Life Goal Number Eleven: Forget the past.

The nicest part about being single was that the silence never lasted long when I got home from work.

I could play the violin all night if I wanted, and no one would complain.

Even better, I could play the same parts of the same song hundreds of times.

It took me fifty-five hours over two weeks, but I’d managed to create the illusion of a thirty-piece string harmony with only my violin. Just me, the recording software on my laptop, and hours of digitally laying over one hundred pre-recorded tracks, one over the next.

My masterpiece? The theme song to Game of Thrones. I’d created the most epic and nerdiest project of my life. I plastered that sucker all over YouTube and my social media sites.

It worked.

Only two days passed before I received a message. Ben, a former cellist from the music program, found me on Facebook. He’d recently graduated from our prestigious school and had formed a quartet. During the day, he worked at an office supply store with his viola player. But at night? Their quartet played dozens of venues.

And he was down a violinist.

Ten minutes later I’d signed up to earn one thousand dollars to play for four hours at some fancy one-percenter’s birthday party.

It was formal; he warned. But the birthday girl wanted contemporary music. Top 40s and pop princesses and some Beatles for her husband. Not a problem. I knew exactly the songs to play. After a full week of practices—far more than they’d wanted but the only way I’d dared to perform again—the only thing I had to worry about was what to wear.

The lovely black dress that had christened my appearance at Duchess hung in my closet. It spent more time on the floor than on my body, but it was no worse for wear. I hadn’t touched it since that night. I had no choice now.

The party’s venue was styled like a masquerade-style ball. Cinderella’s castle set in a large gala ballroom. Waiters in tails, white chandeliers, and string quartet courtesy of the misfit alumni from my school.

I couldn’t imagine the cost of the white roses blossoming from every exposed surface or the champagne that bubbled from fountains. A little ritzy for my tastes, but they’d provided us a decent dressing room to prepare—like we were some real band and not a bunch of adult-kids trying to figure it all out.

Ben’s dreadlocks gave us away. Paul sported a tribal tattoo on his neck, and Caitlin dyed the tips of her brunette hair purple. If I was the normal one, we were in trouble.

We circled around Ben to tune, but he played only three notes before leaping out of his chair. His bow almost snapped in his hands.

“Keep going guys.” He nodded to the hallway. “That’s the lady who hired us. She’s a bit...demanding. Let me go see what she wants.”

“Ben’s got a crush on her.” Caitlin strummed her viola. “I don’t get it. She’s always been a royal bitch.”

I busied myself, warming up with a few scales. “Maybe he likes that.”

“No one could like that.”

“You’d be surprised.”

My last note warbled flat, and I adjusted the betrayer string as Ben tripped over himself to introduce the party-planner to the quartet. My peg stuck, and I grunted, trying to get my D string back in line.

Nothing would be worse than getting tossed out of tune on the first note.

“Ms. Lesley, this is the rest of the quartet.”

Except that.

I dropped the violin. Caitlin caught it before it tumbled to the floor, but my stomach crashed, burned, and resurrected only to harden into cement in my gut.

No. Fucking. Way.

Ben stopped right behind me. “That’s Caitlin, our viola. And Paul, he’s our second violinist. And Cassie couldn’t make it, she has pneumonia. So, this is our replacement—”

“Morgan.”

Simone’s voice tuned to the exact pitch that threatened to shatter my spine. My worst fear confirmed, wrapped in a floor length emerald dress.

Simone gave me the twisted smile she reserved only for those who earned the happy place at the end of her riding crop. Christ, the demon was everywhere! My own poltergeist, ready to crawl out of a TV, whip a priest, and strap me down to a bed.

It’d been weeks since my last panic attack. So much for the lucky streak. My chest compressed until no oxygen could possibly squeeze through my lungs. I hoped—prayed—for a heart attack.

If I dropped dead from official medical causes, maybe all of Duchess wouldn’t know how I melted into a puddle of Morgan-panic and wept like a baby in Simone’s shadow.

“Well, well, well,” Simone said. “I had no idea you were a rent-a-musician now.”

“Friends.” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could filter them for coherence. “They’re friends from college.”

“Is that right?”

“You know Morgan?” Ben asked.

Simone tilted her head. “Intimately.”

I debated running. My jello’d legs disagreed. “What are you doing here?”

