Chapter 21
"I'm going to give you five strokes," Aiden says, his voice firm but not cruel. "You will count each one and thank me afterward. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I whisper, my voice muffled against the sheets. My fingers grip the bedding, anticipation and nervousness battling within me.
"What's your safeword?" he asks, reminding me that even in punishment, I have power.
"Red, Sir."
"Good girl."
The first stroke catches me by surprise despite my anticipation. The leather connects with my skin in a sharp crack that echoes through the room. The sting blooms across my flesh, hot and immediate.
"One," I gasp. "Thank you, Sir."
The second comes before the sting of the first has fully registered, slightly lower than the first. The pain is bright, clarifying, nothing like the dull brutality I experienced at the facility. This has purpose, meaning.
"Two. Thank you, Sir." My voice is steadier now.
The third stroke lands across both cheeks, harder than the previous two. The sting radiates outward, heat blooming across my skin. I arch slightly, a gasp escaping before I can stop it.
"Three. Thank you, Sir." There's a tremor in my voice now, not from fear but from the intensity of the sensation. This pain is clean, honest, nothing like what I experienced before. It grounds me in my body, anchors me to this moment.
The fourth stroke catches the sensitive spot where bottom meets thigh. I bite my lip to stifle a cry.
"Four. Thank you, Sir." My voice is barely above a whisper.
There's a pause before the final stroke, long enough that anticipation builds, my muscles tensing in preparation. When it comes, it's the hardest yet, the leather connecting with already sensitized skin. Tears spring to my eyes, not from the pain itself but from the release it brings.
"Five. Thank you, Sir." The words come out choked with emotion.
Aiden's warm hand strokes over my heated skin, soothing the sting. I'm trembling, but not from fear. From something else entirely. Something that feels like freedom.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and approving. "You took that beautifully."
I press my face into the mattress, oddly proud of his praise. The pain is already fading into a warm glow that spreads across my skin, reminding me of my submission, of my choice to be here.
"What did you learn?" Aiden asks, his hand continuing its gentle caress across my sensitized flesh.
"To be honest with you, Sir," I whisper. "Always."
"That's right." His weight shifts on the bed, and I feel him stretch out beside me. "Turn over. Look at me."
I roll onto my side, wincing slightly as my tender skin makes contact with the sheets. Aiden's face is close to mine, his blue eyes searching my expression. What he sees there must satisfy him, because his features soften slightly.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"I feel... present," I say finally, searching for the right words. "Like I'm fully here, in my body."
Aiden nods, his eyes never leaving mine. "That's what a good punishment should do. Center you. Ground you." His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face with surprising tenderness. "The pain isn't the point, Lana. It's the clarity that comes with it."
I consider his words, feeling their truth resonate through me. The sting on my skin has already faded to a warm glow, but the mental clarity remains—sharp and bright, like fog lifting to reveal a clear day.
"I understand now," I whisper. "It's not about hurting me. It's about... reminding me."
"Yes." His palm cups my cheek, thumb stroking my lower lip. "Reminding you of your choice. Your surrender."
I turn my face to press a kiss to his palm, overwhelmed by the care beneath his dominance. At the facility, pain was random, meaningless, designed to break. With Aiden, even punishment has purpose—to build, to strengthen, to remind.
His hand slides from my face to my throat, resting there with gentle pressure.
Not threatening, but possessive. "For these two days, your body belongs to me.
To use, to mark, to pleasure." His eyes hold mine, gauging my reaction.
"But your will is still your own. Your thoughts are still your own. Do you understand the difference?"
I nod, feeling the slight pressure of his palm against my throat as I swallow. "Yes, Sir."
"Say it," he commands. "Tell me what you understand."
I search for the words to express what I'm feeling. "My body is yours. But my mind, my choice to be here—that's still mine." I pause, realizing the profound truth in what I'm saying. "That's what makes this different from... before. I'm choosing this. Every moment."
A smile touches Aiden's lips, approval warming his eyes. "Good girl." His thumb traces my collarbone, a touch that sends shivers across my skin. "I want to mark you now. Not permanently, but something you'll feel tomorrow. A reminder of who you belong to."
My heart skips a beat at his words. A mark. Something visible, something to remind me that I've given myself to him. The idea sends a jolt of electricity through me that I wouldn't have expected.
"Yes," I whisper, my voice husky with desire. "Please, Sir."
Aiden's eyes darken at my eager response. His hand slides from my throat, down over my breast, fingers circling my nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. "So responsive," he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
He sits up, his weight shifting on the bed. "Turn onto your side, facing away from me."
I roll over, my back to him, the sheets cool against my front. I'm hyperaware of every sensation—the slight ache in my bottom from the punishment, the brush of air across my skin as Aiden moves behind me, the quickening of my pulse as I wait for what comes next.
His hand strokes down my side, over the curve of my hip. "Your skin is perfect," he says, his voice low and appreciative. "Like porcelain."
His fingertips trail across my skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. The air between us feels charged, electric with possibility. I hold my breath as his mouth replaces his fingers, lips warm against my shoulder blade.
"I'm going to mark you here," he murmurs against my skin. "Where only I will see it most of the time."
The implication that there might be times when others could see his mark sends a strange thrill through me. I nod, not trusting my voice.
"Say it," he commands. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to mark me, Sir," I whisper, the words coming easier than I expected. "I want to wear your mark on my skin."
His teeth graze my shoulder, testing, teasing. "Why?"
The question catches me off guard. Why do I want this? It takes me a moment to find the words.
"Because... because it makes this real," I say finally. "Because I want to feel like I belong to someone who values me. Who sees me."
Aiden makes a sound of approval, his breath hot against my skin. Then his mouth opens against my shoulder, teeth sinking into my flesh with exquisite control.
Pain and pleasure blend together as he sucks hard, marking me as his. I gasp, my body arching instinctively, pressing back against him.
When he finally releases my flesh, his tongue soothes the tender spot. I can feel the blood rushing to the surface, the skin throbbing where his mouth has claimed me.
"Mine," he says simply, his finger tracing the mark he's left behind.
The word sends a shiver through me. Mine. So simple, yet so profound. I've been many things in the past months—victim, survivor, patient, case number. But now, in this moment, I am simply his. The thought brings unexpected peace.
Aiden's arm slides around my waist, drawing me back against his chest. I can feel the solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against my shoulder blade where his mark now rests. His hand splays across my stomach, holding me against him.
"How do you feel?" he asks, his voice rumbling against my back.
"Yours, Sir," I whisper. "I’m good. And I’m yours."