Page 5

S tepping up to the impressive front door of Demian's penthouse, my mind whirled from our conversation in the diner. This was all happening so fast, but it all felt so right. In my time as a journalist, I’d learned to be suspicious of things that seemed to be too good to be true, but honestly, so far, Demian hadn’t given me any reason to doubt him. I had to try to silence the reporter in me right now, and let my Little take the reins.

“Home sweet home,” said Demian, leading me inside.

His private domain unfurled before me, a vast expanse of contemporary elegance. Subdued lighting bathed the room, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the polished surfaces.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering Denver skyline, a dazzling panorama of twinkling lights against the inky night. The muted hum of city life seeped in, muffled by the luxurious insulation enveloping us. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the sound echoing in the cavernous space.

"Can I take your coat?" Demian's voice cut through the silence, startling me. I hesitated for a moment, clutching the fabric closer before relenting. His fingers brushed mine as he took it, the brief contact sending a jolt up my arm.

He hung my coat in a closet, the door closing with a barely audible whisper. Turning back to face me, his eyes held an intensity that made my heart race. "Would you like a drink? Water, perhaps?"

I nodded, my throat suddenly parched. "Yes, please. Water sounds perfect."

“Good,” he said. “I want you clear-headed for this.”

As he moved toward the open-plan kitchen, I couldn't help but study him. His tailored shirt clung to his muscular frame, a testament to the grueling physical demands of his profession. The stark contrast between his public persona and this guarded, almost vulnerable side intrigued me.

The penthouse's open-plan kitchen gleamed with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. Demian moved with an easy grace as he filled a tall glass from the faucet, the water sparkling under the overhead lights. He extended it toward me, his gaze intense.

"Drink," he commanded, a hint of concern etched on his chiseled features. "I’d have offered you a beer, by the way, but . . . I need you clear-headed for our discussion."

I nodded, accepting the glass gratefully. “I don’t really do alcohol,” I said. “Doesn’t agree with me.”

Demian nodded. “That’s good. A girl like you doesn’t need to drink to have fun.”

I swallowed, wondering what kind of fun he was referring to. Then I remembered I was meant to be drinking my water. I felt myself wanting to be good for Demian, to do all the right things, so I drank. The cool liquid slid down my throat, calming the storm brewing within me. My thoughts swirled like a tempest, torn between the allure of this enigmatic man and the fear of surrendering to desires I barely understood.

As I drank, Demian leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. His gray eyes scrutinized me, as if gauging my resolve. I fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, determined to prove that I could handle whatever came next.

"You know, you're not what I expected," I blurted out, then inwardly cringed at my lack of filter. But it was true; this man, this athlete, this superstar, now stood before me, offering a glimpse into a private world few ever saw. He was exceptional, yes, but not in ways I’d ever imagined.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "You're full of surprises, too, Tilly Jameson."

A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of my name rolling off his tongue. I took another sip of water, savoring the chill that spread through my body, grounding me in the present. The air between us crackled with tension, electric and intoxicating. I knew that whatever happened next would change everything.

Following Demian through the living room, my eyes were drawn to the glass cabinets that lined the walls. Trophies, medals, and framed Colorado Avalanche jerseys gleamed under the ambient light, a testament to his accomplishments on the ice. The largest of them all, an oversized photograph of Demian hoisting the Stanley Cup, dominated one wall. I couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and trepidation. This man, who had achieved so much in his public life, now stood before me, baring a side of himself few ever saw.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Demian's voice cut through my thoughts as he gestured toward the display cases.

I nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. "It's . . . incredible. You've done so much."

He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's been a journey, that's for sure. But enough about me. There are more important things we need to discuss."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. As he led me further into his penthouse, my heart raced with a potent mix of excitement and apprehension.

With a nod, I followed Demian down a short hallway, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. My eyes were drawn to the strong lines of his back, the way his muscles moved beneath his crisp white shirt. I swallowed hard and tried to focus on the path ahead.

He pushed open a heavy wooden door, revealing a starkly contrasting space. His office was all sharp angles and sleek surfaces, the air heavy with the scent of leather and polished wood. A large mahogany desk dominated the room, its surface uncluttered save for a single lamp casting a pool of warm light. A black leather couch sat against one wall, its smooth surface inviting yet somehow intimidating.

Even more hockey memorabilia lined the shelves, a testament to his illustrious career. My eyes lingered on a silver trophy, its surface gleaming in the dim light. I could almost hear the roar of the crowd as Demian hoisted it above his head, the taste of victory on his lips.

"Have a seat," Demian said, gesturing to the couch. His voice was low and steady, a calm anchor in the midst of my chaotic thoughts. I sank into the leather, its cool surface sending a shiver up my spine. He took a seat behind the desk, his fingers flying over the keys of a sleek desktop computer. The screen flickered to life, casting a pale blue glow across his chiseled features.

