"Fine, what?"
"Fine. I'll..." She swallows hard. "I'll train with you. Willingly." The word tastes like poison in her mouth, like ash and defeat.
Relief floods through me, sharp and immediate.
Mixed with triumph, with satisfaction.
With the knowledge that I've won this round, that she's chosen the path I wanted her to choose.
She chose submission.
Chose me.
Chose to make this easier on both of us.
Even if she hates it.
Even if it's killing her.
Even if every word cost her a piece of her soul.
She chose.
"Good girl," I say softly, and I watch the way those two words affect her.
The flinch.
The flush.
The way her breath catches involuntarily.
She hates that it affects her.
Hates that my approval matters even when she's trying so hard not to care.
Perfect.
"Finish your breakfast," I say, my tone businesslike now. "We start in an hour."
I take her to the library.
It's the right choice.
Private enough that we won't be interrupted.
Comfortable enough that she won't feel immediately threatened.
A space she already associates with safety and learning, with the books I gave her about sexuality and pleasure.
That will make this easier.
Make her more receptive to what comes next.
She stands in the middle of the room between the leather sofas, arms wrapped around herself defensively.
Every line of her body screaming resistance even though she just agreed to cooperate.
"What now?" she asks.