“I hired you.”

“Hired me?” Another blow. The panic attack seized full control now. Sweat prickled on my forehead and rolled down my back. “This is your party?”

“It’s Mariah’s thirtieth birthday. I told Nate I’d help him organize it. And since your friends played so well at my rooftop party, I thought I’d give them the job...”

Ben fell for her smile and blushed. “Thank you ma’am, we’re happy to—”

I wasn’t listening. “So Mariah and Nate and you are here.”

Simone looked me up and down. She recognized the dress.

“The gang’s all here, pet. No one would miss this for the world.”

“Everyone?”

“Anthony should be here any minute.” Her laugh turned cruel. “I can’t wait for him to see you.”

I’d probably die first.

I wanted to collapse into my chair, but Caitlin had set my violin there. Better to fall and crack my head open on the floor than ruin the instrument. Maybe then I’d get some sort of quick-onset amnesia and I wouldn’t remember why the name Anthony caused my blood to run blistering hot and bone-chillingly cold.

“Go get ready.” Simone’s order was just as demanding here as it was in Duchess. “Twenty minutes until the guests are scheduled to arrive.”

She stalked away. I gave her ten seconds before barreling through Ben and Caitlin for the nearest bathroom. I couldn’t splash water over me, not in a dress this nice, so I settled for curling onto the floor by the sink and letting my flushed skin rest on the cool porcelain.

Ben, Caitlin, and Paul gently knocked on the door. Caitlin came in first, waving the others in as she saw me camped out like a freak in the corner.

“So…” Ben said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and warily eyed the tampon dispenser. “Everything...okay?”

I banged my head back on the wall. “I need a minute.”

“You aren’t sick too, are you?”

“No. Just an idiot.”

Caitlyn knelt by my side. “You knew that lady?”

Understatement of the year.

“Yeah. She’s a...friend of my ex-boyfriend.”

All three of them nodded. Caitlyn was the only brave one.

“Is he going to be here?” she asked.

“Looks like it.”

“Bad breakup?”

“You have no idea.”

“Maybe they won’t know it’s you.”

Simone had probably lit up the Duchess phone tree by now. “They’ll know. I’m…recognizable.”

Ben shrugged. “So what? He’s just an ex.”

Paul handed me a bottle of water. He was a sweet guy. I’d hated always out-chairing him during school, but so far he was the only one with a musical career, teaching elementary students.

“I dated him before I started playing again,” I said. “I don’t want him to see this.”

“Why?” Caitlin asked. “You’re an amazing violinist. Wouldn’t you rather rub it in his face?”

Absolutely not. I’d learned that lesson after outwitting him with a two pair during strip poker at Duchess. Gloating was a mistake. Spankings hurt even when he was naked and I still had my jeans.

“I can’t believe you’re letting this intimidate you.” Ben’s dreadlocks shook with his head. “You are so crazy talented. Don’t get all head-games now.”

“It’s all one big head game. And a bad situation.”

“Is it lose a thousand dollars bad?”

Music wasn’t supposed to be about money. Music was art and the emotions and the human condition. At least, that’s how we rationalized it while scrounging for change in the couch to pay for a McDonald’s cheeseburger.

I needed that thousand dollars. My repay-Anthony-for-the-car-repair-fund had taken a hit with my new lease and its increased rent. That thousand would finally be enough to pay him back.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I can get through it.”

Their sigh of relief sliced me with guilt. It wasn’t just my thousand dollars in the balance. It was theirs too. Not like I could back out now. They depended on me.

And it sucked.

Caitlyn helped me to my feet. I adjusted my dress and followed Ben to gather my instrument and music. The party rumbled with the arrival of a few of Mariah’s guests. My insides froze as each stepped out into the hall.

I didn’t want to see him, but I couldn’t help but stare at each of the tuxedo’ed men who loomed between us and the stage.

Reed was the first to recognize me. He offered me a bewildered smile. “Mo! Thank God. I thought this party would be boring!”

The others couldn’t be far behind.

“Oh. My. God.”

And there was Shannon.

Caitlyn bumped into me as Shannon and Genn burst out of the crowds like prowling velociraptors. Ben gestured me to the stage, but I’d meet him there. Last thing I needed was anyone hearing what Shannon would say.

