I thought the most awkward moment of my life had played out in front of a room full of strangers watching me lose my virginity.

Not so much.

Calling Anthony and begging for a ride home from work was worse.

My Corolla had limped to the mechanic for its inspection, but eight hours wasn’t enough time to inspect everything under the rust. Part of me hoped the mechanic would take her out back with a trusty shot-gun and let nature run its course, but the bucket of bolts was my car. The only ride I could afford.

My coworkers had split after their shifts, and I didn’t relish the thought of wading home in the torrential downpour.

Anthony was my last option.

But calling him was a big step. This wasn’t me squirming on the edge of my seat, begging for him to fuck me. This was me. Morgan. His pet. Asking for a ride home.

Like I was his...girlfriend.

I had no idea what our relationship was. Having sex at the club and cooling off in his arms while he discussed the last Rivets’ game with Nate was more Anthony than cuddling on the couch with a movie and some popcorn.

Besides, boyfriends didn’t let their sadistic ex-lovers cane their girlfriends while fucking the ever-loving hell out of them.

Anthony was my dom. We hadn’t talked about anything more than that.

But it was either muddying my best—read: only—pair of work pants…or asking for something non-sexual.

I wished my voice hadn’t quivered when I called him. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Anthony said. “But you should know…I won’t take you home.”

“No?”

“You’ll be staying with me tonight.”

I grinned, wishing I had purchased a lottery ticket before my shift. Lady Luck was with me. She probably carried a whip too.

I didn’t have a change of clothes, but with my apron folded over my arm, my black shirt and pants passed for jazzy. Not that it mattered. Anthony looked at me like he saw what was underneath.

Problem was, he didn’t hide that glance from my coworkers.

Though I earned a slack-jawed wow from Sammy, the others grabbed their cellphones, fully prepared to call the cops if Anthony hauled me over his shoulder caveman-style and stole me from the store.

He didn’t, but I was certain the urge crossed his mind.

“Can I get you something, sir?” I jerked my thumb towards the counter and hoped he’d forgive how low my voice dipped over the title. He didn’t.

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not, sir.”

“Why are you lying?”

I licked my lips. “Really, I’m okay.”

“You aren’t worried about me seeing you work in the cafe?”

Wow. I hadn’t worried about that at all.

Until now.

I twisted the apron and casually chucked it onto a nearby chair. A million anxieties usually percolated through me. I added one more coffee bean to break the camel’s back.

It wasn’t contract negotiations, mergers, or acquisition law—but at least I wasn’t panhandling outside in the rain.

“I didn’t want to bother you with this,” I said. “I thought you might be busy. Or something.”

He brushed my cheek, his eyes darkening. Possessive, but not nearly as threatening while clothed. I leaned into his hand. I’d missed his touch, but the ache from the crisscrossed streaks over my back was a pleasant enough reminder.

“You are my pet. I promised to take care of you.”

I wondered what it meant when those words rushed as much heat to my belly as his caress.

“Are you sure you weren’t doing something important?” I asked.

“You are important.” His voice hardened. “And you can ask anything of me. At any time.”

I nodded. It wasn’t good enough. His hand passed beyond my cheek. I answered quickly, before he seized my hair.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. First, I’m taking you to your apartment so you can pack a bag. I want you with me through the weekend.”

Damn. The whole weekend? Jackpot.

I grinned, catching sight of his car parked outside the cafe. “I can ask anything, sir?”

“Yes.”

Life Goal Number Nine: Ride in Style.

“Can I drive the Mercedes?”

“Absolutely not.”

Denied. Lady Luck had a limit.

His cell rang on the way to the apartment, and I was grateful for the time to sit in silence as he diced out details of some anti-trust clause.

Lovesick wasn’t a good look on me—not while I was acutely aware of the bitter coffee scent leeching from my work uniform and the damn name-tag I forgot to take off. I hurried through the apartment, collecting clothes, makeup, and shoes. I didn’t notice his call had ended until I emerged from the bathroom with my toothbrush.

Anthony stood before my makeshift desk/dinner table.

My violin’s case was opened.

The toothbrush bent in my hand.

“I want you to bring this,” Anthony said.

