The Playroom

Chapter Eleven

W aking up in somewhat unfamiliar surroundings, Leo’s arm draped protectively over me, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck, bringing a small, satisfying smile to my face. The memory of last night lingered in every cell of my body—a slow burn that made me feel both giddy and grounded at the same time.

He smelled like sandalwood and sweat, a scent that clung to the sheets and my skin, an intoxicating reminder of the hot, incredible sex we’d shared. The kind that left you craving more, like watching the trailer to the most thrilling movie only to discover the full film is even better—and you’d watch it a thousand times over if you could.

I reached for my phone on the nearby bedside table—trying not to disturb Leo in the process—ready to text Emily about the night, but as the screen lit up, my stomach flipped.

Nine fifteen in the morning.

My heart skipped a beat. Shit I was supposed to be at the office by eight—why did I think going out on a Sunday night was a good idea?

The blissful haze shattered as panic surged through me. I had a meeting at 10:30, and there was no way I’d make it on time, considering I was clear across town. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to take a breath—I could fix this. Probably.

Detangling myself gently from Leo’s hold, I got out of the bed and tiptoed away, casting one last look at him before slipping into the hallway. It didn’t take long to find his bedroom—thankfully, there weren’t many doors—but the room itself surprised me.

Bare walls. A simple queen-sized bed dressed in plain white sheets—Target Essentials, if I had to guess. No judgement, but it wasn’t what I expected from the man who owns a dungeon.

Raiding his walk-in closet, I found myself momentarily distracted by his impeccable organization. T-shirts were arranged by color, progressing like a rainbow from cool to warm tones, with blacks, whites, and grays at the end. Above them, pants and jeans were perfectly folded in the same order. Even his shoes were tiered by type—dress shoes on top, sneakers in the middle, and sandals (and crocs?) on the bottom. The whole thing was a shrine to order.

Off to the right was a large dark cherry armoire that I automatically assumed was miscellaneous things. Opening the main doors were button dress shirts, sport jackets, and suits and in the drawers below contained sweaters done in the same organization fashion.

Jesus.

But then I open his sock and underwear drawer—a chaotic mess of mismatched socks and briefs thrown together. I smirked. Even perfection has cracks.

I grabbed a pair of dark jeans, a baby blue button-up, a white sports jacket, and a pair of brown oxfords—I think it would be okay to borrow some of his clothes. He’d live.

The bathroom was a bit more fancier than the bedroom. It looked like something out of a luxury spa—white tiled walls, a floating sink, a freestanding tub with no curtain, and a massive rainfall showerhead. Odd, but who was I to question the enigma that was Leo?

Showering quickly, I borrowed some hygiene products, and used my finger as a makeshift toothbrush. Even though the man had literally been inside me last night, using his toothbrush still felt like crossing some invisible line that I wasn’t willing to cross.

Before leaving, I found an empty envelope on the kitchen counter and scribbled a note: Good morning, handsome. Sorry we couldn’t wake up together—blame work. Borrowed some clothes. Text me later.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Emily’s voice rang out as I passed her office.

I ignored her teasing comment, making a beeline for my own office. The only thing that mattered was my meeting with Jane, which was in fifteen minutes. It was a miracle I’d made it at all.

Tossing my keys and bag onto the chair by my desk, I grabbed my laptop, a notepad, and the finalized draft of Jane’s manuscript.

“Late night?” Emily asked, leaning against my doorway.

“I’m a little busy, Em,” I tell her, in the kindest way possible.

She wasn’t having it. She stepped into my office, placed her hands on my shoulders, and turned me to face her.

“There’s something different about you,” she said, squinting like she was solving a mystery.

“Not now,” I muttered, attempting to shake her off.

“Oh no, definitely now.”

She leaned in closer, inspecting my face. Then, her eyes widened as a mischievous smile spread across her lips.

“You had sex last night! Not just sex—mind-blowing sex.”

I stared at her, stunned, “How the hell can you possibly know that?”

“It’s a gift,” she said with a shrug, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “So...which are you? A submissive or a dominant?”

I froze. My mouth opened, then shut again.

Emily, with her keen perception, has never shied away from pushing anyone’s boundaries, but this one crosses into a territory I’m still navigating myself.

“Emily,” I said, lowering my voice, “This really isn’t the time or place.”

Her expression softened, and her hands dropped from my shoulders. Though her curiosity remained as sharp as ever, “Alright, alright. We’ll talk later. Good luck with your author.”

It’s not like I didn’t want to fill her in with how my night went. She's probably the only person I turn to for advice, as this is way beyond Trey’s sex insight.

Jane Pluto arrived promptly at ten-thirty, just as she always does. Her silver-streaked hair was perfectly styled, her tailored navy blazer exuding the no-nonsense professionalism of sophistication and practicality I’d come to admire.