“Morgan, pet, is it really you?” She nudged Genn. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m still not allowed to touch you.”

I hadn’t forgiven her yet, but now I was armed with a very expensive musical bludgeon. “Excuse me, I have to get up to the stage.”

“It’s been a long time since you were our entertainment,” Genn smirked. She touched the violin before I could pull it away. “I don’t think this will be as much fun.”

“Oh, we’ll have to make it fun,” Shannon said.

I cleared my throat. “I really have to go.”

“What happened with you and Master Anthony?” she asked. “Last I heard, he kicked your ass out.”

“They’re waiting on me.”

“Do you miss it?” She plucked a flute of champagne off a passing waiter. “Spreading your legs like a whore and getting fucked?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I brushed past them, but Shannon’s laugh carried over the hall.

“Please play something I can dance to!”

I regretted talking to them. Ben, Paul, and Caitlyn picked their chairs, leaving me the closest one to the edge of the stage. I plopped into the seat and released a breath. I didn’t want to move anymore. Breathing and existing were traumatizing enough.

I closed my eyes and willed the night to spontaneously end. Freak transformer explosion that blacked out the city. A rogue asteroid plinking me in the forehead. Anything.

No such luck.

“Which one is your ex?” Caitlyn leaned over to me.

Morbid curiosity possessed me to glance over the crowd. I spotted the emerald dress first. Simone led me right to him.

His hair was shorter since I last saw him. No longer above his shoulders but to his chin, cleanly tucked in his favorite half ponytail. He greeted Simone, but he didn’t smile.

God, I’d missed his smile.

The tux cut over his chest in all the right places, his vest perfectly tailored for his broad shoulders. The outfit was accented with the same green of Simone’s dress. My heart flipped and then belly flopped. Simone clung to his arm, leaning up to whisper in his ear. I looked away as she pointed to me.

I didn’t want to see his reaction.

I couldn’t see his reaction.

Would he be proud? Relieved? Disgusted?

Angry?

I’d ignored his call the day after our fight, deliberately sending it to voice mail. I immediately deleted his simple Morgan, call me.

It was the strongest, stupidest thing I’d ever done.

I wished I’d gotten sick in the bathroom. Throwing up wouldn’t relieve the shadow of hysteria lingering in the back of my brain, but it was something proactive. The easiest way to cope with every terrible passing moment.

“He’s in the tux with the lady we met earlier,” I said.

Caitlyn sighed. “Oh, holy hell.”

“I know.”

“You gave that up?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it. Jesus.”

If only.

I held my breath. He must have seen me. From the corner of my eye, Reed, Thomas, and Nate clustered together, pointing towards me. The word was out.

I’d finally made a dedicated effort to better myself, and the first time I picked up my violin, I crashed into the same emotional anarchy I’d just escaped.

And I did it to myself. Sold my talent to the highest bidder without asking about any of the details.

I’d fucked Anthony and degraded myself in half a dozen different ways in front of all his friends, but now was the first time I actually felt violated. Exposed.

Like a whore.

After I’d yelled and pouted and stormed out of his apartment because I vowed never to touch the damn violin again, I’d landed on a stage performing for him and his closest friends.

He probably thought I was a hypocrite.

Ben shrugged at me. Ready to play? I gripped the bow in trembling fingers. I wasn’t good enough for Anthony then, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel better about myself now.

Shannon’s veiled insult hung in my mind. She wanted something they could dance to.

If they all wanted to watch me, the least I could do was put up a good show.

It’d have made Anthony proud.

If he still cared.

I pulled the sheet music from the back of the pile and showed it to the others. Caitlyn shrugged and reshuffled her music. Ben flipped through his iPad to find the right song.

“You never used to like classic rock this much.” He adjusted the cello.

But classic rock was the only thing Anthony and I ever listened to in the car. Like some Pavlovian dog, I now salivated over Aerosmith and AC/DC. I shrugged.

“It grew on me.”

“You sure you’re up for this one first? Heavy solos.”

I raised the bow to my violin. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Guns N Roses was never a favorite, but our improvised version of Sweet Child of Mine focused heavily on two things—the guitar solos translating perfectly to violin riffs, and me rocking the melody since Paul wasn’t too familiar with the main part and had tendency to slow the tempo.

