Chapter 11
Eleven
T he restaurant was softly lit, with lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the smell of delicious Chinese food filling the air. Brad and Isobel were seated at a corner table, looking over their menus.
She looked over the top of hers. “Thank you for this. You chose the restaurant. So, what’s it going to be?”
Brad smiled. “I put in an order for Peking duck as takeout yesterday. It has to be ordered in advance. I called Mr. Wang and asked him if I could eat it here instead.”
Isobel’s shoulders began to settle. “Again, I owe you a thank you. Crispy duck skin is my weakness. Could we get some dumplings to start with? You can’t go wrong with dumplings.”
He nodded. “Agreed. Dumplings are a must. And maybe some hot and sour soup?”
They placed their order with a mix of excitement and playful commentary as the waiter scratched notes on his pad. “So, Mr. K, that’s the Peking duck, an order of dumplings, and two hot and sour soups, extra hot and sour.”
Brad nodded. “Exactly. Thank you, Hu Yahou!”
As the waiter walked away, Brad and Isobel shared a look of contentment. The ambiance of the restaurant added a cozy, intimate feel to their dinner.
Isobel nervously took a sip of water. “I see you’re a regular here.”
“It’s got the perfect mix of good food and great vibes and doesn’t make me feel out of place if I eat here alone. Plus, it’s close enough that I can walk off the food coma afterwards.” It was also a short car ride from The Loft.
Isobel laughed. “I didn’t realize you lived that close to town.”
“Yes, about eight blocks over. There’s nothing like a stroll through Whispering Hills after a big meal.” He sighed. “Helps sort out a workday too.”
“Hmm.” She cocked her head. “So, you’re not seeing anyone?”
Brad shook his head. “No. I keep a tough schedule. And sometimes there are secrets that need to be kept. Some women don’t understand that. You seeing anyone? If you are, I won’t rat you out to your sisters.”
Isobel grinned. “Touché, Commander Killian. No, I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t date often. Hell, I should say I don’t date at all. Forget high school. I had four nosy sisters. College, I was free to do what I wanted, but I still had four nosy sisters on my conscience. Then, I worked at a center in Sioux Falls doing my internship. My boss wanted to ‘do me.’” She made quotes out of her fingers. “He said it would relax me after a tough case. And when I did finally date, I did it with style. One man was very sweet. He would bring me flowers and other small gifts. One day I stopped by his place to surprise him with dinner. A man answered the door in a teddy and a feather boa. He invited me in to be part of a threesome. The last guy I had a date with wanted to know about all my cases. He thought I was like Clarice from Silence of the Lambs .”
“Well, Clarice, I don’t like fava beans or chianti,” he teased her.
She burst out laughing, and he smiled, loving that sound. Despite her laughter, he could see the pain behind her beautiful hazel eyes.
Their playful banter continued as their waiter returned with their dumplings and soup. They dove into their food with enthusiasm, commenting on the flavors.
Brad’s stomach growled as he filled his mouth with a bite of dumpling. “Oh wow, I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
Isobel nodded and closed her eyes. “Yum. The soup is actually hot and sour. I’m impressed.”
Brad raised his glass. “To future culinary adventures.”
Isobel clinked her glass with his. “Hear, hear. And may we never run out of dumplings.”
They both laughed, enjoying the moment and each other’s company.
Isobel paused. “Can I ask you a question?” She looked down at her plate.
He reached across the table and, with two fingers, lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Always. I may not be able to answer, but I can try.”
“It’s personal.” She blushed. “Um… the stuff you explained about D/s.” She looked down and played with the napkin in her lap. “Forget it, it’s none of my business.”
Brad didn't flinch, not even a hint of embarrassment crossing his face. He leaned back in his chair and caught Isobel’s gaze, her blush deepening as she tried to wave off the question. A small smile curved his lips, reassuring but direct. "You don’t have to worry about it, Belle," he said in his deep baritone. "I’m not embarrassed. But for professional reasons, I’m cautious about sharing personal information.”
He glanced around the room briefly, making sure no one else was paying too much attention before continuing. "The reason I participate in that lifestyle, D/s specifically, is because it offers a kind of connection that’s hard to find elsewhere. It's about trust and communication as much as it’s about power dynamics. And, for me, it creates a deeper sense of understanding with someone. It’s... freeing, in a way."
