I’d failed the audition.

But Anthony didn’t have to know.

For two weeks, I’d kept the secret. Hid my shame from the only man who might have offered me some consolation.

Anthony closed in behind me as I dressed for work. He wound the string of my apron over my tummy, binding my arms to my sides. His eyes studied his handiwork in the mirror.

“Come back here as soon as your shift ends and get ready.” He kissed my neck. “We’re eating out tonight.”

I smirked. “We go out to eat every night, sir.”

“Tonight is different. I want to show off my beautiful pet.” He nodded towards the violet dress hanging in his walk-in closet. Just one of the many dresses and outfits he’d purchased for me. “Wear the new gown tonight. I want you to look good enough to eat.”

“I guess my beefy mac and cheese didn’t hit the spot?”

He smiled. I loved how easily I cracked him now. Anthony could close multi-billion dollar business deals and bench press two hundred and fifty pounds, but he was the only person who was a worse cook than me.

He nuzzled the side of my head, drawing the apron’s strings tight. “We’re meeting friends.”

“At Duchess, sir?”

“No. But Simone, Nate, Reed, and Thomas will join us.”

He didn’t mention their submissives, but that was on purpose. A Duchess ritual I was beginning to understand. The subs weren’t nearly as important as their masters.

Hmm. Dinner out with very dangerous people in a location that wasn’t built for a scene. I shivered. They’d planned something, and it probably wasn’t a five-course meal.

“Be ready by seven,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

He released my apron and left me to prepare for work. The door closed behind him, his cell already ringing. I released a shaky breath.

The apron looked hideous.

It didn’t matter how clean and pressed it was. The apron was more a shackle than any restraints decorating Anthony’s bed.

I peeled it off and shoved it into my bag. Maybe someone would mug me on the way to the café. I’d shove the bag into their arms before they even asked. Hell, maybe I’d earn a spot in the thief’s street gang too. Anything was better than the cafe.

My eyes were puffy, but Anthony hadn’t seen me crying. That was all that mattered. I applied a bit of concealer. If I could, I would have covered myself completely with makeup. Blended and contoured until I faded out of existence.

If someone had told the academically-floundering, financially-drowning, musically-delusional Morgan of a year ago that the highlight of her generally mismanaged life would be a “no-clothing” rule instituted by a millionaire boyfriend, I’d have wished for my fucked-up fairy godmother’s magic long before the college catastrophe.

And I liked my fairy tale, even if Anthony kept his princess in bondage. I had great sex, sported a few interesting bite marks over my more sensitive areas, and learned the consequences of forgetting to say sir. We’d dined at fancy restaurants. He’d provided beautiful dresses for our engagements.

And all he asked in return was that I tend to his every sexual desire.

Perfection.

But even his fantasy-world regimen of foreplay, exhibition, and animalistic sex couldn’t change the words spoken at the audition.

Thank you.

Unfortunately, we’ll be seeking other performers.

Anthony didn’t know I’d failed, and that was the only reason I hadn’t yet cleaved my heart from my chest. The brilliant little nightclub with their beautiful music and healthcare benefits didn’t think I was good enough for their orchestra.

He’d never understand.

Nothing had ever challenged him before. His challenges weren’t just conquered, they were bound, gagged, and kneeling at his feet. Anthony had no concept of failure.

I couldn’t tell him his perfect concert violinist would remain imperfect, unemployed, and tragically silenced.

It was stupid to even try the audition. As much as it pained me, my musical career was DOA. I’d peeked out into the real world and got bitch-slapped so hard I was lucky the violin’s strings didn’t break. The sooner I accepted reality, the better my life would become.

Maybe.

So, that was it. No need to put myself through that torture and uncertainty any longer. The only thing offering me any semblance sense of pride was stripping naked for Anthony and performing every lude and wicked activity he demanded.

It wasn’t music, but it was fun. I could handle the endless shifts at the coffeehouse, student loans, and searching for an apartment with cheaper utilities if I knew my responsibilities faded the instant I knelt at Anthony’s feet.

My shift began the same way it ended—the constant drudgery broken only by a peek into the classifieds left in a bundle of newspaper next to a spilled coffee. No listings for an ex-musician, and most of the jobs required a college degree.

