes.”

Applause broke out around them, and he felt his face flame—not from embarrassment that he’d been caught on his knees, but because too many people had witnessed their intimate moment.

Knox held his head high when his Mistress led him out of the club.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SHIORI didn’t speak on the drive to Knox’s house. But she did clasp his right hand in both of hers and run her fingers up and down his forearm until he said, “Baby, I need that hand to drive for a minute.”

“Okay.”

He kissed her knuckles. “But then you can have it back. I promise.”

Rain started to pour down. After Knox parked in front of the garage, he came around and helped her out of his truck. He didn’t let go of her hand until they were in the house.

Before he turned on any lights, he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly her face was smashed against his chest.

She didn’t mind. During the long night she’d spent pacing alone, she worried she’d never feel these strong arms around her again.

He brushed the hair from her damp face—when had she started crying?—and rested his hands on her cheeks. Knox stared into her eyes for so long she wondered what he was looking for. Then he pressed his mouth to hers just once.

She had an overwhelming sense of panic. Was this how he’d punish her? Withhold his affection? Because that would kill her.

“Shiori. Breathe.”

“Don’t . . .” She couldn’t get the words out; she didn’t have enough air.

Knox bent down until they were eye to eye. “I’m here. Right here. Breathe with me.”

She inhaled and started to cough.

He gathered her in his arms again. “Breathe in. Slow and steady. You tell me that my scent calms you. Bury your nose in my armpit if it’ll help—but, kitten, I wouldn’t recommend that.”

She managed a laugh, but it came out sounding like a sob.

That’s when he enveloped her in his affection. Kisses on the top of her head. Hands caressing and rubbing her back and her arms.

Shiori did use the scent of his skin as a calming form of aromatherapy.

He tipped her face back and peered into her eyes again. “Better?”

“A little.”

“I know we need to talk. But it’s late and I am whupped. And I see dark circles under your eyes too, so I suspect you haven’t been sleeping either.”

“Part of the dark circle on this side is actually a bruise.” Immediately after she said it she wished she hadn’t.

“I know. But we can talk about that when we both have clear heads.”

“All right.”

Knox placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. Then he clasped her hand in his and led her to his bedroom. The lamp he turned on in the corner cut the total darkness. After she kicked her shoes off, she stood at the end of the bed with her arms curled around herself, wondering why she couldn’t just whip off her clothes and crawl between the sheets. That’s when she started to shake. From her wet clothes, from her relief, from her fear.