Bound to Submit

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.