Isobel shifted in her seat, curiosity dancing in her eyes. She glanced at Brad, lowering her voice slightly. “So… it’s not just about a lot of sex, tying people up, or spanking, right? I mean, the boyfriend of the mom in that divorce case I’m studying told me I needed a good paddling.”
Brad pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “That’s a threat.”
“So, I know what you said at dinner and at my place, and what I’ve read in the books...but it’s not about?—"
“No, not at all,” he replied, his tone warm and steady. "That’s a big misconception. While some people incorporate those things into their dynamic, it’s not the core of what a true D/s relationship is about."
Leaning in slightly, he lowered his voice, making sure she felt at ease. “At its heart, it’s more about connection, trust, and communication than any of the physical stuff. The sexual side can be part of it, but the real focus is on the emotional and psychological aspects. It’s about how two people choose to interact, who leads and who follows, and how they build trust within that.”
Brad found himself curious about how deeply her interest ran. Did she even know what she was asking?
Isobel leaned in slightly, her voice still quiet but filled with genuine interest. "But… why are there spankings? And why do they restrain people?"
Brad wasn’t surprised by the question, but he could see how it felt foreign to her. He met her gaze, sensing she was grappling with more than just surface-level curiosity. She had a desire for deeper understanding.
"Good question," he replied. "Spankings, restraints… those are tools, really. In the context of a D/s dynamic, they serve a purpose, but it’s not just about pain or control. It’s about trust and surrender. For some people, spanking or physical discipline heightens that feeling of giving up control, letting things go, a release; while for others, it’s about sensation—both physical and emotional. It’s not about punishment in the way most people think of it."
He paused, watching her expression shift, as if she was trying to piece everything together. "And restraints? Those are a way of amplifying that trust. When someone allows themselves to be restrained, they’re giving up control completely, trusting the other person to take care of them. It can be a powerful feeling—knowing that, even in that vulnerable state, their partner is focused on their safety and boundaries."
He couldn’t help but be fascinated by her reaction. She was approaching this with an open mind, a trait he admired. The more they talked, the more he saw those quiet submissive tendencies she had. Her instinct to trust, to seek understanding in things that others might shy away from.
Brad smiled again, his voice as gentle as ever. "It’s a lot more than what people think. And I don’t mind explaining, if you want to know more."
He paused, gauging Isobel’s reaction, then continued, "I won’t lie. The sex is good—very good. It can involve things like control, power exchange, or even certain physical acts that symbolize that dynamic. But what a lot of people don’t understand is how much trust that requires. Both partners have to be completely in tune with each other’s limits, boundaries, and desires. It’s not about one person doing whatever they want. There’s a lot of negotiation, openness, and respect in it."
She listened closely, nodding slightly, her earlier embarrassment fading.
"But here’s where people often miss the bigger picture," Brad added, leaning back and settling into his explanation. "A D/s relationship doesn’t begin and end in the bedroom. Day-to-day, it can be about structure and support. The Dominant might take responsibility for guiding the relationship—making decisions, setting goals. But always in a way that’s about the good of both partners."
He gave a small, reflective smile. "For example, in some partnerships, the submissive might prefer to have their day organized by their partner—things like planning meals, handling schedules, or even guiding personal growth. It’s not because they can’t do it themselves, but because they find comfort in that structure, in letting someone they trust take the lead. The Dominant, in turn, accepts that responsibility and respects the needs of the submissive. It’s a partnership, just with different roles."
He noticed Isobel’s eyes brighten as she connected the dots.
"It’s not always about control, though," he clarified. "It can be as much about care and protection. The Dominant doesn’t just call the shots; they’re responsible for the well-being of the submissive. It’s a balancing act—a relationship like any other, but with specific roles that both partners find fulfilling."
He shrugged, his tone easy, as if they were discussing any other relationship. "At the end of the day, it’s really about what works for the people involved. It’s not one-size-fits-all. It’s a dynamic that can be as intense or as light as they want, but what matters most is that both partners feel secure, respected, and connected."
Isobel looked thoughtful, her initial hesitation giving way to understanding. "I’m starting to get it now," she said softly, almost to herself.
Brad nodded, smiling once more. "It’s just another way people connect, you know?" He reached for her hand. “Think about what I said and what you are reading. I’m always available for you.”
The soft hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses filled the air as Isobel sat across from Brad, her hands cradling a warm cup of Chinese tea. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice so only he could hear. She swallowed, then finally asked, "You said you... belong to a club?"
