What he'll show me.
What it will feel like.
Whether it will be even more intense than last time, if that's even possible.
Whether I'll lose more of myself in the process, give up more pieces of who I used to be.
Whether I care anymore.
Whether I ever really cared or if I was just pretending, playing a role, being the good Sanctuary girl who resisted temptation when really I wanted to fall all along.
I set the book aside, stand, and pace the length of the library.
The books Vaughn chose for me are still on the nightstand in my room.
The ones about sexuality, about pleasure, about women reclaiming their bodies from purity culture.
I've read them both cover to cover.
Some passages multiple times.
They talk about agency.
About choice.
About how understanding your body is empowering, how pleasure is your birthright, how no one gets to tell you what you should or shouldn't want.
But is it really a choice when your body has been conditioned to respond to one specific person?
When you've been isolated and manipulated and carefully shown pleasure in a way that makes you dependent?
Or is it just a prettier cage?
I don't know anymore.
Don't know if the difference even matters when the end result is the same—me, wanting Vaughn, needing what only he can give.
Around four in the afternoon, I can't stand being in the library anymore.
Can't stand sitting still when my mind is racing and my body is humming.
I wander out into the hallway, down corridors I haven't fully explored before.
Past guest rooms that are beautifully furnished but empty.
Past a formal dining room that looks like it's never been used.
Past storage closets and a powder room and doors that lead to parts of the house I haven't seen.
I find myself standing in front of a door I recognize.
Vaughn's office.
I've never been inside.
He's never invited me in, never shown me this space that's clearly his private domain.
The door is open, just slightly.
