Page 3 of UnTrained: Volume Two
I consider this. It's easier somehow, thinking about what I can accept rather than what I can't. "I can handle being told what to do. Simple commands. I..." I hesitate, heat rising to my cheeks. "I want that, actually."
Aiden nods, his expression revealing nothing. "What about physical contact?"
I hesitate, thinking about his question. Physical contact. The memory of his hands on me at the facility is still fresh—clinical at times, commanding at others. But there had been gentleness too, a care that my captors never showed.
"I think..." My voice falters. "Light touches are okay. Being guided. Maybe... being held down." The admission makes my cheeks burn, but there's something freeing about saying it aloud. "Just not... restraints. Not yet."
Aiden nods, his expression thoughtful. "And pain? Is that something you want to explore, or is it too closely linked to your trauma?"
The question sends a complicated flutter through my stomach. Pain had been a constant companion during my captivity—a punishment, a tool to break me. But before, in that other life, it had been something I'd been curious about. Something that, in the right context, with the right person, had held a dark allure.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "Maybe... maybe start small? Nothing too intense."
"We'll go slow," Aiden promises. His hand moves to rest on the couch between us, not touching me but close enough that I could reach for it if I wanted to. "Nothing happens this time without your consent."
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. The way he's looking at me—intense, focused, like I'm the only person in the world—makes something flutter low in my belly.
3
Ichew on my lower lip. I want him to know, somehow, about the desires and my curiosity, the things I haven’t told him yet. How I still need to explore them, but slowly. Safely. But it’s too embarrassing to bring up.
Aiden studies me, tilting his head to the side. “What else do you need to tell me?”
His question catches me off guard. The way he reads me is unnerving, like he can see straight through my careful façade to the tangled mess of wants and fears beneath. And somehow, like he already knows.
"I want..." The words stick in my throat. How do I explain that I still crave the very thing that was used to break me? "Before all this happened, I was curious about... about submission. About giving up control. I went to that club because I wanted to explore those feelings."
I force myself to meet his gaze, though heat crawls up my neck. "I still want that. Even after everything. Maybe because of everything. Does that make me broken?"
Aiden's expression softens. "No, Lana. It makes you human." He shifts slightly closer, his knee almost touching mine. "Many people who've experienced trauma find healing in controlled submission. The difference is consent. Choice. Power that you give rather than power that's taken."
His words sink into me, validating feelings I've been afraid to acknowledge even to myself.
"Stand up," Aiden says suddenly, his voice shifting from gentle to commanding in an instant.
My body responds before my mind can catch up, rising to my feet in one fluid motion. There's something comforting in the simplicity of the command, in not having to think about what comes next.
Aiden stands too, towering over me. He doesn't touch me, but his presence fills the space around me, solid and commanding.
"Turn around," he says, his voice low and firm.
I obey, turning my back to him. The vulnerability of the position sends a shiver down my spine—not being able to see him, to anticipate his next move. But there's something thrilling about it too, the surrender of control that comes with simply following his lead.
"Close your eyes."
I let my eyelids flutter shut. The darkness amplifies my other senses—the sound of Aiden's steady breathing behind me, the faint scent of his cologne, the way the air shifts as he moves closer.
"I'm going to touch you now," he says, his voice closer to my ear. "Just my hand on your shoulder. If you want me to stop, say so."
I nod, not trusting my voice. A moment later, his palm settles on my shoulder,warm and steady through the thin fabric of my shirt. My breath catches at the contact, but it's not fear that makes my pulse quicken. It's anticipation.
"Breathe," he reminds me, his voice a low rumble near my ear.
I inhale deeply, letting the air fill my lungs before slowly releasing it. His hand stays on my shoulder, grounding me.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and those two simple words send a rush of warmth through me. "I'm going to put my other hand on your waist now."
His palm settles at my hip, gentle but firm. I can feel the heat of his touch through my clothes, the slight pressure of his fingers as they curve around my waist.
