The Perils of a Late-Night Leash
The heavy door slammed shut with a dull clunk of metal, shattering the silence of Room 101 Royal Suite. It was like the final bell signaling the end of a long, grueling day.
The moment he crossed the threshold, Cadel dragged his feet across the floor. The cheap scrape of his shoes echoed through the vast living room, but he didn't care. His hands were already clawing at the neat tie choking his neck. Frowning as if he could barely breathe, he yanked the knot loose with rough tugs. Swish—the stiff silk fabric brushed against his shirt collar, and only then did his airway finally open a fraction.
He flung the tie carelessly over the back of the sofa and collapsed onto the massive leather cushions like a boneless jellyfish.
"Haa...."
A dry, heavy sigh rose from deep in his lungs and dispersed into the room's air. The sofa's plush leather yielded comfortably under his weight with a satisfying creak, but it did nothing to erase the ache screaming from every joint in his body. Cadel tilted his head back, kneading the stiff muscles at the base of his neck with his large hands. Each press revealed how rigidly knotted they were.
Behind his closed eyelids, the chaotic events of the day flashed by like a montage: the "date" with Reina that had started on a holiday with no rest. It had begun smoothly enough. Out in the capital's bustling streets for the first time since enrollment, the sweet scent of desserts wafting past, and Reina—dazzling in her light purple silk dress that bared her shoulders, topped with a wide-brimmed hat—drawing every eye in sight.
Cadel had burned through his energy just fending off those stares and indulging her gripes as she clung to his sleeve. It had been a perfect weekend outing, more or less.
Until Oscar's blasphemous (or so it felt) sketchbook shattered the peace.
The intricate, devilish lines replayed in Cadel's mind: Reina gazing up pleadingly, leashed by a collar—and him at the end of that leash, gripping it with an arrogant smirk.
How the hell did I end up as some hardcore pervert dominator?
Coaxing and soothing a sobbing Oscar, who'd been bawling snot and tears all over him, until he finally redirected her to a wholesome still-life assignment. It had taken every ounce of his decade as a veteran high school teacher to maintain the facade of a "student counseling" session. Inside, he'd wanted to flip the desk a hundred times over.
"...What a brutally exhausting day."
The mutter slipped out like a soliloquy, thick with the weary pathos of a K-worker.
Cadel sank deeper into the sofa, seized by a fierce urge to close his eyes forever. But he wasn't alone in this suite.
A breath cut through the air—quick and light, a half-beat faster than his own sluggish exhales. Haa, haa. It was the excited panting of a puppy spotting a new toy.
Cadel's eyes snapped open. Right in front of his knees loomed Reina, frozen in the exact pose she'd entered in: wide-brimmed hat still on, casting a deep shadow over her face. But those gleaming purple eyes pierced through the darkness, no longer vacant and dazed as usual.
Ever since glimpsing Oscar's sketchbook, her gaze had ignited—and now it burned with explosive intensity. Not sexual desire or girlish lust aimed at him. No, it was the pure, feral curiosity of a beast itching to try her new "game" right now.
Collars and their implications of dominance and submission meant nothing to her. She was simply captivated by this thrilling new physical link to her favorite person in the world: Cadel (master).
That blind, transparent anticipation stretched the room's silence taut.
Swish. Reina tilted her head, and the hat tumbled limply to the floor, revealing her slender neck and shoulders. The light purple silk dress rippled with the motion, shimmering softly.
Her eyes slid from Cadel's face to the dark navy tie dangling precariously over the sofa back. Without hesitation, her hand snatched it from the air.
Before Cadel could process or stop her, her actions flowed seamlessly, recreating Oscar's drawing in reality. She stretched the crumpled silk taut between her hands and draped it over her pale, slender neck. The dark, rough fabric contrasted sharply with her exposed shoulders as it wound once, twice—loose, not tight, clinging visually in a way that evoked strange dissonance and taboo allure.
Oblivious to how her breathtaking scene made Cadel's pupils tremble, Reina gripped the remaining end firmly. Then she seized his dangling right hand from the sofa, forced his palm open, stuffed the tie's end inside, and folded his fingers over it one by one, locking them tight.
But the beast who had collared herself didn't stop there.
Plop. She dropped to her knees between his spread legs, right in that narrow, intimate space beneath the sofa. The silk hem spilled over the marble floor like blooming petals in a perfect circle.
Now settled fully between his thighs, she craned her head up. Her gaze shot upward, tracing the navy knot against the purple silk, taut to the end gripped in his hand. Oscar's composition had manifested perfectly in the real world.
Her purple eyes sparkled like a puppy wagging its tail: Did I do good? Pull it already!
"...Insane."
A crude curse nearly escaped Cadel's lips. His mind was that of a 37-year-old veteran teacher, battle-hardened. But this body? A hormone-raging 17-year-old boy's.
The silk's smooth, cool texture seeped through his palm's skin, vividly chilling. The visual assault before him and tactile sensation hammered his reason awake.
"Ack!"
He jerked his hand away as if grasping a red-hot coal. The tie end slipped free. Cold sweat trickled down his spine. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he clamped his jaw, desperately schooling his expression. Showing panic would just fuel this oblivious beast's curiosity.
Straightening against the sofa back, he fixed her with the icy, sharp glare he'd use on a back-row slacker caught goofing off.
