Chapter 5 #2
"Because I've watched you these past days," he says finally.
"I've watched you move through this house like you're afraid to take up space.
Like you're trying to disappear. You make yourself small at meals.
You apologize for reading in the library even though I've told you it's yours to use.
You flinch when I come within three feet of you. And I've realized something."
"What?" The word comes out as barely a whisper.
"You don't just fear me. You fear yourself. Your own body. Your own desires, whatever they might be. And that—" His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping there. "That's what the Sanctuary did to you. They didn't just control your actions. They made you afraid of who you are at the most fundamental level."
The words hit like a slap to the face.
I want to deny them, want to say he's wrong, but I can't.
Because he's right.
I am afraid of myself.
Of what I might want.
Of what it means if the books are telling the truth and I've been lied to my entire life.
"And you think giving me a vibrator is going to fix that?" I ask, trying for bitter but landing somewhere closer to desperate.
"No. But I think it's a start. I think learning what your body can do—what it's capable of feeling—might help you understand that you're not shameful. That desire isn't something to fear. That you have a right to pleasure just like anyone else."
"And what do you get out of this?" The question burns coming out. "What's in it for you, Vaughn? Because I know you didn't spend two million dollars on me out of the goodness of your heart."
His eyes darken, something hungry flickering in their depths.
"The knowledge that you're discovering yourself," he says. "That you're taking back something that was stolen from you. That's what I get."
"That's it?"
"For now."
There it is. The catch. The inevitable hook buried in the bait.
"For now," I repeat flatly. "And later?"
"Later, when you trust me, when you understand what your body can do, I'll show you more. But Eden—" He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his intensity focused entirely on me. "Every step will be your choice. Every touch. Every moment. You'll ask for it. I won't take anything you don't offer."
"I'll never ask."
"We'll see about that."
God, I hate that phrase.
Hate the certainty in his voice.
Hate that some small part of me wonders if he's right.
We sit in silence for a moment.
Him in the chair by the window, casual and controlled.
Me on the bed, wrapped in silk armor that isn't armor at all.
The unopened box on the dresser between us like a challenge neither of us is willing to back down from.
"Have you ever been touched?" he asks suddenly.
My face burns hot enough that I'm sure he can see it even in the dim lamplight. "That's none of your business."
"You're a virgin. That much I know from your file. But have you ever been kissed? Held? Had someone touch you with affection or desire? Anything?"
"No." The word comes out harder than I intend. "Nothing. At the Sanctuary, physical contact between unmarried men and women was forbidden. The only time I was supposed to be touched was by my husband. On our wedding night. When I became his property."
"And you were going to marry Elder Jacob."
I flinch at the name. "Yes."
"A sixty-four-year-old man with three other wives who already looked at you like you were something he owned."
"The elders said it was an honor," I say, the words tasting like ash. "That he chose me specifically out of all the young women in the Sanctuary. That I should be grateful."
"And you ran."
"Two weeks before the wedding. I couldn't—" My voice breaks and I have to stop, have to breathe, have to push down the memory of Elder Jacob's hand on my shoulder during service, the way he'd smile at me like he was already imagining our wedding night.
"I couldn't do it. Couldn't let him touch me.
Couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life being one of his wives, having his children, pretending to be grateful for the honor. "
I stop.
I can't finish.
Can't put into words the terror that drove me to steal money from the community fund and run into the night with nothing but a backpack and desperate hope.
Vaughn is watching me with an expression I can't read.
Something intense.
Almost angry, but not at me.
"He would have hurt you," he says quietly.
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. I've researched the Sanctuary.
Read testimonies from women who escaped.
I know what happens on wedding nights there.
How the men are told they have complete ownership over their wives' bodies.
How women are expected to submit to anything their husbands demand, no matter how painful or degrading. How saying no isn't an option."
Nausea rolls through me because he's right.
I'd heard whispers from the married women when the men weren't around.
Seen the bruises that got explained away as accidents.
Heard the crying through thin walls at night.
Watched women get pregnant over and over until their bodies gave out.
My mother died having her eighth baby.