Did he want me to rob a bank, skydive, and perform brain surgery too? Why not ask me to take him home and introduce him to my mother? None of these suggestions were good ideas.

“Why?” I couldn’t move. Anthony reached for the instrument, and my heart shredded like a bird sucked into a jet engine.

“I’d like to hear you play.”

That made two of us. Didn’t mean it was going to happen.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I haven’t played in a while.” Not a total lie.

“What better time than now to practice?”

“I really have to be in the right mind-frame to play.” Not a lie either.

“I’ll help relax you.”

“Yeah...I’m not sure we have the same definition of relax.”

“Playing an instrument is an impressive talent. It makes you unique.”

“I’m really just trying to blend in.”

“I like unique.” He picked up the violin. I was going to die. “You should show me how it works.”

Every muscle in my body pitched and rolled in opposite directions, like a junkie who hadn’t had a hit for a week. Except instead of jonesing for a score, I was the freaked-out violinist watching someone who had absolutely no idea how to hold a violin clutch the only irreplaceable thing in my apartment.

“Sir, my friend, Rose? Her boyfriend bought her a motorcycle. It’s her baby. She won’t let anyone near it unless they’ve washed their hands, bathed in sanitizer, and can prove they’re vaccinated. She’s crazy about it.” My hand trembled as I pointed to the violin. “But, I’m the same about my instrument. I’ll take it with us. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please, put it down. It’s the most expensive thing that I own.”

Anthony furrowed his brow, but he tucked the instrument safely in the case. I breathed a sigh that rattled the windowpanes.

“Sorry.” I pulled the violin away from him.

The wooden scent of oil and strings wafted from the closing lid. It was the only aroma in the world that smelled better than him. My fingers wrapped over the handle. The all-too-familiar weight of the violin settled against my side. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. Like an expensive, anxiety-worn, life-altering security blanket.

His eyes didn’t miss anything. Not my panic. Not my fear. Not even my relief when I tucked the violin against my side. Where it belonged. Where I never wanted it to be again.

Anthony carried my bag for me, but he never reached for the case. He respected some of my boundaries, at least. I placed it at my feet in the car, triple checking to ensure it wouldn’t rattle around. Then I clutched it to my chest when Anthony opened the door to welcome me inside his home once more.

He led me to his den, a masculine room of blacks, greys, and leather. Recessed lighting accented the black and white artwork. I took a moment to admire the paintings. Of course, they’d be nudes. Shapes of women with cuffs over their wrists and collars at their neck. Tasteful, sure, but I couldn’t imagine looking at the images on a computer, never mind hanging them on the wall opposite the giant window that overlooked the city.

Anthony sunk into the middle of the couch, crossing his legs and extending his arms along the back of the seat. He wanted something. It didn’t take a genius or a woman who had been his submissive for a few weeks to figure it out.

His eyes grazed over my body. Up. Down. Silken. I bit my lip, my hips swaying under his gaze. My knee knocked against the violin case.

It clicked. We were in his home. Comfortable in his den.

He watched me.

He wanted me to play.

I stiffened. Hitting the strings hadn’t once crossed my mind when he demanded me to stay for the weekend. I’d hoped for some kissing and touching. Maybe another spanking like he did before. Sex, especially since I learned how to ride him—thanks to Simone’s sadistic tutelage.

But instead of submissive Morgan, he wanted the musician.

He wanted to hear me play. To watch.

That was the one thing I never wanted anyone to watch again.

“One song, pet,” he asked. “For me.”

I set the case on the coffee table. My hands turned clammy. Sweaty. I couldn’t hold the bow.

“I haven’t played for an audience in a long time. It won’t be good.”

“One song, pet.”

“One song.”

He didn’t respond. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t talking to him. I was reassuring myself.

My violin case opened, and that scent hit me again, overwhelming in combination with Anthony and his penthouse.

I thumbed through the playlists I’d stashed away on my phone. I’d hated when they popped onto my shuffle, but I’d never deleted the prerecorded tracks. It’d taken too much work to create them and, when I had performed, people got a kick out of the background drum beats. I took a second to sync my phone to his wireless speakers. Then I hit play.

The bow trembled in my hand. It wasn’t good form, but that was the least of my concerns. In the span of two minutes I surged from aroused to a quivering ball of sweat who’d probably vomit before I managed a single note.

