Her head tilted. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never taken someone into subspace with only sensory play,” I admitted. “Not with something that gentle.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Gentle? That was gentle?”
A soft laugh escaped me—her innocence hitting me square in the center. “Yes. Very.”
She took that in, searching my face. “Then… how do you suggest we do this?”
I braced myself. She wouldn’t like the answer—not at first. But it was the truth. The safe truth. The only sure path to exactly what she’d asked for.
I let the silence stretch, giving the moment weight. Then, quietly:
“Pain.”
She balked, stumbling back half a step. “Pain?”
I nodded once. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it works,” I said gently. “It shocks the nervous system. It overwhelms the thinking mind. It’s the most reliable way to get you where you want to go.”
I stepped forward, closing the small space she’d instinctively made. My voice stayed soft, careful. “It doesn’t have to be extreme. It never has to cross a line you don’t choose. But if you want to fall that far, that fast… pain is the clearest path.”
Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.
The word hung between us—pain—and I felt her flinch not from fear, but from the weight of the decision in front of her. Shelooked down at her hands, then back up at me, searching my face for something I couldn’t name.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe.
I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to decide right now. I wanted to tell her there were other paths. I wanted to rescue her from the pressure of choosing.
But this had to be her choice. Her rhythm. Her voice. Her power.
A long moment passed.
Then another.
Her lashes dropped, then lifted again. “Yes,” she whispered.
She stepped closer, closing the half-step she’d taken before. Her gaze held mine, unblinking, clear in a way that made something sharp and protective sweep through me.
“Yes,” she repeated, stronger this time. “We’ll do it your way.”
I felt the tension I’d been holding leave me in a single, low rush.
She wasn’t done. Her hand rose, fingertips brushing my jaw with a softness that nearly undid me. “I trust you,” she said—no hesitation. No uncertainty.
The room went still.
Every instinct in me locked into place at once—protective, focused, claiming in the most tender way possible.
“Emma…” My voice cracked.
Her eyes found mine. “I mean it. I trust you.”
“Then I’ll take care of you,” I promised. “Exactly the way you need.”
