Chapter 8
Something is wrong.
I know it the moment I surface from sleep. Every muscle carries that expected soreness, but there’s something else underneath. An emptiness in my chest that doesn’t match anything I’ve experienced before.
Yesterday was incredible. The most intense experience of my life. I should be glowing.
Instead, I feel like someone scooped out my insides and forgot to put them back.
Gray winter light filters through the curtains.
Leo is already awake beside me, propped on one elbow, watching me with soft concern.
His hair is mussed from sleep, and the lines around his mouth deepen as he studies my face.
The familiar scent of oranges wraps around me, usually so comforting, but right now even that seems muted and strange.
“Morning, lass.” His voice is gentle. “How are you feeling?”
My mouth opens to say fine, to tell him I’m wonderful, to thank him for yesterday—
And I burst into tears.
The sobs come from nowhere, wrenching up from some deep place I didn’t know existed. I don’t understand why I’m crying. Nothing is wrong. Everything was perfect. So why does my ribcage feel like it’s caving in?
“I don’t—“ I gasp between sobs. “I don’t know why I’m—”
Leo doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me against him immediately, wrapping his arms around me and tucking my head under his chin. His hand strokes down my spine in long, soothing passes.
“Shh, sweet girl. It’s all right.” His voice is calm. “This is normal. I’m here.”
Normal? How is sobbing uncontrollably for no reason the morning after the best sexual experience of my life considered normal? That’s the opposite of normal. I’m ridiculous, embarrassed, and I can’t seem to stop the tears from coming.
“It’s called subdrop, lass.” He keeps stroking my back as the tears continue to fall. “After intense scenes, especially extended ones like yesterday, your system goes through a kind of crash.”
I hiccup against him, trying to focus on his words through the fog of emotion. His chest is getting wet from my tears, and I should probably care about that, but I can’t seem to make myself move.
“All those endorphins and adrenaline you produced, it’s like a massive high. And what goes up must come down.” He kisses the top of my head, reassuring. “You went very deep yesterday. Your system’s working through it now.”
Another wave of tears spills over, and shame burns hot behind my sternum. I want to be stronger than this, to handle my own desires without falling apart afterward. The thought makes me cry harder, which only makes me feel more pathetic.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out waterlogged and small.
Leo pulls back just enough to tip my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. There’s no frustration, just understanding. And something that looks almost like pride.
“Nothing is wrong with you.” His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek, so gentle it makes my throat tight. “This isn’t weakness. This is you working through something intense. It means you trusted me completely. It means you let go in ways you’ve never let go before.”
I want to argue, to insist I’m fine, but another sob breaks free and all I can do is cling to him. His arms tighten around me, holding me together when I can’t hold myself.
“Let me take care of you.” The words are soft but absolute, no room for argument. “That’s my job, lass. Not just during scenes, but after them, too. Especially after them.”
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice. He holds me for a long time, letting me cry without making me feel like a burden. The tears eventually slow, leaving me exhausted and empty, but his arms stay firm around me the entire time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”
When the storm finally passes, Leo eases me up from the bed. My legs are shaky like they might buckle at any moment, and he keeps a steadying arm around my waist as he guides me toward the bathroom. I lean into him, grateful for his solid presence.
“Bath first.” His voice is matter-of-fact. “The heat will help.”
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he runs the water, testing the temperature with his fingers before adding a lavender bath bomb. Steam curls up from the surface, and when he helps me step in, the warmth envelops me like a cocoon.
Sinking down until the water laps at my collarbone, I let out a shaky breath. The heat seeps into my muscles, loosening something that’s been clenched tight since I woke up. It doesn’t fix the vacant sensation, but it softens the edges of it.
Leo kneels beside the tub in a pair of boxer shorts and begins to wash me. His touch is gentle but thorough, tending to me like I’m something precious.
“Let me see your backside, lass.”
I shift in the water, letting him examine the marks from yesterday’s spanking. His fingers trace over the sensitive spots, and I wince slightly at the pressure.
“They’re fading well.” Relief colors his voice. “Pink, not bruised. You’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
He reaches for a bottle of water on the edge of the tub—when did he put that there?—and holds it to my lips. “Drink. You cried a lot. You need to replace what you lost.”