What was I going to do?

Anthony. I’d do Anthony. Anything he wanted. Anything he desired. Living my life for him had worked so far. I hurried to his penthouse after my shift and readied myself for the best dinner date my burnt-out hair straightener and three-year-old makeup could offer.

The dress swept across my skin in shear layers, dipping into my cleavage and wrapping around my hips to end above my knees. It was the prettiest dress I owned, and, without a doubt, the most expensive. Anthony matched me, a black suit with a violet silk square tucked neatly into his pocket. I spun for him and giggled as he drew me close with a kiss.

His hands trailed over my sides. “Pay attention Morgan. Tonight is going to be…challenging.”

“Naked in front of other people challenging?”

Anthony smirked. “This one will be harder for you.”

I gulped. “How can it get any harder?”

“From this moment on…” His hand stoked my cheek. “You are no longer permitted to speak.”

“What?”

“You didn’t last three seconds, pet.” He covered my lips with a finger. “You aren’t permitted to speak during this dinner.”

I cocked my head.

“Seen and not heard. This dinner is not a social event for our subs. No talking, giggling, or drawing attention to yourself.” His hand brushed over my dress. “You are to be my pretty little decoration.”

I bit my lip. He sighed.

“What is it, pet?”

“Do I still get to eat?”

“It’s probably the only way to keep you quiet.”

I rolled my eyes. His hand landed quick on my backside. Message received, along with a dozen other tingly feelings.

I should have been insulted. Instead, I was grateful for the command. Keeping my spirits up took a tremendous amount of mental energy, no matter how wonderful it felt trailing after Anthony like a kitten chasing a string.

But like always, I didn’t realize how deep I’d fallen over my head until we’d arrived at the restaurant, someplace French I couldn’t pronounce even if I had been permitted to talk. Our party awaited us in a private room. I prayed no one was lying naked on a table covered in crepes and escargot.

“Anthony, right on time,” Thomas said. The door shut behind us. “Reed was starving, so we ordered the hors d’oeuvres.”

Shannon, Genn, and Mariah stayed silent as the men greeted Anthony with handshakes and smiles. Simone ordered a glass of wine from a passing waiter, the only feminine sound in the masculine haze.

I shivered at her words. Anthony had satisfied my every desire, but he didn’t treat me nearly as roughly as the demon in the black dress. Though the cane marks had faded, my skin prickled in memory standing so near to her.

At least I didn’t have to speak. I wasn’t ready to explore all parts of my sexuality.

We took our seats, and the waiter hovered at my side. “Miss?”

“Um...”

Anthony snorted. Damn. Would an innocent um break the rules?

Shannon rocked an eyebrow at Genn. Yep. I’d already screwed up.

I closed my mouth and feigned ignorance at the menu selections. Not a hard trick. The menu offered more wine than food, and none of it was in English. Anthony stilled my bouncing knee with a fierce grip over my thigh.

Two strikes against me and we had just sat down.

“Sauvignon blanc,” he ordered. The waiter scampered off.

That was the easy part. Once he returned with our wine, Anthony slapped my hand before I could take a sip.

The waiter cleared his throat and retreated. I wished I could do the same.

No talking. No drinking without his permission either.

Anthony said nothing, but, after a moment, slid the glass towards me. I didn’t dare drink, not until the heat faded from the back of my wrist and the waiter who witnessed the strange, upper-class domestic violence disappeared to the kitchens.

The other subs waited patiently for their masters to feed them. Mariah eagerly sipped from the glass Nate offered. Reed went easier on Genn, waving a hand for her to take what she wanted. I guess I fell somewhere in the middle. But I’d already made enough mistakes.

My missteps weren’t anything serious, and Anthony had warned the lifestyle had a steep learning curve, but my stomach twisted into a knot more elaborate than the napkin swan on my plate.

I didn’t want to mess it up. I didn’t want to disappoint Anthony.

I didn’t want to disappoint myself anymore.

So, I resolved to model my behavior after one of the other girls.

Not Mariah.