The first notes rang out over the gala. A dozen of Duchess’s regulars gossiped and twisted to find Anthony. My entire body warmed—a welcomed relief from the cold grip of the panic attack.

The familiar opening resonated with a few of the guests though. It was Reed who cheered as I tackled the first guitar solo with enough grace and poise to absolve my mortification for capturing the attention of all in attendance.

Except the comfort wasn’t faked enthusiasm or the first indication of a welcomed aneurysm.

The music came easily, a blessing from my insisted rehearsals and late night practices on my own. The song’s fingerings and notes transitioned to pure muscle memory, granting me a few moments to check over the crowd. To listen to the music.

To enjoy playing the song.

They watched me. Listened to me. Talked about me. Praised me in their own little groups.

Reed even lit his lighter and held it above the crowd.

And just like the sixteenth notes locking into place on my second solo, everything clicked. They might have watched, Anthony might have watched, but I deserved it. Not because I was the chronic screw-up that gossip trailed like a shadow, but because I was good.

Better than good.

Downright impressive.

I rocked the song and inadvertently proved to everyone that Anthony was right and I was a freaking idiot.

And I didn’t even care.

I ended the last solo with a flourish and we immediately launched into something quieter—a little Adele cover that hardly masked my panting breath. Fortunately, the rampant applause from the audience covered it.

But the music only protected me if I kept playing. Rests and pauses between songs tempted me to look for him. No matter how good I was playing, a single glance from Anthony would probably break me.

And so I forced Ben to keep playing. Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, the Beatles. I even indulged Mariah shouting from the audience for a Brittany Spears cover.

After two hours, my violin practically smoked, and my neck threatened to crimp permanently on its side. Ben launched to his feet after Don’t Stop Believing and announced a quick break.

I offered a solo.

Caitlyn pulled me from the stage. “Take a breather before you spontaneously combust.”

That’s what I was trying to avoid.

She shoved a bottle of water into my hand, but I couldn’t stay out in the main hall. Not without a melody or shield.

I bolted to the dressing room, glancing up in time to catch Simone patrolling the exit.

Beautiful angelic demon spawn of a woman. Half a room away was too close to her.

I checked for other exits and ducked behind an elegantly dressed table of white frosted cookies and glittery roses. A secondary exit was almost in reach.

“Morgan.”

His voice cascaded through me. The shiver nearly toppled me into the fancy dessert trays.

I froze. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard him. Not after I flinched like he lashed me with a flogger.

This wasn’t happening.

I closed my eyes. Anthony wasn’t a sadist. Maybe he’d let me go with a polite hello? Then it’d be just like every other awkward, obligatory conversation between exes that inevitably ended with everyone feeling worse about themselves and gaining five pounds courtesy of a tub of cookie dough ice cream.

I forced a smile. I’d be as smooth as my tachycardic heart could permit.

Anthony stood taller than ever, or maybe my shame drove me to the ground. My gaze flitted over his chest and met his set jaw. He was closer than I thought, and I’d practically spun into his arms.

I caught his scent and nearly fell to my knees.

For a week after the breakup, I’d bought the same soap he’d used and poured a little bit of it into my shower, letting his scent steam the room. Too many days passed before I decided that was unhealthy I pitched the bottle.

Now his scent shattered me. Weakened me to a point I doubted I could carry a tune let alone the burden of this conversation.

“Evening, Morgan.”

“Hello, sir.”

Fuck. Sir?

Why didn’t I just open with a sobbing wail and drown myself in the champagne fountain? It wasn’t a slip-up, it was a disaster. My throat closed. The panic attack was back.

“How are you?” He didn’t bring up the title. Not sadistic. Just kind.

“Fine.”

His eyes passed from my head to my toes. “You look good.”

Maybe a little sadistic. He recognized the dress.

I shifted. My feet ached in the strappy sandals, but I didn’t want him to think I was trying to walk away. I was, but no need for him to realize it.

This was harder than I thought it’d be. Harder than it needed to be.

For all the awful and terrible things he’d said to me, I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t. Not when my mini-concert was proving him right.

“You’re playing.” He looked away from me. I could breathe again.

“Yeah. First gig.”

“The songs are impressive.”

