Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

This spot was safe because she knew it. Ground solidly beneath her feet. It was way too soon.

While the people were no longer crushed against her, there were still too many of them, stepping in and out of that personal space buffer. Too many scents, sounds, sensations, not the arousing mélange she’d experienced at the Adler home. It was too overwhelming.

Reaching up to grip the tether, she drew in the slack so she could determine and move in Peter’s direction with slow, uncertain steps. She walked out of the shoes, needing to grip the floor with her toes, health laws be damned. Damn it, he kept moving, staying out of range. He wasn’t going to let her cling to him. Frustration shot sparks through the anxiety. If she could see, this wouldn’t scare her at all, not even if she was alone. But she wasn’t alone. That light tug again. A reminder he was here. Nothing would harm her.

Then something unexpected happened. She had more space to breathe. Those strangers who’d been so close no longer were, though she still sensed a crush of people in the noise and air movement. Had they figured out she was handicapped in some way and moved back? Were they staring at her? No. She wore her mask and leash, so she was no more of a spectacle than any other submissive. Submissives were here to be seen, to serve.

Too many unknown variables. She struggled for calm, but even the reassurances weren’t enough. Oh, hell. I can’t do this. I can’t. Here she was in the middle of vast amounts of people, a fish alone in an indifferent ocean carrying her where it would. Isolated, where sound was a distant cacophony she couldn’t understand. How could he bring her here, when she’d been in virtual isolation for so long? Why was he doing this to her? He should know better. She wasn’t that same fucking Dana, was she?

“I can’t do this,” she said aloud, and then she shouted it, anxiety clawing raw at her throat. But her voice would simply be swallowed in all the other noise. That was the way the public areas could be. With a snarl, she wrapped her hands on the leash and jerked, a terrified, angry child wanting to bring him to her physically.

It came free in her hands, the strap slapping against her calves in gentle rhythm. Dana froze, her hands clutched on it. She’d pulled the leash from her Master’s hands.

Eleven

He couldn’t be more than eight feet from her, right? A staccato of heartbeats later, however, she still didn’t feel his reassuring touch, or a tug indicating the end of the leash had been picked up.

But then, he wouldn’t, would he? He was there, but he was waiting on her. With Masters she’d had in the past, her interactions might have been fun, occasionally intense, but that deep, soul-level bonding she’d sought with the right Master, who touched her submissive soul and achieved a link that went beyond posted rules, the one who understood it was a part of who she was and not just a way to liven up her sex life, had not appeared. Until Peter. He’d already proven he had a deeper understanding of her need to be dominated than even she’d admitted. She trusted him on instinct, not experience.

The rules were now specific to the two of them, not what was laid out on the wall. She’d pulled the leash from his hands, so it was up to her to give it back to him and accept his punishment. If that was what she wanted.

She’d broken out in a sweat, holding that tether in clammy palms. When she made the first step, she had to stop and steady her wobbling knees. But in his home, even at the Adlers’, she could feel him, separate from everyone else. If she could calm down, and focus, she somehow knew she could feel him, find him. He was watching her intently; she was sure of it. He’d promised to be no farther away than ten feet. He wouldn’t break his word. He just wouldn’t give in to her fear. Everyone else had, all these months, but he was ruthless, ruthless as only the Master of her dreams could be. He believed the submissive in her was stronger than the wounded creature she thought she’d become. He wouldn’t abandon her, but he would force her to trust that he was there, to find him and hand him the leash again.

She wanted to trust him that way, but she hadn’t let herself face the fear that came with increased dependency. She’d hidden in her room, let her ability to trust get as weak and flaccid as her muscles. Taking one step forward was harder than anything she’d ever done. Her heart rate accelerated. She had no idea what was in front of her. She should crouch down, go to hands and knees to feel her way along the floor like a groveling animal. But Gram would be appalled, clucking about hygiene, hundreds of feet that had been God knew where traipsing across the carpet.

A half laugh, half sob choked out of her. As if that mattered right now. The pulse of the music drummed through her feet, loud enough that she could hear the song and words.

Sade. “Nothing Can Come Between Us.” It had been one of her favorites. It was one of her favorites. Taking a step, she breathed. One step, one breath. She could have been any sub whose Master had blindfolded her beneath her mask, a sensory deprivation to

increase the intensity of the experience.

Intense was definitely the right word. She took another step, and brushed cloth.

A suit jacket. Her knuckles grazed a shirt’s small, smooth buttons, then moved to a lapel.

It wasn’t Peter. She’d known that as soon as she came within range, because she knew his scent, his heat. But this man wasn’t unfamiliar. Jon. Sage, a smell she’d associated with him, mixed