Of course, that fear was a strong motivator to not alienate my handsome and patient dom who waited for me to serenade him with a song of my choosing.

And he insisted he wasn’t a sadist.

The bow drew across the strings, and I counted myself into the drum beats as my stomach bolted around my body, searching for any means to escape.

Then, the song blossomed into the silent penthouse.

Surprising Anthony. Surprising me.

A rich melody tangled against the electronic drum beats piped from the speakers. It wasn’t the old-school baroque or opera I’d learned all my life. I don’t know what possessed me to do it, or why it rushed so easily into my stiffened muscles, but the song was one of my originals. One I made to toss onto YouTube for my future portfolio.

But I never had the chance to upload it.

Or even record it.

I’d abandoned music before anyone heard the gravel beat and electronica roots. I’d never played it for anyone.

Except for Anthony.

I told myself it was easier if I shut my eyes, but it wasn’t. Every note, every measure, every funky melody was ripped, kicking and screaming, from my mind. My heart vibrated like I had drunk six Redbulls and neglected to sleep for an entire weekend.

But nothing happened.

I was safe.

The intense, challenging music would have made me weep for joy if I weren’t so focused on what Anthony thought, what he felt when he heard it.

If I were back in college, I might have danced a bit with my violin. Just a quirky wiggle to the beat. Playful. This time, I kept my feet planted in place, rooting themselves through all layers of the penthouse and the apartments below.

I didn’t dare break what fragile form I had. Moving meant the potential to mess up. I didn’t deserve to be cocky and fun when the last time I held a violin it had ended with a mental-breakdown.

But the song rang out through the room. Absolutely Morgan. The old Morgan. Not a mistake, scratch, or missed beat to be found. Only thrilling, thoroughly unique music.

The song ended with an abrupt push—a symptom of me never quite knowing just what flourish it requested at the end.

I released a quivering breath and peeked at Anthony.

It was the first time I saw him uncomposed. He’d fucked in front of audiences and managed multi-billion dollar legal deals, but now, with the echo of the music lingering in his den, his expression lit.

His amazement nearly made me giggle. And the bewildered smile was worth facing every demon of my past.

“Pet.” Words failed him. Had I ever done that to him before? “Jesus Morgan. That was incredible.”

“Really?”

“I knew you were talented. You played the piano like a prodigy, and not many people would get a musical tattoo unless they were serious…” He rubbed his face. “That was something else.”

“You liked it, sir?”

“Very much.”

And some sort of invisible weight on my chest sprouted wings and flew away. I smiled, the first and greatest smile to tease my lips in over a year.

I had to give him an encore.

I’d kept a dozen or more drum tracks on my phone, and I remembered more pop covers than was normal even for a music major. If that failed, I’d trained my ear to wing whatever happened to play on the radio. The options were endless.

“Can I play you another one?” I asked.

“I’d demand a second song.”

My heart melted into a puddle of gratitude. I searched my phone, but the app popped away as an incoming call screeched out of the speakers. Did Anthony notice I used a regular ring instead of a song lick as my ringtone?

I lowered my violin and apologized. “I…think it’s the mechanic. Give me a second?”

I answered the call. Within seconds, my excitement crumbled, and the nausea returned.

I didn’t expect great news from the inspection, but the words danger and environmental hazard seemed dire. Some repairs I recognized. Brakes. Rotors. Tires. Apparently, everything necessary for my car to roll and stop had created a rusty deathtrap. The mechanic kept talking as I plopped onto the couch. I interrupted him before he made it to P on his alphabetized list of repairs.

“How much will this cost?” I dreaded the question.

“Depends…do you want to pass the inspection, or do you want to be safe?”

“I want whichever option costs less.”

“I can get you some used tires. You need the brakes. You got a hole in your rocker panel that needs patching—”

“I don’t even know what a rocker panel is. How much to get the sticker?”

“You’re looking at about eight hundred.”

Now I was going to be sick. I nearly dropped the phone. Anthony stood, but I turned away before I shamed myself any more.

“That much?” My mouth dried. “Can’t you do anything else?”

“This car is as old as you, missy. You’re lucky it runs at all.”

It didn’t feel very lucky. I tangled my hand in my hair.

