I’d heard of dressing for success.

But dressing for submission? That was a little harder.

I had only one formal dress, but I kept the dreadful thing hidden in the back of the closet.

It fit looser than it did when I last wore it. I guessed that was good. Most girls gained weight in college, and the ones who bounced out probably put on a ton more. Fortunately, I didn’t have the disposable income to waste on fast food.

The dress ended right above my knees, and the neckline left everything to the imagination. About what one would expect from a concert black dress. Presentable, form-fitting, but nothing dramatic, so the audience would focus on the instruments and not the artist.

Usually it worked well…until someone made a mistake.

Until someone butchered an easy solo so badly even the French horns thought it sounded bad.

Until someone forgot the song, dropped the bow, and stopped breathing as a year’s worth of fear and repressed anxiety choked her in the spotlight.

Then it didn’t matter what someone wore. Naked or dressed, the symphony recruiter still witnessed the breakdown. Then every dream that certain someone had—from the time they first banged on Fisher Price instruments as a child—was ruined in an instant.

The dress was a bad memory.

At least a night with Antony might make it feel…lucky again.

I pinned my hair into a low side bun and picked out a vibrant lipstick. The caramel shine on my mocha skin did nothing but make me hungry, but, hopefully, Anthony would feel the same way. I looked good. Scared, but my wide-eyes gave me a Disney Princess type allure.

He’d probably like that.

The doorbell rang. My confidence crumbled.

Moment of truth…

I opened the door. Anthony waited, filling the entirety of my doorway.

No going back now.

I never wanted to go back.

He dressed in a dark, tailored suit with a crimson tie. The simple splash of color drew my eyes up, up, up. In the rush to open the door, I’d forgot my heels. I teetered in his shadow, breath lost, remembering only the fantasized feel of his body against mine.

“Hello, Morgan.” He could read my mind. A smile like that? Only one reason his greeting sounded victorious. “Are you ready?”

“Yes...sir.”

The floor rocked under my feet. Anthony’s smirk twisted into something unfamiliar—carnal and amused and delighted by my bewilderment.

“Good girl.”

His gaze cast over my home. A short glance, but that’s all it took. Studio apartment. Boxes stacked near the bed. Laptop and blanket on the busted couch. Every college kid’s dream.

Except I wasn’t in college anymore.

His suit was designer. His mannerisms impeccable. Anthony came from money. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he turned around and walked right out the door.

Instead, he nodded towards me, his voice low. “Go get your shoes. We don’t want to be late.”

It was such a gentle command, and I followed it. Easy. Without a thought, without a care.

Without protest or worrying.

Of course, it was only shoes. No need to judge my future sexual preferences and exploration on mandatory footwear.

I did as he asked, slipping into my heels as I locked the door. My apartment was on the second floor, and usually it wasn’t worth the time to risk the wobbly elevator. I made the exception while wearing heels. We entered the cabin, and I reached for the ground floor button at the same time as Anthony.

His palm curled over my wrist and squeezed. “Allow me.”

I froze. He didn’t hurt me, but he could have easily driven me to my knees. I obeyed, letting him push the button.

A subtle hint. He’d be making the decisions tonight.

Oh, this was going to take some getting used to.

Anthony didn’t release me until he reached his ride. He opened the door for me. Parallel parking was impressive enough. The vehicle was overkill. I didn’t even want to price the sleek, black Mercedes, but it had to cost well more than my bungled college education.

I slid into the seat with a quiet thanks. He wore a custom suit. Drove an amazing car. Owned and sold his own nightclub.

Who the hell did this lawyer represent?

The seat belt dug into the valley between my breasts. He saw. I bit my lip as he merged into traffic.

Anthony adjusted the air conditioning and turned on the radio while we drove. The car synced to his iPhone, and he nudged the control on his steering wheel. Violins whined over the speakers.

Oh no.

He spoke with a gentle pride. “I didn’t know which song was your favorite.”

None of them. Not anymore.

“Thanks.” I forced a smile. “I’ll let you know when it plays.”

