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I stepped into my apartment, the buzz from the interview with Demian still coursing through my veins. The sterile chill of the team's facility was a distant memory as I was enveloped in the warmth of my own space. Stuffed animals lined the couch, their vibrant colors popping against the pastel fairy lights that twinkled around the walls. The scent of soft vanilla from the air freshener was like a comforting hug, a stark contrast to the clinical smell of the conference room.

Kicking off my heels, I sighed as the plush carpet soothed my aching feet. Every step deeper into my sanctuary brought a sense of safety and familiarity. My eyes scanned the cartoon posters—from "My Little Pony" to vintage Disney—each a testament to my Little side. This was my world, a place where I could let down my guard and just be.

I sometimes had nightmares about people from work at the newspaper seeing my sanctuary. I always thought I’d get fired if anyone found out. The worst would be my boss. The editor was a nightmare and he had a reputation for bullying in the office. I hoped my secret would never get out.

I tossed my bag onto the small table, scattering crayons and stickers across the half-finished coloring book. My mind was a whirlwind, replaying every charged moment from the interview. Demian's gaze had been intense, almost too much to bear. His answers were guarded, but there was a softness in his voice when he called me "baby girl." That moment had nearly sent my heart soaring out of my chest.

I tried to convince myself it was nothing, just a slip of the tongue. But I couldn't shake the feeling that Demian had seen more of me than he should have. His piercing gray eyes seemed to look straight through me, like he could see the vulnerability I kept hidden beneath my professional facade.

The memory of his voice, the way it rumbled with a quiet intensity, sent a shiver down my spine. I could still feel the heat of his gaze, the way it lingered on me, making me feel both exposed and oddly cherished. It was a dangerous mix, one that left me feeling both thrilled and terrified.

I sank onto the couch, surrounded by the comforting presence of my stuffed animals. Here, I could let go of the professional determination and just be Little Tilly, the girl who loved cartoons and coloring books.

But even as I tried to relax, my mind kept drifting back to Demian. The way he carried himself, the quiet confidence and measured control, it was all so . . . compelling. I couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath that guarded exterior. Was there a nurturing, protective side to him? Or was he just another "bad boy" hockey player, all charm and no substance?

I should probably type up the interview notes, but I felt like it might be dangerous to do it just yet. If I heard his rumbly voice again, I was liable to do something pretty naughty.

I picked up a crayon, twirling it between my fingers as I stared at the coloring book. Coloring usually calmed me, but today, it felt like a futile attempt to distract myself from the storm of emotions inside me. Demian had stirred something deep within me, something I hadn't felt in a long time.

I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to let Demian see this side of me. To let him see the real Tilly, the one who loved stuffed animals and fairy lights and cartoons. The one who yearned for a meaningful connection, despite her fierce independence.

I sank onto my bed, a sea of plushies parting beneath me. My fingers trembled as I grabbed my phone, scrolling to Alana's number. She was my rock, my sanctuary, the one person who understood every part of me—including the Little side I kept hidden from the world. It was easy with her because she was a Little, too.

I hit call, my heart pounding like a kick drum. The ringtone barely finished its first trill before Alana's voice chirped in my ear.

"Tilly! What's shakin', bacon?"

I couldn't help but smile at her greeting. "Hey, Alana."

"Uh-oh," she said, her playful tone shifting to concern. "What's wrong? You sound . . . different."

I took a deep breath, picking at a loose thread on my comforter. "I . . . I interviewed Demian fucking Pierce today."

A squeal almost burst my eardrum. "Shut the front door! The hockey god himself? How did you swing that? Oooh, tell me everything!"

I hesitated, my cheeks heating up. "It was . . . intense. He was intense."

Alana gasped dramatically. "Did he spank you with his stick?"

"Alana!" I choked out a laugh, my face burning hotter. "No! But . . . I got this feeling, like he could see right through me, Alana. Like he knew. I'm all jumbled up inside."

"Then let's un-jumble you," Alana declared. "Meet me at Little Haven. We can build blocks and talk about everything."

I hesitated, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. "I dunno, Alana. I'm pretty beat."

"Come on, Tilly," she coaxed. "You know you wanna. And who knows? Maybe building a castle will help you figure out your Prince Charming dilemma."

I laughed, my body already relaxing at the thought of retreating to our Little space. "Alright, you win. But only because I really need to talk this out."

"Yay!" Alana cheered. "Okay, see you in a bit. Love you, Tilly-bean."

"Love you too, Alana-banana." I hung up, my heart already lighter.

Rolling off the bed, I started gathering my things, eager to get to Little Haven. Eager to process this whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. Eager to figure out what the hell I was going to do about these Demian feels.