“Do the absolute minimum that you can.”

“It really needs more than that—”

“The minimum.”

“It’s your ass on the line. I’ll call when it’s done.”

He didn’t need to bother. I wouldn’t be able to pick it up until I got paid.

If even then. I probably needed two paychecks to cover it.

A month without the car. How was I supposed to get to work?

Anthony’s voice washed over me. “Pet—”

I cut him off. “Please, wait. I need to figure this out.”

The calculator app didn’t help. It wouldn’t lie, no matter how many times I punched in the numbers. Hours worked multiplied by my wage. Any overtime I could manage. Take out for taxes. Rent. Utilities. Those god damned student loans.

Everything was short, short, short.

The rent was going up soon too. I needed everything I had in my bank account to help cushion the blow until I could find a cheaper place. If I could find a cheaper place. Looking online for apartments made my stomach hurt.

Everything about this made me hurt. The job at the cafe. The bills awaiting me at home.

It wasn’t fair. For three solid minutes, I’d played my violin, and they were the greatest minutes I experienced since the last time Anthony had filled me.

Sex and music, the only sanctuary I had. Everything else boiled my brain.

Responsibilities. Things I had to do. Places I had to be. Bills I had to pay. And none of it was what I wanted. None of it was where I should have been.

I’d never pictured myself with aching feet from an eight-hour shift serving strangers coffee just so I could survive on two meals a day and the single pair of jeans that weren’t frayed to nothing in my closet.

Everything I did was to pass the time, to get by, until I could figure out how the hell to get the courage to play the violin again.

“Morgan.”

And now he wanted to talk? How could I even explain something like this to a man like Anthony? He was rich. Successful. He didn’t know what it was like to anxiety himself out of the gifts he’d been given.

“How much is it, Morgan?” he asked.

He probably had the money in is couch cushions. I sighed. “It’s okay. I just need to do a little creative accounting.”

“Give me your phone.”

I didn’t offer it, but he took my cell anyway. He scrolled through the call log and redialed the mechanic’s number.

“What are you doing?” I lunged for the phone. He seized my wrist and warned me to sit still.

The mechanic answered.

And Anthony took command of a situation thoroughly out of my control.

“You just spoke with Morgan Bradley. I’d like a detailed listing of the work needed on her car.” He paused. “No, a detail of all the work required to make the car operational and safe.”

I hoped he had some time to settle in—make some popcorn and laugh at my severed windshield-washer fluid line. Anthony listened, nodding as the mechanic revealed all that was wrong with my car. Maybe he could list everything in my life as well. Brakes. Tires. Withdrawn from friends, family, and former passions. Depression. Sexually exploitative.

“Go ahead and repair everything,” Anthony said.

My mouth fell open. No sound could escape.

Did he not see the brutally honest calculator?

Anthony ignored me. “No. I want new tires. And change the belts then too. Filters, spark plugs, everything.”

I stopped listening. Where was the bathroom? I couldn’t heave everything I’d ever eaten onto his carpet now.

That was it. It’d have to go on the credit card. The interest would eat me alive. All of my savings now plus anything I could spare for months to come.

I was fucked, and I wasn’t even in Duchess.

Anthony thanked the mechanic. “Get the work done immediately. I’ll pick the car up tomorrow evening.”

He passed the phone to me. I didn’t have the strength to take it.

My eyes rested only on my violin.

I knew exactly how much I could get if I sold it. It was a sickening number that suck in my mind. I always thought I’d sell blood, plasma, and my hair before it got to that.

“Pet. Come here.”

Easier said than done. He had to repeat the order. In another life, where I had no other concerns but kinky, hypothetical discipline, I might have worried about disobeying him.

Anthony sighed. “Morgan. I’ll pay for these repairs.”

I jerked my head up so fast my neck ached. “What?”

“I’ll take care of your car.”

“It’s like…eight hundred dollars to fix.”

“Eight hundred to patch. I want you safe. So, he’s going to do some work on it.” Anthony approached, his shadow cloaking me in amazement. “Leave it to me.”

Like hell. I rocketed up from the couch. “What do you mean? Anthony, I can’t pay you back.”

“I’m not asking you to reimburse me.”

