Had I survived college, found a decent job, and allowed myself to play my music, I might have handled sex like a mature, rational adult.

Instead, I pulled the Morgan Special.

I’d called off sick, made two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and ignored my responsibilities by any means possible.

The mailbox jammed with bills, my car’s inspection was due, and no matter how many times I played Mozart—or any pop song that crossed my mind—my violin was not going to make as much money as serving a cup of coffee.

Just a healthy dose of depression heaped upon the mayhem left in Anthony’s wake.

My brain liked to overdose itself with the stresses of adulthood before compartmentalizing everything back into neat, deniable, and avoidable wrinkles of my mind.

Except Anthony had earned more than a wrinkle. My head gave him an entire hemisphere to corrupt and destroy.

And, if nothing else, he was something different to worry about. No longer was I college dropout, waste of musical talent, virginal Morgan.

Now I was a submissive whore who spread her legs for a random man in a club of depraved and twisted perverts.

Except, even my muddled head knew that was an unfair comparison.

Despite the collars and chains, spankings and exposed skin, the members of Duchess were nothing but pleasant to me...as pleasant as someone brandishing a leash and leading a whipped woman could be.

If half of the music department had been as welcoming as Duchess, I might have lasted longer in the program.

Sunday passed with one PB&J after another. Monday was worse. Though I didn’t have a solid work schedule, the monotony of the week reset on Mondays. I much preferred working afternoons or evenings. At least then the clientele sported funky toboggan caps and skinny jeans instead of pressed suits and permanent frowns.

The morning shift smelled of burnt coffee and the wasted English degrees of my coworkers. Each time I served a customer juggling their laptop and lattes, my mother’s voice rang in my head.

You should be on the other side of the counter, Morgan…even if coffee will stunt your growth…nothing we can do about that now, but you never were beautiful like your brothers…

At least my coworkers could blame the economy. I didn’t have the luxury of that excuse. Abandoned musical programs didn’t offer much industry-relevant experience. And, even then, I couldn’t imagine donning a pantsuit and discussing the latest fumbling teen pop-star around the water cooler. I needed my violin.

I craved music as badly as I desired Anthony.

Fucked up. That’s what I was.

I waited until my break and slipped out the back, kneeling amid the cigarette butt and chewing gum mural our resident artist had designed. My cellphone had stayed silent all weekend.

I stared at the time for a while, counting the hours until my shift was over before mentally adding how long I had off before the next shift began. Of course, that spurred the calculations of how much money I’d make this week, how little of it I could save, and how many days I had left before the new lease came into effect.

Spoiler: The number was frighteningly small.

But something worse compounded the usual concerns. I had no missed calls. No texts. Anthony had gone radio silent. But I told him I’d wanted to be alone. He respected that. At least, I hope he respected that.

For all I knew, he’d taken what he’d liked and was relieved to be rid of me.

Only one way to find out.

Hey. Just checking in.

I deleted the text message immediately.

Anthony wasn’t some middle-aged aunt to poked on Facebook. And what would I have even said after that? Wanted to make sure you aren’t super pissed, and that burying yourself in my pussy had been a satisfactory way to spend your evening.

I tapped the phone against my head. I couldn’t trivialize this. What had happened, happened. I may have come like a whore, but after the lust passed, I’d freaked and left. Anthony deserved an explanation at least.

I just need some time to think.

That one was deleted too. Obviously, I was thinking. I had done nothing but think since he’d pulled out of me.

And I really wasn’t liking what I thought.

I had a dream about you last night.

I wasn’t even trying anymore. The text turned into a damn diary entry. And I hadn’t even acknowledged the depraved dream to myself yet. Telling Anthony via text message would only end in therapy.

The dream wasn’t a nightmare, but it’d scared me just the same. I was naked, bound to his bed, getting spanked and licked and mounted by him while a variety of party-guests sipped cocktails and listened to string music in his penthouse.

And the worst part wasn’t how real he felt inside me. Or that I’d begged him for more and more.

It was when I woke up, hot and panting and fully conscious of my actions in the dark of my apartment.

