Bound to Submit

by Laura Kaye

  Master Griffin frowned and deep furrows marred his brow. “Are you saying you left Baltimore and joined the Marines because of what happened between us?” His dark eyes blazed at her.

  “Not entirely, Griffin,” she said, realizing she’d dropped his title but not able to reel herself in. “But in part, yeah. It wasn’t like I was running away, though, if that’s what you’re implying. Being with you—serving you—were the only things that had meant anything to me in my life back then. I hated my job, didn’t want to go to law school, and didn’t know what to do to make me feel like my life counted or mattered. To myself, let alone anyone else. And then I met this woman, this Marine, and the way she talked about her life. Man, I wanted that. And since I couldn’t have us, I made a leap of faith that serving my country might be able to give me something equally meaningful.”

  He sat straighter, and his gaze dropped down to where her prosthetic arm lay in her lap. And when his eyes lifted again, there was a devastation in them that Kenna didn’t understand. It was on his face too, in the unusual pallor of his skin and slackness of his jaw. “Right. Of course,” he said, nodding. But his voice was flat. “That’s very admirable. I really am proud of your service.”

  “Why are you talking like that?” she asked.

  “Like what?” He rose fast and rounded the table, his knee catching the tray and knocking it onto the floor before he could catch it. A crash indicated that not everything had survived the fall. “Damnit.”

  Kenna went around the other side and sank to a crouch. “Let me help.”

  “There’s broken glass,” he said.

  She reached out with her prosthetic, with which she’d managed to master some pretty fine motor skills thanks to hours and hours of physical therapy. “It can’t exactly cut me, Griffin,” she said with a rueful chuckle.

  His gaze whipped to her. “That’s not fucking funny, Kenna.”

  She froze. “What?”

  He shook his head, his actions suddenly brimming with agitation.

  She grabbed a big piece of the broken plate.

  “Jesus, just leave it!” he snapped.

  Kenna backed off and then rose. And then she took another step backward. Because Master Griffin never lashed out like this. She didn’t know what was going on with him, but she didn’t like it. On top of the weird stew of anger, sadness, regret, and confused hope bubbling in her gut, his anger was one emotion too many.

  I wanted to feel less, not more.

  Oh, God! It’s too much!

  She made for the door to the playroom, and then she was jogging across the space, trying not to see the ropes still piled in the center of the floor, trying not to remember exactly how much Griffin had made her feel.

  Because what he’d done to her had been amazing. It had left her blissful and free and shattered. In all kinds of ways, apparently.

  “Kenna?” she heard from the lounge.

  She dropped the blanket at her feet and wiggled into the little lingerie dress, thanking God that she hadn’t worn something more complicated.

  “Kenna,” Master Griffin said from the opposite doorway. “I’m sorry. Don’t go. Please.” He crossed to her with a wariness that set her further on edge, like he knew any sudden movements might make her bolt.

  But it was too late, because her fight or flight instinct was alive and well, and bolting was exactly what she wanted to do. “I have to. Now,” she said, her mind a whirl. “Um, I told Mia I’d get a drink with her after... But thank you, for everything. Good night, Sir.” She turned for the door.

  “Kenna, wait.”

  She took off, feeling upset, feeling like she should cry. Wanting to, even. But of course her eyes were dry. Because she’d become a damned emotional misfit. As her actions currently showed. Only, she couldn’t make herself stay.

  Not wanting to attract attention, she slowed her pace as she entered the main floor of the club. She half expected Griffin to appear behind her at any second, and when he didn’t, that upset her, too. Which was really fucking annoying. She passed the bar, the far entrance in sight.

  “Hey, Kenna?” A female voice. Kenna looked, and found Mia sliding off a bar stool and heading her way. It was all she could do not to whimper at the delay. “I was hoping we’d run into each other again. Would you like to hang out, get that drink, maybe?”

  “Oh, um. I would really love to, another night. But...” She shook her head. She was so jittery inside.

