Page 21 of UnTrained: Volume One
The truth. I don't even know what that is anymore. Everything feels twisted, upside down. The pain across my bottom throbs with each heartbeat, but his gentle touch on my face creates a different kind of ache entirely—one I can't name or understand.
"I don't know what you want from me," I whisper, my voice breaking on the words.
Aiden's hand drops from my face, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch. He steps back, creating distance between us that feels both safer and more terrifying.
"I want you to heal," he says finally, his blue eyes holding mine. "I want you to remember that you're human."
Human. The word sounds foreign. I've been 127 for so long that humanity feels like a luxury I can't afford. Human means having choices, having worth beyond my ability to please and obey. Human means having a voice that matters.
I don't remember how to be human.
"I don't understand," I admit, wrapping my arms around myself. The movement pulls at the welts on my bottom, and I wince.
Aiden sighs, and the sound makes me flinch. I've learned that sighs usually precede punishment. But instead of striking me again, he moves to a small cabinet I hadn't noticed before and pulls out a small jar.
"Turn around," he says, his voice gentler now.
I obey, though my legs still tremble beneath me. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps across my naked skin.
"This will help with the sting," he explains, unscrewing the jar. The scent of something herbal fills the air between us.
I tense as his fingers, now coated with cream, touch my burning skin. The initial contact makes me hiss, but then a cooling sensation spreads across the welts.
His touch is methodical, almost clinical, but there's a gentleness to it that makes my chest tighten with confusion. I grip the edge of the bench again, but this time it’s not from pain, but from something else entirely.
I haven’t felt the sensation of being cared for by another person for so long that the feeling is almost foreign. Something in me longs to lean into it, to let the gentle touches wash over me, to let myself relax under his touch.
Seeking this out was what got me into this situation in the first place, though.
So I do what I’ve learned to do best: fold into myself, placing a steel wall between myself and anyone else.
14
AIDEN
My jaw is clenched so tight that it feels like I might break a tooth. I don’t think I can do this.
I’ve trained women to be submissive, to even be slaves, both as part of the training programs here for our black ops division and in my free time as a Dominant at the clubs. I love nothing more than reducing a woman to tears, then being the one to wipe them away.
But this situation is wildly different.
Not just because Lana hasn’t consented to it, the way the women I play with at the clubs do. But because she's broken in a way that makes my chest ache with something I can't name.
The women I've played with before, they chose to submit. They found freedom in surrender, power in giving up control. Lana doesn't have that luxury.
Her submission isn't a choice—it's survival.
I finish applying the cream to her welts, trying to ignore the way she trembles under my touch. Not from pleasure or anticipation, but from fear. Always fear.
"You can turn around now," I say, stepping back to give her space.
She faces me, arms wrapped protectively around herself, eyes downcast. The picture of perfect submission that should satisfy something primal in me. Instead, it makes me feel sick.
"The clothes are still in your room," I tell her. "Get dressed, then come find me. We need to talk."
Her head snaps up, those green eyes wide with panic. "Did I do something wrong, Sir? I can do better, I?—"
"No, Lana." I cut off her frantic words. "You didn't do anything wrong."