He nodded and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms casually over his chest. "Yeah... The Loft."
“What’s it like there? How is it different than Hot Shots?”
Brad didn’t leave her hanging. "It’s safe; everything is done with respect and consent.”
She seemed to need clarity, more answers. "Have you... I mean, do you have sex there?"
Brad held her gaze, a mix of sincerity and calm in his eyes. “I have in the past, yeah. But not recently. These days, I go there for different reasons. It's a place where I can clear my head. It has a certain energy, a release, you know? I also serve as a whipmaster sometimes."
"A... whipmaster?" Curiosity and apprehension danced in her tone.
He smiled, but it wasn’t a cocky grin—more a sign of his comfort with his own truth. "Yeah. It sounds intense, I know. A whipmaster is basically someone who facilitates certain kinds of play for those who are into it. Use of a whip requires a level of training. It’s all consensual and safe. Trust is everything in that space."
Her expression was a kaleidoscope. "So... you enjoy doing that?"
Brad nodded. “Using a whip? It’s a way to help others safely. It’s not for everyone, but for me, it’s about control, trust, and precision. It's not just about the physical. There's an emotional connection—being responsible for someone's experience and knowing their limits."
He took the opportunity to gently nudge the conversation in a new direction. "If you’re curious... there’s an open night at ten tonight. No open sexual stuff, just a drink and a tour of the place. You could come as my guest, see what it’s about. Purely observational."
“Yes,” she said without pause.
Isobel excused herself to use the restroom, and when she returned, she made a comment about the very large lobster in a tank. Brad explained it was the resident old man, that they wouldn’t eat him.
“That info shows how often you eat here,” she teased him. They both laughed, falling into an easy conversation. They continued chatting, sharing stories about their favorite movies and hobbies.
“I like to hike, fish, and, occasionally, I dabble in some woodworking. What about you?” Brad asked.
Isobel grew excited. “I love hiking. And I’m a bit of a bookworm. I could spend hours lost in a good mystery novel.”
“Mystery novels, huh? Any favorites?” His eyes glowed.
Isobel cocked her head. “There are so many, but I’m a big fan of Agatha Christie. Her plots are just so clever.”
He nodded. “She’s a classic for a reason. Have you ever thought about writing your own mystery novel? A riff on your cases.”
Isobel giggled. “I’ve toyed with the idea, but I think I’ll stick to reading them for now. It’s less stressful.”
As they finished their dinner, Brad insisted on picking up the check. “Are you sure you want to stop at The Loft?”
“Nothing like Hot Shots?”
“No, never. But tonight, it’s a meet and greet. You can look around and ask questions.”
“Then yes. Am I dressed alright?”
“You’re stunning.” She was wearing a navy abstract-patterned silk blouse, a navy pencil skirt and navy high heels. He walked her out to his car.
On the way to The Loft, he drove through the quaint streets of Whispering Hills. The night was cool, and the streetlights cast a warm glow on the road. His radio played soft country music as they drove.
Isobel glanced out the window. “Whispering Hills looks even prettier at night. It’s like a scene from a movie.”
Brad smiled. “Yeah, it does have that magical feel to it. You should see it at Christmas time.”
“I have.” Isobel sighed deeply. “I love all the lights.”
Brad chuckled. “Me too. I moved here for the quiet. Plus, it’s closer to my family.”
Isobel turned in her seat. “I’ve known you for like forever and never asked you about your family. How often do you visit them?”
Brad grinned. “My folks…as often as I can without them thinking I’m moving back in. My mom is a great cook. We have family dinner night on Thursdays.”
Isobel laughed. “We have the Everhart power dinner one Friday a month. We all bring a dish—as ordered by Liv. No boyfriends or fiancés allowed. Jackson, Ethan and Alex now go out to eat. And you come to the family dinner monthly.”
“Alex Marcel and your mom, huh? Do they post selfies of their activities?” Brad waggled his eyebrows.
Isobel burst out laughing. “Yes. Have you seen them? Pottery making, dance lessons at Ethan’s studio, and a coed book club.” She caught her breath. “Liv, Molly and Sophie threw a fit at first. She’s old enough to be his mom.” She inhaled and looked out the window. “But he makes my mom happy. And, apparently, she makes him happy. My feeling and Ruthie’s are to let them be.”
“I’m with you on that.” Brad shook his head.
