Bound to Submit

  And then he came around the front of her. “How are you?”

  “All Green, Sir.”

  He nodded, and then he worked the twine in a stunning pattern down each arm before binding her arms flat against the fronts of her shins, folding her tighter over her legs. It was as he worked on her front that she noticed that he used black rope that matched her prosthetic—had he planned it that way? She wouldn’t put it past him, because the effect was absolutely beautiful against her skin. And part of the point of Shibari was the artist quality of the bondage.

  She moaned at how good it felt and looked, and at the fact that Master Griffin was the one who made her feel this way—the only one who had ever made her feel this way.

  “You look so fucking beautiful, Kenna,” he ground out as he secured her wrists to her ankles, and then her elbows to the soft spots behind her knees. “There.” He rose and walked around her, and just his observation made her breathe harder, faster. What did he see when he looked at her? Did he see the beauty of his work? Or did he see the damaged woman who’d come home from war?

  Focus.

  “Now it’s time for the suspension, little one. Once I start lifting you, just give in to the motion.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice breathy, her pussy already wet with her need.

  She concentrated on her breathing and the music and the sounds Master Griffin was making. She couldn’t see what he was doing with the ropes behind her back and the pulley system he’d lowered from the ceiling, so she didn’t concern herself with it, she just gave herself over to what was about to happen, even though she didn’t know exactly what that was.

  And then she rose into the air.

  Back flat and parallel to the ceiling, toes pointed straight down at the floor, the position was like sitting in chair while bent over and holding onto her ankles. And it sent her endorphins flying.

  “Head up,” he said. “Hold that. I’m binding your hair, too.”

  She let out a little moan as he worked, using rope to make a long, thick column out of the length of her hair that he connected to something above her. Now she had no choice but to look up, to see what was all around her as she spun.

  “Fuck, you look amazing,” he said, examining his creation. Examining her. “Point your toes for me, baby.”

  She did, feeling the flow and the intention of the position. And it was a position that revealed Griffin’s brilliance, too, because her arms were fully bound, but the ropes weren’t putting any pressure on her limb at all.

  “Damn. Yes. That’s it. Right there. That’s what I want from you on Sunday night.”

  “Master?” she managed.

  “Yeah,” he said, crouching right in front of her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Sir. But would you please take a picture? I want to be able to study this. And I’d like—” She cut herself off, not sure what she was trying to ask.

  He caressed her cheek. “What would you like?”

  “I’d like to try to see what you see,” she finally said.

  “I see beauty, Kenna. I see surrender. I see a woman bound to submit to me, and me alone. I see you,” he said, his voice full of a sexy intensity. But he gave her what she asked for, taking pictures from every direction. And, damn, she hadn’t realized how that would add to her arousal. Because knowing he was photographing her was making her even hotter.

  He held his phone in front of her face, letting her see one of the pictures. “Do you see? Tell me how beautiful you look.”

  “I...”

  “Say it, Kenna. Tell me what you see.” His voice was urgent with his pleading.

  She did look amazing, but embracing that was poking and prodding at things inside her that hadn’t fully healed since she’d lost her arm. “It’s amazing,” she managed.

  “Mmm. Yes you are.” He disappeared from in front of her. And then, without warning, the tails of his floggers came down across her ass. Then her upper back. Then the outsides of her thighs. She was warm and needy, pliable but tense, and so close to orgasm that she tried to squirm to find even some friction for her exposed cunt. But there was none.

  She cried out. “Master Griffin, please!”

  “Please what?” The tails moved back to her ass again.

  “Please may I come?”

  “No,” he bit out. “Not until you’re filled with my cock.”

  The words just made it worse, which he no doubt knew. “Oh, please!”

  “No. I mean it, Kenna. If you come, I’m giving you ten strokes of the leather paddle. Hold it,” he said, that stern Dom voice adding to her urgency even as the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

  “I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

  He flogged her low on the ass, and the tails stroked her pussy just once.

  The orgasm exploded through her. She cried out—in pleasure and fear.

  He left her swinging for a long moment, and then he crouched in front of her again. Except this time, his expression was angry and disappointed. And it absolutely devastated her.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry.” Tears gathered in her eyes and she swallowed thickly. She’d just wanted to be perfect for him. To be what he needed. Just once.

  “I know, little one. I know you are. What did I tell you to do?” His dark eyes blazed at her.

  “Hold my orgasm,” she gasped.

  “And what did you do?”

  “I came,” she whispered, tasting tears on her lips. She was crying. After all this time, she was crying.

  “And are you going to come during the demonstration when I tell you not to?” His eyebrow arched.

  Oh, God, she hadn’t thought of that. How her failure would reflect on him. “No. No, I promise.”

  “Good. I’m glad. But I still think you need the reminder.” He held up the black leather paddle.

  Kenna’s tears came harder, but she didn’t plead with him. She deserved this punishment. She wanted it. She needed it.

  He moved behind her and said, “Count.”

  She did. Through all ten falls of the leather against her ass. Until her skin stung and her pussy throbbed and her face was a wet, puffy-feeling mess.

