Jiro groaned. The sound vibrated through me as his arms locked around my thighs to keep me from moving. His tongue pressed into me, a slow, unrelenting rhythm that had me fisting the sheets.
He wasn’t rushing. He was savoring me. Enjoying every second.
I knew because he always had. Because this wasn’t new. Jiro had always loved this part—loved unraveling me, loved listening to the sounds I made when I couldn’t hold back.
And I couldn’t hold back now.
I barely recognized my own voice when I moaned, my fingers twisting in his hair, tugging. But he didn’t stop. His tongue flicked, his grip on me tightening when I tried to squirm away. Too much. It was too much, and he knew it.
And still, he didn’t stop.
I felt it building, pressure coiling tighter, spiraling fast. He could sense it too. His mouth moved faster, more focused, his tongue stroking exactly where I wanted, as if he could still read every shift of my body.
“Jiro—oh, fuck?—”
The orgasm slammed into me so hard I arched off the bed, his hands locking me in place, his mouth not letting up until I was gasping and shaking beneath him. I came apart completely in his hands, just like he’d intended.
My mind was still spinning when I felt him moving back up, his mouth leaving a trail of soft, lazy kisses along my stomach and ribs. His lips found the curve of my breast; his tongue flicked over my nipple before he took it gently into his mouth.
A gasp escaped me, my fingers tightening in his hair. He lingered there, teasing, tasting, his other hand sliding up my side, fingertips grazing the other peak, rolling it between his fingers. I arched into him, chasing the warmth of his mouth.
He kept moving, pressing kisses along my neck, before his weight settled against me. I could feel him—still hard and wanting.
I reached for him, my fingers brushing over the hard outline beneath his pants. With a swift tug, I freed him, guiding him between my thighs, but Jiro caught my wrist before I could slip him inside.
“Not tonight.”
His words were gentle but firm, his grip steady, his breath warm against my ear. I blinked up at him, still dazed. “Why?”
“You know why.” His mouth brushed against my forehead. “You’re loud.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. Was he seriously bringing that up now?
“Jiro—”
“Not happening. Our friend is just down the hall.” He kissed me again, slower this time, before easing onto his side, pulling me back into him. “No need to give him another reason to want us dead.”
I should have been annoyed and frustrated. But he was right.
His arms curled around me, his breathing slowing. This Jiro, this new Jiro, didn’t just want to fuck me—he wanted to keep me.
And somehow, that seemed more dangerous than anything else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I woke the following morning feeling well rested, ready for another day at the apprenticeship from hell. The soft glow of the bedside lamp chased away the lingering shadows as I stretched my legs and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, then froze.
The chair.
It wasn’t lodged under the doorknob. Instead, it sat a few feet away, with its back facing me. My stomach twisted. It should have been firmly pressed against the door, as it always was.
A sickening feeling fell on me. I shot to my feet and rushed to the door, my hand trembling as I gripped the knob. It turned easily, moving seamlessly, and the door opened.
I froze, nausea bubbling in my stomach as the realization washed over me. I had slept with an unsecured door. Vulnerable. Exposed.
I shut the door, turning back to the chair. How had it moved? Had someone come into my room? Were they watching me sleep?
A wave of panic swelled in my chest. My sanctuary, the one place where I thought I could let my guard down, was no longer safe.