Her lips parted into two beautiful pink puffs, and her nipples peeked through the soft material of her dress. I didn’t know what was going on with her, but the little electronic gadget in Nate’s pocket remotely controlled how much she twitched in her seat.

And I couldn’t emulate Genn. Reed gave her too much freedom, even letting her fetch her own bread. Anthony had seated me next to Simone for a reason, another pair of eyes to monitor my behavior. I wouldn’t reach for anything.

That left…Shannon. Sitting perfectly still, hands on her thighs. Thomas practically dared the waiter to question her silence as he set the appetizer before her. She managed to stay silent without appearing condescending to the waiter.

Impressive.

But this was harder for me. During any other dinner, Anthony might have hand-fed me samples from his plate, but in those instances, I was treated like a prized pet.

Here…I was nothing.

Not a date. Not a slave. I sat at his side, still and quiet, just another decoration around the table. Something for the men to admire then ignore as they discussed politics and sports.

By the time the cheese, salad, and main course were delivered and eaten, my stomach threatened to revolt.

It was too easy for Anthony to ignore me.

A dark whisper of insecurity slithered into my head.

I needed his attention. His touch.

Two weeks had passed since the miserable audition, and I should have told him the truth. I needed a hug a hell of a lot more than a plate of coq au von.

A look passed between Nate and Mariah over a sip of wine. He nodded, and Mariah rose from the table. Genn and Shannon awaited similar nods from Reed and Thomas. They followed Mariah to what I assumed were the bathrooms.

Anthony nudged me. “Go ahead, pet.”

Now they were telling us when we could go to the bathroom? Ew. I hadn’t found a lot of limits, but there was a biggie.

But I didn’t argue. I’d take whatever break I could get.

The restroom contained an elaborately decorated and super posh seating area. Mariah leaned over a mirror, touching up her lipstick. Shannon answered a text. Genn read her screen and texted back.

So that was how they got around the rules.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been quiet for this long,” I said. “I even talk when I sleep.”

Mariah dropped her lipstick and whirled around, pressing both index fingers before her lips. But Shannon pounced on me before I could offer a wordless apology.

Shannon launched me backward, pinning me against the wall. She clutched both of my wrists, jamming them to my sides and holding me still against the tile.

She pushed her face within inches from mine.

If it were Simone, I’d have been tortured with a kiss. But Shannon was all teeth.

My stomach dropped as Genn flipped the lock on the door.

“Listen to me, you little bitch.” Shannon’s grip hurt. “You are not going to get us in trouble.”

So much for the no-talking rule. I twisted, but Shannon didn’t let me go. I really hoped Duchess had a standing, no-physical altercations law.

Shannon shoved Mariah away as she tried to break us up.

“You have no idea what you’re doing here,” Shannon snapped. “It’s a wonder Master Anthony even keeps you around.”

“Let me go,” I said.

“Why? Scared?”

“No. Pissed off.”

“Good,” she said. “So am I. You are the reason I hate this godforsaken trend. You don’t know what’s expected from a BDSM lifestyle. You don’t follow the rules, and you don’t understand how to act like a proper submissive.”

“Like you never had to learn.”

Shannon snorted. “This isn’t about learning the right way to sit or how to say thank-you with a mouthful of cock. This isn’t a game. We aren’t weekend subs. We belong to our men 24/7.”

“I do too.”

“Bullshit. You aren’t collared, and he won’t claim you until he’s sure you won’t freak out and call the cops.”

Mariah stared at us like she’d just realized Nate had fed her a fistful of snails. Genn worried only about the door. Neither were thrilled by Shannon’s threats. At least we were all in agreement.

“Get it through your head, Morgan. You are nothing but a sheath for a man’s cock. Anthony is going to fuck you. He’s going to let the other men fuck you. And it isn’t because you are special, and it isn’t because your master thinks you’re super cute.”

The thought terrified me. “He won’t share me. He wants to be the only man to ever take me.”

