by Laura Kaye
He reached out his hand, palm up. A silent command.
Unquestioningly, she put her left hand in his. He brought it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Don’t make it so long next time. That’s an order.” His light brown eyes were full of affection and welcome, and that look went a long way toward calming down some of the butterfly Olympics taking place in her belly.
“Yes, Sir.” The words slipped off her tongue with ease, a kind of muscle memory she hoped the rest of her body still possessed. He released her and moved down the bar.
And then Kenna sat there calmly sipping her orange juice. Okay, not so calmly. She was, in fact, trying not to freak out over the fact that she was in the same room as Griffin Hudson after all these years. When the glass was empty, she settled it on the counter, took a deep breath, and spoke softly to herself. “Oorah, Sloane.”
With the Marine service call bolstering her courage, she got her butt off of that stool and around the bar. It wasn’t long before she was confronted by a crowd of onlookers in front of what had once been the church’s altar. And up on the raised stage was a woman bound in dark orange ropes that matched her braided hair so beautifully that it stole Kenna’s breath. She knew that rope work immediately. Intimately. Remembered its feel around her body. Remembered the touch of the hands responsible for the rigging against her skin.
And then she let her eyes move to the tall, beautifully built, black-haired Dom wearing a pair of black jeans and nothing else. Griffin Hudson. He stood behind the bent-over woman and held a vibrating wand between her spread thighs, his other big hand tracing the patterns of rope on her back.
A small moan escaped Kenna’s throat unbidden at seeing him again after all this time. Her heart tripped into a sprint. Heat ripped over her body, even as he teased and tormented another woman, another submissive. God, he was just as gorgeous as he’d ever been, muscular and strong, his rugged face now serious but capable of tenderness and playfulness, too. Kenna remembered every part of that man—his face, his hands, his mouth, his cock.
And probably would until the day she died.
Just as fast, she locked all those feelings and memories down. She needed to remember why she was here—and why she wasn’t. She was here to see if submission and bondage could provide her with the same release and relief they used to. If they could provide her with another kind of pain and stress management. Like a therapy, almost. That was perfect. This would just be an alternative therapy. And Griffin—if he was willing—would be her therapist. Nothing more.
She certainly wasn’t here about lust. And definitely not love.
Even if she hadn’t gotten Griffin’s message loud and clear five years ago, she wasn’t even sure what she was capable of feeling now. How could she love someone else when she felt so shitty about herself? How could she love someone else when the last person she’d loved—even if it was the love of friendship—had died right in front of her eyes? How could she love someone else when she so often felt guilty that she’d survived when that friend had died?
So, right, this wasn’t about love.
The submissive’s keening cries crescendoed as she came, the orgasm sending her up onto her toes and nearly throwing all of her weight into the mastery of Griffin’s rigging. When it was over, the audience applauded, and he moved quickly to free the woman, his skill and competence so damn sexy.
And as Kenna watched him, she realized this really wasn’t about love for her. Not anymore. Because as Master Griffin worked, the jealousy she felt was over the incredible release that woman was likely experiencing right now, not over the man who’d caused it. Which was...good. It was good. Better. That way.
The point of this for her was to feel less, not more.
And then Master Griffin turned his back to the crowd—and what Kenna saw nearly stole her breath.
A new tattoo covered his entire upper back in blacks and reds. It was of a woman’s face, partially obscured by dark hair blowing in front of her facial features as if caught by the wind. Streaks of red slashed through her hair and framed the image in ways that followed and moved with Griffin’s incredible muscles. Through the blowing hair, striking gray eyes peered out.
Kenna felt like her feet had become cemented to the floor. She couldn’t move, couldn’t react, couldn’t breathe. Because she saw those gray eyes in the mirror every day, and that woman was her.
He...he has a tattoo of me. Of me. On his skin.
Kenna blinked, and the glorious piece of art remained.
Oh my God, why does he have a tattoo of me?
Heart suddenly thundering against her breastbone, Kenna’s thoughts were a complete whirl. What did it mean? What could it possibly mean?
It was from one of their last nights together. She remembered because she’d dyed her hair a dark burgundy-brown with a few long chunks highlighted a deep red. After they’d played at the club, they’d left together and gone to his house. They’d gotten caught in a terrible late-summer storm and been drenched just getting to his door, but they hadn’t minded. Instead, they’d been laughing so hard by the time they’d gotten inside that they could barely speak. They’d stripped off their dripping clothing right there in his foyer and made love against the front door.
Well, it had been love for her.
Kenna didn’t even have a chance to scold herself for the thought. Just then, Griffin’s gaze scanned the area in front of the stage...and landed on her.
He did a total cartoon double-take, which might’ve been funny if she hadn’t still been grappling with basic brain functioning. And then his dark eyes went wide as they raked over her. For a long moment, they stared at one another across the space. The music faded away along with all the people, until it was just the two of them, divided by a room, five years, and her once-broken heart.
And then the woman he’d been tending touched his arm, and Master Griffin blinked and shook his head, his expression going a careful neutral. And leaving Kenna with no idea what he was thinking about having seen her.