  Mia touched her shoulder, and Kenna jumped at the contact. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.” Her gaze flashed over Mia’s shoulder to where Master Kyler and a few other Doms were watching them. Kenna forced a smile. “I’m just tired. I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t worry about it,” Mia said with a smile that indicated she knew something was up. “You know where to find me.”

  They said their good-byes and then Kenna got out of there before anyone else stopped her again. Because she suddenly felt like one big exposed nerve—raw, oversensitive, overstimulated. The sensation didn’t improve in the cab, where the driver’s aggressive maneuvering, short stops, and frequent use of the horn made her jumpy and uneasy.

  “Damn man, do you have to hit every pothole in Afghanistan?” Burrell called from the back seat of the Humvee.

  “Hit more,” Georgia said. “It’s like being in the back of the school bus again.”

  “Fuck, George. Don’t tell Romero that. He’ll hit every one for you.” Burrell smirked. He was always teasing Georgia, and Kenna was convinced the guy had it bad for her...

  The banter continued. But Kenna wasn’t enjoying it. Not like she had that night. Because she remembered that night, remembered what was coming.

  The taxi jerked to a stop, the driver yelling at the car ahead. Kenna cried out.

  But she wasn’t there. She was in that Humvee in a convoy headed back to base. Driving through a village, the attack had come out of nowhere. From the hills above the street. From dark doorways and flat roofs.

  She dove down as the Hummer hauled ass. Rapid fire rang out all around, the sound loud because some of it was coming from the tri-barrel machine gun mounted in the armored turret on the roof of their armored vehicle.

  They’d been clear of the attack in less than five minutes, but she’d only been in country for six weeks at that point. Five minutes had felt like an eternity.

  “Miss? Miss?”

  Something tapped her shoulder.

  “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

  The words started to sink in through the memory. She opened her eyes, and found herself looking at darkness. Kenna frowned and peered around.

  She was balled up on the floor of the taxi’s back seat.

  “Oh,” she said, rushing to get up. “I...I’m sorry.” A glance out the window made her realize that it was even worse than she thought. Because he was parked at the curb near her building. Which meant she’d been like that for nearly fifteen minutes. She glanced at the meter, fumbled in her purse, and pushed a twenty into the man’s hand. “Thank you,” she mumbled, ignoring his questions.

  She couldn’t get into her little apartment quick enough.

  The minute she got inside, she bolted the door and slid down against it to the floor. What had just happened? What the hell had just happened?

  But she knew.

  Because it’d happened a few times before, back at the beginning.

  She’d had a flashback.

  That’s how fucked up she was. That’s how pathetic she was.

  Which was why, when her cell phone rang, she didn’t answer. Because she knew it was him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Griffin wanted to punch a fucking wall. Because he’d lost control of himself for two minutes—and chased away the one person he wanted more than anything.

  “Christ,” he muttered, turning and going to the ropes covering the floor. One by one he rolled them up, but handling them didn’t give him any of the solace or peace it normally did. Because the nigh
t had revealed his fuck-ups were on a level far bigger than any he’d ever imagined.

  He’d pushed her away.

  He’d pushed her to war.

  And she’d lost an arm and a best friend because of it.

  She’d been hurt in so many ways.

  And it was all his fucking fault.

  He dropped the pile of hemp to the counter and braced his hands on the edge, and then he let his head hang heavy on his shoulders and tried to breathe.

  How was he ever going to make this right? How would she ever forgive him for all that he’d done? And did he even deserve her forgiveness?

  “Fuck. Fuck!” He pushed off the counter and paced. He needed to go after her, and he would. But she’d all but asked for some space from him, so he would give it to her—for a little while. He’d let her have her drink with Mia. In fact, he was glad that the two women had found each other. And then he’d go find Kenna and they’d talk.

  Griffin just had to figure out what the hell to say to her before then.

  Thirty minutes was all he could manage to wait, and even that had felt like a goddamned eternity. He made for the bar, but he didn’t see Kenna there.

