Chapter 47
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Damien
Yes.
Yes, I am.
The words a prayer and an offering, lodging somewhere deep in me—sharp, electrifying, and completely unexpected. For a heartbeat, my mind blanked, the world narrowing down to her expression and the tremor in her voice.
She wanted this.
She was asking me.
Not for comfort.
Not for reassurance.
But something only I’d be able to give her.
A shudder moved through her, her fingers still curled lightly in my shirt, like she wasn’t sure if I’d pull away.
Christ.
“Emma.” I lifted her chin, just enough for her to meet my gaze. Vulnerable. Frayed. Held together by sheer force of will. “We need to talk through a few things before we move forward.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“What you’re asking for—I can do that. But I need to know how you want to get there. Which path you want me to take.”
“Can we do the same thing as last time?” She looked up at me, something hopeful softening the edges of her worry.
My lips pressed together against the truth—the one I knew might sting. I paused, choosing my words with care. “Last time was…” I rubbed the back of my neck, wincing internally. “It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t structured.”
Her head tilted. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never taken someone into subspace with only sensory play,” I admitted. “Not with something that gentle.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Gentle? That was gentle?”
A soft laugh escaped me—her innocence hitting me square in the center. “Yes. Very.”
She took that in, searching my face. “Then… how do you suggest we do this?”
I braced myself. She wouldn’t like the answer—not at first. But it was the truth. The safe truth. The only sure path to exactly what she’d asked for.
I let the silence stretch, giving the moment weight. Then, quietly:
“Pain.”
She balked, stumbling back half a step. “Pain?”
I nodded once. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it works,” I said gently. “It shocks the nervous system. It overwhelms the thinking mind. It’s the most reliable way to get you where you want to go.”
I stepped forward, closing the small space she’d instinctively made. My voice stayed soft, careful. “It doesn’t have to be extreme. It never has to cross a line you don’t choose. But if you want to fall that far, that fast… pain is the clearest path.”
Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.
The word hung between us—pain—and I felt her flinch not from fear, but from the weight of the decision in front of her. She looked down at her hands, then back up at me, searching my face for something I couldn’t name.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe.
I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to decide right now. I wanted to tell her there were other paths. I wanted to rescue her from the pressure of choosing.
But this had to be her choice. Her rhythm. Her voice. Her power.
A long moment passed.
Then another.
Her lashes dropped, then lifted again. “Yes,” she whispered.
She stepped closer, closing the half-step she’d taken before. Her gaze held mine, unblinking, clear in a way that made something sharp and protective sweep through me.
“Yes,” she repeated, stronger this time. “We’ll do it your way.”
I felt the tension I’d been holding leave me in a single, low rush.
She wasn’t done. Her hand rose, fingertips brushing my jaw with a softness that nearly undid me. “I trust you,” she said—no hesitation. No uncertainty.
The room went still.
Every instinct in me locked into place at once—protective, focused, claiming in the most tender way possible.
“Emma…” My voice cracked.
Her eyes found mine. “I mean it. I trust you.”
“Then I’ll take care of you,” I promised. “Exactly the way you need.”
Something in her shook free. And something in me found its footing at last.