It wasn’t lust that forced me to touch myself until I whispered his name in sweet bliss.

It was something more. Something dangerous.

Something too strong and confusing to let myself feel.

I was falling for Anthony.

One of my coworkers banged against the door. Sammy leaned outside, peeking at me through her favorite black-rimmed glasses despite her perfect vision.

“Your friends are here, Morgan,” Sarah said. “They asked for you specifically.”

Rose was here? This wasn’t Anathema’s territory, and her biker boyfriend was stricter than Anthony when it came to keeping her out of trouble. Maybe she’d traveled out with her brothers? But unless they planned to spike their coffee, the café wasn’t their scene.

I followed Sammy back inside, tightening the bow on my apron.

I wished I’d tied the knot around my neck.

Shannon, Mariah, and Genn giggled at the register, their smiles turning to squealed giggles as I rounded the corner. I froze like a deer on the highway but every car had swerved to let me live.

How did they know where I worked?

I wasn’t sure if my heart stopped or exploded into a million different brands of coffee grounds. If the cardiac arrest didn’t kill me, the panic attack would.

At least I was dressed.

At least they were dressed.

Three of Duchess’s most prominent submissives pranced through my cafe—and I doubted they wanted coffee. Had it been just Mariah, I might have considered the visit friendly, or, at the very least, coincidental. But Shannon’s sneer practically flayed my skin.

No matter how naked I was at Duchess, no matter how brazenly I’d wrapped around Anthony, nothing stripped me more than Shannon’s gaze.

What did they want?

And how could I get them to leave?

It wasn’t fair. I’d finally secured a stable job, and it promised a raise and benefits in another two months. One smart-ass comment from Shannon, and the life I’d meticulously cobbled together with hand-me-downs, ramen noodles, and fuzzy blankets would be ruined.

“Well, well, well.” Shannon tapped her manicured nails on the countertop. Each click pierced my heart. “Hello, pet.”

Mariah giggled again. Genn tucked her sunglasses down her nose, searching the menu board.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“Is that any way to address us?” Shannon shared a glance with Genn. “Such a naughty girl, Morgan. Try again before I tell Master Anthony how disrespectful you are.”

No Anthony to save me. No Thomas to stop Shannon.

Hell, I even wished for Simone—at least she wouldn’t have tolerated their games.

Not only was Shannon eager to embarrass me, she wanted to tattle. I hadn’t talked to Anthony since that night, but I couldn’t break one of his rules. Not when I was so close to figuring it out.

Figuring him out.

Figuring me out.

“I’m sorry…” I flinched. “Ma’am.”

“I can’t hear you. Speak up.”

I sucked in a breath. “I said, I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“She’s so shy.” Genn’s voice was sugary sweet, enough to top any of our coffees. She nibbled on the stem of her sunglasses. “Come on, Morgan. Play along. This is a service industry, isn’t it? Shouldn’t she always be a polite little slut?”

My stomach twisted, but none of my coworkers or the other customers heard the insult. No wonder Reed usually gagged her.

“So...you work here?” Mariah leaned over the counter, her breasts propped up to her chin thanks in part to an especially dedicated bra. “Like…for a job?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pointed to the cookie she wanted. “I like coffee. Must be fun.”

A chocolate chip fell off the cookie as I stuffed it into the bag. It wasn’t the only casualty of my trembling. My elbow knocked into the stack of cups, and I lunged to catch them before they clattered to the ground.

“So, this is what you do all day when you aren’t getting rutted?” Shannon asked.

I flinched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Like, everyday?”

“It’s a fulltime job.”

“Ew.”

I braved asking a question. “I don’t suppose you work?”

Mariah had yet to stand up straight. A man sitting in one of the booths watched as she bent over the counter. She arched her back, letting her plaid skirt ride up over her hips. Genn caught the man staring. She gave a naughty wave of her finger before her hand trailed down Mariah’s back.

Lower, lower, lower…

And suddenly the cafe was no longer family-friendly.

“We’re kept women,” Mariah explained. “I used to work in the fashion industry though.”