And the breath was lost again. Music was seductive enough. I couldn’t handle him complimenting it too. Not when the floor somehow turned to quicksand under my feet and I was slowly sinking in, around, and for him.

“Thank you,” I said.

“How did you...”

“They called me. Ben.” I pointed to him over the crowd. “He needed a violinist. I didn’t know it was Mariah’s party. I...didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I didn’t expect to see you either.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“What made you choose to play again?”

Dangerous territory. I shrugged. The silence lingered. He expected an answer. I wondered if he’d prefer to fuck me on the stage. It’d be less revealing.

“I once loved music.” I didn’t think I had the strength to speak. “Then I lost it. I used you to fill that void.” My pause lasted long enough to remember way too much. “Then I lost you too. I had to use the music to stop it from hurting.”

“Did it work?”

I eyed the stage. “I need to get back. They’re probably done with the break.”

“We need to talk.”

“Maybe some other time.”

A flailing of arms encircled me in a tight hug, and I froze as Mariah descended upon both of us in a squeal of delight.

“Oh my gosh, I am so glad to see you together again!”

And the hits kept coming. I stiffened, but Anthony couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Mariah held me at arm’s length.

“After I heard what happened, I was gutted.” And Mariah was a bit toasty now. “You guys are perfect together.”

I glanced over Mariah’s shoulder. From across the room, Nate offered a shrug and mouthed apology.

“I can’t believe you’re in the band!” Mariah giggled. “You sound incredible, Morgan. Best present ever.” She smirked at Anthony. “Not that I don’t love the leather coat, sir.”

“Simone picked it out.”

“I know, but I love it anyway.” She squealed again. “Thank you both so much for coming. This is the greatest thing ever. Seriously. I am so glad you made up. Oh, there’s Genn! I gotta go.”

Mariah ducked away to greet her friends. My breathing couldn’t sync with my heartbeat. Maybe passing out would restart my body so I could function again.

Anthony’s whisper rolled through me. “We need to talk.”

“She’s had too much to drink,” I said. “I need to get back. Ben will want to get started again.”

“I talked to that conductor friend of mine.”

I closed my eyes. I knew it was coming, but I hoped for an apocalypse before he mentioned it.

“Funny thing,” Anthony said. “I apologized for you not making it to the audition, but he had no idea what I was talking about.”

Did he want me to admit it? I stayed quiet.

“He said you’d played beautifully, but he needed to hire someone more experienced.” Anthony let the implication hang. “You did go to that audition. Why did you lie to me?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters.”

“Not now.”

“Especially now. Why did you lie?”

I didn’t look at him. “How could I tell you I’d failed?”

“I would have understood.”

“But you still don’t. At that moment, I hated music. I wanted to be rid of it.” I held his gaze. “But I never wanted to be rid of you.”

I was never so glad to see a head full of dreadlocks. Ben brushed up beside me, his eyes widening as Anthony glowered at him.

“I gotta go,” I said. “We’re going to start again.”

Ben nearly pissed himself under Anthony’s stare. “Uh, that’s okay. We’ll cover for you for twenty or so. Caitlyn can play piano, and we’ll accompany. Had a few songs tucked away in case we couldn’t get you to come.”

He hurried away. I sighed. I couldn’t handle twenty more seconds with Anthony. Who knew what would happen in twenty minutes.

“Come with me, pet.” Anthony took my hand. “I’m tired of being watched.”

His confession stopped my heart.

And I let him lead me away to experience every mistake we’d made all over again.

He found a dark, unused room beyond the party, but he didn’t turn on the lights.

I frowned. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here—”

Anthony grabbed me, capturing me in a kiss so intense I had to clutch at him to stay standing. My fists dug into his jacket, and his tongue flicked over mine.

In an instant, my entire world caved around me.

I collapsed into his arms, allowing the intrusion and welcoming the heat of his skin, the feel of his arms entangling my body against his. He bit my lip.

Then, reality.

I pushed against him, breaking the kiss with a strangled yelp.

“Stop. What are you doing?”

His hands gripped my dress. I imagined the material tearing out from under his fists, and I eased my protests. He sunk against my lips, murmuring his words against the betraying warmth swarming my body. Heat clouded my remaining shred of rationality.

I let him kiss me.

“I missed you,” he grunted.

