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Quinn pushed open the attic door and stepped aside to let me in. I paused on the threshold.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “This is not what I expected.”

The room was large, the ceiling sloping beneath the roof. Books were stacked along one wall. On the outside of the wardrobe hung a pair of leather pants and a harness. A wide bed sat beneath a skylight. At the other end of the space stood a desk and chair.

Quinn closed the door quietly behind us. “This wasn’t part of the plan, was it?”

“No.” Which was precisely the problem.

I’d spent years making decisions carefully, deliberately, weighing risk against consequence. Scenes had boundaries. Rules had purpose. Even mistakes were contained.

This wasn’t contained.

This was me standing in a young man’s attic bedroom because I hadn’t wanted to walk away from him.

Quinn sat down at the end of the bed. He seemed calm, but there was a light in his eyes I couldn’t miss. Hope, maybe? Definitely curiosity. The way he clasped his arms spoke of vulnerability.

That was the moment the truth settled into place. Coming back hadn’t been an impulse.

It had been a choice.

And choices have consequences.

The fact that I was standing there told me one thing.

For once in my life, I wasn’t trying to avoid them.

I glanced at the room again. The air felt a little chilly. The duvet covering the bed seemed thin. Quinn’s feet were bare on the wooden floorboards.

“Are you warm enough up here?” I asked.

Quinn blinked. “Yes. Why?”

I paused. The question had appeared in my head automatically, not as a Dom assessing a sub—as a man making sure the person he cared about was comfortable.

I cleared my throat. “Just asking.”

Quinn’s smile was small but unmistakably pleased, and this time I had no problem recognising that look. It said my attention meant more to him than I’d intended.

Quinn gazed at me with bright eyes. “Most people go home after dinner.”

I let out a quiet breath. “Most people don’t make it halfway down the street before realising they might have made the wrong decision.”

That earned me a small smile. “I’m glad you lost the debate.”

“I didn’t lose it.” Quinn arched his eyebrows, and I gave a slight shrug. “I decided it wasn’t worth winning.”

He laughed, but the sound faded as he studied me more closely. His head tilted, curiosity replacing humour. “Why did you come back?” There was no accusation in his voice, only interest.

I considered the question longer than necessary. “Something occurred to me when I got to the corner.”

Quinn frowned. “What?”

“That leaving felt… premature.”

His eyebrows rose again. “Premature how?”

I looked around the room for a moment, the quiet space that clearly belonged to him. “I’d just spent an evening being invited into your world. And the moment it started to feel real, I walked away.”