He wrapped the now unbound submissive in a blanket and lifted her into his arms. With one last, scorching glance Kenna’s way, he carried the woman off the stage and out of sight.
And then all Kenna could do was wait—for what, she wasn’t yet sure.
***
Griffin could barely process what he’d just seen out there on the floor of the club. Or, rather, who he’d seen.
Kenna Sloane. Here. At Blasphemy.
His reaction was torn between What the hell? and the much-less-Dom-like running out there and falling at her feet.
And Jesus, she looked absolutely stunning. Maybe thinner than she used to be, but that black body suit had shown off her curves and toned muscles to utter perfection. And the blond curls falling out from under the hood had been breathtaking, making her look like she glowed.
“Are you okay?” Tara asked as he carried her to the private lounge off the side of the stage. “You look...kinda pale.”
Get your head on straight, Griffin. He forced a smile. “Perfectly fine, T. You were amazing tonight. I know those were tough positions I put you in and you held them beautifully.” He settled her on the small leather couch and sat, situating them so that he was behind her.
Smiling over her shoulder, she nodded. “No one ties me up like you do, Master Griffin. It’s so damn freeing.” She tilted her head as she accepted a water bottle from him and allowed him to massage her arms and shoulders. “Who was the woman, Sir?”
“What woman?” he asked, pressing his thumbs into her traps the way she liked.
Kenna. It was Kenna.
But since he knew absolutely nothing else—and couldn’t even guess at it, at the whys and the hows and the whats, he couldn’t begin to explain more. God, talk about feeling restless. His muscles might explode with the desire to race out there and find her, grab her, hold on to her. Forever, this time. But at this moment, he had an obligation right here. To take care of the woman who’d just gifted him with her submission.
Tara moaned and dropped her head forward while he worked. After a few minutes, she shifted toward him and tucked the blanket around herself again. “Thank you, Master Griffin. Permission to speak freely?”
Warily, he nodded. Tara paused for a moment longer. “Whoever she was, I think you should go talk to her.”
Griffin arched a brow, not ready to talk about Kenna with anyone else. Not yet. Not until he had a better handle on the situation himself.
“And now I’m done interfering.” With a smile, she kissed him on the cheek. “I hope you have a good night.”
“You too.” He watched her leave and debated what to do. What is there to debate? Go fucking get Kenna.
The thought had him off his feet and making his way out into the main part of the club. Music played. People talked and laughed. Moans and cries sounded out. But Griffin barely heard any of it. Because all he could focus on was the tall blond in shiny, skin-tight black standing in the same spot where she’d been.
She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t changed positions. She was just waiting. For him.
Their gazes collided across the space, like she’d been searching for him, too, and then she bowed her head, the hood covering her face. Which, after five years, was unfuckingacceptable.
By the time he stood in front of Kenna, Griffin’s heart was pounding inside his rib cage. Tall as she was, he had a good five inches on her, and for a moment, he stared her down just to see if she’d hold the submissive posturing.
She did.
It shot blood directly to his cock and had his skin going hot, but he also couldn’t stand it for another second.
“Look at me.”
Her head tilted back until she was nailing him with those slate gray eyes, eyes that had haunted his dreams so frequently that he was half sure he was looking at a ghost. Which probably explained why he lifted his hand and caressed her face. He had to touch her softness and feel her warmth to prove to himself that Kenna was really there. In front of him. After all this time.
My God.
It was Kenna. The same freckle on her cheekbone. The same scar above her eyebrow. The same bow-shaped lips that looked so fucking beautiful gasping in orgasm and wrapped around his cock. The familiarity of those little parts of her threatened to rip open so many memories—and even more feelings.
Only, something was different about her now. Restrained, even. He studied her for a long moment. She held her position beautifully, as she always had, with her posture perfect and her feet spread and her arms folded behind her back. The blond hair was different. In the year they’d played together, he’d rarely seen it her natural color, and he grew to enjoy the surprise of how she’d change for him, like a butterfly ever transforming anew.
But none of that was what was tripping his internal alarms. He focused on her face. There. The cool distance in her eyes. The careful neutral of the expression. This was a woman who’d fearlessly and sometimes brazenly worn her emotions on her sleeves. A woman whose feelings he’d seen in her revealing eyes long before she’d voiced them all those years ago. But now, only her mouth dropping open revealed some little chink in her carefully crafted armor.
She was still stunningly beautiful, though. Breathtaking.
“It’s good to see you after all this time, Kenna,” he finally said in what amounted to a monumental understatement.
“Master Griffin,” she said, her voice as cool as her expression.
When had Kenna ever been so reserved with him?
Since you rejected her?
The truth of that launched a sinking feeling in his gut that he made sure to keep off of his face. “Have you moved back to Baltimore or is this just a visit?”
She frowned and her eyes searched his, like the question had surprised her. “Oh, uh, yes. I moved back.”