I clasped my hands in my lap, trying to still their trembling. My mind raced with questions, doubts, and a tantalizing undercurrent of desire. What was he planning? What did this all mean? And why did I find myself wanting to surrender to his every whim?

"Tilly," Demian said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. I looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold and assessing, like a predator sizing up its prey. "Are you ready for this?"

I hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'm ready."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk. "Good," he said, his fingers dancing across the keyboard once more. "Then let's get started."

The room filled with the soft hum of the printer, a rhythmic accompaniment to the hammering of my heart.

Demian’s office was a stark contrast to the warmth of the living room; here, everything felt sharp and precise, from the crisp lines of the mahogany desk to the razor-edged creases in the blinds. Even the books lining the shelves seemed to stand at attention, their spines perfectly aligned like soldiers awaiting orders. I imagined Demian having meetings with his manager in here. Maybe even some of his teammates had been in this room at one point. And now, here I was. About to sign up to a whole new world of discovery . . .

A faint scent of leather polish hung in the air, mingling with the smell of fresh ink as sheets of paper slid into the printer tray. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. This was really happening.

My gaze flicked to the lone photo on the wall—a younger Demian, arms raised in triumph. There was a wildness in his eyes, a fierce determination that sent a shiver down my spine. But there was also a tenderness, a passion that excited me in a different way.

"Tilly," he said, breaking the silence. I jumped, tearing my gaze away from the photograph. He held out a stack of papers, his expression unreadable. "It’s time."

Demian returned from the printer, two stacks of papers in hand. He sat down next to me on the black leather couch, the documents crinkling softly in his grip. My eyes widened as I saw the first set, labeled "Non-Disclosure Agreement." I swallowed hard, my stomach doing flips.

He handed me the papers, his fingers brushing mine for a brief moment. "I trust you, Tilly," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "But this is necessary. You understand, right?"

I nodded, taking the documents from him. The legalese swam before my eyes, but I forced myself to focus. Confidentiality, penalties for breach, non-disclosure of personal details—it was all there, plain as day. And yet, beneath the cold, impersonal language, I felt a strange sense of warmth. He was letting me into his world, his private sanctuary, and he was trusting me to keep it safe.

"I understand," I murmured, scanning the last few lines. "And I promise, I'll keep everything confidential."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know you will, Tilly. I have faith in you."

As I signed my name at the bottom of the page, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. I was being given access to a side of Demian that few people ever saw—and he was trusting me to handle it with care. It was a heady feeling, a mix of excitement and trepidation that made my heart race.

But beneath it all, there was something else—a growing sense of arousal that I couldn't ignore. As I handed the signed NDA back to Demian, I felt a flush creeping up my neck, my breath coming faster.

He noticed, of course. His eyes flicked down to my lips, then back up to meet my gaze. "Are you okay, Tilly?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm fine," I said. "Just . . . nervous, I guess."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Don't be nervous, baby girl," he whispered. "I'll take care of you." Gently, he took the pen from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine in a brief, electric touch.

Demian signed with a flourish, his signature bold and confident. The weight of his commitment was palpable, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. This was it—we were crossing an invisible threshold together. The realization sent a jolt of exhilaration coursing through my veins, mingling with the fear that still lingered.

"We're in this together now, Tilly," Demian said, his voice low and serious. "I'll take care of you, always."

I bit my lip, trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. The intensity in his eyes was mesmerizing, drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

"Thank you, Demian," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I can’t wait."

As I continued to read, Demian's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Remember, Tilly—this is all about trust. About giving yourself over to me completely, without reservation or hesitation."

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. "Can you do that? Can you trust me to take care of you, to guide you through this journey?"

I hesitated, the weight of the question bearing down on me like a ton of bricks. But then I thought of the way he'd looked at me in the diner, the way he'd listened to my fears and doubts without judgment or condescension. And I knew, with a certainty that defied logic or reason, that I could trust him.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I trust you."

A slow smile spread across Demian's face, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and hunger. "Good girl," he murmured, the words sending a thrill racing through me. "Then let's begin."

My eyes followed Demian's long fingers as he handed me the second document. Instantly, I saw the word “Contract” written at the top.

The air in the office seemed to thicken, charged with a strange energy that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I reached for the papers.

"This is a template contract from the age play club I go to," Demian explained, his voice calm and measured. "It covers different roles, responsibilities, boundaries, and safewords to ensure both parties remain safe and respected."

My gaze fell on the section covering discipline, and my heart skipped a beat. The thought of being punished by Demian sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through me. I remembered the way he'd looked at me in the diner earlier, his gray eyes simmering with an intensity that made me weak in the knees. Could I really trust him to take care of me, even when it meant pushing my boundaries?