“Morning,” Jane says as she settles into an open chair across in front of my desk.

Her voice is warm but with an edge of sharpness, much like her writing. She has a way of commanding attention without demanding it, drawing people in with her wit and intelligence.

I managed a smile, wondering if she also could see the afterglow of last night written all over me much like Emily did.

“Morning,” she said, settling into the chair across from my desk.

“Morning, Jane.”

I’ve had the privilege of working with Jane for the past three years. She came to me through another editor who, quite bluntly, described her as “too difficult to work with.” To be fair, I can see why some might feel that way—Jane is incredibly meticulous, with a keen eye for detail that borders on perfectionism. Her high standards extend to every aspect of her work, and she expects her editor to meet those standards with the same rigor.

That said, I’ve come to realize that what some see as “difficult” is really just a deep passion for her craft. Yes, she has her moments—like when she insists on revising a chapter for the fifth time at midnight or when she challenges my suggestions with razor-sharp counterpoints—but these quirks are part of what make her such a compelling writer. Working with jane isn’t always easy, but it’s always rewarding.

Jane’s work often delves into the complexities of human relationships, peeling back layers to reveal the raw, unfiltered, emotions beneath. It’s what makes her stories so compelling, and what has earned her a loyal following of readers who eagerly await each new release.

This would be my third book with her and I can say it’s been a rewarding experience, pushing me to be a better editor and a more thoughtful reader.

The meeting progresses smoothly, each topic transitioning effortlessly into the next. We delve into a variety of subjects—brainstorming ideas, addressing lingering concerns, and fine-tuning plans for the finished product. The discussion is thorough yet collaborative, with every point receiving the attention it deserves. By the time we wrap up, the final details have been resolved, leaving Jane with a satisfied look that reflects the progress we’ve made.

“You know, I’ve had my fair share of editors, but you...” she starts off, collecting her tote bag and swings it on her shoulder, “are my favorite.”

“Aww, thanks Jane,” I tell her.

“I’m glad to see you have a man now,” she quickly comments.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re glowing,” Jane says, swishing her finger at me up and down.

“I am?”

What the hell is going on? Is it really that fucking obvious that even my authors can tell that I’ve got someone new in my love life.

“Nothing to be ashamed about darling,” Jane commented.

But before I could say anything else, Em interrupted.

“Incoming Drew.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Three men, dressed in polos and jeans, enter one by one into my office, each carrying a large bouquet of flowers in a stunning array of shapes and sizes.

Jane also watched as the men gently placed the flowers over a table near the window, her face just as astonished as mine.

“Like I said, you’re glowing,” she commented, in a sultry tone just before leaving my office.

My phone buzzes on the desk, jaw agape in surprise.

It was a text from Leo.

My tremble slightly as I unlock the screen

“Sorry I missed you this morning. I wanted to show you that I’m thinking about you.”

A warmth spreads through me, momentarily pushing aside the chaos from this morning.

“Just made my day better,” I quickly reply.

As I hit send on my message, I watched Em walk over to one of the delivery men to sign off on the order, her gaze locked on the stunning floral arrangement now dominating a significant part of my office.

She mouths the words “wow”.

My phone buzzes again.

“I’m glad. How about dinner next week Thursday...your place?”

Why not Wonderland?

Dinner at my place isn’t an issue—it’s just food, conversation and a thin veneer of normalcy. But the real challenge looms beyond the dining table. How am I supposed to get comfortable with being his submissive? With surrendering control in ways that terrify and thrill me in equal measure? Even the thought of stepping into the play feels a bit odd to me, a cocktail of anticipation and fear twisting in my gut.

God, when did I become and sound like a desperate, sex starved bottom who craves nothing but physical gratification?

Okay...no Wonderland...no playroom.

“Sounds perfect. How does 6:30 pm sound?” I replied.

“See you next week.”

Emily walks over to the third and final bouquet of lilies, her fingers brushing lightly against the petals before removing the card from the card holder.

“Oh, please don’t read that..."

Her eyes widen as she read the card, “Leo? As in Master Leo?” she asks, her brows furring, handing me the card.

Quickly closing my office door, I walk up to Em and snatch the card from her, feeling a sense of yet another boundary crossed. Her eyes gleam with the same curiosity from earlier.

“Okay, fine. He picked me up and we went for dinner.”

“That’s it?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m not finished.”

Em gestured with her hand for me to hurry up and spill everything. Sometimes I wonder about her and the life that she leads outside of work and our friendship, other than her BDSM activities.

“Do you remember Kyle?”

“Kyle Vander-something, that pompous asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else and who couldn’t stop talking about his exes. That one, right?”

“Yes, that one,” I said, lightly chuckling.

“Well Leo and I were having dinner and Kyle just shows up at our table out of nowhere starting shit by telling my date he should leave before I end things.”