Her body was exhausted, worn down by too many pregnancies too close together.
The midwife said she was bleeding too much, that she needed a hospital, but my father and the elders said no.
Said it was God's will.
That modern medicine was sinful.
So, she died.
And I watched it happen.
"That's why you ran," Vaughn continues, his voice gentle now. "Not just because you didn't want to marry him. Because you knew what marriage meant in that place. What he would do. What he would take."
I can't speak.
I can only nod, my throat too tight for words.
"And now you're here. With me. Another man who bought you like property. Another man who could hurt you if he wanted to."
"Yes," I whisper.
"But I won't, Eden."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." He stands, crossing to the dresser. My heart jumps into my throat as he picks up the unopened box. "Let me show you."
"Show me what?"
"That touch doesn't have to mean pain. That your body can feel good. That you have nothing to be ashamed of."
"No." The word comes out automatic, defensive.
"Eden—"
"I said no."
He sets the box down, studying me with those ice-blue eyes that see too much.
"You're curious," he says. "I can see it in the way you look at that box when you think no one's watching.
In the way you've devoured those books. In the way you're trembling right now, and it's not entirely from fear.
You want to know if what the books say is true.
But you're too afraid to find out alone. "
"I'm not afraid," I lie.
"You are. You're terrified. Of your body. Of pleasure. Of losing control. Of liking something you were taught to hate." He takes a step closer and I force myself not to back away. "Let me help you."
"By doing what?"
"By showing you. Gently. Carefully. You stay fully clothed. You stay on the bed. I don't touch your skin. Just—" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Just let me show you what pleasure feels like. What your body is capable of when you're not taught to fear it."
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. "No penetration?"
"None. I won't even touch your bare skin."
"You won't—you won't try anything else?"
"Not unless you ask me to. And you can stop whenever you want. The second you say stop, I stop. No questions. No pressure. No consequences."
I should say no.
Should tell him to leave.
Should throw him out and forget this entire conversation ever happened.
But curiosity is killing me.
The books say pleasure is real.
Say women's bodies are designed for it.
Say it's natural and good and nothing to be ashamed of.
But, I don't know if I believe it.
Don't know if my body can feel what they describe.
Don't know if I'm normal or if the Sanctuary broke something in me that can't be fixed.
And he's right—I am afraid to find out alone.
Afraid of doing it wrong.
Afraid of what it might mean about me if I like it.
Afraid of failing at even this.
If he's there—if he's guiding me—then it's not really my choice, is it?
It's him showing me, teaching me.
That makes it less shameful somehow.
God, listen to me.
Making excuses to let this happen.
Rationalization that would make the elders shake their heads in disappointment.
"Just once," I hear myself say, my voice not quite steady. "To prove you're wrong."
Something flickers in his eyes.
Victory? Relief? Something darker?
"Just once," he agrees.
He picks up the box again and opens it slowly.
Inside is—
Oh.
It's beautiful.
That's my first thought, which is completely insane.
It's a sex toy.
It shouldn't be beautiful.
Shouldn't look like something designed with care and attention and artistry.
But it does.
Rose gold, the color of dawn.
Curved in a way that looks almost elegant.
Smooth and seamless, no rough edges or threatening angles.
Small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.
It doesn't look clinical or crude or any of the shameful things I imagined.
It looks... gentle.
Like something designed for pleasure, not pain.
Vaughn holds it up, letting me see it. "This is designed for external stimulation only. Nothing internal. Nothing invasive. Just gentle vibration against areas that have a high concentration of nerve endings."
My face is on fire.
I can feel the heat radiating off my cheeks.
"You'll stay fully dressed," he continues, his voice steady and calm like this is a business transaction instead of something that feels monumental and terrifying.
"Lie back on the bed. I'll guide you through it.
Show you where to feel, how your body might respond.
If you want to stop at any time—any time at all—just say the word. I stop immediately. No questions."
I should run.
Should tell him to get out.
Should cling to what the Sanctuary taught me and reject this corruption.
Instead, I nod.
"Say it out loud, Eden. I need to hear you consent to this."