I didn’t understand much about her sultry, plaid-skirted ensemble, so I believed her. She cooed as Genn’s hand grazed a sensitive bit and shimmied for the stranger behind her.

“Daddy doesn’t want me to worry about anything but him, so I work only on request now.” Mariah tugged on my apron. “This is cute.”

“I liked her naked better,” Genn said.

“I’d rather see her in a collar.”

My cheeks burned like I dunked my head in a coffee pot. I checked over my shoulder for any wayward coworkers who’d drifted too close to my nightmare. “Look, I have to get back to work—”

“You are working.” Shannon’s tone would have earned a slap from Simone. “We’re customers, pet. So you better serve us.”

I considered my options. Letting my coworkers talk to them was absolutely not an option. I had no idea what they would say, do, or touch.

I surrendered. “What would you like, ma’am?”

“Mmm, I love hearing that,” Shannon groaned.

Mariah giggled. “You’re such a switch.”

Shannon patted Mariah’s behind. “Only with the good girls.”

Genn ignored them both. “Can I have a cappuccino?”

Mariah brightened. She definitely didn’t need the caffeine. “Oh, me too!”

Easy enough.

But Shannon tapped her chin. “Give me a...medium, extra hot, half-cream, half-soy, double shot with a touch of sugar free caramel, two pumps of cinnamon, and two packets of Splenda. Pour it in a large cup and fill the room with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.”

I gritted my teeth. “Is that all?”

“Make sure you design something pretty in their cappuccinos.”

She really was evil, but at least it gave me some time to get the hell away from them. I hurried to prepare their coffees and spent the next glorious two minutes in merciful solitude.

I returned with the drinks, but Shannon had lost interest in her order. She played with her iPhone, glancing up only once I’d cleared my throat.

“It’s on me, ma’am,” I said.

“What a sweet pet.” Shannon examined the steamed-milk hearts I drew in the cappuccinos. “And so talented. Did they teach you that at college?”

I searched the entrance for someone else to come in. No one wandered close to the storefront.

What a time to get slow.

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Because you had such better things to do in college?” Shannon didn’t miss a beat. “Come on, pet. You’ve been holding out on us.”

Shannon flashed her iPhone. The music was already playing, and she raised the volume until the violin flooded the seating area. I didn’t need to watch. The video was my own.

“You are an internet sensation, aren’t you?” Shannon said.

Genn grinned. “Nine thousand views on this one.”

My eyebrow twitched. The song threatened me with a panic attack. I gripped the counter to keep steady.

The melody had been a quick experiment with the looper pedal I’d received that Christmas. The pedal let me record my music with the touch of my foot, and I could incorporate the loop into a song I played live. Often, it let me create a harmony on the fly.

The song was good, but I had better ones. Genn found a cover of a Beatles single. I regretted not deactivating my account.

“I like it.” Mariah grabbed a lollypop from a container on the counter. She unwrapped it and gave it a lick. The guy salivating behind her nearly lost his mind. “You’re really talented, pet.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“So why are you here if you play violin?” Genn’s seemed to enjoy the video. “You’d probably get more views if you took off some clothes. Earn some more money from the ads. Is this Taylor Swift?”

“Maybe she likes being a starving artist,” Mariah said. She giggled as Bad Blood blared from the iPhone.

Shannon sipped her drink. “Her sugar daddy won’t let her starve.”

“Anthony is not my sugar daddy.”

“Oh, so you’re in it for the cock then?”

One of my coworkers heard that one. Her eyebrows rose, and she darted to the others in the back. Just what I needed.

Shannon selected another video. Then another. Brittany Spears to Guns N Roses to Adele. Why had I uploaded so many stupid covers?

“It’s okay,” Mariah shrugged. “Master Anthony does have a very nice co—”

“Don’t say it!” My eyes widened. “Please.”

“Oh, she’s still all worked up about the show.” Genn hid her smirk. “Goodness, Morgan. We’ve all been fucked by Master Anthony. You don’t see us freaking out.”

If she was offering me reassurance, a fist to the nose would have been more sympathetic.