“I want you to be comfortable tonight. If something bothers you, we can leave at any time.”

Like now?

I eyed the track listing on the radio display. Bach. Sonata No. 1. Every repressed memory beat back to the forefront of my mind in time to the movement.

I pretended to ignore it. If I could make it through violins without keeling over, dinner would be a cinch. Still, it was good to be prepared.

“Should I have a safe word?”

Anthony’s eyebrows rose. We rolled to a stoplight, but the light mercifully turned green. His attention drifted back to the road.

“You’ve heard the term?”

“That’s about the only thing I do know. Submissives use the word if they don’t like something.”

“It’s a word to use if they feel threatened or unsafe.”

“Is there a difference?”

The darkness of the car couldn’t hide Anthony’s smirk. “I’d say so.”

“So...what word do I use?”

“For this dinner, Anthony, take me home should do the trick.” He brushed my hand and the pressure in my chest eased. “A safe word is something different though. In my experience, the best ones are words with a negative connotation. Something non-sexual that the sub doesn’t like. Spinach. Traffic. Nicolas Cage.”

“Concerto.”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry?”

“Concerto. That’s my word.”

Anthony frowned, but he didn’t press me. He fiddled with the controls on the wheel. A few seconds of silence passed before a classic rock station popped on the radio.

It wasn’t my favorite type of music, but I suddenly loved Aerosmith.

“You won’t need a safe word,” he said. “But I’m glad you have it. That means we can trust each other.”

“You have to trust me?”

“Of course.”

“But I’m not the one holding a…”

“Holding a what?”

Whip? Crop? What did these guys use? “All the cards.”

He liked that. “These experiences are meant to be pleasurable. I’m introducing you to very intense opportunities. You’ll need to trust every action I take, everything I show you, and everything I might do to you. Do you understand?”

I nodded. He exhaled, harsh. I caught my mistake.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

I beamed. Got the question right and impressed the teacher. That hadn’t happened in a long time. I forgot how good it felt.

“Do you have dinners like this often?” I asked.

“We try to arrange something once or twice a month. I haven’t done sushi in a while.”

“Who’s we?”

“The…” He smirked over the word. “Elite of Duchess.”

“So the VIP room has a VIP section?”

“Those who prefer to live this way permanently.”

“As opposed to?”

“The occasional game.” Anthony hummed. “Many people have similar desires to ours, but not many are willing to commit fully to the lifestyle.”

“But you do?”

“Yes. 24/7.”

“You never turn it off?” I giggled. “I mean, are you always turned on?”

“No, actually. I’m not currently…” His eyebrow rose. “Involved with anyone.”

“Why not?” I didn’t know if that was too forward, so I added the sweetness. “Sir.”

“Work.” He tapped his cellphone. “I have very important clients, and I travel. Considerably. Between here and San Jose. When I work, I’m probably too focused. And when I want to relax…”

I bit my lip. “Yes?”

“Let’s just say…I’m demanding. Not every woman can fulfill my needs.”

“Can I handle it?” I toyed with the seat belt, looking away. “I mean…there must be a reason I’m here. That you agreed to…”

“This is dinner only, Morgan. You’ll have to decide how far you’re willing to go.”

“I’m feeling lucky.”

“See if you still feel that way at the end of tonight.”

“You make everything seem so dangerous,” I said. “How wild can sushi get, sir?”

“You have no idea.”

But I couldn’t wait to find out.

When was the last time I had been excited by something?

The restaurant wasn’t far from my apartment, but I’d never frequented it. Nothing on the menu, not even the appetizer, fit my modest budget. I was used to drive-throughs. Here, Anthony passed his keys to a valet.

Fancy should have made me nervous. But Anthony offered his arm, and I tucked tight against his body.

One deep breath and I was lost. His scent, sharp and fresh, wound over me. My tummy clenched. Everything about this man set me on fire. His touch. His voice. His body. He was as gorgeous as he was mysterious, and somehow I knew even if I’d stripped him of his clothes, I’d still never uncover all that was Anthony.