  The paddle dropped to the floor, and then Master Griffin was in front of her again. “Tell me how you are?” he asked, his expression almost as upset as she felt.

  “Green, Master. I’m Green.” Because she didn’t want this to stop. Not when there might be more he wanted to do, more he needed her to practice. Even though her failure was eating at her like acid that not even his punishment had neutralized.

  All my fault all my fault all my fault.

  “Are you sure, Kenna?”

  “Green, Sir. I’m sure.”

  He dried her face with his hands. “Good girl.”

  She smiled at his praise, and she needed it. Because just then, she wasn’t feeling good.

  “I’m going to fuck you now, Kenna. And you are free to come as much as you like. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, mentally grasping for the solace that his punishment should’ve given her. That it almost gave her. Why couldn’t she reach it?

  He spun her around, and then his cock sank deep into her pussy. He used the ropes as leverage, as if she were on a swing, giving her no choice but to impale herself on his cock again and again and again as he hammered hard and deep. It was incredible and overwhelming and confusing, because her problem was usually coming too easily or too fast or too frequently, but now, suddenly, she hung there on the edge, unable to fall.

  He groaned and got thicker inside her, letting her know that he was close. “Come, Kenna. Come on my cock. Show me you feel good. She me I make you feel good.”

  It was the words that finally gave her the shove. She came. She came so hard that her vision went fuzzy and her muscles went limp.

  She didn’t know what happened next, only that she was on the floor and in Master Griffin’s tight embrace.

  And she was absolutely, inconsolably,
uncontrollably sobbing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Fuck, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay,” Griffin said over and over, his face against her hair, his hands and arms trying to hold her together.

  Because he’d never once—in all the years he’d known her—seen her shatter like this. And he suspected that it was a lot more than some intense form of subspace, though it might be that, too.

  “Fuck,” he bit out, the fact that he’d punished her eating at him. The leather paddle wasn’t the worst of the implements he could’ve used, for sure, and he’d given Kenna more strenuous punishments in the past. But his gut told him he’d played this scene all wrong, and that was eating him alive. “I’m sorry, Kenna. I’m so damn sorry.”

  She couldn’t answer, because she just cried and cried until she could barely breathe. He couldn’t even get her fully out of the ropes because he didn’t want to let her go to do it.

  His phone.

  Thank God she’d asked him to take a picture. His phone was still in his back pocket. He fished it out and pecked out a text to Quinton with his thumb: 911 my playroom only you

  Coming, shot back a moment later.

  Keys worked in the doorknob, and then it opened, and Quinton’s concerned expression dropped further as he shut them in again.

  Griffin pointed at the counter. “Scissors and blanket. Now.”

  Quinton bolted, grabbing the items and bringing them right to him.

  “Cut her out, Quinton. Please. Get her out.” His throat was so thick that his voice sounded like he’d swallowed sandpaper.

  Starting on the parts that were away from her skin, Quinton used the powerful industrial scissors to hack apart Griffin’s creation. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask any questions. He just got her free, and then helped Griffin surround her in the blanket.

  “Let me help you move her to the lounge,” he said.

  Griffin nodded. Wanting her off this floor and out of this room. Wanting her comfortable and safe.

  Master Quinton slid his arms beneath her knees and around her back. “I’ll lift her and then give her back when you’re ready,” he said, probably guessing at how hard it was for Griffin to let another man help console her in this moment.

  He needed to do this. He needed to fix this.

  But Griffin was fucking rattled, too, so he appreciated the help because he’d needed it. They both had.

  When they got into the lounge, Griffin sat and opened his arms.

  “What the hell happened, man?” Quinton whispered as he lowered a still-crying Kenna to his lap.

  Griffin just shook his head. He didn’t have time for that now. Only for this: “Thanks, Quinton.”

  He didn’t need to say more. Quinton nodded and left.

  After several long heart-breaking minutes, Kenna started coming around. Trying to take deeper breaths. Trying to stem the flow. Trying to rein herself in.

  She attempted to talk to him, but her words were halting and broken.

  “Take your time, baby. I’m in no rush,” he managed.

  “I’m...I’m...sorry. I’m...s-so sorry,” she finally said.

  He shook his head, her apology like a knife to his gut. His punishment had pushed her too far. “No, Kenna. You’re fine, sweetheart. You were so perfect. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

  “Griff-Griff-in,” she gasped around shuddering breaths. “My fault. Was all...my fault.”

  Hell, no, it wasn’t. None of the things she felt guilty about were. And as for the scene, it was the Dom’s responsibility to observe and assess, and clearly he’d failed at that. In fucking spades. “Baby, you did nothing wrong.”

  They were both hot with sweat and tears, but finally, she peered up at him, her eyes focused and more alert. “I...I ruined everything.”

  He embraced her tighter. “Never. You could never ruin anything, Kenna.” He looked at her red, puffy, beautiful face, and he felt so many things demanding to be said. Given how upset he was with himself, he couldn’t hold them in for another second. “Don’t you know, Kenna? Don’t you know how much I love you? That I would do anything for you? That you have become my whole reason for being these past weeks? That you walking back into my life was the best thing to ever happen to me? I’m so in love with you that I can barely breathe right now for the fear that I’ve hurt you.”