The last thing I wanted to think about was Anthony taking any other woman, let alone three beautiful and practiced submissives.

Genn waved a hand. “Besides, you two were super-hot together. No dry panties in the club.”

Mariah snuggled against Shannon. “Very sexy. Drove everyone crazy. Daddy had his way with me right there on the dance floor. Twice.”

“Well, good then.” I took the opportunity to silence Shannon’s phone. “I’m glad you stopped by. I really should get back to work.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you soon,” Genn said. “Always fun to have a new show at Duchess. Everyone will demand an encore...if Master Anthony doesn’t first.”

Mariah blew me a kiss and took Genn’s hand, waving to the man at the booth behind her. Shannon wagged her finger, and I regretted approaching the counter. I leaned in, and she reached for my shirt before I could get away. My stomach rolled as she yanked the neck down, stuffing a folded, hundred-dollar bill into my bra.

“For the drinks, whore,” she whispered. “Stop pretending. There won’t be an encore. You don’t have what it takes to please him the way he deserves. You’ll disappoint Anthony, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” She scrolled through the iPhone. “But at least you’ll record some very moving break-up songs.”

She smiled, took her drink, and left without another word.

I counted to ten before rushing to the bathroom. There weren’t enough locks on the door to keep everyone and everything out.

I’d never expected Duchess to intrude on my real life, and yet, there they were. The submissive clique that ruled the club from the bottom.

God. I wasn’t just a pet to Anthony. Everyone in Duchess saw me as an object to be fucked. Men and women, dominants and submissives.

I rested against the sink, cupping a handful of cold water and splashing it over my face. I patted my cheeks dry, but the same wide-eyed, overwhelmed Morgan from Duchess stared back at me.

I wished Shannon’s words hadn’t scared me so much.

I didn’t want to disappoint Anthony.

Just the opposite. I craved his touch. His compliments.

His approval.

But I’d never have him if I didn’t sort myself out first. I’d lose him and myself forever if I didn’t face the truth.

And that moment of clarity was a gift I hadn’t expected from a harpy like Shannon.

I survived my double-shift and hurried home. I didn’t make it past the couch. Decisions weren’t my strong suit. Picking a college had nearly killed me, and dropping out destroyed what little of me remained. But taking this leap wasn’t scary.

I knew what I wanted.

If only I could pick the right words.

I stared at my phone until the time read half-past why-the-hell-am-I-awake. I should have waited until morning to text, but it wasn’t fair that Shannon had been the one to strip my soul bare.

I wanted Anthony. I needed him to help me understand.

I trembled as I typed the text. Hi, sir. Call me when you’re up in the morning?

The phone rang immediately.

My breathing fluttered before I answered. I was close to tears. Anthony recognized it.

The warmth of his voice was better than any fuzzy blanket. “Morgan? Talk to me.”

My mind reeled. It was the first I’d heard from him since that night, and his voice wrapped over me like a soothing melody. Every muscle in my body relaxed. I sunk into the sofa, savoring the gruffness of his voice, the forced gentleness in his words, and the absolute compassion hidden behind the formality.

“I’m okay,” I said.

“Don’t lie to me, pet.”

I didn’t think I was. “I hope I didn’t wake you up—”

“Are you okay, Morgan?”

I swallowed. “I wanted to talk.”

“I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

I glanced at the time again. “You don’t have to do that. I just thought—”

“Twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes it was then. The phone went dead before I could argue. I sat up. My hair was braided for bed, and I wore pink fuzzy sleep pants, a white tank top, and two different colored socks. Good enough. I had just enough time to brush my teeth and wash my face before Anthony knocked.

I leaned against the door, my words stolen by a misfiring brain. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, Anthony loomed larger than he did in his fancy suits. The shirt clung to his chest, and the muscles in his arms tightened as he looked me over. His hair was drawn back in a ponytail, swept away from his face. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl. His jaw was dusted with a nighttime stubble.

I moved aside for him to enter.

He had other plans.

He pulled me into his arms, shielding me in his strength from all the terrible thoughts and fears that had chased me away from him.

