The knock came again in three measured taps. Hiroshi exchanged a glance with Mia, his expression tightening for the first time that evening. He pulled on his pants quickly and moved to the door, opening it only a crack. A woman’s voice filtered through in rapid, low Japanese. Hiroshi replied calmly, a few short sentences, then closed the door with a soft click. “One of the group members,” he explained, returning to where Mia still knelt on the tatami, partially bound. “They thought the studio was available earlier. I told her we’re finishing a private session.” He knelt behind her and began loosening the ropes with careful, practiced fingers. The jute slid across her sweat-damp skin, leaving behind faint red lines that burned pleasantly. His touch lingered on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the muscles there, then down her spine. Not tender exactly, but attentive. He was checking circulation and easing the transition back to full mobility. Mia flexed her wrists as the last bond
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