“Yeah. Now. While you’re still novel and your cunt is tight. But what happens as the weeks pass and your sputtering panic starts to annoy him?” Shannon’s gaze turned vile. “He’ll turn you out to the first fat-fuck who wants to get off. You’ll get rutted in the corner of the club without ceremony, without anyone even caring that some balding asshole with bad breath and a spare tire around is gut is humping the shit out of you, grunting as he fills you after two minutes with his slimy cum.” Shannon laughed. “Do you think anyone will care if it hurts you? If you weren’t ready? If you didn’t get off?”

My stomach turned. “Are you done?”

“No. Because you don’t understand what you are.” Shannon slapped my face. “You’re a slut. A whore. Someone who willingly gives up her body to please a man. Any man. So you got your cunt stuffed twice at Duchess? Big deal. That doesn’t make you a submissive. That makes you a walking liability for a man like Anthony.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ll probably cry rape the minute he tears open your asshole.”

The implication terrified me. “Let me go.”

“What’s the matter, Morgan? Too scared to let him fuck your ass? He’ll destroy you. You know that. And the thing is…he’ll love doing it. Every minute you scream and beg and cry? It’ll make him come that much harder.”

Anthony wasn’t like that. He hadn’t hurt me.

At least, not yet.

“Every couple months, Anthony finds a new girl to fuck at the club,” Shannon said. “He fucks her, parades her around, then chucks her out when he gets bored. What makes you think you’re any different? What makes you think he’s not going to get tired of teaching you the things other subs already know?”

My heels offered me two inches of desperately needed height and confidence. I grappled with my courage and pushed Shannon away before she said anything else vile and terrible.

No wonder they’d wanted her to shut her damn mouth tonight.

I warned her with a hiss. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“You forgot to say ma’am.”

“Fuck you.”

“I will. Someday.” Her voice lowered. “You’ll scream for mercy when I fist your cunt wide-fucking-open.”

The door rattled, and all four of us flinched. Genn unlocked the door, but Shannon pushed her out of the way—the first to leave the room…

And the first to run head-first into Simone.

Shannon hissed as Simone grabbed her by the hair. Her slap was sharp, quick, and left a well-deserved handprint against Shannon’s cheek.

Apparently, we weren’t as quiet as we’d thought.

Simone seethed. She released Shannon, but her order didn’t need to be spoken twice. “Back to the table. No talking.”

Shannon fled with Mariah. Genn trailed quickly behind.

Simone waited, watching as I massaged the ache from my wrists. Shannon’s fingernails had nearly cut me.

“Morgan. Back to the table. Now.”

How the hell was I supposed to face them?

Simone grabbed my wrist, studying the marks left from Shannon’s fingernails. Simone merely quirked an eyebrow, huffed, then led me to the party.

The doors to the room had closed and the dessert plates were cleared. The end of dinner meant something completely different to this crowd, but I didn’t want to play. I wished to go home. To sit with Anthony in his Jacuzzi tub and wash Shannon’s threats off me.

“Everything okay?” Nate asked Simone.

Mariah stiffened as she sat. Genn didn’t meet Reed’s eyes.

Christ. My music major came with a few theater classes. They could at least act like nothing had happened.

Simone wasn’t pleased. “Shannon needs something to shove in that big mouth of hers.”

Shannon lowered her head. I smirked. Served her right.

Thomas studied the red mark on her cheek. “You know what to do, slut.”

Obediently, Shannon edged under the table. Not a word of protest. Not a hesitation.

Maybe Shannon was right. This was more than I could handle. The restaurant wasn’t Duchess. This was public. Really public. Private room or not, waiters would still parade through to the table.

Not like the men cared. Thomas hissed in satisfaction, and it seemed no one minded a bit of oral sex while finishing their coffees.

“Morgan.” Simone didn’t disguise the disappointment in her voice. “You too.”

No. No, no, no.

Simone shared a glance with Anthony. The unspoken betrayal. Anthony’s voice lowered. His grumble struck me harder than any slap to the cheek.

“You should know better, pet.”

I opened my mouth, but his glare silenced my apology. His irritation was my only salvation. No words would have forgiven the mistake, and he saved me from disgracing myself while I begged.

I knew what was expected. It didn’t make shifting under the table cloth and into the darkness next to Shannon any easier. At least my shame was halfway hidden between Anthony’s legs.