I sank into his embrace, loving how easily I slipped into his protection. His hands settled at my waist. The heat pooled deep in me. A single touch, and I came undone.

Why fight it? With no one watching, I could submit to him in every way I’d imagined.

But if I was to become the pet he desired, I needed to confront what scared me the most.

He’d asked me before. He deserved an answer now.

“Can you sit?”

He did as I asked. That didn’t help my stress. Anthony claimed the center of my loveseat, leaving little room for me beyond his lap. It was hard enough to piece together what I wanted to say standing so near him. I needed space for this.

I presented myself to him like I was on stage, awaiting the cue to begin my concerto.

And it was a tempting word.

“I’d like to talk,” I said.

“Okay.”

His voice rocked my body. I imagined him over me once more, thrusting between my legs, pinning me to the table and taking my orgasm.

I wanted it again. I wanted to feel every part of him over every part of me. I’d give into his desires without hesitation this time. Savor his every shiver and groan.

All this from single word?

I swallowed. Not a good start.

“I need to talk,” I said. “You need to listen.”

Anthony agreed, resting against the couch. Perfectly patient and calm though I stood in the center of the tempest created by my mind.

“I’m not mad or anything about what happened,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. Six seconds in and I was already chastised. He wanted specifics.

Well, it wasn’t like I had any innocence left after Duchess. I started again.

“I’m not upset about having sex. It was good. Very good.”

His smirk was quick. An acknowledgment. His gaze didn’t falter. I squirmed, fearing the constant wiggling would erode my bones away and I’d collapse into a fleshy puddle of regretted arousal.

“You fucked me,” I said. “You stripped me naked. Fucked me. Finished inside of me. While they watched and commented.”

Anthony nodded.

“That’s your biggest fantasy?” I asked.

He nodded again.

“That’s my biggest nightmare. I’m terrified of becoming the center of attention. I never wanted to perform again. I gave up on that part of my life.”

Anthony leaned forward. His was such a normal, reflexive movement it almost startled me. Not the looming intimidation of my master, but just Anthony. A man. Edging forward to listen.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because.”

“Morgan.”

“Because that’s how I ruined my life.”

Now he really smiled. “You’re twenty-three, and you’ve only missed a year of school.”

“Technically, I need twelve credits to graduate.”

“Pet, that isn’t ruining your life.”

“It ruined nearly twenty years of planning and goals and lessons and...everything.”

I gestured behind me, to the boxes stacked like mismatched legos against the wall. They contained everything. My music. My instruments. Everything that was once Morgan was condensed into bursting banker’s boxes and sealed up tight with duct tape.

“Music was my life. I was gifted. Straight up, get me some testing, creepy-little-kindergartener-playing-Mozart gifted. I began lessons when I was old enough to sit at the piano. They gave me a violin when I was five. And all of it came easy to me.”

“I believe it.”

I covered my face. “No, you don’t. I’m not trying to boast, but, sir…you can’t imagine my talent. If you knew my skill, if you had ever listened to be perform…I’d lose you forever.”

“Pet.”

“You’d want nothing to do with me. You’d compare who I am now with what I’ve lost, and you’d be just as disgusted with me as my friends and family.”

He reached for me, but I ignored the gesture. I had to say this on my own.

“I studied with three different tutors from grade school through my senior year. Not one after another, but three at the same time. A rehearsal a day, rotating days between jazz, symphony, and classical. I practically bankrupted my family with lessons, auditions, instruments, travel for competitions. My mother demanded so much from me…” I couldn’t break now. Not yet. “I spent hours every night after school practicing. Hours, Anthony. I think I slept a total of five hours a night through high school. There wasn’t time for any more, not if I was going to be perfect.”

“That sounds…difficult.”

“Perfection is harsh. But it worked. I went to college and blew away the professors. I had scholarships on top of scholarships. I played concerts and joined bands and groups and musicals until I was eating lunch in the music lab and napping in a soundproof booth. And you know what happened?”

Anthony’s expression darkened. “You burned out.”