I pushed open the pastel-blue door of Little Haven, and a warm hum of laughter wrapped around me like a blanket fresh from the dryer. The gentle tinkle of lullaby music seeped into my bones, and my shoulders dropped for the first time all day. The club was a cozy wonderland, filled with plush rugs and beanbag chairs that swallowed you whole. Low tables were strewn with crayons, coloring books, and building blocks—all the essentials for a Little to retreat from the grown-up world.

The scent of cotton candy sweetened the air, wafting from the vintage-style concession stand in the corner. Littles, dressed in onesies and other playful getups, were scattered about. Some were deep in concentration over a craft, others giggled together like they didn't have a care in the world. My eyes scanned the room and landed on Alana, tucked away at a corner table. She wore a pair of bunny ears and was sipping from a hot pink sippy cup, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief.

She spotted me and her face lit up. "Tilly!" she squealed, jumping up and enveloping me in a big hug. Her warmth seeped into me, and I felt my body relax further. She pulled back, her hands on my shoulders, and gave me a little shake. "Okay, spill. What's got you all twisted up?"

I took a deep breath, the words bubbling up inside me. But before I could start, Alana tugged me towards the table. "First things first," she said, patting the seat next to her. A pile of pastel blocks sat in the middle of the table, waiting to be turned into something magical.

I slid into the chair, the smooth wood cool against my legs. Alana hummed softly, her fingers already clicking blocks together. I started arranging my own pieces, the clack of plastic soothing my frayed nerves. The music, the hum of voices, the soft shuffle of papers and crayons—it all worked like a balm on my frazzled mind.

My heart rate slowed, and the tension in my chest began to unravel. This was my safe space, my haven. Here, I could be Little Tilly, not Tilly Jameson, the rising star journalist. Here, I could process the whirlwind of emotions that Demian had stirred up inside me.

Alana looked at me, her eyes soft with understanding. "Alright, Tilly-bean," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me everything."

I took a shaky breath, my fingers pausing on a bright yellow block. And then, piece by piece, I began to unload the puzzle of emotions and experiences that had turned my world upside down. The sterile conference room, Demian's piercing gaze, the rumble of his voice that made my stomach flip. Each memory was a block, and I was trying to build them into something that made sense. Something that wouldn't leave me feeling so utterly exposed. Alana listened, her eyes wide and her blocks forgotten. She knew, just as I did, that this was more than just a story. This was my heart, raw and vulnerable, laid out on the table between us.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for another block, the cool plastic grounding me as I began to spill my guts to Alana. "Demian was so intense."

Alana leaned in, her eyes wide and eager. "Intense how?"

I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. "Like a panther, I guess. All coiled power and control. And his voice—" I broke off, a shiver running down my spine. "His voice was like thunder. Deep and rumbly, you know? It just . . . it did something to me."

Alana let out a soft "Whoa."

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I confessed, "I was keeping it together, but then, he called me 'baby girl,' Alana. And I swear, my knees just . . . they went weak. I couldn't even stand up straight afterward."

Alana's mouth dropped open. "He did what?"

I nodded, my face burning with embarrassment and something else—something hotter and more volatile. "I know, right? And the way he looked at me, it was like he could see right through me. Like he knew something about me that I didn't even know myself."

Alana's eyes widened, and she leaned back, a grin spreading across her face. "He totally knows you're a Little."

My heart stuttered. "What? No way," I protested, even as a thrill shot through me. "I was so careful, Alana. I kept it professional. I didn't even—”

But Alana was already laughing, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tilly, you literally doodle all over your notepads and bite your lip when you're nervous. You might as well have a neon sign above your head that says 'Baby.'"

I groaned dramatically, half mortified and half thrilled by the idea. "Oh god, do you really think so?"

Alana nodded, her grin never fading. "Girl, it's written all over you. And if this guy is as perceptive as you say he is, and he knows anything about Little stuff . . ." She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

I could feel the tension in my chest building again, a mix of excitement and dread. I reached for another block, my hands shaking slightly as I stacked it on top of the others. Alana mirrored my actions, her giggles subsiding as we both focused on the growing tower.

But even as we built, I couldn't shake the feeling of Demian's eyes on me, the rumble of his voice in my ears.

“I don’t think he’d tell anyone. Do you?” I asked.

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“If my boss finds out—”

“I think Demian Pierce has better things to do than to ruin the life of journalists he barely knows.

A block teetered at the top of our towering creation, and Alana’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with a familiar spark of mischief. I mirrored her expression, feeling the warmth of friendship and shared secrets bubbling within me. Suddenly, a sharp vibration against my thigh made me jump. I lurched forward, nearly toppling our masterpiece. Alana steadied it just in time, giggling as she playfully swatted my arm.