"What the hell are you doing on the floor like a kid?"
His voice dropped deliberately, cold as ice, ringing through the suite—no trace of his usual warmth, pure reprimand.
"That pretty dress'll get filthy. Get up. Now."
Before the words finished, he irritably snatched the tie from her neck. Meticulous not to graze her skin, his merciless tug unraveled it in one motion. He balled it up and hurled it toward the farthest table by the window.
Flap. It sailed through the air, grazing the tabletop before wedging into a corner on the floor. A firm rejection—a physical declaration that he would never play this absurd game.
Reina's gaze lingered wistfully on the discarded tie before returning to him. Her hands empty, but the empire's strongest predator didn't yield so easily. Despite his iron wall, she wriggled closer on the floor.
The abundant purple silk hem rustled pleasantly over the marble, covering his shoe tips. Then a heavy yet soft weight settled on his thigh: her sharp chin resting there, lips pouting as she gazed up.
"Eung...."
Like a giant dog robbed of a treat, a pitiful whine leaked from her. Chin still propped, she twisted to rub her soft cheek against his firm knee. At the same time, her dragon leather-gloved hands crept up, tugging insistently at his uniform trouser hem.
"Ah, for real...."
A stifled groan escaped through Cadel's gritted teeth. Outwardly, he pinched his brow like a veteran teacher facing a headache. Inside? Total chaos.
The problem wasn't his mental age. It was this damn body. Thin trousers did nothing to block her hot body heat and breath seeping into his thigh. His mind was adult-seasoned, but the vessel? Peak 17-year-old hormone explosion—brimming with vitality.
Each cheek rub made his thigh muscles twitch involuntarily. Heat surged uncontrollably from his lower abdomen, drenching his back. His heartbeat thundered in his ears like war drums.
Stay calm, Lee Dong-hoon. She's a loose-screw beast. Panic here, and you're done.
He clenched his molars, tensed his thighs to suppress the tremors. Praying she wouldn't notice this embarrassing physiological response, he averted his eyes to the ceiling, trying to ignore it.
But Reina wasn't one to wait patiently. The creak of leather glove wrinkles from tugging his hem—and suddenly, one hand shot up.
Tap, tap. Her index finger lightly drummed her bare, smooth neck where the tie had been.
Cadel's gaze flicked reflexively along her finger. She stroked languidly between her exposed collarbone and neckline, as if protesting: It's empty here. Tie it back on quick.
Her delicate neck and the cool shoulder line of purple silk stabbed dizzyingly into his vision.
"...."
Cadel's throat bobbed hard. He swallowed dryly, the cracking saliva scraping down. One more minute of this, and either his reason or body would explode.
As her whines grew bolder, he lunged forward, clamping her slender shoulders with his large, rough hands.
"Tch."
A sharp, frictional warning froze the air. "No. Don't whine."
His voice brooked no compromise, pitched low and unyielding. Hiding his cold sweat and racing heart perfectly, he locked her gleaming purple gaze with his steady, chilling stare—a perfect veteran teacher's suppression tactic for a line-crossing student.
Heavy pressure from his grip made her taut, climbing-ready body stiffen. The blind curiosity and sticky intensity in her eyes clashed with his coldness and faded.
She'd instinctively grasped his genuine line in the sand: rejection.
"Hnggg...."
Her tensed shoulders slumped. Pouting twice as hard with a mix of grievance and regret, she huffed through her nose and tried to lift her chin from his knee.
Cool air replaced her warmth on his thigh, and Cadel finally exhaled the breath trapped in his chest, sensing escape from the vertigo.
But he wasn't heartless enough to leave her moping at his feet, eyes downcast.
...Sigh, it's my fate.
He swallowed a thick, K-worker sigh from his soul's depths. How to handle this empire-strong powerhouse who drooped like the world had ended over a scrap of old tie?
This exhausting "taming" was his karma alone.
His right hand slid down her shoulder. As her hand nearly slipped away, he snatched it mid-air.
"Ah."
Her eyes widened at the unexpected touch. Over the rough, cool dragon leather, his large, warm bare hand overlapped.
Not content with just holding, he threaded his fingers between hers, interlocking tightly—no gaps allowed. Cool leather and human warmth intertwined seamlessly.
"Up."
He tugged the clasped hand, yanking her from the floor onto the sofa beside him in one pull. Rustle—her light body settled neatly next to his.
"It's not playtime. I'm beat—sit quietly for ten minutes and rest."
His tone was back to its usual dry, detached drawl—not the earlier sharpness. Beneath it lingered the day's weariness and familiar tenderness for his person.
He rested their clasped hands on his firm thigh, leaned deep into the sofa back, and closed his eyes. No silk tie choked him, but his warmth and unyielding grip served as an invisible leash, pinning her perfectly in place.
"...Hng~."
Her puffed cheeks melted away like they'd never been. A soft, contented hum slipped through her lips. This peaceful restraint—side by side, hands entwined, sharing body heat—had soothed the beast's heart far better than any wild taboo game.
She tilted her head slyly, resting it softly on his broad, solid shoulder. Eyes shut, he silently accepted the tickle of her hair.
The capital's sunset glow slanted through the window, spilling golden light across the suite. In the wake of the storm-like tussle, their intertwined shadows stretched long and serene over the gilded marble floor.
The chaotic capital date finally melted into quiet respite.