I forced myself to keep reading, my eyes skimming over the sections on rewards, clothing preferences, and emotional support. The more I read, the more my head spun. This was so much more than I'd ever imagined, and yet it felt right somehow. Like I was finally finding a piece of myself I didn't even know was missing.

"What do you think?" Demian asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel like I was the only person in the world.

"I . . . I don't know," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's a lot to take in. I like it, I think. I like it a lot. I just feel . . ."

Demian nodded, his face softening slightly. "I understand. This is all new to you, and it's important that you take your time to process everything. But know that I'm here to guide you through it, every step of the way."

His words were like a balm to my frazzled nerves, and I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. I took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs before slowly exhaling.

"Okay," I said, my voice steadier now. "Let's do this."

Demian smiled, a slow, warm smile that reached his eyes. "That's my girl."

And with those words, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. This was it. I was taking a leap of faith, trusting Demian to catch me if I fell. And as terrifying as it was, there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

With a trembling hand, I traced the lines on the contract, each word a promise of surrender. The leather couch beneath me was cool and unyielding, a stark contrast to the heat building within me. Demian sat beside me, his presence both comforting and intimidating.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and began to dissect the document piece by piece. His voice, steady and calm, guided me through the labyrinth of clauses and expectations. My heart pounded in my chest as I wrestled with my own desires and fears.

"Heavy bondage?" He asked, gaze locked on the paper. I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

"I . . . I don't think I can do that one," I whispered, my voice barely audible, as I pointed at “predicament bondage”. “Or that one,” I said, pointing at “mummification.”

Demian smiled nodded, his expression softening. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Some of these examples are very extreme. We won’t be doing anything you’re not into. Not a single thing.” He jotted a note on the margin of the contract before moving on to the next point. Public play, age regression, discipline . . . some things didn’t sound too scary at all. In fact, they sounded very exciting.

As we delved deeper into the contract, and Demian made a note of anything I didn’t like the sound of, I felt a strange sense of relief. This man, this powerful, enigmatic figure, was willing to tailor our dynamic to my needs, to respect my boundaries even as he pushed me to explore new horizons. It was a heady mixture of vulnerability and empowerment, and I found myself drawn to him more with each passing moment.

"What about punishments?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly. I felt a shiver run down my spine at the word, my body responding in ways I couldn't fully comprehend.

"I . . . I don't know," I admitted, my voice shaking. "I'm not sure what I can handle."

Demian looked at me then, his gaze piercing through the fog of uncertainty that clouded my mind. "We'll take it slow," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "We'll find what works for you, and we'll adjust as needed. But know that I will always prioritize your safety and well-being."

His words, simple and sincere, filled me with a warmth that spread from my chest to the tips of my fingers. I felt a rush of gratitude, a sense of being seen and understood in a way I had never experienced before. I knew that I was making the right decision, that Demian was a man I could trust to guide me through this uncharted territory.

Gradually, I felt the tension in my body begin to ease. The contract, once a daunting obstacle, now felt like a roadmap, a guide to the journey that lay ahead. I knew there would be challenges, moments of doubt and fear, but with Demian by my side, I felt ready to face them head-on.

In fact, as we continued to discuss the specifics of our dynamic, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of arousal. The idea of submitting to Demian, of letting go of my inhibitions and embracing my inner child, was intoxicating.

"Before we go ahead and sign this, Tilly, I want to make one thing crystal clear. I want you to be my Little girl," Demian said, his voice taking on a commanding tone that sent a thrill through me. "I want to take care of you, to protect you, to cherish you."

I bit my lip, my heart racing at his words. "Yes," I said, my voice barely audible. "I want that too."

He leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek. "Then let's make it official," he said, his lips brushing against my ear. "Let's sign the contract and seal our bond."

My hand shook as I signed the contract, the pen feeling foreign in my grasp. Demian's signature, bold and confident, already graced the line above mine. The black ink gleamed under the soft office light, a tangible testament to our mutual agreement.

I exhaled slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. The document felt heavy in my hands, as if it contained the weight of the world. I glanced at Demian, his gray eyes locked onto mine, revealing a depth of emotion I hadn't seen before.

"Well, looks like it's official," he said, his voice low and husky. A smirk played at the corner of his lips, but his gaze remained serious.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah . . . I guess it is."

After signing the contract, I sat there, my heart hammering in my chest. The weight of our agreement seemed to hang heavy in the air, pressing down on me like a thick blanket. I fidgeted with the hem of my blouse, my fingers tracing the intricate stitching as I gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering on the tip of my tongue.

