The counting was different when he did it. Not Gabriel's precise measurements but something more human. More real. I breathed with his count, feeling some of the tension ease.
"Good," he murmured, and the word hit different than I'd expected. Not the saccharine praise of my conditioning but something earned. Something real. "Now, tell me where you are."
"Shitty motel. Massachusetts. November." I focused on concrete details. "With you. Hunting."
"Why are you hunting?"
"To kill him. To end this."
"And why are you here, in this bed, with me?"
The question cut deeper than I'd expected. "Because I trust you."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
His hand moved, sliding up to rest over my heart. Could he feel how fast it was beating? How hard my body was working to process sensation without panic?
"I'm going to touch you," he said. "And you're going to let me. You're going to be good and still and take what I give you. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"And if you need to stop?"
"Red."
"Good girl."
The words should have been triggering. Should have sent me spiraling back to collars and pink rooms and Daddy's special pet. But coming from Nathan, in that steady voice, they felt different. Reclaimed, maybe. Or just... his.
His hands mapped my body with clinical precision, noting every scar, every mark, every place that made me tense or relax. Not sexual—not yet—just learning. Cataloguing. Understanding the damage.
"So many stories," he murmured, tracing a knife scar across my ribs. "So much survival."
"Stubborn," I corrected.
"That too." His thumb found the brand on my hip, the one that marked me as property. "This hurt?"
"Yes."
"Still hurt?"
I thought about it. The physical pain was long healed, but the mark itself... "Sometimes."
He leaned down and kissed it. Soft. Reverent. Like it was something precious instead of shameful.
"Nathan—"
"Quiet," he reminded me. "No sounds unless I allow them."
I bit my lip, following orders. Following his orders, which felt different than submission. Felt like choice.
His mouth traced patterns across my skin, avoiding the places Gabriel had claimed. Finding new territory. Making new associations. When he finally kissed me properly, I was shaking with need that had nothing to do with conditioning.
"Color?" he asked against my mouth.
"Green. So fucking green."