His lips pressed hard against mine. Demanding and possessive and so perfectly, deliciously Anthony that my body surrendered in memory for him.

“I missed you too.”

“I was fucking stupid to let you go.”

True, but, as his stormy kisses migrating from my neck to my ear and back to my mouth, my voice lost itself in need.

He gripped my waist, and he hauled me onto a table. I couldn’t see him in the dark, but I felt exactly where he was. Spreading my legs. Pressing against my body.

He pushed me. Wanting me to lay across the table. I shook my head.

“We can’t do this,” I whispered. “We have to stop.”

“I didn’t want you to leave.” He kissed me again, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hands slid over my dress. Over my thighs. Between my legs.

And then he was there, pressing.

I bit my lip. “I had to go.”

I braced myself against his fingers. He rubbed my panties. Could he feel the wetness? The heat? My crippling need?

“It was just a fight.” My panties moved aside. He adjusted his pants, and the familiar sensation pressed against me. His cock rubbed against my wetness.

“It was more than a fight—”

I gasped as he entered me.

My head fell back. My body panicked almost as much as my mind.

It had been so long since I took him. I tightened around the invasion.

I needed to adjust. Just a minute to breathe and figure the events that had taken me from my music stand and into a dark room in the middle of a party where my ex-dom took me in the shadows.

He didn’t give me that time. He thrust his entire length inside me with one demanding strike. His kiss silenced my moan as his hips drove into me.

The heat pulsed in my core. I met his movements with a delirious plea for more of anything and everything he offered.

Harder, deeper, faster, it didn’t matter. I groaned into his mouth and rocked against him. He pounded into me, taking what he desired.

Again, he pushed my shoulders. He wanted me down. To present myself to him. To give in and let him fuck me as he’d done before.

I couldn’t do that. Not now. Not while I battled the music and apprehension and his touch.

His scent coiled over me like restraints. Everything inside me clenched with an unknown pleasure.

“Why did you leave?” He rasped against my lips. He didn’t stop moving, never stopped thrusting. I clutched at him for a sense of stability, so I could find the words not yet claimed by whimpers.

“Because you’re Anthony.” My words only encouraged him. He pounded against the table, bottoming out deep inside of me and forcing my sounds to clip on the razor thin edge of pleasure. “You are the only person I ever wanted to please.”

“I did it wrong.” Again he tried to push me down. I didn’t let him. He fucked me harder, and my whispers became hushed moans. “I wanted you because you were innocent. Because you weren’t like the other women at Duchess. I wanted an honest sub who was with me because she cared for me, not the scene. I had it, and I ruined it.” Now he did stop, pulling me down against his length and bumping his forehead to mine. “All you had to say was that you were scared. I would have helped.”

“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.”

“I would. I will. I want you.”

I knew what he wanted. My submission. He was dangerously close to getting it too.

My body screamed at me, begging me to rest on the table and let my master do all the wonderful and frightening things he did so well.

But I refused. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I held his stare, enduring the growls and the tightened grip and the brutal fucking my challenge had tempted.

I wouldn’t submit, but he ripped the orgasm from me. His cock slammed against the delicate parts inside me too many times to count. The buildup hit me like one solid crack of a belt—instant pressure, pain, and a blinding sensation that fractured me into a thousand tiny pieces of Morgan, each shattering with their own pleasures and rolling shivers.

Anthony squeezed my waist, punishing me for my insolence. I slammed against him, practically suspended on the table and forced to take every amazing inch.

My voice cracked over his name, and he rammed inside me, as deeply as he could get.

He came.

His heat splashed within my core, and he kissed me, grunting and murmuring my name and his apologizes until they meant one and the same.

Then, the silence crashed over us, and I realized what we did.

He pulled away, sheathing his hardened cock and adjusting his hair. I shimmied into my dress once more. I had no idea how much time passed, but I was certain I ran out of it. He stepped away, letting me close my legs.

I groaned. I was a mess, but I could only slap on my panties and hope for the best.

“Pet…”

The nickname resonated in my head. I loved and loathed it, but this time, I ignored it.

“I have to get back,” I said.

“Find me after.”

He kissed me again. I swallowed, offering a little nibble, but not a promise.