“What an asshole,” Em said, shaking her head.

“As Kyle spoke, he and Leo continued shaking hands. Before the asshole could finish his sentence, my date began squeezing his hand hard, cutting him off and suggesting he should leave.”

Still, I can’t believe Leo did such a thing and honestly, would have stopped him. It’s not like Kyle didn’t have something like this coming, especially with the amount of stress or unnecessary drama he’s caused.

“Dominant’s will do that,” she said.

“What makes you think he’s a dom?”

Em smirked, “It’s such a classic dom behavior,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“May that be, Kyle left holding his hand like a puppy who got swatted on the ass with a rolled up newspaper, and Leo and I decided to skip out on dinner and head back to Wonderland.”

“What did Leo have you do? Lick his feet? Tickling session?”

What the fuck does she have her submissives do? Is she into the humiliation side of BDSM? Still, her question hints at something more intense that I had anticipated from her.

“No,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, “None of that. It was rather...vanilla.”

“Vanilla?”

“Mmmmhmmm.”

“So, just sex? Nothing else?”

A scowl of disappointment etched crossed her face. I could tell she wanted my first time to be intense, something unforgettable especially with an experienced dungeon master. What she doesn’t realize that it was and I wouldn’t change anything.

Leo has shown me that he can be more than a dominant lover when entering the bedroom. In that moment, Leo’s strength or the one given orders wasn’t just in his dominance, but also in his ability to be gentle and caring. He didn’t have to go vanilla last night and exercised something out of my league making me feel all around uncomfortable.

I want to be able to do the same for Leo. Be able to hone in my submissive side. It feels daunting yet strangely enticing. Can I relinquish control as gracefully as Leo did but not be completely controlling? Can I trust someone else to guide me, to see my vulnerability as strength rather than weakness?

“Em, Can I ask you something?”

“It better not be anything about vanilla sex,” she commented, furrowing her brows into a skeptical stare.

“How did any of your submissives be able to...tap into that persona?”

She placed the card back into the holder hidden in the bouquet taking a seat in the chair in front of my desk.

“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s okay if this isn’t your thing, but you don’t change for someone. This sexual lifestyle is not for everyone. Think of it like when people get the “calling” to do the lord’s work.”

“That’s a horrible analogy,” I interrupted.

“It’s the best one I’ve got. If you and Leo workout in a relationship aspect and not as his submissive, there are only two options. Either of these options don’t seem like something you would agree to.”

Em looked at me with concerning eyes. Why do I get the feeling she’s about to tell me a huge deal breaker. That’s the thing about Em and being her friend, she’s a realist ready to pull you from your haze with a harsh explanation of why it won’t work.

I love and hate her for it.

“You’re going to tell me regardless,” I said, in a crappy tone leaning back in my chair.

“You're upset,” she stated, shifting in the chair.

“I’m not upset, please finish your thought.”

Hesitant, she shifted again in her seat, “Either this won’t workout or if it does and choose not to be his submissive, you have to be okay with him getting his needs met from someone else. Are you willing to accept those possibilities?”

Once again, I love and hate her for being this way. Em is right, if this continues to grow between Leo and myself romantically and the dom and sub role doesn’t, he’s gonna want to get his needs met by someone else.

Would I be okay with that?

It was a tough pill to swallow, but my feelings for him were undeniable, even this early.

What I've come to know about Leo is that he’s a one submissive kind of guy who also wants a relationship with that very person—something that Em doesn’t know about him. There is always that chance I’m not submissive material as well to please him in that aspect and certainly can’t expect Leo to give up this sexual side of himself to be with me.

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair, trying to untangle the web in my head. Em watched me, her eyes full of both sympathy and steel. I knew deeply she wasn’t trying to hurt me.

“Em,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “I know you’re right in a lot of ways. This is something I need to figure out and I'm going to do that. Do you support my decision?”

She leaned forward, her expression softening, absorbing my words, “Look, I just want you to be happy. And if Leo is the guy who makes you happy, then go for it. Just make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

She removed herself from the chair and headed out my office door, “Em?”

She stopped, turning slightly to face me still with a concerned face, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she said.

There’s much more to consider now that maybe I’m not enough. What if I cannot be what Leo is wanting? Why the fuck did Em have to say have to butt in!

Looking down, Jane’s book was staring back at me. I pick it up, feeling the familiar weight in my hands, flipping through the pages absently. Jane’s books all stood for fighting for love and overcoming any surfaced trial and tribulations-none of her main characters threw in the towel saying to themselves “well we’re too different, no point in seeing where this goes”. If I’ve learned anything from Jane or her books, you fight for what you want.

That’s what I’m going to do.

Snapping the draft closed, I took a deep breath. Leo is what I want and I want to be his submissive. There’s no way in hell I’m sharing my dominant with anyone.

That much is for sure.