Bound to Submit
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.