Chapter 13

Levi's abrupt command for coffee set my nerves on edge, the familiar rush of anxiety coursing through me as I hurried to comply. As I placed the order, I carefully noted his preferences to the server who looked at me with curiosity.

It seems like everyone in this company has an issue with me now. I wonder why.

Anyway, upon exiting the café, my heart pounded at the sight of Levi by the door, engrossed in a call. Luckily I didn't bump into him this time.

Relief washed over me like a gentle wave when I realized I wouldn't have to go to his office. I've never been to his office alone before and the thought of going there fills me with dread.

I might not control myself when I'm alone in the office with him not after after so long of fantasizing about him fucking me on his office desk.

Approaching Levi with the warm cup, I found Levi leaning casually against a pillar, his gaze sharp as it fell upon me. He ended the call with a flick of his wrist, his face blank.

I wondered what the call was about.

"Why didn't you bring me coffee during the meeting?" His voice was calm, but beneath it lurked an undercurrent of expectation, a demand for justification.

"Apologies, sir, I..I." I began, my words stumbling over one another in my haste to explain. "I didn't anticipate your return today."

I wanted to protest, to remind him that I wasn't his personal assistant, but the full weight of his eyes silenced me. Besides, I was too weary to engage in a battle of wills today.

"Unexpected circumstances brought me back sooner than expected. Is that a problem?" Levi's tone remained even, his gaze steady as he accepted the coffee, leaving me to exhale a silent prayer of gratitude for the impending weekend.

Thank God it's Friday.

"No, sir. Enjoy your weekend," I murmured, eager to retreat from the intensity of his presence.

"Keep your phone close, Isabella. I might be needing you tonight," he called after me as I made to walk away.

Swallowing hard, I couldn't help but wonder what he could possibly need me for on a Friday night. As I walked away, I silently prayed that he wouldn't summon me on any errands until Monday, allowing me the chance to enjoy my plans with Mr. L instead.

After clocking out of work and coming home, my mind drifted back to Mr. L, anticipation tugging at my thoughts as I longed to chat with him.

However, the excitement was tempered by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He said he did not want me to be his sub at first, which left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Subs, in my view, weren't to be treated as disposable or lacking in worth. The dynamic between subs and Doms was one of mutual respect and understanding, each fulfilling a vital role for the other. If Mr. L couldn't recognize that, then perhaps he wasn't the Dom I had imagined him to be.

Lost in thought, I found myself sprawled across the bed, the weight of uncertainty pressing upon me as I scrolled through Twitter.

Mr L's message notification popped up making me go to Instagram.

Mr L: You haven't said hi to me tonight. Are you perhaps upset?

His text made me feel a mix of emotions - frustration, disappointment, and a glimmer of hope that he wanted to mend things between us.

Me: Yeah, I am upset.

Mr L: Why are you upset, baby girl?

Isabella: Are you playing PUA?

Pick-up artists (PUAs) are men—overwhelmingly straight and cis—whose "art" is picking up women. Stridently individualist, thoroughly capitalist, and only nominally artistic, this is wellness for the toxic-masculinity set. It's self-help that's all, and only, about objectifying others. And these men are very common in this city I didn't want men like that.

Me: You know, those guys who pick up women using manipulative tactics? I didn't think you were like that.

Mr L: Why would you think that?

Isabella: Because when you said you didn't want to accept me as a sub at first, it felt like that's what you were doing.

Mr L: I think we should end this relationship.

Me: What? How can you just say that? It really hurts.

Mr L: Are you angry?

Me: Of course.

I typed angrily, tears blurring my vision. My hands were shaky but it didn't stop me from being so horny.

What's wrong with me?!

Mr L: I'm sorry. Let me explain. I wanted to end it because I saw you in real life. I don't want BDSM to mix with my reality. It's a separate world for me, I like to keep it that way.

Me: What? Where did you see me?

Mr L: I can't say.

I bit my lip in frustration, not knowing what to think, but then another message popped up. Is this really the end?

Mr L: I lost control yesterday. A dom should not lose control ever, but I did.

Me: What do you mean you lost control last night?

I asked, confused about his whole message.

Mr L: I ejaculated on my pants when you squirted. That cannot happen again.

Mr L: My bad for hurting you.

I admired the way my new master apologized. He's not like my father who never acknowledged his mistakes, let alone apologized for them. In my eyes, my father's stoic facade masked a deeper weakness—a reluctance to confront his own demons and instead unload his unhappiness onto his family. He was a weak man!

True strength, I believed, lay in acknowledging one's vulnerabilities and facing them head-on, rather than hiding behind a farce of control, much like Mr. L and Levi. They were the kind of men I admired.

Levi's casual "My bad" when we were in Switzerland echoed in my mind as I reread Mr L’s message.

As my thoughts churned, I couldn't shake the associations with the letter 'L' between Mr L and Levi. After all, Levi's name starts with 'L'.

Levi, with his aura of dominance and control, seemed too similar to Mr L.

However, Levi was American, his voice devoid of any trace of a British accent. But then, a flicker of memory stirred within me.

Larrie from the team's pit crew, and the British college student Luca who worked weekends at the coffee shop, all have L starting their name. Could one of them be Mr. L?

Mr L’s claim of seeing me in real life left me reeling with questions. Who was he? And where had he seen me? As I wondered who his identity was another message popped up.

Mr L: You make me weak Isabella. I can't have that. I have to punish you for making me weak and become uncontrollable.