Chapter 17
His hands remain on my shoulders, a comforting weight. "I'm listening."
I stare at the dishes in the sink, finding it easier to speak without meeting his eyes. "Before all this happened, I had... fantasies. Things I never told anyone about." Heat crawls up my neck. "Things that seem so twisted now, after what they did to me."
"Tell me," he says, his voice gentle but firm.
"I used to imagine being... owned. Completely." The words tumble out in a rush. "Not just submission for a scene or a night, but something deeper. Being someone's... property." I cringe at the word, at how it sounds after everything I've been through. "God, that sounds so messed up now."
Aiden's fingers tighten slightly on my shoulders before relaxing. "It's not messed up, Lana. It's a fairly common fantasy."
I swallow hard, turning to face him. "Common?" It seems hard to believe that there are other people out there who share this fantasy. I’ve spent so long believing that it was dirty, shameful, that I’ve never told anyone.
I wonder if I would have met others who share my desires if I’d opened up.
"Yes," Aiden says, his eyes holding mine steadily. "The fantasy of total surrender—of belonging completely to someone who cherishes and protects you—is at the core of many power exchange relationships."
"But after everything that happened... shouldn't I be running from these thoughts? Shouldn't I want nothing but freedom and independence?" My voice trembles with confusion.
Aiden cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle but grounding. "Trauma doesn't erase who you are at your core, Lana. It might complicate your relationship with those desires, but it doesn't make them wrong or broken."
I search his face, looking for any sign of judgment or disgust, but find only understanding. "When I was there, at the facility, they tried to twist it. They said they were giving me what I wanted, what I needed."
"That's what abusers do," Aiden says, his voice hardening. "They take something beautiful and corrupt it. They use your own desires against you." His thumb strokes my cheek. "What they offered wasn't ownership. It was exploitation."
I chew on my lower lip as I turn his words over in my mind. Is it really that simple? Such a clear distinction between what my captors did and a completely consensual act?
“Lana,” Aiden says. “Look at me.”
I pull my gaze to his. A shiver runs through me at the intensity I see there. Intensity and dominance, and a touch of darkness.
"Real ownership," Aiden says, his voice dropping lower, "is about responsibility. It's about cherishing what belongs to you, protecting it, helping it flourish." His eyes never leave mine, holding me captive with their intensity. "It's not about breaking someone down. It's about building them up."
My heart hammers against my ribs. The way he speaks about it—with such conviction, such understanding—makes me wonder if he's thought about this before. If he's wanted it too.
If he could ever, possibly, want that with me.
"Have you..." I hesitate, gathering my courage. "Have you ever had that kind of relationship?"
Something flickers across his face. A shadow of memory, perhaps. "Yes," he says simply. "Once."
Jealousy spikes through me, sharp and unexpected. I push it away, focusing on what matters. "What happened?"
Aiden's hands fall away from my face, coming to rest at his sides. "Life happened. Our paths diverged."
I can see the subtle shift in his expression, a closing off that makes me wonder what memories I've stirred. There's history there, something that left its mark on him.
"Do you miss it?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
Aiden's eyes meet mine, and I see a flash of something—longing, perhaps—before he masters it. "Sometimes," he admits. "The connection that comes with that level of trust is... intense. Something I’ve never found in any other relationship."
The words hangs between us, heavy with meaning.
Aiden’s throat works as he swallows, and then the muscle of his jaw tics, like he’s holding himself back from saying something.
I swallow hard, too.
The words are on the tip of my tongue. A few syllables—that’s all.
Why are they so hard to say?
I feel naked as I summon the courage.
Aiden reaches out, his fingers almost brushing my arm before I step back.
“Wait,” I say, then shake my head. “I… I want you to touch me. But I need to get this out.”
Aiden nods. “Take your time, Lana.”
I take a shaky breath, feeling my heart pound against my ribs. "I want that with you," I whisper, the words hanging in the air between us. "Not right away, necessarily. Not all at once if you don’t want that. But... eventually. I want to explore what that might mean. With you."
The confession leaves me trembling, exposed in a way that has nothing to do with physical nakedness. This is my deepest desire laid bare, the fantasy that led me into danger now offered willingly to the man who rescued me from it.
Aiden goes very still, his blue eyes darkening as he studies my face. I can't read his expression, can't tell if I've shocked him or disgusted him or tempted him or something in between.
The seconds stretch between us, unbearable in their silence.
"Lana," he finally says, my name sounding different on his lips now, weighted with something I can't quite name. "Are you sure? After everything you've been through. I don’t want to push things."