I laughed. He didn’t get the joke. I didn’t get the joke.

“No.” My head ached. I should have waited for morning to bare my soul. “I loved music. Couldn’t get enough. But you know what I didn’t love? My chemistry course.”

He frowned. Demanded an explanation. I shook my head.

“Chem was the first class I took that…was hard. Usually, I didn’t have to study for anything. It just…stuck in my head, the way a song just plays over and over in your mind. But chemistry didn’t come easy. And I bombed the course.” I scrunched my nose. “But that didn’t make sense. Everything else had been so easy. What made this class impossible?”

“It’s a difficult subject.”

“And I failed it. That first test? I shoved it into the first garbage can I could find. I ignored the problem. I did everything I could but learn the material for the next class. I failed the next test. And the next. Until…all of a sudden…I had to drop the class. And maybe I was just tired. Maybe I had focused too much on the musical courses, but…I ruined that chance.”

“Just chemistry?”

My voice hollowed. “That was the first. After I dropped the course, it was like…this shame welled inside me. And the more I thought about how silly it was that I couldn’t pass an introductory chem class…the worse it got. It consumed me. I tried to focus on the concerts, but…”

“How many concerts?”

Too many to count. “There was symphony. Jazz band. The string quartet. Chamber music. The ensemble with the choir. Oh, the school’s musical. Then I had a couple competitions…”

“Morgan, are you listening to yourself?”

“But that was different. Yes, I had a lot to do, but…I should never have forgotten my 19^th Century Lit paper.”

“Another class?”

“It dropped me a letter grade. I thought I lost my mind. Now I was failing two classes. But instead of making it up, I ignored it. Music was more important than dealing with real life. As long as I had music, who cared about my English or science credit?” I shrugged. “Or history. I gave that up too. And I hated my physical education elective, so I skipped it. Got an incomplete.”

“You had one bad year.”

“The trumpet.”

Anthony frowned as the word tore through my throat, summoning a surge of tears with it.

“What?” he asked.

“The trumpet. It’s just…fucking hard to learn.”

“I’ve never tried.”

Then he wouldn’t understand. “All brass instruments are hard. But a trumpet…your lips and breath control the notes. All of them. I couldn’t do it. But the trumpet was a mandatory credit for the music program. I couldn’t just skip that. It was music. And it was me. I was supposed to be able to do it so easily. After all the practice and tutors and thousands of dollars…”

“You didn’t pass?”

“I needed the credit to stay a full-time student.” The tears burned my eyes. “I lost forty-thousand dollars worth of scholarships. My parents couldn’t afford to keep me in school. And that was it. Everything changed. My parents were beyond livid. I couldn’t face my friends. I had to take a job to pay for the next semester’s tuition, and that was it. No time for practicing. No time for rehearsals. It doesn’t matter how well you play the violin if you’re too exhausted to look at the music before sitting with the ensemble. I dropped two chairs before the conductor asked me to recuse myself for the semester.” The tears trickled over my cheeks. “And then I had nothing left. Nothing except…”

“Go on, Morgan. I’m listening.”

“I had one chance. The conductor arranged for me to sit in with the city symphony, and they’d arranged a solo for me during one of the movements. It was an audition. A chance to be hired as soon as I graduated and placed in the symphony itself.” I smirked. “Or any of the other three ensembles that sent representatives after they heard I was to play.”

“You were that…”

“Renowned. Yes.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Neither did I. “But the stress of it…after failing the classes, humiliating myself at the trumpet…the music was so hard, and I’d become this insomniac mess, just staying up for hours every night worrying. I didn’t want to leave the dorm. I couldn’t talk to my friends. Even answering the phone sent me into this…spiral. I just wanted to sleep, that’s all. Just fall asleep and stay in bed where it was warm and safe.”

“That’s depression, Morgan.”

“Just felt like failure to me.” I let the tears fall. Who would they hurt now? “When the time came for the concert…I couldn’t even read the music. It all looked like squiggles to me. Just gibberish. I couldn’t play. I couldn’t think. I had gotten so sick that day. I think I had a fever. I don’t really remember. It felt like this weight crushed me from the inside out. I remember gasping for air. Sweating. It just…”

“It’s okay.”

