Chapter 2
Inod, swallowing hard. "I know."
"No, I don't think you do." He crouches down, bringing his face level with mine. His blue eyes are intense, searching. "What those men did to you was abuse. What I'm offering is an exchange of power. Freely given, freely accepted. With boundaries, with respect, with care."
His words wrap around me like a blanket, warm and comforting. I want to believe him so badly that it aches in my chest.
"I need you to understand," Aiden continues, "that at any point, you can stop this. One word from you, and it ends. No questions, no repercussions."
"A safeword," I whisper.
"Yes," Aiden says, his expression softening. "Something you can say that means everything stops immediately."
I nod, the concept familiar from my brief exploration before everything went wrong. "Red," I suggest. Simple, clear, impossible to misinterpret.
"Red it is." Aiden rises to his feet in one fluid motion. "Now, I want to establish some ground rules. First, when we're in this dynamic, you will address me as Sir. Not Master. Not yet. That title is earned through trust."
I feel a strange relief at that distinction. "Yes, Sir."
"Second, you will tell me immediately if anything I ask makes you uncomfortable or triggers memories of your captivity. I need to know your limits."
His consideration makes something warm unfold in my chest. The men at the facility never cared about limits—they existed to be broken, boundaries to be crushed.
"Third," Aiden continues, his voice dropping lower, "this arrangement is about your healing. Your needs. Your pleasure. Not mine."
His words take my breath away. The idea that anyone would prioritize my needs over their own seems so foreign after what I've experienced. I can't remember the last time someone asked what I wanted, let alone made it the focus of our interaction.
"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Why would you do this for me?"
Aiden's expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his features. He takes a seat in the armchair across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"Because I understand what you're looking for," he says carefully. "And I know the difference between what those men did to you and what real power exchange should be."
I study his face, searching for deception. "But what do you get out of it?"
A small smile curves his lips. "The satisfaction of helping you heal. The pleasure of teaching you what submission can truly be. And yes, the enjoyment of having your submission freely given to me." His voice deepens on those last words, sending a shiver down my spine.
"I don't know if I can do this," I admit, my voice barely audible. "What if I freeze up? What if all Ican think about is what they did to me? What if I can't separate the two?"
Aiden's gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching. "Then we stop. We talk. We adjust. Or we end it entirely if that's what you need."
His simple acceptance of my fears makes my throat tight with emotion. The men at the facility punished doubt, crushed questions, demanded blind obedience. But here sits Aiden, inviting my concerns, answering my fears with patience.
"How do we start?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Aiden stands, moving to sit beside me on the couch. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"First, I need to know your limits," he says. "What I can and cannot do. What might trigger memories you're not ready to face."
I swallow hard, thinking about all the things that have been done to me. The list of what might trigger me seems endless. And yet, in a different situation, one where I have the power to stop everything at any moment, any of those things might affect me differently.
I take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "I don't know exactly what my limits are anymore. They... broke through so many of them."
"Let's approach it differently then," Aiden says, his voice gentle but firm. "What feels safe to you right now? What can you handle without fear?"
I consider this. It's easier somehow, thinking about what I can accept rather than what I can't. "I can handle being told what to do. Simple commands. I..." I hesitate, heat rising to my cheeks. "I want that, actually."
Aiden nods, his expression revealing nothing. "What about physical contact?"
I hesitate, thinking about his question. Physical contact. The memory of his hands on me at the facility is still fresh—clinical at times, commanding at others. But there had been gentleness too, a care that my captors never showed.
"I think..." My voice falters. "Light touches are okay. Being guided. Maybe... being held down." The admission makes my cheeks burn, but there's something freeing about saying it aloud. "Just not... restraints. Not yet."
Aiden nods, his expression thoughtful. "And pain? Is that something you want to explore, or is it too closely linked to your trauma?"
The question sends a complicated flutter through my stomach.
Pain had been a constant companion during my captivity—a punishment, a tool to break me.
But before, in that other life, it had been something I'd been curious about.
Something that, in the right context, with the right person, had held a dark allure.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "Maybe... maybe start small? Nothing too intense."
"We'll go slow," Aiden promises. His hand moves to rest on the couch between us, not touching me but close enough that I could reach for it if I wanted to. "Nothing happens this time without your consent."
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. The way he's looking at me—intense, focused, like I'm the only person in the world—makes something flutter low in my belly.