Shannon worked on Thomas, her head bobbing as much as the limited space allowed. If nothing else, pleasuring Anthony gave me an opportunity to make up for completely ignoring the one explicit rule of the evening.

Except I hadn’t ever pleased him like how Shannon slurped and sucked. My attempts to titillate Anthony came from quick licks and gentle kisses, more teasing than anything dedicated.

I’d improvise, but Shannon’s words rang in my head. This was just another aspect of sex that Anthony had to teach me.

His cock hardened at my touch. A win. I also removed it from his pants without complication.

I peeked at Shannon, mimicking how she handled Thomas’s cock. Open mouth, swallow bits. I could do it. And I could do it just as well.

Almost immediately, Anthony growled a profanity and jerked away.

“Jesus Christ, Morgan.” Anthony grabbed my hair. “Watch your teeth.”

Nate laughed. “Not into the rough stuff tonight?”

Simone crossed her legs, her feet jabbing my ribs. “He’s always been oddly sensitive.”

“I don’t like getting bit.”

She kissed his cheek. “And that’s why you’re no fun.”

So much for making it up to him.

Anthony pushed me towards his cock, and I apologized with a quick kiss to his head. Back to the basics then. A tongue was a lot safer than potentially nicking him. He reacted again. Twitching against my light touches. Hardening as my lips curled over the underside of his shaft.

He liked that. I resolved to please him with gentle strokes and a loving caress. I might not have been the cock-sheath Shannon claimed to be, but if I was good at anything lately, I could show Anthony how I felt.

And if that meant kneeling between his legs in a Michelin-starred French restaurant while he talked club business with his friends, I’d worship him all night.

Shannon’s elbow went wide as she gobbled more of Thomas. I dodged the blow. That hadn’t been an accident. I wished we were farther apart, but, due to the limitations of the table, our knees practically touched. I stiffened as she did it again.

The nudge was harder, and, this time, she didn’t move her hand away.

I shifted, but her nails dug into my skin. Dragged down my arm. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

I edged closer to Anthony and diligently worked over his length. Shannon pinched a bit of skin on my arm, just enough to work between the tips of her razor nails. I flailed, but that only hurt more. With her fingers freed, she focused lower.

I licked faster. Anthony shifted. His hand returned, and I welcomed the stroking fingers on my cheek, eager for any affection he’d offer.

I received nothing of the sort.

“Suck it, Morgan.”

It was a command.

A harsh one. And it felt like he’d punted me across the room.

He wanted something different. Did that mean what I was doing was wrong? Did he not like it?

His cock thrummed hard and hot in my hand. Maybe he really liked what I was doing, and he wanted more gratification?

No. Hopeful thoughts. He wasn’t on the edge. He was frustrated. My throat closed before I even took him in my mouth. Had he sighed or signified any discontent, I’d have burst into tears. Definitely not sexy.

Shannon’s hands returned the instant I wrapped my lips around his head. I dodged as best I could, but the last thing I wanted to do was accidently castrate him while fidgeting. Her fingers grazed the sides of my breasts. I clamped my hands to my side and shut her out.

They fell to my hips. Then lower, to the edge of my dress.

The material slipped upwards.

Absolutely not.

I slapped her, but the jerk earned a frustrated exhale from Anthony. I didn’t dare remove him from my mouth to shift away.

But Shannon didn’t stop. Her hands brushed over my thighs, snapping the elastic on my lacey, dress-matching thong.

The frustration yielded to helplessness, and my stomach roiled.

I did not want this. Not at all. Not from anyone but Anthony, and absolutely not from Shannon.

I tucked in closer to him, but edging forward did nothing to hide that part of me from her. The thong ripped aside.

Now was the time for the safe word. I should have screamed it loud and demanded to go home where I could talk all I liked and hide safe on the couch.

I hesitated for too long.

Shannon attacked.

And she didn’t aim for my pussy.

A piercing, blinding, searing pain bit through me. Her thumb forced itself inside a very unaccommodating, untouched, red flag place. The sudden intrusion wasn’t gentle. She jammed her thumb hard enough to completely sheath inside me.

I’d never felt any pain like that before.