“I couldn’t play the song. The symphony was unable to play around me. The conductor halted the song just to restart it after I ran from the stage.”

He motioned for me to come closer. I refused.

“Five hundred people watched me in the audience. Including scouts for the three different symphonies who specifically came because my conductor told them about my talent. I didn’t even make it off-stage before I threw up. I couldn’t stop throwing up. I couldn’t stop crying. I refused to eat, to sleep. My parents took me to the hospital…” I looked down. “I left before the psych consult.”

Anthony eyed the boxes behind me. “And you’ve not played music since?”

“Not a sound…until the piano at Duchess.”

“But you’re so talented. Don’t let what happened in the past ruin what you could do now.”

“How? How am I supposed to recover from that? I blew every chance I had. My life—everything my mother had sacrificed for me, everything I’d worked day-in-and-day-out to achieve. Gone in an instant. I couldn’t pick up the violin again. I couldn’t let myself stand in that spotlight just to fail.” I met his gaze. “And then I met you.”

Anthony stilled. “We weren’t playing violin on Saturday.”

“No. But I was performing. For the first time since that concert, I performed for an audience. And you know what I learned?”

“Tell me.”

“Everyone loved it.”

Anthony’s lips twitched upwards. “Do you like that they watched?”

My eyes found my violin in the corner. “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes. It was…thrilling.”

“For me as well, pet.”

“And I was good at it.”

“You exceeded my expectations…and I’m a hard man to surprise.”

“I’m not talking about just the sex. I submitted to you. I did it.”

His gaze lingered over the curves under my pajama bottoms. “You have a natural aptitude.”

“I can do this.”

His eyes snapped back to mine. I stilled. I hadn’t been this honest with myself in years. My body buzzed with a surge of adrenaline. I wanted to sit. Run. Hide my face. Strip out of my clothes and offer myself to Anthony so I could forget everything about the last hellish year.

My voice layered in promise. “I could please you.”

“You already have.”

“I could…be the submissive you want.”

“You already are, pet.”

My breathing wavered. His gaze turned intense. Hungry. Powerful. He stood, towering over me as I trembled in his shadow.

His touch was a gentle press, pushing my chin up to look him in the eye.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me,” Anthony said. “How pleased I was. How proud I am to show you off. I can promise you many more nights like the one we had on Saturday.”

My belly clenched hard at the thought. I could handle those Saturday nights as long as every last shiver and touch belonged to him.

The old Morgan, the failed and panicked Morgan, drifted away. The new Morgan, a submissive and passionate woman, took her place.

I breathed Anthony in and wanted nothing more than to mold myself into the vision he chose.

Succumbing to his expectations was far easier than meeting my own.

“Do you want this?” His lips brushed mine. The excitement shivered me too much to seize the kiss I needed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He reached down, scooping me up into his arms and carrying me to the bed. I stretched out, preparing for his touch. He shut off the lights and tucked the blankets under my chin, pulling my hips back until I met his body.

This was not what my aching core needed. I twisted to look at him.

“Sleep, pet,” he said.

“You...want to sleep?”

“I have a seven o’clock meeting tomorrow—this morning.” He tightened his hold over my body. “Sleep.”

“But—”

“You’re my pet,” he said. “And you need your rest. From now on…I’m taking care of you. Your every comfort, your every protection, your every need. I’ll see that you want for nothing, Morgan. And I ask only one thing in return…”

“Anything.”

“Go to sleep. I’m fucking exhausted.”

I giggled though my body warmed, flushed and hot against him.

But I hummed in a newfound comfort. My worries swirled into nothing and were pushed beyond the barbed wire and landmines that had festered in anxiety for far too long.

In Anthony’s arms, for the first time in years, I felt calm. I closed my eyes and allowed my racing mind to finally quiet.

“Morgan.” His voice rumbled in the darkness.

“Mmhmm.”

“You will be playing the violin for me.”

My stomach twisted.

So much for calm.