“I see,” he said, letting his gaze wander. Down the slender column of her throat. Lingering on the beautiful plunging neckline of her bodysuit. Over her long, toned legs. His hands itched for some rope. His mind raced with the patterns he wanted to make on her naked skin. His ears strained to hear the throaty, gasping moans she’d release as he bound her tight and sure and irrevocably to him. The desires made him hard for her. “Then welcome home.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said quietly.
He wanted to grab her by the arms, shake her, embrace her. Something to elicit some of the old passion. But he’d lost the right to expect that from her, hadn’t he?
So what did she want then?
“So, what can I—”
“Master Griffin, can we—”
They both chuckled at speaking at the same time, but the awkwardness was evident in the sound of his laugh and the expression on her face. He hated it, how out of sync they were after once being so well matched that Griffin kicked himself every day for letting her go. He knew how rare that was, and he hated himself for not seeing it then. Not cherishing it, as he should’ve.
“Kenna, are you here to talk or play tonight?”
“Both, Sir,” she whispered.
He tilted his head. “And, were you hoping to do those things with me?” He couldn’t assume, not after everything. But his body was like a rope pulled taut in anticipation of her answer.
She licked her lips, and Griffin felt it everywhere, because the simple action revealed that she wasn’t as unaffected as she was putting on. “Yes, Sir. If you’re available. And, uh—” Her shoulder moved in a tiny nervous shrug. “—interested.”
Relief and heat flooded through his veins. Kenna Sloane was here for him, after all this time. He leaned in and put his face next to hers, his mouth near her ear. “Oh, little Kenna, I’m fucking interested, all right.”
The goosebumps that sprung up on her face where their skin touched felt like victory. She wasn’t unaffected at all. But he’d let her have this reserve. For now.
He pulled back and nailed her with a stare. “Now, let’s go have that talk.”
CHAPTER FOUR
For a moment, Kenna was frozen in place.
Being in Master Griffin’s presence again was utterly overwhelming. His deep voice, the heat rolling off his body, the way he’d left the button-down shirt he’d donned mostly unbuttoned—all of it set her senses on fire and unleashed a barrage of memories involving lust-drenched commands, bondage positions that sent her soaring into orgasm after orgasm, sex-tangled sheets, and sweaty, sated bodies. His scent was just as she remembered, all clean soap and something spicy and male that was pure Griffin.
Worse, she felt like someone had plugged her body into an electrical outlet. Her blood sang with heat and want. Her skin tingled with anticipation. Her pulse raced until she felt it everywhere. So much for feeling less.
Plus, if he was paying attention, moving was going to reveal her arm. And since the man was looking at her like he wanted to devour her—or take her over his knee and warm her ass with his hand—she was pretty sure he was paying attention.
“Kenna?” he asked, leaning down to look right in her eyes. “Come with me. Now.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
He turned, and she followed, relieved to be walking on his right side so that her prosthesis wasn’t right beside him. She wanted privacy for that conversation—privacy in case it made him not want to play with her anymore.
The thought made her feel like she might vomit, but then again, no one ever died from throwing up, did they? Anyway, she’d survived worse.
She immediately recognized the lounge where he led her. How many nights had he provided after care to her in this room? There was nothing particularly special about the space itself—two black leather couches sat parallel to one another separated by a coffee table, and a bookshelf held bottles of water, massage cream and skin ointments, and folded towels and blankets. Standing lamps cast a golden glow that created a relaxing vibe. One look at the couches and she could picture herself in a blissed-out, half-conscious state peering up at his strong jaw, the first hints of his dark beard just becoming clear.
Master Griffin stood so close that she could make out the fibers in his charcoal-gray shirt. For minutes that felt like eternity, he didn’t say a word. In the silence, their breaths sounded loud. And the quiet made something else clear, as well—that her breathing was coming faster, that he was affecting her. Damnit.
“Look at me,” he finally said, echoing the command he’d given her minutes before.
She lifted her head and met his eyes, trying like hell to keep her cool. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was still mooning over him after all these years. She really needed for him not to turn her away. She just...really needed him. Well, his help, anyway.
Emotions she couldn’t read rolled over his expression, and he shook his head. “Tell me what it is you want.”
“I want to get back into the lifestyle, Sir. It’s been a long time, and I’ve missed it.” She swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet between them. “I need it.”
He tilted his head, his gaze studying her, observing her. God, it felt like he saw everything and it both thrilled her and scared her. “How long?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How long since you last served a Dominant?”
Damn if this question didn’t force her to reveal too much. “Years, Sir.” It was a hedge, but it was true.
Of course that didn’t satisfy him. One dark brow arched. “How. Long.”
A tendril of anger curled down her spine, urging her to stand taller. “Since you,” she said, more attitude in her words than she’d intended.
His eyes went wide, for just a moment, and his lips parted. Slowly, he slid the hood back off of her head and then he leaned in until his cheek brushed hers. “Does it make me a bastard to admit that that pleases me?” he said in a low, low voice, his breath tickling her ear.
The contact made her nipples hard, something her body suit wouldn’t hide. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?”