Demian must have sensed my apprehension because he reached over and placed his hand on top of mine, stilling my fidgeting. His touch was warm and reassuring, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. I swallowed hard and looked up at him, my eyes meeting his piercing gray gaze.

"So...are we going to start tonight?" I asked, my voice wavering slightly.

Demian's expression softened as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face. "Not tonight, sweetheart," he said gently. "I want you to be rested and able to fully process the magnitude of what we've agreed to."

I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment wash over me. Part of me was eager to dive headfirst into this new dynamic, to explore the unknown and surrender myself to Demian completely. But another part of me was scared, unsure if I was truly ready to embrace my Little space in such an intimate way.

Demian seemed to sense my internal struggle because he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. "We'll take things slow, Tilly," he murmured. "I promise you, I’ll get this right for you."

His words were like a balm to my frazzled nerves, calming my racing thoughts and easing my fears. I leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his strong arms around me. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly safe and cared for.

Finally, I pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him, my eyes shining with anticipation. "Thank you," I said. “For everyting.”

As I gathered my belongings, the weight of the signed documents nestled in my bag, I felt a sudden urge to use the bathroom. My throat went dry, and I nervously asked, "Um, could I . . . ?"

Demian leaned against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. A sly smile played on his lips as he responded, "Of course, Tilly. But remember, you need to call me Daddy if you want my permission." He winked at me.

My heart pounded like a drum, and my cheeks flushed with heat. I hesitated, the word "Daddy" stuck on the tip of my tongue. Swallowing hard, I finally managed to whisper, "Daddy, may I go to the bathroom?"

The moment I said it, a jolt of electricity coursed through me. It felt strange yet oddly comforting to call him that—like slipping into a well-worn pair of shoes. Demian's eyes gleamed with approval, and he gave a curt nod. "Go ahead, sweetheart," he said, motioning toward the bathroom.

With trembling legs, I made my way across the plush carpet and closed the door behind me. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that this was what I wanted—to explore this part of myself with someone I trusted. And after tonight, I knew without a doubt that Demian was that person. He had shown me nothing but kindness, patience, and understanding, and I felt safe in his capable hands.

Mustering up my courage, I splashed some cold water on my face and took a few steadying breaths. I looked around the exquisite bathroom, grounding myself. It was decorated in shades of cream and gold, with intricate patterns adorning the walls and floor. A large clawfoot bathtub stood in the corner, begging to be used.

“Not exactly grounding,” I whispered to myself with a chuckle. “I feel like I just stepped into a magazine.”

With a smile on my face, I opened the door and stepped back into the office. Demian was sitting at his desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he watched me intently.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I nodded, managing a weak smile. "Yes, thank you."

He stood up and walked over to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You did great tonight, Tilly. I'm proud of you."

His words filled me with warmth, and I felt a sudden urge to throw my arms around him. But instead, I simply smiled and said, "Thank you, Daddy."

The word slipped out easily this time, and I felt a flutter of anticipation at the thought of what was to come.

Demian opened a drawer in his desk, taking out a small yellow bundle. He brought it over to me, revealing a plush bear with oversized ears and a soft, inviting smile. The sight of it tugged at something deep within me.

"Take this," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "It's to remind you that I'll be there for you, even when we're apart."

I hesitated for a moment before accepting the gift, feeling the velvety fur beneath my fingertips. As I hugged the stuffed animal to my chest, a warmth spread through me, banishing the lingering chill of uncertainty.

"Thank you, Daddy," I murmured, the words coming more naturally now.

Demian's eyes softened, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to my forehead. “You can tell me his name tomorrow.”

I nodded solemnly. “Yes. I need to get to know his personality first.”

Demian grinned. “Well, of course you do. You can’t go calling your stuffie Mr. Sunshine if it turns out he’s super grumpy.”

I giggled. “Exactly. And I can’t call him Cuddles if he doesn’t like to be touched.”

Demian arched an eyebrow. “He likes to be touched, sweetheart. I can promise you that.”

I felt my cheeks burn thinking about touching Demian . . .

"Right, I'll pick you up at 9 a.m. tomorrow, sweetheart," he murmured, taking my phone and punching his number into it. "Text me your address, then get some rest. I want you ready for what comes next."

He smiled led me towards the door. "Make sure to wear something . . . appropriate."

His gaze held mine, conveying a silent understanding of what he meant by 'appropriate.' A frisson of excitement coursed through me, mingling with the ever-present nerves.

Stepping into the elevator, I clutched the plush bear tightly, its softness offering a measure of comfort in the face of the unknown. My heart swelled with a potent mixture of trepidation and a sense of belonging that I couldn't quite explain. Tomorrow, I would delve into uncharted territory, guided by the man who now stood watch over me in both body and spirit.