You’re In Control
Nightshade
Who is torturing whom here? Her breaths shudder, rising and falling, her chest heaving in some silent protest against the world. I watch. Helpless or predatory—I can’t tell anymore. The thought of claiming her is magnetic, but I have to wait. I have to make her trust me. I don’t want to be just another animal in her story.
“There she is,” I murmur, disheveled and weary, and I brush her hair out of her face.
“Let’s get this over with” Her voice is hollow, mechanical, the words rasping out of her like she’s tired.
“Little Bird, I need you to trust that I won’t hurt you. Have I hurt you yet?”
Her lips twitch, like she wants to say something sharp, but all she manages is, “Besides sticking me with a needle and tying me up? I guess not.”
“I’m sorry for that,” I offer, the words heavy and empty. “But you wouldn’t have come willingly, would you?”
“You didn’t even ask,” she snaps, trying to cross her arms—forgetting, or maybe just remembering, that her hands are bound by an old belt I found lying around.
“I did ask, Little Bird. You just happened to put up a fight about it. Why do you keep fighting when your body betrays you?”
She snorts, her voice dripping with disgust. “What makes you think I want to be here? Or even with you?”
The image of her flickers in my mind—thighs clenched tight as I ran my hand up her legs. Her defiance, her resistance— it all feeds something deep in me, something dark and ancient. Baby steps, I remind myself.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” I chuckle.“This afternoon, you’re in control. How does that sound?” the words dripping like honey.
“Control?” She spits the word out like it’s bitter. “If I ask you to let me go, will you?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “We did this last night, Little Bird. The answer will be the same.” She’s na?ve. A part of me almost envies it. “Finish this lesson and I will. I always do.”
She slumps back, exhaling sharply. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. I’ve got a full session with Cade later today and he already got mad at me for missing two sessions with him.”
“Didn’t you run from his office earlier?” My voice dips lower. “What did he do to you, Little Bird?” A growl slipping through. The way she tenses at my tone — it’s a reaction I’ll file away for later.
I can feel the tremor in her voice before she even speaks. “Cade… got angry,” she says quietly, almost as if she’s afraid to admit it, and my gaze sharpens as I process her words. “It scared me.”
The mention of Cade, of him scaring her, hits me like a punch to the gut. I can’t suppress the growl that slips out, the low rumble of fury building inside me. My jaw clenches as I step closer, my gaze hardening.
“Cade got angry with you?” I ask, my voice dangerously low, a mix of disbelief and anger lacing my words. My mind races—this is the last thing I wanted for her, for anyone to make her feel like that.
“Not at me, really,” she says, shaking her head, her voice soft. “More so at what I told him about Maverick. At least I think that’s why he got angry. But it scared me, the way he looked and how he responded.”
“Damn it,” I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I run a hand through my hair in frustration, pacing for a moment. “No one should ever make you feel that way, Little Bird. Not him. Not anyone.”
She looks up then, meeting my eyes for the first time since her admission. I see the faintest flicker of something—relief? Maybe trust, though she’s not fully willing to let go of her fear just yet.
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
Her breath catches, and for a moment, I see the weight of my words land on her, the meaning sinking in. I’ve never been this protective over anyone before. Hell, I’ve never cared enough to feel anything this raw. But with her… with my Little Bird…
“You’re safe now,” I add, more quietly this time, my voice dropping an octave.
Speaking quietly, like she is trying to tread water “What is the lesson, Nightshade?”
“Tonight, Little Bird, I want you to face your fear.” My voice is low, carrying an edge of something deeper.
She flinches at my words, her breath catching, and I can see it—the shift in her body language, the subtle tension that takes over her. “What do you mean?” she asks, though her voice is shaking, betraying the unease she’s trying to hide.
“There’s a fear you carry, one that grips you every time you see a belt.” The words are quiet, but sharp. I can see the immediate reaction in her—her eyes widening, her breath faltering, her body freezing. She looks at me like she wants to run, but the door is behind me and she has to get through me first.
Her eyes keep darting down to my belt, her breath quickening. I know she’s fighting against the fear, but the tremor in her frame tells me she’s barely holding it together.
“Aviana,” I say, my voice calm but firm, “you need to face it. But we’re going to do this together. I’ll be here, every step.”
She shakes her head, her voice thin. “I don’t know if I can, Nightshade. The belt… every time…”
I step closer to her, my eyes softening just a little. “You can. I need you to trust me. ”
I reach down, slowly unbuckling my belt, my gaze never leaving hers. “I want you to take it from me, Little Bird.”
Her hands tremble at her sides as she shakes her head. “I can’t,” she breathes, her voice laced with hesitation, fear.
“You can. I need you to trust me.”
Her eyes flick from my hands to my face, confusion and hesitation clouding her expression. “W-what?”
“I need you to remove the belt,” I clarify. “I’m going to use it to restrain you. To show you how powerless the fear really is. You’re in control of this, Aviana. You can stop it any time. But if you want to let go of this fear, you need to face it, fully.” I let the words hang in the air, waiting for her to process them.
Her hands tremble as they hover over the belt, but she’s too afraid to make the first move. I wait, giving her space to make the decision.
She looks at me, her breath catching again, her heart racing, but then her hand slowly extends toward the belt. Her fingers graze the leather, and for a moment, I see the old fear flash in her eyes. But she doesn’t pull away. She grips it, her hands shaking, and slowly begins to undo it.