“You can’t spend that kind of money on me.”

Wrong thing to say.

Anthony scowled. Pinned between him and the sofa, the only place I could go was down. I sat and lowered my eyes.

He liked that.

“It is not your place to tell me how I spend my money, pet.” The nickname sliced the air like the swipe of a cane. “I choose to fix your car so you are safe and comfortable.”

I gnawed on my lip. “It’s so expensive.”

Anthony gestured around the penthouse. “Money doesn’t concern me. You do.”

“But…I don’t know if it’s even right to accept a gift like this.”

“You are my responsibility. You deserve a car that isn’t leaking three different types of fluids.” His voice softened. “Morgan, be prepared to have me spoil you. This might not be romantic, but at least I’ll know your car won’t spontaneously catch fire while you’re driving it.”

Tears prickled my eyes. “You don’t understand what this means to me.”

Anthony helped me to my feet. I welcomed his arms around me. The tension and burdens and horrible thoughts whizzing around my head smacked into the barrier that was Anthony.

I rested against his chest. Everything about him was perfect. His embrace. His sharp scent. He was my own prince charming who happened to get a little kinky in front of his kingdom.

But even that I liked.

I couldn’t repay him for his generosity, but I needed to accept it. I wanted to accept it.

“I’ve found an audition for you.”

The muscles that had softened and relaxed in his presence all tensed on cue. Fear ripped through me, nearly cramping me in two.

“One of my business associates manages a nightclub with a house orchestra. I can arrange an audition. A musical career is more dignifying than serving coffee. You’re worth more than that.”

The room swirled. I clung to Anthony.

An audition? An orchestra? Music, for a living?

Playing the violin. For people. In front of people.

My chest swelled with anything from laughter to sobbing cries, and I didn’t know which would come out first. First, he’d offered me relief from the relentless bills. Then he provided something that was either my greatest dream or my most horrific nightmare.

How was it possible for one man to alternate between savior and personal demon?

I pulled away from him.

“You wanted to hear me play…” I frowned. “Was that...an audition?”

“I wanted to hear, if only so I can tell him he needs to offer you double.”

My chest collapsed, simultaneously hyperventilating and refusing any more air.

“What’s wrong with working at the coffee house?” I asked.

“You’re a musician.”

“Not...not really. Not anymore.”

“Don’t you want to try?”

How was I supposed to know? The thought shadowed my mind like an aneurysm waiting to explode.

“You are my pet.” Anthony kissed me. Heavy. Deep. “It’s my responsibility to take care of you in all ways.”

He nibbled at me. So far, he did an admirable job.

His tongue slipped over mine. A quick dart then pulling away, leaving me to chase him. Heat burned away my lingering doubt.

If nothing else, I was a pro at denial and compartmentalizing. Cars and auditions? Those were worries I could ignore while Anthony pulled me close. Kissed my neck. Bit on the tender space between my shoulder and throat.

Within seconds I panted, and my fists clenched against his clothing. Too many layers existed between us. I needed to feel his body against mine.

So did Anthony.

I moaned and he answered with an unrestrained growl. Masculine. A warning. He effortless hauled me into his arms, saying nothing as he walked me from the den into his bedroom.

He tossed me onto his bed—the lights on and windows uncovered.

Nothing would ever shame this man.

But we were alone. Only our breathing disturbed the silence. No one watched from the corners or danced in the other room. Here, I could focus on Anthony and Anthony alone.

He helped to pull the shirt from over my head and slipped my pants down my legs. I eagerly offered all of me, sliding from my bra as our mouth met once more. Harder. Passionately. He aimed for my panties, and I murmured in quiet enthusiasm. The thin material rolled to my ankles. He tossed the silk away, and I prayed it’d be the last time I’d ever see them.

“Lay back, little girl.”

I obeyed. Surrendered. Opened my legs so he’d see exactly how much I enjoyed our kiss.

His gaze never shifted, never left the molten wetness between my legs. He waited only long enough to unbutton his shirt and toss it to the ground. Then he attacked.

I wound my legs over his waist as he kissed my lips, neck, and sunk his teeth over my nipple. The sharpness was a grand surprise. He bit harder, listening as I yelped and arched and rolled to escape.