  “Master Leo?” Griffin called to the man bartending at the moment. All the Masters took turns running the various aspects of the club’s operations. Security, membership management, bartending, scheduling, training and demonstrations, and more. For his part, in addition to having built a lot of the dungeon furniture in use around Blasphemy, Griffin tended to work more on the business operations side of things.

  Leo’s mismatched eyes flashed to him, and then he worked his way down the bar to where Griffin waited. “Hey. What’s up, man?”

  “Have you seen Kenna, the blond woman I introduced earlier?” Dread told him she wasn’t here. That he’d missed her. That he’d let her get away. Again.

  Nodding, Leo’s blond hair dropped into his eyes. “She passed by maybe a half hour ago. I saw her talking to Mia and then I think she split.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath. “Thanks.”

  “Everything okay?” Master Leo asked. “She looked a little—” He shrugged. “—wigged out.”

  Fuck. “Yeah. Thanks again. You seen Master Quinton?” he asked, needing a sounding board. Someone who knew everything that’d gone down five years before. Back then, Quinton had probably been the first one to bust Griffin’s balls over not manning up with Kenna.

  “He’s doing some sort of a sensory dep demonstration downstairs,” Leo said. “Just started.”

  Aw, hell. Griffin nodded and pushed off the bar. Quinton’s sensory deprivation scenes tended to go on for a while. They were immersive experiences that the submissives around here all wanted to try—at least once. And Quinton was only too happy to please every one.

  Which meant Griffin was on his own.

  He made his way to the peace and quiet of the Masters’ lounge on the second floor and pulled out his phone. And then he dialed Kenna, because he wasn’t leaving things this way tonight. Not again.

  Four rings. Voicemail. He cancelled the call and tried again.

  “Fuck. Pick up, Kenna,” he said while it was ringing.

  Voicemail again. Damnit.

  This time, he left a message: “Kenna, it’s Griffin. I’m worried about you. We need to talk. Please. Call me back.”

  But she wouldn’t. He knew in his gut she wouldn’t. So he texted Master Kyler: You got a second?

  About five minutes later, his phone buzzed an incoming message. Of course. What’s up?

  Griffin’s fingers couldn’t type fast enough. Need your help with something ASAP if possible.

  We can be at the bar in ten?

  ‘We.’ Shit. That meant Griffin was interrupting something with Mia. But Kyler wouldn’t agree if it was something important—with Doms, the needs of their submissive always came first. Which was why he felt so damn antsy.

  Done, Griffin shot back.

  He was already there waiting when Master Kyler and Mia arrived.

  Master Kyler took one look at him and frowned. “What’s going on, G?”

  “Can you find an address for me? Now?” Griffin asked. In addition to being one of his partners at Blasphemy, Kyler Vance was a detective for the Baltimore Police Department.

  “Is this about Kenna looking upset earlier?” his friend asked.

  Griffin could see on both of their faces that they knew, so there was no point denying it. “Yes, and I’m worried. She won’t pick up her cell. I need to check on her.”

  The debate was clear in Kyler’s blue eyes, but he finally nodded. “Let me see what I can do.” Griffin gave him her last name, and then the guy stepped away, already pulling out his phone.

  “Master Griffin?” Mia asked. When he peered up at her, she continued. “Could you use a hug?”

  “I could use an ass-kicking,” he said, but he gave her a smile in thanks. “But hugs are nice, too.”

  Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a sweet but platonic way. “Whatever happened, I know you can make it right. I know you were part of what made Master Kyler come around about us, and I can’t thank you enough.” She pulled back.

  “Master Kyler’s a lucky man,” he said, enjoying the blush that rose on her cheeks. Not quite as prominent as the blush that he could bring out on Kenna’s paler cheeks, but just as lovely.

  Just then, Kyler returned. “I got what you need,” he said. “I’ll text it.”

  Griffin’s phone buzzed in his hand, and he nodded. “Thanks, Kyler. I owe you.” And then he was out of there. Because he had to fix this. Somehow. He just hoped Kenna would let him.

