What was behind the change in her responsiveness? How long was it since she’d last had an orgasm? How might her injury and general frame of mind be playing into this?
But all of that would have to wait.
As would his own needs. He adjusted the persistent erection filling out his jeans. Wringing a bone-melting orgasm out of her had been his sole objective for the scene. Given everything he didn’t know and how long it’d been since they were last together, he was taking things slow. For now.
He worked at the releases on the roping, freeing her torso, her arms, her wrists. And then he lifted her into his arms, carried her to the padded bondage table, and laid her down so he could free her ankles, too.
She smiled and mumbled, “Griff?”
“I’m here, pretty girl. You rest,” he said, reaching for a blanket he’d set out. He draped the soft fleece over the length of her body. His gaze settled on her face, and Christ, she was fucking gorgeous. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips a shiny red. Long eyelashes fluttered and she lifted her hands as if searching. “I’ve got you, Kenna.” Standing on her left side, he lifted her into his arms again.
“Hi,” she whispered, tucking her face into his chest.
Jesus. That one gesture. That one fucking little gesture. She might as well have reached inside his chest and grabbed his very heart. “Hi,” he said, carrying her into the lounge again. He’d clean up later. Right now, every bit of his attention was right where it needed to be.
On her.
He managed to grab a bottle of water and settled into the couch with Kenna in his lap. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, remembering that when she really slid into subspace, she would sometimes fall all the way asleep.
And, God help him, she did.
Her warmth was like a balm to his regret-battered soul, and that was a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. But the ease he took from holding her was also a problem, because she’d raised about a dozen red flags of various sorts since the first moments of their reunion —her wariness of him, her reserve around him, the way she hadn’t wanted to answer all of his questions, the clear fear she’d had about revealing her arm.
I need to feel good again.
That again. That one little word potentially held all kinds of meaning about how she was really doing.
And then, of course, there was the large elephant in the room of the way he’d failed her all those years ago. Tonight had proven that she could trust him again, but there was the trust that he’d take care of her in a scene, and then there was the trust that he’d take care of her forever. And it was the latter one he most wanted but might never be allowed to have.
“Mmm,” she moaned deep in her throat as she stretched and shifted, bringing his erection back to life. Her eyelids eased open and for one glorious moment, she looked up at him with what he could only believe was love.
And then her eyes flared wide and she jerked like she was trying to get away from him.
“Hey, easy,” he said. “Just relax for a minute. Get your bearings.”
She stilled, but that wariness was back in spades. “Um. I’m sorry, Sir. How long was I out of it?”
Damn if the hard right turn in her demeanor didn’t sting. “Not too long. And, anyway, I had you.” He uncapped the water bottle and handed it to her. “Drink.”
As she did, he moved his hands to her neck and shoulders, massaging and spending a little extra time where he encountered knots. Slowly, finally, she relaxed again, until she was soft and pliant against him.
“Would massaging your biceps be helpful or hurtful?” he asked, sliding his hand down her arm.
“Um, helpful,” she said. “But you don’t have to—”
He froze. “Look at me.” After just a moment, she lifted her gaze to his. “We can’t do this—we can’t do any of this—if I can’t take care of you the way a Dom should. I need that, Kenna. I fucking crave it.”
“O-okay.”
He arched a brow and mentally poured a bucket of water over the embers of anger stirring in his gut. Anger at himself for making her so doubt, so forget who he was.