Then he released me in a blistering relief that shook me with shivers.

My core ached almost as much as my bruised flesh.

He did it again, seizing my other breast. This time he nipped the soft skin above my nipple. I writhed, whimpered, and tried to push his shoulders away. He seized my wrists, crossing them over my head.

“No struggling.”

His teeth returned, claiming my nipple between the animal bite. He sucked, pulled, and my breath caught in a panicked yelp. The mark left in his wake matched the one on my other breast. Higher this time. It’d be unhidden by the cups of my bra.

“Simone struck you with the cane.” He surveyed his work. My nipples budded, preparing for another attack. “But you’re mine. I should be the one to mark you.”

And I’d take anything and everything he offered.

Light touches. Spankings. Even a bite.

Every touch exhilarated me. I’d never have enough.

I wiggled as he moved between my legs. His pants dragged against my bare skin, but he made no effort to remove them. Instead he reached behind me, dragging something out from behind the headboard.

A restraint.

Of course he had restraints on his bed.

Anthony’s expression turned dark. He wrapped a leather cuff over my wrist and tightened the fit before mirroring the motions with my other arm. I shivered as the thin chain rattled against the headboard.

“You will stay still for your master.”

For a brief moment, I regretted not having an audience, witnesses in case his demands turned too severe. My arms stretched over my head. Trapped.

He stared at me, flat on my back, my arms pulled taut against the bed. I shrunk in his shadow. My belly looked thinner, my legs shorter. Even completely stretched out, my feet didn’t come close to the bottom of the bed.

He liked that. Size was another form of dominance.

Everything to Anthony was a form of dominance.

He guided my legs apart and observed just how much I enjoyed the treatment. His fingers traced my glistening folds. He pushed the finger inside me. I gripped him. Tightened over him. Three strokes of his hand was all it took to hear my wetness. He licked the finger clean.

“I’m going to fuck you, pet,” he said. “Just like this. All tied up for me.”

“But no one’s here.”

“You think I only fuck with an audience?” He squeezed my breast, targeting an already aching nipple. “I fuck you at Duchess because you are my pet, and you’ll please me when I say.”

He slapped my breast, the sound echoing in the room as the sting radiated through my ribs. Then he leaned in, his lips softly kissing the rigid peak. I arched, begging him to take me into his mouth. He refused.

“And I’ll take you in my bed because you’re so god damned perfect I can’t fucking resist you.”

Perfect.

That word again.

I gasped for air under his kiss. He pulled away only to remove his pants. Then he was back. Pushing against me. Angling my hips upwards and thrusting all at once into me.

Completely.

Refusing my body a moment to adjust.

I cried out, but this was a message. He stretched me, fully, painfully so, to remind me that I belonged to him. I served him.

I was his pet, made to take every last inch of his cock.

But I didn’t need the proof. I’d promised every submission until his thrust drove the air from my lungs.

The pleasure rippled through me. I struggled against the restraints. Chains. The leather cuffs gripped me like another person held me down for Anthony. I shivered. Flashes of corsets and Simone’s auburn hair flooded in my mind. My insides clenched.

Since when did I like being held down? Helpless? The cuffs bound me to the bed and prepared me for Anthony’s conquering. No sense fighting them. I welcomed their strain against my skin, the rattle of the chains as I arched at the intrusion of his cock.

This was where I wanted to be. Strapped to his bed. Used for his pleasure. Taken by his hand and shielded from everything.

I’d beg him for a world where my only concern was him—kissing him, sucking him, earning his cum. He could tie me to his bed or take me at Duchess, and I’d willingly obey. I wanted nothing more than to live in a little cage at his side, protected and devoured by him.

Anthony knelt between my legs, his cock slowly, ever so slowly, easing out of me. He watched it. Stared as my body trembled and shook and stretched over every throbbing vein of his length. The delicious pull of his stroke created even more creamy wetness, absolutely contrasting the darkness of my petals.

He was perfect. The sex was perfect. Every inch he demanded of me was perfect.

It was a good thing he’d restrained me. I only wished he had gagged me too. I had no idea what I might say now that he started moving.

The restraints prevented me from moving to him. Anthony did all the work. My legs wrapped around his waist, and he leaned over me. His hips flexed and pushed. Driving himself deeper until I whimpered and shifted and begged him to withdraw.

