Chapter 3
Ichew on my lower lip. I want him to know, somehow, about the desires and my curiosity, the things I haven’t told him yet. How I still need to explore them, but slowly. Safely. But it’s too embarrassing to bring up.
Aiden studies me, tilting his head to the side. “What else do you need to tell me?”
His question catches me off guard. The way he reads me is unnerving, like he can see straight through my careful facade to the tangled mess of wants and fears beneath. And somehow, like he already knows.
"I want..." The words stick in my throat. How do I explain that I still crave the very thing that was used to break me? "Before all this happened, I was curious about... about submission. About giving up control. I went to that club because I wanted to explore those feelings."
I force myself to meet his gaze, though heat crawls up my neck. "I still want that. Even after everything. Maybe because of everything. Does that make me broken?"
Aiden's expression softens. "No, Lana. It makes you human." He shifts slightly closer, his knee almost touching mine. "Many people who've experienced trauma find healing in controlled submission. The difference is consent. Choice. Power that you give rather than power that's taken."
His words sink into me, validating feelings I've been afraid to acknowledge even to myself.
"Stand up," Aiden says suddenly, his voice shifting from gentle to commanding in an instant.
My body responds before my mind can catch up, rising to my feet in one fluid motion. There's something comforting in the simplicity of the command, in not having to think about what comes next.
Aiden stands too, towering over me. He doesn't touch me, but his presence fills the space around me, solid and commanding.
"Turn around," he says, his voice low and firm.
I obey, turning my back to him. The vulnerability of the position sends a shiver down my spine—not being able to see him, to anticipate his next move. But there's something thrilling about it too, the surrender of control that comes with simply following his lead.
"Close your eyes."
I let my eyelids flutter shut. The darkness amplifies my other senses—the sound of Aiden's steady breathing behind me, the faint scent of his cologne, the way the air shifts as he moves closer.
"I'm going to touch you now," he says, his voice closer to my ear. "Just my hand on your shoulder. If you want me to stop, say so."
I nod, not trusting my voice. A moment later, his palm settles on my shoulder,warm and steady through the thin fabric of my shirt. My breath catches at the contact, but it's not fear that makes my pulse quicken. It's anticipation.
"Breathe," he reminds me, his voice a low rumble near my ear.
I inhale deeply, letting the air fill my lungs before slowly releasing it. His hand stays on my shoulder, grounding me.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and those two simple words send a rush of warmth through me. "I'm going to put my other hand on your waist now."
His palm settles at my hip, gentle but firm. I can feel the heat of his touch through my clothes, the slight pressure of his fingers as they curve around my waist.
"How does that feel?" he asks.
"Good," I whisper, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "Safe."
He makes a sound of approval, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again. "I'm going to guide you now. Just follow my lead."
His hands begin to move me, turning me slowly in a small circle.
It's nothing complicated—just a simple movement, him directing my body with gentle pressure—butthe sensation of surrendering to his guidance fills me with a quiet joy that catches me off guard.
His hands are strong but gentle, never gripping too hard, always giving me space to resist if I choose.
But I don't want to resist. I want to follow.
"Keep your eyes closed," Aiden murmurs as he continues to guide me in slow circles. "Focus on the feeling of letting go. Of trusting someone else to lead."
I exhale slowly, letting my body relax into his guidance. The tension that's lived in my shoulders for months begins to melt away with each turn.
This is nothing like the facility. There, movement was forced, bodies manipulated without care or consent. This is a dance, a conversation between his hands and my body.
"I'm going to walk you forward now," he says, his voice close to my ear. "Five steps."
I nod, letting him guide me across the carpet. One step. Two. Three. I have no idea where we're going, but it doesn't matter. For this moment, I don't have to decide. I don't have to think. I just have to follow.
"Stop," he commands softly. His hands leave my body,and the absence of his touch feels like a sudden chill. I sway slightly, unmoored without his guidance.
"Open your eyes," he says.