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I held his gaze. “Yes.”
The way he looked at me then wasn’t indulgent.
It was respectful.
It also sent warmth flooding through me.
You’ve got this far. Tell him the rest. Because without mentioning Grant, there was a giant plot hole.
“You know I said I came to London for better kink opportunities?” Max nodded. “Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I came here because I was invited.” I took another sip of tea, then set the mug down. “I met Grant when I was eighteen, at a private party, invite-only. He was charming, polished, and he said all the right things.”
Max didn’t react outwardly.
“He liked that I asked questions,” I told him. “He said it meant I was serious. He talked a lot about discipline and devotion and how submission was about proving yourself.” I shrugged. “That sounded impressive, at first, enough that when he asked me a year ago to come to London, I said yes. Then I made it work, with the house, a job…”
“When did it go wrong?” Max asked.
I didn’t have to think about it. “When aftercare became ‘needy.’ When rules shifted without warning. When he said safe words meant I didn’t trust him enough.” Another shrug. “There was a lot more than that, but I’m sure you get the idea.”
Max’s jaw tightened.
“I stayed longer than I should have,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Not because I didn’t know it was wrong, but because I thought leaving meant I’d misunderstood myself. Like… if I failed at this, maybe I wasn’t actually built for it.”
Max looked at me properly then. “And you weren’t wrong.”
“No,” I said. “I left. Eventually. It hurt, but it didn’t change my needs. I just got clearer about what I didn’t want.” I smiled. “That’s why Obsidian mattered. I needed to see if kink could feel good again. I wanted structure without feeling I was being suffocated. Something I chose, not something I had to earn.”
Max was quiet for a long moment. “You were very young,” he said at last. Then he smiled. “What am I saying? You still are.”
“I am,” I agreed. “But I’m also more capable than people assume.”
He nodded. “Both can be true.”
I leaned back, letting my shoulder rest against his arm. Max didn’t pull away, and the touch felt comforting. “I don’t regret figuring this out early. It was confusing at first, yeah. But it meant I wasn’t walking in blind. I knew what I liked. I knew what wasn’t okay.” I rubbed my thumb against the side of my mug. “Wanting stuff isn’t the problem—pretending you don’t want it is. That’s when people get messy.”
Max’s voice was steady. “You didn’t deserve what happened with him.”
“I know.” I managed a smile. “And it didn’t wreck this for me.” I looked at him. “If anything, it made me pickier. I know what care feels like now. Or at least what it doesn’t.” I gave another small shrug. “So when it’s real, I can tell.”
Max let out a slow breath. “That’s good.”
“It is,” I acknowledged. “I’m glad I didn’t let it scare me off.” After a second, I added with a grin, “That would’ve been a waste.”
Yeah, that last bit probably sounded more like the Quinn Max knew.
Max
There was no tremor in Quinn’s voice when he spoke about Grant. No touch of drama, no bitterness. He wasn’t trying to prove how damaged he’d been or how resilient he’d become. He was simply telling it like it was.
And he’s only twenty.
I watched him as he spoke, the way he paused not for effect but because he was genuinely choosing his words. He wasn’t reciting something he’d rehearsed for sympathy. He wasn’t angling for reassurance. He was explaining himself.
He knows the difference between discipline and control.
It would have been easier if he was dazzled, chasing the aesthetic of obedience without understanding the mechanics underneath, but that wasn’t true. He knew about safe words and aftercare. He’d walked away from a Dom who’d shifted the goalposts and called it growth, not because Quinn had panicked, but because he’d recognised the pattern.
Quinn’s steadiness unsettled me more than inexperience ever could have.