He pulled into the parking lot of The Loft. The building was hidden, its nondescript exterior giving no hint of the sophistication within. Isobel stepped inside, her heels clicking on polished marble floors, and was immediately greeted by the warm glow of dim amber lighting. The space was an eclectic mix of industrial and modern chic: exposed brick walls lined with abstract art pieces, Edison bulb chandeliers casting soft halos of light, and plush velvet furniture in jewel tones strategically placed to encourage conversation. The air was filled with the murmur of voices, occasional burst of laughter, and the faint aroma of sandalwood and vanilla.
Clusters of people were scattered around the room, each group occupying their own corner of the spacious venue. To her right, a tall woman in a tailored blazer and crimson lipstick gestured animatedly as she spoke to a man in a crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal intricate tattoos on his forearms. At another table, a couple—one wearing a sharp black suit and the other in a flowing silver dress—sipped martinis while engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation. Isobel noticed how effortlessly stylish everyone seemed, their outfits walking the fine line between formal and casual, as though the entire event had been plucked from a high-end fashion spread.
In the center of the room stood a long mahogany bar, its surface gleaming under the soft lighting. Behind it, a bartender mixed cocktails with practiced flair, his dark hair slicked back and a friendly smile on his face as he handed a drink to a guest. Bottles of liquor, arranged like a rainbow of glass, sparkled on the shelves behind him. A small chalkboard perched at the end of the bar advertised tonight’s specialty cocktail: the Vanilla Bean Old Fashioned.
“Would you like a drink?” Brad asked.
“I good,” she said, wide-eyed.
Brad stayed a step behind her as Isobel moved farther into the space. A soft voice pulled her attention to a corner where a group of people sat on a curved emerald-green sectional. They were deep in conversation, their tones relaxed but tinged with curiosity. She caught snippets of their discussion about the venue’s purpose—a mix of awe and intrigue in their voices. A petite woman with curly auburn hair caught her eye and smiled warmly, offering Isobel a silent welcome.
It wasn’t long before a man approached her. He was tall, with a presence that exuded quiet authority but also carried a touch of charm that was hard to ignore. His salt-and-pepper hair was immaculately styled, and he wore a tailored navy-blue suit with no tie, the open collar giving him a relaxed but polished look. He extended a hand, his deep brown eyes locking onto hers with a hint of amusement.
“You must be Isobel,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “I’m Jesse, the owner of The Loft. Welcome. Hello, Brad.” He shook his hand.
Isobel shook his hand, noting the firm but friendly grip. “Thank you. This place is... impressive.” She glanced around the room again. “You’ve created something really unique here.”
Jesse’s smile widened, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “I appreciate that. The Loft is meant to be a place where people can connect, explore, and be themselves. No judgment, no pressure—just an open space for conversation and discovery.” His eyes lingered on her for a beat, his gaze assessing but kind. “I hope you’ll find it welcoming.”
She nodded, already feeling more at ease. “It’s certainly unlike anything I’ve experienced before.”
“That’s the idea,” he said with a wink. “How about a proper tour?”
Isobel felt a subtle shift in the energy of the room. It wasn’t just the décor or the carefully curated ambiance—it was the people, their openness, their willingness to engage. For the first time in a while, she felt the beginnings of something stir inside her.
He led them downstairs. Brad maintained a reassuring hand on the middle of her back. Isobel stepped into the first room cautiously, her gaze taking in the details: the plush rugs underfoot, the ornate iron fixtures on the walls, and the faint scent of incense that lingered in the air. A rack of neatly arranged implements stood in one corner, polished and gleaming under the soft light. It was both inviting and intimidating.
“Every room has its own vibe,” Jesse continued as he led them back into the hallway. “Some are softer, designed for sensory exploration and intimacy. Others are a bit more… intense.” He smirked, glancing at Isobel as if to gauge her reaction. “But no one is pressured to do anything they’re uncomfortable with. Consent is our foundation.”
As they walked, Jesse pointed out a few other rooms. One had a tranquil, spa-like ambiance, complete with a massage table and a soothing waterfall feature. Another was darker, almost cavernous, with a heavy wooden frame dominating the center of the room. Brad watched Isobel closely as Jesse spoke, his eyes narrowing slightly every time her expression shifted—he was clearly attuned to her reactions.
