Chapter 5 Grant
GRANT
Iliterally feel lightheaded after that release. I don’t know that I’ve ever come so hard in my life.
Every time with Kensie has been amazing, but I can’t deny that I’ll always prefer this—whips and chains are what brought me to Club Wyld in the first place.
Not that it was a hardship to branch out a little for Kensie, of course.
I’d been happy to help her explore every single fantasy.
But this? Restraining her and using my belt?
Letting every filthy word I could think of slip out of my mouth—and knowing that each one made her even wetter.
God, she had taken it all so well. My perfect little submissive.
I tell her that as I undo her binds and carry her over to the chair, whispering over and over again how well she did, how much she pleased me.
I settle us against the tall wooden back of the chair, her cradled in my lap, while I brush gentle hands down her back, through her hair.
She’s completely out of it, clearly floating in subspace, and I feel a surge of pride that I was able to give her exactly what she needed.
She has no idea that she does the same for me.
“You’re so good,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.
“Such a good girl for me, Kensie. So brave and strong, telling me what you want, taking all of it.” I kiss her hair again, inhaling the sweet scent of her, now mixed with a heady combination of both of our arousal.
She smells like flowers and sex and I swear I would bottle it if I could.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Just like that, everything changes. Kensie goes rigid in my arms, her entire body tensing up, and then I hear a noise to make my stomach drop in horror—a sob.
“Kensie?” I ask, my mouth suddenly very dry. “What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t answer, her sobbing growing louder. Then she’s trying to pull herself away, trying to get out of my arms, and everything in me recoils. No. She can’t leave.
“Shh,” I murmur, tightening my hold. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
She seems to cry harder and I curse myself.
I fucking knew something was wrong tonight.
She seemed jumpy and on edge since I saw her in the lounge, but I’d ignored it, convincing myself that she was just excited, like she said.
My ego had probably wanted to believe it, that she was as into me as I am into her. But this isn’t excitement. Far from it.
Fuck, even her texting me today should have been a red flag. We never get together mid-week. And she always gives me time to plan. We have a whole routine—she tells me her fantasy, I work out how to make it happen.
Why the fuck hadn’t I realized something was wrong?
Tears after subspace aren’t uncommon, the emotional release being so extreme. But not like this. Not these horrible, choking, desperate, sobs.
No, something is very wrong. And I have no idea how to make her tell me.
“You’re okay,” I say again, my voice firmer now. “Try to breathe. Everything is fine.”
She seems to respond to my tone, relaxing the slightest bit against my chest. Maybe this is what she needs right now—for me to be her Dominant. For me to take control.
“I want you to breathe for me. Take a deep breath, just like that. Good. Another. Relax your arms and legs for me.”
Slowly, she sinks into me, her sobs growing softer. I want to order her to stop crying entirely, because I swear to God, the sound is like a razor blade to my chest, but I don’t. For whatever reason, she needs to get this out.
After a few moments, her sobs have petered out into soft whimpers. I continue to stroke her back, with a firmer hand now, knowing that’s what she needs from me. Not gentle touches and soft praise. She needs me to take control of the situation, to fix it for her. She needs me to be her man.
“I’m going to stand up,” I tell her. “So I can get you a glass of water.”
She starts to argue but I ignore it, standing with her still in my arms. I walk to the cabinet where a carafe of water waits.
“Hold tight around my neck,” I order. She obeys me and I release one of my arms to pour a glass of water, then I walk us back to the chair.
Only when I have her settled in my lap do I loosen my hold.
“Here,” I say, tilting her chin with my free hand while using the other to hold the glass against her lips. “Drink for me.”
I watch her while she takes an unsteady sip. Her gaze isn’t meeting mine—hell, she looks almost vacant, staring into the distance. Her eyes are red-rimmed from the crying and I bite back a curse, hating to see her like this.
I make her drink half the glass before I set it aside, then turn her body so she’s facing me. She still won’t meet my eyes.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I…I’m sorry,” she whimpers and I don’t bother to bite back my curse.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say, my voice as authoritative as it’s ever been. “Not one thing.”