I watch her, proud of her for taking that first step. When she finally holds it in her hands, I step back, nodding. “Now, Little Bird, take control. Let me show you what you’ve always been capable of. You’re stronger than this fear.”
Her pulse hammers at her throat as I take her hands gently in mine, stroking the backs of them with my thumbs. Her breathing slows, her gaze flickering down to my hands like they’re some foreign thing.
“Eyes on me, Little Bird.” I bound her hands in my worn leather belt. I watch her, waiting, knowing this moment will change her.
“Please…” she starts to fight. Her voice is a fragile thread, trembling under the weight of something she can’t name.
“Why do you beg?” I ask, my tone cutting through the stale air like a razor. “What is it you think you’re begging for?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, her words a shiver that barely escapes her lips. “I just don’t want you to—”
“Stop,” I snap, sharper than I intend, but I can’t help it. “I will never hurt you, Little Bird. I am not like them. I will never be like them.”
I seize her chin in my gloved hand, forcing her gaze to meet mine. Her wide, uncertain eyes bore into me, pupils blown so wide they nearly eclipse the color. She feels it too—the pull between us, heavy and suffocating. She can’t hide it.
“Tell me what you want,” I demand, my voice low, almost a growl. “Tell me what you need me to do, Little Bird.”
“I need you to help me face it. I need you to remind me that I’m safe. That it won’t hurt me.” her voice steady despite the tremor in her words.
I nod slowly, my gaze unwavering. “You’re in control, Aviana. You can replace the fear. You just have to choose to let it go.”
She takes a deep breath, and I can see the shift inside her.
“Good,” I murmur, my voice softening. “Now, tell me. What is it that you’re going to focus on?”
She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching mine like she’s looking for the answer. Then, with a slight, almost shy smile, she says, “You. I want to think about… when you kissed me before. It felt like I could breathe again.”
The air shifts around us, charged and thick with something neither of us has spoken aloud. I see the vulnerability in her, but also the courage. She’s asking for something now, and I can’t deny it.
“Are you sure, Little Bird?” I ask, my voice low, the question lingering between us. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”
“I want you to touch me,” she whispers, and it hits me like a fist to the gut.
“Where?” I manage.
“My hands,” she pleads, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation. “They’re going numb. I need to know they’re still there.”
I reach for her trembling fingers, but she stops me cold .
“Without your gloves, Nightshade,” she says, her words trembling yet firm.
My chest tightens. “Say it again,” I demand.
Her lips part, her voice a wisp of air. “Nightshade, please touch me without your gloves. I want to feel your skin on mine.”
Her words crawl into my chest, embedding themselves deep, and I can’t stop the shiver that rolls through me. Slowly, agonizingly slow, I peel off my gloves one finger at a time. The leather sighs with each tug, and I watch her closely, drinking in every twitch of her lips, every nervous flutter of her lashes. She’s squirming now, her breaths ragged and shallow.
“Breathe, Little Bird,” I say, my voice softer now, though it still carries an edge.
I lift my bare hand, hesitant yet deliberate, and start at her fingertips. My fingertips brush against her skin, and her breath hitches. Goosebumps erupt along her arms, spreading like a ripple through water. Her body betrays her, trembling under the faintest touch. She wants this more than she can say.
And God help me, so do I.
My other hand brushes her cheek, the touch featherlight, and yet it feels like the weight of the world. Her scent, warm and heady, coils around me, intoxicating, consuming. The mask between us is the only barrier, the only thing keeping me from losing all control and crashing my lips to hers. Her mouth parts slightly, a small, trembling gasp escaping, and her fingers curl into fists.
“Planning to hit me with that, Little Bird?” I growl, the words slipping out rough and low.
Her wide eyes blink at me, startled. “What? No, I—obviously not.” She shakes her bound hands, the leather belt a reminder of where we are, of what we are.
My fingers move to her arm, trailing lightly up the soft slope of her skin. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shrink away, even when my touch skims her shoulders. Instead, she breathes in sharply, a sound that tears through me, and when my fingers graze the side of her breast, she moans—soft, broken.
“Nightshade,” she whispers, her voice barely holding together. “Please.”
A dark laugh escapes me, bitter and hollow. “What is it you want, baby girl?” I ask, though the words feel like glass in my throat. “Tell me everything.”
She closes her eyes, and when she speaks, her voice trembles, raw and stripped bare. “I want to forget it all. I close my eyes, and they’re all I see. Their faces, their voices—they haunt me. I don’t want to have nightmares anymore. I don’t want them to own me. Please… help me forget them.”
Her plea hits me like a knife to the chest, sharp and twisting. I want to give her what she’s asking for, to take the pain from her and bear it myself, but I can’t. I never could.
“Little Bird,” I say softly, the words catching on the storm in my throat. “Baby girl, I can’t make you forget. I wish I could, but those memories… they’re a part of you now. They’ve shaped you, forged you into who you are. And who you are…” My voice cracks, and I force the words out, heavy and aching. “Who you are is beautiful. Strong. Fierce. You’re everything they could never destroy. And I’m—” I stop myself, swallowing the confession that rises unbidden. “I’m just glad you’re here. In my arms tonight.”
I pull her close, wrapping her trembling form in my arms. She collapses into me, her sobs racking her body, raw and unfiltered. I hold her tighter, as if by holding her, I can shield her from the weight of it all. But even as her tears soak through to my skin, I know this ache—this unbearable, endless ache—is one we’ll both carry.