Page 13 of Beneath the Surface

Isobel cast one last look back, her heart pounding with a mix of fear, disgust, and relief. She’d glimpsed a darkness she hadn’t known existed, but she’d also found a strength she didn’t realize she possessed.

Before they merged onto the highway, Brad pulled to the side of the road. He lifted his phone from his pocket and typed something. He returned the phone to his pocket and slid his hand atop hers.

The drive back to Isobel’s condo was quiet, both of them lost in the intensity of what they’d just seen. The club lingered in her mind, a twisted kaleidoscope of images and sounds she couldn’t shake. Brad’s presence beside her felt steadying, his focus on the road solid and comforting as they moved farther away from Hot Shots.

When they pulled up in front of her building, Brad got out first, coming around to her side before she could even open thedoor. His quiet protectiveness made her feel, for a moment, safe—anchored to something real after an evening that felt surreal. They walked together up the steps, and as she unlocked the door, she found herself hesitating, words spilling out before she could second-guess herself.

“Do you want to come in? For a drink? Coffee or… tea?” Her voice was soft, and she felt suddenly self-conscious, realizing she must look as rattled as she felt.

Brad’s eyes softened as he looked at her, reading the tension that still lingered around her shoulders and in her eyes. “Tea sounds perfect,” he said, his gaze steady on hers. He followed her inside, and she slipped off her heels, sighing with relief at the feel of solid ground beneath her feet.

“I’ll just go change.” She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

In her room, she peeled off the club outfit, slipping into a pair of soft gray sweats that hugged her waist and pooled around her ankles. The sweatshirt was an old favorite, a deep green with sleeves a little too long that she liked to pull over her hands. She took a deep breath, looking at herself in the mirror, feeling a small wave of calm wash over her. It was as if shedding the clothes from Hot Shots also helped her shed the lingering discomfort.

When she returned to the kitchen, she found Brad standing by her stove, carefully brewing tea. The scent of chamomile filled the air, and she felt a pang of warmth at the sight of him there, so at home, so composed.

“Thank you.” She smiled as he poured the tea into two mugs and handed one to her. She wrapped her hands around it, savoring the warmth against her palms as they made their way into the living room.

The lights were low, and the room was cozy, filled with the soft glow of a few well-placed candles she’d left on the table.She sank into the deep, overstuffed couch, curling her legs up beneath her as Brad settled beside her, his posture relaxed but attentive.

“I didn’t think that place would be so… overwhelming,” she admitted, staring into her tea as if it held the words she was searching for. “I’ve read about these clubs, even thought I understood them. But that… that was something else.”

Brad nodded, his gaze serious as he listened. “I knew it would be a lot. That’s why I wanted to go with you, so you’d have someone there to ground you.”

Isobel looked over at him, taking in the way he held his mug, his hands wrapped firmly around it as if to gather warmth, his expression intent. “The line out the door, though… I can’t believe how many people were waiting. I didn’t think you’d get us in that quickly. I guess you showed your police ID or something.”

Brad shifted slightly, his expression unreadable, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Belle, we need to talk.” He set his mug down, his eyes locking onto hers with a steady gaze. “I didn’t show my police ID.”

Isobel blinked, confused. “You didn’t?”

“No,” he said softly, a seriousness settling over him. “I showed my ID for The Loft. They cross-honor members there.”

“The Loft?” She stared at him, processing his words. “What’s the… wait, The Loft?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “Isobel, I’m a Dominant. I’ve identified that way since college.”

A jolt ran through her, both surprise and… intrigue. “That’s why you know so much about the lifestyle,” she murmured, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in her mind.

Brad’s mouth curved into a faint smile, one that made her stomach flutter despite herself. “That’s part of it,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “That, and I took the full course with the FBIon human behavior and power dynamics. But I didn’t need the course to know who I am.”

She studied him, feeling the tension in the room shift. “How did you… how did you figure it out?”

Brad leaned back, his gaze going distant as if he were looking into his own memories. “It was gradual. In college, I found myself drawn to certain types of interactions, relationships where trust and communication were everything. It was more than just attraction—it was about guiding someone, being the one they trusted enough to let go. Over time, I realized my need to be protective, to set boundaries and keep people safe, was more than just a personality trait. It was… an identity.”

Isobel’s heart raced, absorbing his words. The calm, assured way he spoke gave her a glimpse into a part of him she hadn’t known before, something intense and grounding. She’d always sensed his protectiveness, his quiet confidence, but hearing him describe it as part of a larger world he’d embraced felt like peeling back layers she hadn’t known existed.

Brad looked at her, his eyes searching her face. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes. And no,” she admitted, her cheeks warm. “I’ve always felt… I don’t know, like there was something deeper with you. Something… powerful.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he reached for his mug again, lifting it to his lips as he watched her over the rim. “The feeling’s mutual.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she looked away, feeling her heart pound in her chest. “All this time, I had no idea,” she said softly. “You always seemed so steady, so sure of yourself. I thought it was just… you.”

“It is me,” he said, “but it’s a part of me I don’t share with everyone. That’s why I wanted to take you to Hot Shots.So you’d understand, at least a little, what this life can be—and what itshould never be. That place isn’t about respect or connection; it’s about losing yourself, ignoring boundaries. It’s an extreme that doesn’t represent what D/s is supposed to be.”

“How could you let that continue? It was horrible,” she cried.

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