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 whatyou 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.”
