Page 2 of Suite 7

“Fine.” I sit up straighter. “I’m in PR. Which means I’m always on. Always the one managing the room.” I stop. Then force myself to continue. “But at night — I fantasize about someone taking control completely. About not having to think or be strong for once.”

There. Done.

No taking it back now.

“And that feels like a contradiction to you.”

“It is a contradiction.”

“Is it?”

“People don’t get to be both. Not really.”

“People don’t get to be complicated?”

“That’s not what I⁠⁠—“

“It’s exactly what you’re saying.”

God.

I look away.

“I just—” I stop. Start again. “I know what I want. I’ve known for years. I just haven’t—“ I exhale. “Saying it out loud makes it real.”

“Then say it out loud,” he says. “What do you think submission is?”

“Choosing not to be the one managing.” My throat works before the rest comes. “Trusting someone else to carry it. Not because I can’t — because I want to know what it feels like not to have to.”

I force myself to meet his eyes.

“But I also know what I don’t want.”

His attention sharpens. “Go on.”

My fingers tighten in my lap. “I don’t want someone who just plays at control. I want someone who won’t fold the second I push back.” I hold his gaze. “Because I will.”

The corner of his mouth shifts. Not a smile, something more considered.

“I want to be met there,” I say. “Seen.”

Silence stretches.

He sets the pen down. “You’re not looking for an experience. You’re looking for a dynamic. Something built, not borrowed.”

“Is that unusual?”

“No.” He leans back slightly. “But it requires a particular kind of Dominant. Someone who isn’t looking to soften you — someone who’s looking for exactly the resistance you’re describing.”

“There are Doms who want that? Specifically?”

“Yes. And these Doms don’t want someone who arrives already open. They want to earn it. For these Doms the pushback isn’t the obstacle — it’s what makes the surrender mean something.”

I sit with that for a moment. Then: “I tried once. Told my ex what I wanted. He got frustrated the first time I pushed back. Said real submission meant doing what you’re told — not negotiating every instruction.”

I stop.

“He said someone like me couldn’t submit. Not really. That my fire, my refusal to just comply —” I hear myself say it like I’ve said it before, inside my own head, in the dark, a hundred times. “He said that was the problem. That I was the problem.”