I didn’t let him say anything else. I rushed from the room, hoping I didn’t look like I just made the biggest mistake of my life. Simone grabbed me before I could sneak into the party. I refused to speak, but she wasn’t interested in me anyway. She wove a straying lock of my hair into my braid and shoved me off. I looked back as she readjusted Anthony’s tie. His eyes followed me to the stage.

Caitlyn smirked when I gingerly returned to my chair.

“Some talk,” she said.

I seized my violin, as much of a body guard as I could get. So much for avoiding Anthony.

We played for another two hours, though hell if I could remember any of it. The redundant rehearsals were a blessing, as was my ear for Hey Jude as I completely lost track of the number of NaNaNaNas.

My mind replayed the scene in the back room, only now realizing anyone might have walked in on us—Duchess related or no. Not like it mattered. No one would have recognized us. We acted like animals. Passionate. Foolish.

Unaware of the disastrous repercussions for our broken lives.

Everything we might have salvaged was lost in a few minutes of frantic fucking.

Sex with a dom in the middle of a fetish club was enough of a mistake for one lifetime. Fucking a man who’d stripped me to my core and counted my faults did not foster a healthy partnership.

Ben announced the final song of the night—a beautiful ballad of At Last as requested by Nate for his wife. I loved the rendition, but this time the notes meant more than a song on a piece of paper.

Mariah wove within Nate’s arms like a fairy tale, resting her head on his shoulder for the duration of the dance. Her smile was so happy, so delicate, my fingers ached as I struggled to clutch the violin bow.

I wanted what they had and not an ounce less.

The domination, the submission, and the three little words I’d feared to tell Anthony.

The song ended. I burst into motion as Ben thanked everyone. Riotous cheers erupted from the patrons of Duchess, spurred on by Reed and his damned lighter.

My violin packed up in record time, and I bolted from the stage and out to the dressing room before the others. A side exit led to the parking lot where we’d stowed our cars—far from the valet-parked Mercedes. Only a few lights glistened over the lot, and I rushed into the night before checking who waited for me.

Anthony leaned against my car, arms crossed.

Even in the dim light, I knew he wasn’t happy. Neither was I.

My feet hurt, and my head ached. I’d worked a full shift before the party, and my body shuddered with the lasting effects of his attentions.

But I didn’t say anything. I walked to him, gently setting my violin on the ground.

“You were just going to leave?” he asked.

“I didn’t trust us talking again,” I said. “We’d probably just have sex in the Mercedes.”

“I don’t have sex in my car. It’d tear the leather.”

Figured.

“Here.” I dug in my purse for a folded check. The amount scared the hell out of me, and it was far too early to give it to him, but I didn’t have any other choice. “Take it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m repaying you for the car repairs.”

Anthony studied the check before ripping it into two, perfectly equal parts. He handed the pieces back to me as my eyes prickled with tears.

Stalemate.

“You’re going to leave again,” he said. “You’re good at that.”

“It’s over, Anthony.”

“Why?”

I clenched the ruined check in my hand. It wasn’t goodwill. He knew I couldn’t afford it. Just another opportunity for him to rescue the innocent girl all alone in the bar.

“I won’t be with a man who doesn’t respect me,” I said. “I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

He glanced at my violin case. “You said I didn’t respect you.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Do I have to contradict every inane thing you say?”

“Maybe the important things.”

“I’m telling you now. Right now. I do respect you.”

“It’s too late.”

“Not for us.”

He stood tall, but for the first time, I felt like we were on the same level.

Heartbreak humbled us all.

“I was supposed to show you this lifestyle,” he said. “I fucked it up. I thought I wanted the pretty little violinist, someone I could conquer and corrupt because it would be different from the willing women I could take at any time.”

“And?”

“I was an idiot. A bad partner and a worse dom. I don’t want you because you’re different—I want you because you’re the only person in this world to ever make me feel different. Happy. Enthralled. Humbled. I only want you. It’s my fault you left.” He clenched his jaw as I stayed silent. “You aren’t the only one who makes mistakes, Morgan.”

The thought paralyzed me—grabbed my lungs, seized hold, and jiggled them until the only sound I could make was a strangled hiccup.

“I want you,” he said. “Music or no music. College degree or cafe. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” I looked up at him. “You can mold me into whatever submissive you desire, but you can’t change the person I am. And that’s what you wanted to do. That’s what you still want.”