“Jumpy much?” she teased, sticking out her tongue.

I flushed and scrambled to grab my phone from my pocket. “Sorry, I—” My voice caught as I scanned the message on the screen. My heart did a somersault, lodging itself firmly in my throat.

Alana’s eyebrows shot up. “What is it?” she asked, leaning in to peer at my phone.

I could barely process the words, let alone speak them aloud.

Hey Tilly, it’s Demian. I’d like you to come see the real me in my environment. No handlers. No limits. Be my guest at the next Avalanche game. -DP

“Earth to Tilly,” Alana sang, clicking her fingers in front of my face.

I blinked, my cheeks heating up again. “It’s . . . it’s Demian,” I managed to stammer.

Alana’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as she grabbed the phone from my hands, her eyes eagerly scanning the message. “He’s basically asking you on a date!” she squealed, clapping her hands together in delight.

My stomach did a flip, and I could feel the heat spreading down to my neck. “No, it’s not like that,” I protested weakly, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. “It’s just a professional courtesy. He probably wanted a follow-up interview or something.”

Alana rolled her eyes, thrusting the phone back into my hands. “Tilly, wake up and smell the coffee. This is personal. He wanted you to see him—not the hockey player, but the real Demian,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I swallowed hard, rereading the message for the hundredth time. I’d like you to come see the real me. The words sent a shiver down my spine, igniting a warmth deep within my core. There was an intimacy in his tone, a subtle hint at something more. Something . . . private.

Alana watched me, her expression a mix of excitement and concern. “Tilly, this was a good thing,” she said softly. “You deserved to have some fun, to explore this connection. And who knew? Maybe he was the one who would finally see you for who you truly were.”

Her words struck a chord, resonating deep within me. I took a deep breath, my fingers tracing the edges of the phone. The message was still there, still real, still waiting for a response. And as I stared at Demian’s name, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of inevitability—like that moment had been building since the second our eyes met across that conference table.

My heart raced as I imagined seeing him again, feeling his intense gaze on me, hearing his voice rumble in my ears. I pictured myself in the stands, watching him dominate the ice, his powerful form moving with grace and precision. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through me, igniting a fire that spread through my veins like wildfire.

Alana's eyes had sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I've been thinking. There was something about Demian, right? Like, he had this . . . energy."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. "Energy?"

Alana grinned, her teeth grazing her lower lip. "Yeah, like, he was all controlled and commanding. It was hot, right? And he had said something about private clubs. What if . . . what if he was a Dom?"

My eyes widened, and I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me. "A Dom? You mean, like, a Daddy Dom?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, my cheeks flushing with heat.

Alana's grin widened, and she nodded eagerly. "I don’t know? Maybe? Maybe he’s just a Dom? It’s hard to know. Think about it, Tilly. He was protective, he had that quiet commanding vibe, and he was obviously into you. What if those clubs he mentioned were, you know, lifestyle clubs?"

I took a sharp breath, my mind spinning with the possibility. I couldn't deny the undercurrent of Dom energy I had felt from Demian, the way his gaze had seemed to pierce right through me, the quiet command in his voice. The idea that he might be a Daddy Dom sent a quiver of excitement and nerves through me, my stomach fluttering with butterflies.

“I don’t know, Ally. It’s probably a bad idea. Doing anything with him.” I murmured the reasons, ticking them off on my fingers. "Conflict of interest, potential heartbreak, and he's got a 'bad boy' rep, Alana. I couldn't just . . . I couldn't just ignore all that."

“No-one’s saying you have to marry him! It’s just a bit of fun. You wanted to see him in his element, see what was beneath all that ice and stoicism."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, I did. But that didn't make it a good idea. I do silly things all the time!"

Alana reached out, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly. "Tilly, come on. Take a risk for once. Isn't that what being a Little is all about? Letting go, exploring, feeling?"

Alana was right, I knew she was. But taking that risk, stepping into Demian's world, was terrifying.

She reached up, squeezed my shoulder. Her touch was reassuring. “What’s your heart telling you?”

I closed my eyes, trying to listen to that inner voice. It was screaming at me, loud and clear, drowning out the doubts and fears. I wanted this. I wanted to see him, to explore this connection, to dive into the unknown.

I opened my eyes and looked at Alana. Determination surged through me, hot and fierce. “I’m doing it,” I said, my voice steady.

She grinned wider, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Atta girl.”

I turned back to my phone, my fingers hovering over the keys. I typed out a reply, my heart pounding with each letter. “I’d love to see you in action. Count me in.” I hit send before I could second-guess myself, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Alana let out a whoop, drawing a few curious glances from the other Littles nearby. I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within me. It was done. I had taken the plunge.

I just hoped I wouldn’t get in too deep.