Daddy takes my hand again and leads me through a set of double doors into the most incredible playroom I have ever seen. The entire space has a space theme—deep navy walls with glowing constellations, soft foam flooring designed like cratered moon surfaces, climbing structures shaped like rockets, and a huge ball pit filled with silver and gold stars.
There are sensory tables with moon sand, dress-up stations with astronaut helmets and alien antennae, and cozy reading nooks with oversized pillows shaped like planets.
Kirill watches me with quiet amusement as my eyes go wide.
“Men like me need somewhere safe to play with their Littles,” Alexsei says simply. “No judgment. No questions. Just space tobe who we are. The other city clubs are fine, but this place comes with aguaranteeof privacy.”
I do not know what to say.
The mix of luxury, safety, and pure playful joy makes my chest feel tight in the best way.
Kirill leads me over to the ball pit first. We tumble in together, laughing as the shiny stars bounce around us. He chases me gently through the foam structures, letting me “escape” only to catch me and swing me around.
We build a rocket ship out of giant foam blocks and then knock it down in a fit of giggles.
I color a picture of us flying through space on a big easel while he watches, occasionally adding a careful star or planet when I ask.
Time loses all meaning. I drop deeper into Little space than I have in months—maybe ever. Kirill is patient and attentive, guiding me from one activity to another without ever making me feel rushed or silly. When I start yawning, he guides me to one of the cozy reading nooks, settles me against his chest, and hands me a warm bottle of milk.
I suckle sleepily, eyes growing heavier with every sip. The last thing I remember is Kirill’s hand gently stroking my hair and his low voice murmuring, “Good boy.”
* * *
I wake up slowly, warm and content, still curled against Kirill’s chest. The playroom is quieter now. My Daddy helps me up,straightens my slightly rumpled romper, and leads me back to the changing room so I can put my normal clothes back on.
Back in the underground parking lot, the real world feels a little sharper. I take a deep breath and turn to face him.
“That was… amazing,” I say. “I want to go back again soon. But now… it’s time to havetheconversation.”
“Right,” Kirill says. His expression turns serious. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I am a man who makes difficult decisions, Teddy. I have to do things that most people would call bad. Dangerous things. Some would sayunforgivablethings. I cannot tell you more than that. Not for my safety, and especially not for yours. My life will never be safe or normal. You must understand and accept this if we are to continue.”
His words land heavily.
I stand there, arms wrapped around myself, feeling the glow from the playroom slowly fade. Part of me wants to say yes immediately—to throw caution to the wind and keep chasing this magical, terrifying connection. But another part, the sensible, small-town part that still remembers how hard life can get, feels a flicker of real fear.
“I… need to think about it,” I say quietly. “Yeah. I definitely need to think.”
“As you wish,” Kirill replies, his voice neutral and difficult to read.
The drive back to my apartment is silent. I stare out the window, mind whirling with questions I do not know how to ask and answers I am not sure I am ready for. When we pull up outside my building, I turn to him.
“Thank you for today,” I whisper. I lean over and kiss him softly on the cheek. “The play date was really special.”
Kirill catches my hand before I can pull away completely. His thumb brushes over my knuckles once, gentle but possessive.
“Take the time you need,” he says. “But know this, malysh… I am not a man who waits forever.”
I nod, throat tight, and slip out of the car.
As I watch the sleek sports car disappear down the street, I feel more confused and conflicted than ever.
My body still remembers every touch from the floor of my apartment. My Little side still hums with happiness from the playroom.
But my head… my head is spinning with warnings.
Who is Kirill Antonov, really?
And how much of myself am I willing to risk to find out?