“I never wanted to change you. I wanted to encourage you. You were lost. You’re right. I didn’t understand that. I’ve never felt that way.” He sighed. “Not until you left me. And Christ, Morgan…I’m goddamned lost without you. I thought I knew who I was—but that life I’d made, the presence I project…it means nothing without the right woman at my side. Without you, it’s an act. A way to live my own life in hiding, without ever experiencing a challenge, without risking losing everything important. You are something special. I can’t buy you. I can’t replicate you. I can’t fucking breathe without you. This isn’t about dominance or submission, pet. It’s about us. Two people who need each other. Who worship each other. Who can fix the broken pieces into something beautiful and whole.”

I couldn’t surrender to those words.

I had to be strong.

For me. For us.

“This was the first time I actually tried to make a musical career for myself.” I explained because, for the first time, I realized he’d understand. “And instead of breaking out on my own, I performed for you and your friends.”

“Why is that bad?”

“It isn’t fair. Duchess was my escape. This whole fling was something to distract me. I crawl back into music and—bam. There you all are. Music and Duchess. They’re forever entwined now.”

“Then don’t separate them,” Anthony said. “That world is a part of you now. Don’t hide from it. You are a natural submissive, Morgan. You belong with me as much as you belong in music.”

“And what if one day I realize music isn’t for me?”

“Do you really think that’s possible?”

I clenched the check in my hand. “Maybe I can’t survive on it. It doesn’t pay well, and there aren’t many jobs. Maybe it’s the wrong path for me. What then?”

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t live my life if every decision I make is weighed on whether I think you’ll approve of it.”

Anthony frowned. “I don’t want to make those decisions for you.”

“But you will be making them. You don’t realize it, but you will be.” I tapped the violin case with a toe, if only to reassure myself it was still there. “I’ll be too afraid to make a mistake. To disappoint you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

I crumpled. An unstable breath that did absolutely nothing to ease the pressure.

Not what I wanted to hear. Just what I needed, but it didn’t make any of it easier.

“You won’t ever disappoint me,” Anthony said.

“And if I fuck up again?” I blinked away a tear. “Would you still be saying this if you found me in the cafe and not here, playing violin and doing something with my life?”

“Get in the car. We’ll go there together and find out.”

I laughed. “Be serious.”

He leaned down, gently kissing me. I didn’t resist, but he pulled away, holding my gaze.

“You love me too.” He didn’t need to command the truth.

“I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you, Anthony. But that doesn’t make this easier.”

“No one said it would be easy.”

Within seconds I was back where I started.

Confused. Fucked. Lost.

Except this time, I was a thousand dollars richer. This time the exhaustion wasn’t brought on from serving coffee and losing my mind.

I’d worked for these aches and pains. I’d played for the crick in my neck and the blister on my hand.

This time I didn’t perform for the silence of my apartment, the approval of Anthony, or the sexual enjoyment of a club full of strangers.

I played music for me.

And I’d loved every minute of it.

“Do we pretend that this fight never happened?” I met his gaze. “Ignore it until my next major life decision? Bide our time until my inevitable freak out?”

Anthony’s authority no longer quivered my stomach. It soothed me, eased my fears, and allowed me to take my first deep breath in months.

“You know exactly what you want in your life now.”

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “The only thing I want now is you, and I don’t know if that’s right or not.”

Anthony faced me, his arms pinning me against the car. He swooped in low. I braced myself for the kiss that never came, a shiver rolling over my body.

“It’s right,” he whispered. “And natural. And perfect. I’ll do better. Take my time with you and show you this lifestyle properly. I’m sorry, Morgan, pet, but I can’t give you up. Not now that I found you. The real you. Now say it, pet.”

I swallowed, my voice soft. Honest.

More frightened and confident than I had been in years.

Life Goal Number Twelve: Never hide the truth from him.

“I love you, Anthony.”

His eyebrow arched, quirked with irritation.

Wow. That hadn’t taken long. Ten seconds together, and I’d already made a mistake.

But I didn’t panic. Not now that I understood my life, our love, and every delicious complication that came with it. I knew what he expected, and it came as naturally as breathing.

I apologized with a brief downward glance. He kissed my forehead.

“I love you too, sir.”

The End

(Bonus Epilogue Coming In May…)