And I liked that. All lust demanded anonymity. Maybe it’d be easier to survive this night, these fantasies, if I kept it casual.

He wanted submission. I wanted adventure and excitement and a new way to hide from all the darkness that upset my stomach when I was supposed to be sleeping.

I needed this. Nothing would rid me of my old life faster than shedding the remaining parts of me that labeled me a failure. My virginity would be first to go.

If I could survive this dinner.

A maître d’ as guided us through the dining room. The light strumming of a folksy lute murmured over the restaurant. Crystal place settings and vibrant chinas set at the tables, finished with white tablecloths, hundred dollar glasses of wine, and candles. This was plenty ritzy for a formal party, but the maître d’ led us to the entrance of a private room.

The door was closed.

Anthony took my hand before we entered.

“We’re going to get serious now,” he warned.

My throat closed. I thought we were pretty serious before.

“We don’t have time to discuss the required etiquette, so I’ll expect you to observe. Be polite, but there are no mistakes tonight. You’re learning.” He lifted my hand to his lips. His kiss came with instructions. “You will be dining with my friends, and they have expectations for their submissives. Don’t speak unless someone speaks to you. When you do speak, be respectful. Remember to use Sir and Ma’am.”

“Even to people who aren’t you?”

That smirk. Dark and twisted. His hand brushed over my cheek. I warmed, but he bumped my chin up, forcing me to lose myself in his eyes.

Dark, hypnotic eyes.

“Morgan…” My name even amused him. It rolled over his lips like a caress. “You are innocent.”

“Is that a problem?”

“For me.” His stare bound me to his will. “I’ll have to be very careful with you. That sort of innocence…intrigues me.”

“Why?”

“Because I keep thinking about where to fit you into Duchess’s hierarchy.” Anthony chuckled. Mischievous? Maybe I should have been worried. He tugged my hand, pulling me closer. “You, little one, will address everyone as Sir or Ma’am.

“Everyone?”

“Even the slaves.”

Slaves?

“But…they’re…”

“Oh no, Morgan.” His voice rippled, a growl of expectation. “You’re far too naïve, too innocent for this place. Even the subs will see it. It’s a natural order, and you…you are on the very bottom. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Be honest. The thought excites you.”

My body coiled with heat, rippling from my head to my toes and back again.

And he watched. Eagerly. Gauging my reactions.

Well, maybe he could explain it. I had no idea what was happening to me. Somehow, I’d had gone from meeting friends for laughs in a fetish club to becoming a sub to other submissives.

It was wrong and dirty and absolutely degrading.

And all I wanted was to sink into Anthony’s arms and melt.

“Okay…I’ll use titles.” I nibbled on my lip. “But what will you call me, sir?”

“You’re in over your head, little girl. And because of that, I’ll have to teach you everything. How to act. What to expect. I’ll train you to behave…just like a little pet.”

I liquefied. Trembled. Went light-headed.

“Does that please you, pet?” he asked.

I wanted him so badly I couldn’t breathe. I stared at him, sweating and chilled and amazed at how eagerly my body responded to such a simple word.

My words mumbled as he seized me, pressing his lips into mine. “Yes, sir...”

I groaned despite the public setting. He led the kiss, exploring me with a tenderness that felt wrong for how casually he mentioned slaves and submission. I shook beneath him, but he didn’t take me into his arms. The quick brush of passion was all he’d offer me.

He grabbed my wrists, forcing both of my hands to my sides.

Pinned.

Trapped.

Melting.

“We’re going inside now, pet.” He punctuated his words with a second and third kiss. “You must be hungry.”

Thoughtful and cruel. Except I was burning alive. If I grabbed a piece of sushi, my hands would sear the damn fish.

Anthony offered his arm and led me inside. The soft lighting framed the ornate fans hanging on the walls, and hundreds of rose petals created a bed on the mahogany table. Ten people awaited our arrival, eager to begin dinner.

But the sushi wasn’t being served on platters or plates.

A woman lay on the table.

Naked.