At the end of the hallway, Jesse stopped in front of a door that stood slightly ajar. “This is our observation lounge,” he said, stepping inside. The room was larger than the others, with comfortable seating arranged to face a large, two-way mirror. Beyond the glass was another playroom, this one already occupied. A couple danced inside, their interaction sensual, deliberate and quite PG-rated, but the soundproofing left only the visual spectacle to those in the lounge.
Isobel’s breath hitched, heat rising to her cheeks as she glanced at Brad. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that suggested he was watching her just as much as the scene beyond the glass.
Jesse’s voice softened, drawing her attention back. “This room allows people to observe without participating. It’s a way to explore at your own pace, see if this is something that resonates with you. No judgment, no obligation.”
Isobel nodded, her mind racing as she tried to absorb everything she was seeing and hearing. The space was more than she had anticipated, layered with nuance and intention.
Jesse turned back to her, his tone warm but professional. “I hope this gives you a sense of what we offer here. It’s not just about physical connection—it’s about trust, communication, and understanding your own boundaries. If you have questions, I’m happy to answer them.”
Brad stepped closer then, his presence commanding as he addressed the club’s owner. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Jesse.”
Jesse nodded, clapping Brad on the shoulder. “Take care of her, Brad,” he said lightly before leaving the two of them alone.
Brad watched Jesse disappear before turning back to Isobel, his expression softening. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice low, steady.
Isobel hesitated, her thoughts still swirling. “It’s… a lot to take in. But it’s fascinating. I didn’t expect it to feel so… intentional.”
Brad’s lips quirked in a small smile. “It’s designed to be. Come on, let’s look around a little more.”
With him by her side, her initial nerves began to settle. He guided her farther down the hallway, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. The low hum of energy in the air seemed to follow them, an intoxicating mix of curiosity and restraint.
Isobel glanced around, her mind racing with unspoken questions. Finally, she broke the silence, her cheeks flushed. “Does everyone here… know what they’re looking for?”
Brad’s lips curved into a thoughtful smile. “Not always. Some come here with clear intentions; others are just curious. It’s not about knowing all the answers when you walk in—it’s about exploring, figuring out what fits.”
She nodded, absorbing his words. “And the rules? How do they make sure… things don’t get out of hand?”
Brad paused by a door they hadn’t entered yet, leaning against the frame as he turned to face her. “That’s what makes this place different. Everyone here agrees to a strict set of guidelines. Consent is non-negotiable. Boundaries are respected. If someone crosses a line, they’re removed—no exceptions.”
Isobel folded her arms, her gaze dropping to the floor as she processed the information. “It’s just… so organized,” she murmured. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Most people don’t,” Brad said softly. “They think it’s all chaos or… something else entirely. Like Hot Shots. But The Loft is about connection, trust. That’s what Jesse built it on.”
Her eyes lifted to his, searching. “Have you… used these rooms?”
Brad’s expression didn’t change, though his jaw tightened slightly. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice calm.
His honesty surprised her, and the tension in her chest eased. “It’s not what I thought it would be,” she admitted. “It’s more… human.”
Brad’s smile widened slightly. “That’s the point. No one’s here to make you do anything you’re not ready for. This place exists to give people options.”
She considered that for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of a brass plaque on the nearest door. “And you trust this? Jesse, this place, the people?”
Brad stepped closer, his presence grounding. “I do. But what matters is whether you feel comfortable here. That’s all that matters to me.”
His words lingered in the air, filling the space between them. For the first time since they arrived, Isobel felt herself relax completely. The Loft wasn’t just a building; it was a reflection of its rules, its people, its intentions. And she trusted Brad. Implicitly.
He gestured toward the stairs. “You’ve seen enough for tonight. Let me take you home.”
She hesitated but then nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I think I have.”
As they made their way back upstairs and toward the exit, Isobel felt lighter, surer of herself. The night had been unexpected, eye-opening, and strangely affirming. Brad walked beside her, his steady presence a reminder that she wasn’t navigating any of this alone.
Outside, the cool night air hit her skin as they stepped onto the street. Brad opened the car door for her, his usual blend of care and quiet strength. Once inside, Isobel turned to him as he started the engine, her curiosity not entirely quelled.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her tone softer now.
Brad glanced at her, his expression unreadable but kind. “Because I wanted you to see it for yourself. To understand it, in case it ever became part of the picture.”
She didn’t need him to explain further. He brought her here to show her that, even in the grayest areas, there could be clarity. Structure. Safety.