I squealed and smacked the top of my head against the table. Anthony also yelled, and I knew, just knew, I had hurt him as much as Shannon hurt me. I leapt away from the abuse, tugging my dress down to cover the offended area.

Shannon returned her attention to Thomas as Anthony ripped me out from under the table.

“What the hell are you doing?” He zipped his pants, grimacing as he adjusted himself. Simone reached for him. He smacked her hand away.

Now that he wanted me to talk, I had no words to give him.

My mind blanked. He was pissed. He was hurt.

And so was I.

I’d embarrassed him in front of his friends—the other doms and Simone.

And me…

I’d been violated. Deliberately hurt by a sadist who wanted to see me cry.

I’d fucked up. Badly. Shannon might have molested me, but I was the one who disappointed Anthony. The tears bubbled up. He didn’t care.

Anthony didn’t hesitate. He picked me up and laid me against an unused table. I had no time to prepare before he grabbed my ankles and pulled them over my head.

“Grab your legs,” he ordered.

I did as I was told, thoroughly embarrassed as I flashed the entire dinner party my panties. He held my ankles—pushing me back to roll my bottom upwards. The humiliation was tortured—positioned like he’d diaper me.

The spank came quick. I nearly let go of my knees.

God only knew what he’d do if my thighs opened and offered my slit to him.

He yanked my panties away, forcing them into my hands as I held my legs up for him. My pussy and bottom exposed to the room.

The first spank hurt.

I yelped. He frowned.

“Quiet.” He struck again. My gasp wooshed out from my lungs. “You aren’t in Duchess. Stay silent unless you want the entire restaurant to know that you’re getting spanked.”

Silence was easy.

My words choked over the tears, and only my breath shuddered out as his palm slapped my skin. Ten hard strikes in a row. No loving caresses between the spanks, no probing fingers inside me, testing my wetness.

Just a punishment for displeasing him. For fucking up.

For ruining everything.

My legs winced with every strike, but the position was worse than the pain. Completely exposed. Vulnerable. Reduced to a quintessential little girl positioning that only revealed how completely inexperienced and confused I was.

I crumbled. He released me after ten harsh spanks, but I only dropped my legs. I didn’t slide from the table.

The sobs were heavy, ugly, and consumed my entire body.

That was it. Shannon was right. Anthony knew this wouldn’t work out. He was too experienced to waste his time teaching me things that should have been instinctual. Sex was the only thing I did to please him, and I’d bitten him hard enough to hurt.

I couldn’t lose him.

Without Anthony, I had nothing. No music. No college. No career.

Nothing but guilt and remorse and failure…

“Morgan.” Anthony pulled me up. I sat on the table, unable to hide my tears. I didn’t have much control over my life anymore, but at least I knew when everything was destroyed.

“Pet, look at me.” Anthony’s voice softened. “It’s okay.”

I nearly hyperventilated. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

My reaction startled them all. Anthony leaned in close, rubbing my tears away with his thumb. “I’m not angry with you, pet. You were punished. It’s done. Forgiven. It’s over now.”

Over.

The punishment was over, but so was everything else.

I cried harder.

I once thought a spanking had embarrassed me. The uncontrollable sobbing was worse than mortifying. It shamed me. Worried the others. Reduced me into a shivering mess of crazy and regret.

Anthony couldn’t soothe me. He shrugged as Simone approached. Her offered glass of wine wouldn’t help. I couldn’t shake my head, but if I tasted anything else, I’d be sick.

He shook his head. Made a joke. “I think she’s had enough to drink, Simone.”

She didn’t believe him and brought me water instead. This time, she didn’t give me a choice and pressed it to my lips. I guzzled from the offered goblet and hiccuped before I could swallow even a bit.

The coldness swirled with the nausea in my stomach.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Anthony pulled me close. “Morgan, listen to me. You made a mistake. That’s what happens. Don’t be frightened.” He smiled, kissing my forehead. “Don’t forget that I like punishing you. I’ll invent reasons to give you a spanking.”

“I wanted…” The words broke. “To be good…”

“You were bound to make a mistake. You can’t be perfect forever.”

“I need to be.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

We were talking two different things.