  ***

  The knock on the door startled her.

  She hadn’t been asleep. She hadn’t even tried to go to bed in the first place. But it was eleven o’clock at night, and no one ever visited her.

  Wary, Kenna crossed her tiny apartment and peered through the peep hole.

  “Holy shit!” she whispered.

  Master Griffin. At her place. How the hell did he even know where she lived?

  He knocked again.

  “Kenna?” he said in a low voice. “Are you there? Please open the door.”

  On so many levels, that seemed like a bad, dangerous, scary idea, but for some reason her left hand didn’t seem to be listening. Which was when she realized, crap, she wasn’t wearing her limb. Or make up. Or real clothes.

  But, heart in her throat, she opened the door anyway.

  His big body filled the frame, so fucking gorgeous even in just a pair of worn blue jeans, black boots, and that black button down. Tension rolled off of him. It was in his posture and his shoulders and his dark eyes. “Kenna,” he rasped.

  He’d come. He’d come for her. Just like he had all those years ago, even though she hadn’t known it. “Griffin.” She swallowed hard. “Why are you here? How did you even find me?”

  He dragged a hand through the dark length of his hair. “Master Kyler’s a detective,” he said, appearing a little sheepish.

  “Oh. Right,” she said.

  “I’m sorry to come without asking first. But I was worried about you. I fucked up, again. And I wanted to try to make it right, if you’ll let me.” He shifted feet as if he were restless or distressed.

  “I...I shouldn’t have left like that,” she managed, because she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t well handled their conversation at Blasphemy. It was one of the things that had been on her mind ever since she’d gotten home. Despite what she thought might’ve been her panic attack. Despite the flashback. Despite being terrified of all the things that seeing Griffin again was making her feel.

  He crossed the threshold and came right up to her. “My fault. Not yours.”

  “You came for me,” she whispered, peering up at him. God, his rugged face looked a whole lot like coming home.

  “I did,” he said, stepping closer. So close that his heat warmed her body. “And I’ll keep doing it until you tell me to stop.”

>   “Griffin,” she whispered, the intensity in his voice stirring so much inside her. Feelings, memories, desires.

  “Aw, baby, come here,” he said, pulling her into a bear hug so comforting that she choked out a little cry from the sheer relief of it.

  Kenna buried her face in his broad chest and breathed him in. Her arms circled his strong back, and then they stood there for a long time, just holding each other. How could he make her feel so much when they’d been apart for so long? Why did this feel so natural with Griffin despite those years? How could she find a moment like this one, of such peace and solace, after all they’d been through?

  She didn’t know, but part of her wondered if the whys and hows mattered. Some people waited their wholes lives to find even a fraction of what she felt in that moment. Maybe that was what mattered. Maybe that was all that mattered.

  “Can I please come in?” he asked, his lips against her hair.

  She nodded, motioning for him to enter. “It’s, um, it’s not much.” She looked around the small studio—at the rumpled blanket balled up on the futon couch, the little TV sitting on what was supposed to be an end table, the perfectly made-up bed, and the two-seater table and chairs on the far wall by the kitchen. It looked like a dorm, only without any personality or color.

  “It’s where you are,” he said. “That’s all that matters to me.”

  He was killing her with his sweetness right now, he really was. “Um. Okay.” She grasped the end of her stump, shielding it with her hand. “Can I get you something to drink? I think I have—”

  “Baby.” He got right up in her space again.

  “What?”

  “Baby,” he whispered, leaning in close. His lips brushed her cheek. “You don’t have to entertain me. You don’t have to hide from me.” Gently, he pulled her fingers from what was left of her forearm.

  She released a shaky breath. “It’s not pretty.”

  He shook his head and made a noise low in his throat. “No, it’s not. It’s fucking beautiful. Because it’s a part of you. A part of you that got injured in the service of your country, Kenna. Your arm is a damn badge of honor as far as I’m concerned. Come here.”