I obey without thinking, the cool water soothing my raw throat. He waits until I’ve finished half the bottle before setting it aside. He planned this. The water, the bath bomb, all of it. Something squeezes in my chest that has nothing to do with subdrop.
There’s a film between me and the world. The water is hot, Leo’s hands are gentle, and I know all of this should feel good. But I can’t quite reach it.
When the water starts to cool, he helps me out and wraps me in a fluffy towel. He dries me off slowly, then disappears into his closet and returns with a soft gray cashmere sweater that smells like him.
“Arms up.”
I obey automatically, and he pulls the sweater over my head. It’s enormous on me, hanging past my thighs, the sleeves covering my hands completely. He adds a pair of soft flannel pants that I have to roll at the waist, and thick wool socks that bunch around my ankles.
“There.” He cups my face in his hands, studying me. “How are you? Scale of one to ten where ten is fabulous?”
I consider. The emptiness is still there, but the world feels a little less muted. I can smell the lavender bath bomb mixing with his normal citrus scent, and my stomach gives a tentative flutter that might be hunger. “Maybe a three?”
He nods, unsurprised. “Let’s get some food in you.”
In the kitchen, he sits me on a stool at the island and sets about making breakfast. No singing today, I notice.
He’s focused entirely on me, glancing over every few seconds like he’s checking that I’m still holding it together.
The kitchen fills with the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of butter melting in the pan.
Scrambled eggs appear in front of me, along with buttered toast and tea with honey. The smell makes my stomach turn, and I push the plate away before I can think about it.
Leo pushes it back. “Eat, pet.” His voice is gentle but firm, that commanding tone that always makes something inside me settle. “You need fuel to recover.”
The command loosens something in my ribcage—that familiar comfort of being told what to do. I pick up the fork and take a bite. Then another. The food is tasteless in my mouth, but I keep eating because pleasing him is easier than thinking right now.
By the time I finish eating, something has been nagging at me. The fantasy of being shared by two men. The memory sends a flutter through my stomach, cutting through the numbness for the first time all morning. I remember the certainty and desire I experienced even in that haze.
Leo is washing dishes at the sink, his back to me. I watch the movement of his shoulders, the way his shirt stretches across them, and try to find the words for something I’ve never said out loud.
“Leo?”
He turns, drying his hands on a towel. “Yes, lass?”
“Yesterday, when I was...” I trail off, not sure how to describe it. Under? Gone? Floating in some space where nothing existed but his voice and the desperate, craving need? “When I was deep. I thought about something.”
He moves to stand in front of me, leaning against the counter. His expression is open, attentive, giving me his full focus. “I’m listening.”
“You mentioned Dane coming for Christmas. And I started...” My cheeks flush hot. “I started imagining what it would be like. If you—if we—“
The words stick in my throat. I can’t quite say it out loud, not yet, not when I still feel so raw and exposed and strange in my own skin.
But Leo’s eyes sharpen with understanding. He knows what I’m trying to say.
“Alice.” His voice is serious, and he reaches out to take my hand, his fingers steady around mine. “I hear you. And we will have this conversation.”
Relief floods through me. He’s not dismissing it or telling me I’m crazy for wanting it.
“But not today.”
I blink, the relief curdling into confusion. “What? Why not?”
“Because you’re in subdrop, lass.” His thumb strokes across my knuckles, soothing even as his words frustrate me. “Your walls are down. I won’t take advantage of that.”
“But I know what I want.”
“Maybe you do.” He squeezes my hand gently.
“And if that’s true, you’ll still want it when you’re steady again.
” His gaze holds mine, serious and unwavering, with that dominant intensity I’ve come to crave.
“I won’t let you consent to something that significant when you’re not fully yourself. That’s not how this works.”
I want to argue, to insist that I’m fine, that the subdrop doesn’t change anything. But underneath the frustration is something else. Something that feels like safety.
He’s protecting me.
“When you’re more like yourself,” he continues, “we’ll talk about this properly. I promise. But for now—“ He lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. ”—just let me take care of you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
“That’s my good girl.”