I closed my eyes. I liked what he offered. A spanking for a mistake, and a bruised bottom exchanged for absolute forgiveness. No languishing for hours, bugging a professor about a retest. No writing letter after letter to scholarship committees begging for leniency. No torturing myself for a year after the disastrous concert.

Anthony’s way made sense. A spanking was degrading, but so was failing out of school and working in a cafe.

“Morgan, tell me what’s wrong.” He ensured no one else heard. “All these tears aren’t from a spanking. You haven’t been yourself for days.”

Of course, he noticed. Now my lips clamped shut.

Even in this fucked-up fantasy world, no spanking could atone for the audition.

His hands brushed down my arms, but he stopped over the raised claw marks near my elbow. The scratch from Edward Scissorhands’ fingernails.

He twisted my arm so Simone could see, but her eyes had already narrowed on Shannon.

Anthony’s jaw set. Hard. The air around him practically simmered in a sudden, unconscionable heat. I didn’t recognize the lethality in his voice.

“What else did she do?”

I wouldn’t say. I’d never say.

“What else did she do, Morgan?”

This shame wasn’t my norm. It wasn’t a regretful acknowledgement of my lust and inhibitions. I’d been degraded because someone else had hurt me.

“Did she touch you?”

My silence answered for me. Simone frowned.

“They fought in the bathroom,” she said to Anthony. “I heard a slap.”

Now he was enraged. “Did she hit you?”

I’d rather cop to that. I nodded.

“Did she hurt you?”

Another nod. Another tear.

“Where did she touch you, Morgan? Did she finger you?”

He was in the general region at least. I looked away. “You haven’t touched me…there…yet.”

Simone released a breath. Had Anthony done the same he would have brought the walls down.

“We’re leaving.” The rage in his voice terrified me. “Now.”

The sudden decision startled the table. Nate stood, offering to help. Anthony silenced him without a word.

He helped me from the table, straightening my dress and drying my tears. But he held tight to my hand as we stalked to the door.

Simone called after him, but he locked eyes only with Thomas.

“Your slave does not touch Morgan without my permission.” His ire pulse over the table. “No one will ever touch Morgan. She belongs to me.”

The statement resonated with the guests, everyone tensing as Anthony’s unspoken threat dared any to protest. Shannon had paled, but Thomas dropped all pretense. He apologized to Anthony.

The words fell to deaf ears.

Apparently, Shannon hadn’t just molested me. She’d sinned, broken some cardinal infraction everyone understood but me.

No one was to touch me.

Ever.

The relief stole my strength.

Anthony returned us home, but the emotional toll sapped my energy. He said nothing, gently removing my dress and tucking me beside him in the bed, snug and safe under the covers and in his arms.

It wasn’t Shannon’s touch or the spanking that terrified me.

It was my fragility. A moment of utter weakness that had nearly destroyed me with the same terror and anxiety that plagued me a year ago.

I thought I could handle the audition. This life. My mistakes.

I was wrong.

“Morgan, talk to me…” Anthony caressed my arm. I was glad we spooned, and I faced away from him. I couldn’t look him in the eye now. “I promise, I’ll understand.”

“It’s just hazing. I’m sure they do it to all the new girls.”

A still moment passed. We talked about two different things again.

“You’re a terrible liar, pet.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You aren’t telling me the whole truth.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

His body warmed me. I didn’t need my fuzzy pink blanket tucked around me when we slept. His arms were enough. Hips pressed against mine.

I loved the feel of him and his fancy sheets and his beautiful penthouse.

I loved the way he touched my skin. I loved all the naughty things he demanded of me.

I loved that here, I was his pet. Pampered, disciplined, and serving only him.

I loved that in his world, I could hide from my own. And I needed that. Just for a little longer.

I turned to face him, kissing his shoulder and neck, caressing the hard muscles over his shoulders and chest. My tongue danced over his skin, drawing light circles. I learned enough from our games to know how to properly distract him.

His body stirred. Question forgotten.

I sighed as he moved over me, spreading my legs. A motion so familiar and natural now I shifted my hips before he ordered it.

“Everything is fine, sir.” The lie almost convinced me as he thrust within my wanting slit. “Absolutely perfect.”