  “Not you. Wasn’t...you,” she said. “And, oh God, Griffin, I love you, too.”

  “Oh, fuck,” he said in what was nearly a moan. “You do?”

  A quick nod as she wiped at her face. “I realized that I never stopped. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I don’t know how not to love you.”

  “Baby. Oh, baby. I’m sorry,” he rasped, his heart soaring even as it hurt so damn bad.

  Kenna tapped at her chest. “It’s the guilt, Griffin. The guilt. Not you. It just...hit me. Like something inside me broke open that had been shut tight.” She blew out a long breath as shudders wracked through her.

  I need to feel good again.

  That’s when Griffin realized that this was going to be a process, but that he was only too happy to walk beside her as she went through it. It would be a privilege. “Kenna, baby, have you ever thought of talking to someone?”

  Her muscles went limp, as if she’d cried every solid part of herself away. “I haven’t been in a while. But clearly, I need to go again.”

  Her willingness eased some of the pain squeezing his chest. “Will you, baby? Because I will help you however I can. Always. But I want to make sure you’re getting all the care you need.”

  “I will,” she said. “I promise.”

  He stroked the hair back off of her face. “God, I love you. I was so scared.”

  “I’m so drained right now, Griffin. Like, I almost feel empty inside. But...” She peered up at him, her gray eyes really and truly clear. “But I feel like I needed this. Like it had to happen. I don’t know if it could’ve happened without you. So thank you for loving me, because I feel like you also saved me.”

  Her words were like a balm, easing and comforting him even as he tried to give that right back. They held each other for a long time, and it felt like something new grew between them as they did. Something stronger. Something unbreakable. Forever more.

  And Griffin would do whatever he had to make sure that was true—and to make her his once and for all.

  ***

  Griffin took off of work the next day because he was so worried about Kenna, despite the fact that she was leaving for Florida. In fact, in part because she was leaving for Florida.

  “Let me come with you,” Griffin said.

  “It’s okay, Griffin,” Kenna said as she placed the last things into her weekend bag. She didn’t need much. And she’d already packed the most important thing she had to take—the thing she’d been holding onto for years that belonged to someone else. “Really. I won’t even be gone for forty-eight hours, and I can handle this. I promise.” She’d slept so hard that she didn’t remember falling asleep and was certain she hadn’t moved once all night, and had awakened more well rested than she could ever remember being. She was a little embarrassed about how horribly she’d fallen apart the night before, but it was hard to regret it when it left her feeling so much light, so much freer. Like she’d purged a poison that had been making her sick for so long.

  Maybe that’s what guilt was. A mental poison. And Griffin had helped her expel it.

  “I know you can,” he said, sitting on the bed next to her bag. “I don’t doubt that.”

  He didn’t push more than that, and she appreciated both that he’d offered to go with her, and that he was letting her do this on her own.

  After all that they’d shared the night before, saying good-bye wasn’t easy though. Griffin drove her to the airport, and though he offered to walk her in, she insisted that he drop her at the curb. It wasn’t like he could go beyond security anyway.

  “I love you,” she said. “I’ll be back in less than two days.”


  “I love you, too,” he said. “Hurry back to me. And let me know you got there okay.”

  The kiss was sweetness and lightness and support and everything good. It made it harder to leave, but she had to do this. It was one more thing she needed to purge.

  Ridiculously, the pretty little boutique hotel she’d booked felt lonely, and the beautiful weather, pretty pool, and vacation vibe only added to the feeling. She and Griffin texted relentlessly, and it was the only thing that finally made her feel like she could relax and go to sleep.

  But sleep was not her friend. She had nightmares all night long, and she was aware enough to realize that it was her anxiety about seeing Ms. Kern coming through. But that didn’t give her any way to combat it, or leave her feeling anymore rested when the sun started brightening the room the next morning.

  The shower helped a little, as did the tray of room service she ordered—pancakes and bacon and a bowl of juicy pineapple. Her appetite had improved over the past few weeks—from the exertion of her submission and from feeling so much better, no doubt. But the anxiety even ruined that this morning. She took a half dozen bites and then pushed the food away.

  And then all there was for her to do was to sit and wait until it seemed like an appropriate hour to knock on someone’s door, deliver a long-overdue package, and hope like hell they didn’t give you the tongue-lashing of guilt that part of you felt like you deserved.

  Kenna sighed and flipped on the television.

  A little after ten o’clock, a knock sounded against her door. On a huff, she pushed off the bed and opened the door. “I’m not ready for service—”

  “Kenna.” Griffin. It was Griffin.

  She threw the door open further and jumped into his arms. “You’re here. Oh, god, you’re here.”

  “Aw, baby. I couldn’t stay away.” He stroked her hair and carried her into the room.

  “I’m so glad,” she said, realizing how true it was.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, setting her down and looking her over.

  A fast nod. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just missed you. And I realized after I was down here that I should’ve accepted your help with this trip. I can’t believe you’re here.”