His arms planted at my sides, and he drew me under his chest. He was so much bigger than me. So much stronger. The bites to my breast hurt almost as much as the tightness of the restraints. I whimpered, begging for a kiss from the one man who both delighted and terrified me.

He gazed at me, his eyes dark with lust as my moans turned heavy and my muscles started to clench.

“Don’t come.”

My insides spasmed as their natural response was denied at his command.

Don’t come? Was he serious? Was that even possible?

He hadn’t slowed his thrusts. I fought a natural need bursting deep in my core, but Anthony didn’t allow me to pull away. I could do nothing to alleviate the pleasure building from each of his strokes. My arms ached from the restraints. I groaned.

“How?” I didn’t recognize my voice, the breathy whine that tumbled out. “I can’t stop it.”

“Do as I say.”

“How?”

“It’s easy, pet. You wait for permission—you will always wait for permission.”

I trembled under him.

This wasn’t fair. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t do anything but endure the agonizing draw of his cock out of me and surrender to the forceful, possessive thrust inside.

How was I to stop my orgasm? Everything my body did near him was involuntary, instinctual. Didn’t he want my pleasure? He’d conquered everything else from me.

He watched me squirm. Tense. Tighten. Wetten.

“Don’t. Come.”

His thrusts deepened. I fought against the restraints.

Cruel, terrible bastard. My breathing raged, torn from my lungs. I forced myself to concentrate on anything besides the pulsing ache that’d spread from my core outwards. Every muscle screamed, and my heartbeat strained against my chest.

I wasn’t above begging. Anthony’s arms tucked closer against my body. His chest lowered to mine. I was lost. This was torture. Skin against skin, heat against heat.

My head lolled back. I wished the rest of me were restrained. My hips pressed upwards, offering more of my body. My breasts aimed up for him. To see. To touch. To bite.

Anything he wanted was his, including the hot, wet mess that his cock claimed.

And he knew it. His breathing became a singular, hollow growl. The cadence of his thrusts quickened. I could ignore his touch. I could ignore his length twitching inside me before pounding against my most delicate area. But I couldn’t ignore him. His scent and weight over me. He was all I could see, all I could feel.

And his desire was as great as mine. He held back as much as I did. Every movement, every groaned effort and passion-fueled caress.

And then I understood. My pleasure came with his. It was simple. Natural.

Intimate.

But I could no more deny the pleasure searing me from the inside than I could hide how I felt for this man.

He had a power over me. A terrifying, humbling power. Submitting to him made sense. But this closeness. His gaze. The way he held me and kissed me and what he demanded of me…

This wasn’t a hierarchy enforced by Duchess. This was all Anthony. What he gave me. What I returned.

I stole his kiss, fearing any words I might utter in my new confusion.

Or clarity. I didn’t know.

“Pet.”

His body trembled and sweated. I shared the feeling—the pain of denial and the desperate, pleading ache for release.

I arched, letting his body take what he needed. My relief broke with his.

He came inside of me, the jet of heat filling me from the inside out.

I didn’t need to tense or prepare or cry out or ask. My orgasm was just there. Released with his and wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth. My legs squeezed him close, forcing him deeper, as my tightness gripped every last inch in a wonderful, silken bliss.

The pain in my body faded, even the mild throbbing of the almost-too-tight restraints pulling on my arms. I closed my eyes and accepted Anthony’s cum, every drop of boiling pleasure.

I rose with him. Crested with him. Then dropped back to reality and crashed with him.

He didn’t pull out. Even that was intentional. His cock hadn’t softened, and my body swelled around him, tightening as I could do nothing but wait for the moment he decided to withdrawal from my melted core.

He released my hands from the restraints. I didn’t move until he gave the permission.

Then I tangled with him. Pulled him close, touched his body and ran my hands through his long hair, loose over his shoulders. He crushed me. I didn’t need air. I needed Anthony.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

My lips nibbled his. I blinked through tears.

I don’t think he knew how much that word represented and what phrase it allowed me to bury back inside before I revealed too much.

He thumbed away the one tear that escaped, and I braved a smile. Nodded. Shuddered in his arms.

“Everything is perfect, sir.”