She shudders in my arms. “I do. This…I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”
I stare at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“This.” She gestures feebly at herself. “Me. You didn’t sign up to comfort a crazy crying woman.” She gives a derisive, bitter little huff of laughter. “This wasn’t the arrangement.”
I swear I see red at her words. “That’s bullshit Kensie. This is exactly what I agreed to.”
Her eyes snap up in surprise, finally meeting mine. The pain I see in them makes me want to burn the entire club down.
“I agreed to help you figure out your sexual desires,” I tell her. “I agreed to guide you and teach you about your submissive side. Do you think that doesn’t include emotions? Baby, emotions are the center of everything we do in this place.”
Some of the pain seems to leave her expression.
“But I haven’t done a very good job.” I don’t realize how true the words are until I’m saying them.”
“That’s not true,” she shoots back, looking at me like I’m nuts. “You’ve literally done everything I asked you to do.”
I stare deep into her blue eyes. “But that’s not always what you need.”
She blinks a few times, looking uncertain. I smooth over the top of her head with my palm. “You asked me to be your Dom while you’re figuring things out.” I try not to let on how much I hate the last part of that sentence, the idea that this is only a short-term arrangement.
“And as your Dom, my entire job is to take care of you. To make sure you’re getting everything you can out of this, but, more importantly, to protect you.
Even if that means asking you to do something you don’t want to.
” I hold her gaze. “We’re going to change that, right now.
I need you to tell me what just happened. ”
Her gaze darts away but not before I see the panic in her eyes. “You really don’t have to—”
“Kensie,” I demand, tilting her chin again so she has to look at me. “Tell me.”
She closes her eyes briefly. “I…I was having a pretty bad few days.” She swallows, clearly pained to be talking about this. “My ex-husband…”
My body goes tense. “Did that fucker get in touch with you?” Jane refused to give me many details about that asshole, but she had told me that Kensie has a protective order against him. The thought of him breaking it, of him hurting her, makes me want to punch a hole through the stone wall.
“He…sent me something.”
She’s crying again, silently this time, the tears merely streaming down her cheeks. That’s almost worse than the sobbing. She looks so fucking defeated.
I wipe the tears away, trying to keep calm. “What did he send you, sweetheart?”
“Flowers,” she whispers. “They were all dead. Rotting. Covered in bugs.” She swallows hard. “There was a note.”
I’m clenching my teeth so hard it’s a miracle they haven’t broken. “What did it say?”
“Whore.”
The word comes out so quiet I almost can’t hear it, but there’s no doubt as to what she said.
And I’m going to destroy the bastard.
“Did you contact the police?” I grind out.
She nods. “And my lawyer. There’s not a lot they can do—there’s no proof of where the flowers came from. He might get a slap on the wrist for breaking the protective order, but that’s only if we can prove it was him.”
I realize that’s the first time she’s mentioned the protective order against her ex. In fact, this is the most she’s ever said to me about him. I didn’t even know his name prior to this.
But I’m going to find out now. I don’t care what I have to do, Jane will be giving me information on this guy.
“Can you do something for me?” I ask her. “Can you tell me why you needed a protective order against him in the first place?” My throat burns. “Did he hurt you?”
I can tell she doesn’t want to answer. This is already so much more open than she’s ever been with me. But I think the emotion of the last few days has gotten to her. She seems too exhausted to keep those walls up.
“Not physically. Not really.”
“Not really?” I bite out.
She shrugs. “He would grab the back of my neck, or my wrist, when he was really angry. Left some bruises. But it’s not like he hit me or anything.”
I fucking hate the way she’s minimizing this. The asshole left bruises on her.
“Mostly it was mental stuff,” she goes on, apparently not realizing how close I am to going out and murdering the son of a bitch.
“He was verbally abusive. Always screaming at me, putting me down. He was controlling, too. Any time I was out of his sight I had to check in every ten minutes on the dot. He wouldn’t let me work.
Controlled all the money. Cut me off from my friends.
” She sounds exhausted as she lists out the details and I have to tighten my arms around her, wishing I could hold her close but needing to hear this.