Anthony wasn’t a subtle man, especially after returning home at one in the morning after a week-long business trip in San Jose.

I greeted him in the bedroom. He ordered me to go back to sleep with a voice that might have righted the luggage he’d pitched into the closet.

The bathroom door slammed closed. The shower turned on.

If he hadn’t locked the door, I’d have joined him.

I had a feeling his meetings weren’t going well from our brief conversations—something about contract difficulties relating to the current ownership of Atwood Industries. Apparently, his client didn’t own the company…but a yet-to-be-born male heir did? Seemed complicated.

The penthouse, fancy car, and investments came at a price. Anthony’s job caused him as much stress as it did long-hours and constant traveling.

Fortunately, I’d offered him a decent distraction. Spankings and sex usually helped to take his edge off. So did enforcing a terrible chastity rule while he was out of town.

Five days without a single touch—his or my own. Another day of this torment, and I’d have road-tripped to San Jose for a damn kiss on the cheek.

Twenty minutes later, Anthony emerged a new man. Calmer. Cleaner. Ready for bed.

I wrapped the sheet over my body, tucking the good bits away from him in a quiet tease. He’d lost his shirt somewhere between the shower and bed. No harm, no foul. A pair of sweats hung low on his hips, tracing the muscled definition of his abs.

It was strange to see him without his usual strict presentation. His wet hair hung loose, framing his face with dark waves. He stood shirtless, barefoot, and damp from the shower.

And exhausted.

He hadn’t shaved, and his eyes bore dark circles underneath. It was as vulnerable as he ever let himself become, and he let me peek.

“You aren’t sleeping,” he said.

I let my eyes drift over his hardened body. “I’m not sleepy anymore, sir.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Can I get you anything?”

His hand ripped the sheet away. That much I could offer.

My voice caught in my throat as he twisted my nipple, but his touch immediately turned gentle. He brushed the swell of my breast. I leaned closer and kissed his cheek.

“I’m glad you’re back. Bad flight?”

“Yeah.”

I considered teasing him about how rough chartered jets were these days, but it wasn’t like he’d slept on the flight. Never did. Knowing Anthony, he’d probably worked all the way through. His contracts had legalese as blurry as sixteenth notes, and he had to concentrate to focus on all the contingences and potential liabilities. Billions of dollars were on the line, and it wasn’t like Anthony to give up control, especially to his paralegals.

I shifted behind him, my hands on his shoulders. Rock hard, and not from muscles. Half a dozen knots worked into his back. I kissed his neck. His job wasn’t standing on his feet for eight hours, doodling foamed milk hearts and flowers into lattes, but I could relate. My hands worked over his shoulders.

“What did you do without me?” He cracked his own neck. I batted him away but didn’t stop my massage. “You had this big house all to yourself.”

I kissed where my fingers touched. “I kept busy.”

His voice lowered. “You didn’t touch yourself, did you?”

My tummy fluttered. “No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

“Actually, I did something I always wanted to do.”

“And what’s that, pet?”

“All Rose ever talks about is reading a book in a fancy bubble bath, lit by candlelight while drinking wine. So…last night I tried it. It was fun. And I only broke one wine glass.”

“You didn’t.”

“I tripped coming out of the tub. Out of the potential possibilities, the wine glass was the best outcome. I could have broken my leg.” I nuzzled against his neck. “Sorry, sir.”

“Over my knee, pet.”

I never thought a single phrase would turn me on so much. Within seconds, he’d tossed me over his lap. My fists curled into the comforter as he smacked three quick spanks against my bottom.

I ground my hips against his legs.

“Simone was right. You are a masochist,” he said.

“Maybe a lonesome one, sir.” I wiggled against the blankets. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“You want to be fucked.”

“A pet has needs.” I settled against him, straddling him as best I could. The rough fabric of his sweat pants brushed between my legs. I purred and curled my arms around his neck. “Besides, this big house gets scary when I’m all alone.”

“Scary?”

“I’m used to the studio apartment. My cell phone lights up the whole space. It’s more my size.”

“You’re not honestly comparing a studio apartment to my penthouse.”

“There’s no comparison.” I bit my lip and looked around. “But there is much more to clean.”

“I hire a maid. You could too.”

I laughed. “Oh, sure, big shot corporate lawyer. I can’t hire a maid on a coffeehouse salary.”

“Find a new job.”

The J word. Ugh. I scrunched my nose and cuddled against Anthony. I didn’t want to think about jobs.

The thick muscles of his chest though…that I wanted.

I kissed him. “You’re so tense, sir. I think you need to relax.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

My lips trailed from his neck down, over his shoulders and across the thick muscles. He smelled of soap, clean and sharp, a perfect combination that stirred the desire untouched with me for the past five days. My hands crossed over his chest, rubbing against his abs, and as low as the sweat pants would let me stroke.

Anthony smirked. “You’re awfully forward tonight, pet.”

I bit his shoulder. He slapped my hand and grabbed my hair. His eyes found mine. Dark. Intimidating.

“Better behave, pet,” Anthony warned. “I need you rested for Duchess tomorrow.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” He chuckled. “I’ve planned something special.”

“Definite uh-oh.”

He stood. I pouted as he crossed to his luggage. “I bought you something.”

“I do love a present.”

Anthony said nothing. He returned to the bed, though he didn’t sit. He placed a long velvet box in my hands. My eyes widened.

“A necklace?”

Anthony’s jaw twitched. “It’s not a necklace, pet. Open it.”

My fingers danced over the box. Resting on the silk was a single, black strap—thin enough to be a ribbon. Silver buckles decorated one edge. A fastener.

Anthony’s voice rumbled through me. “It’s your collar.”

A collar.

Just like Shannon, Genn, and Mariah.

I stared at him, shocked, amazed, floored.

The collar was meant to designate me as his. Owned.

I swallowed. A gift had never made me feel so simultaneously special and humiliated. But with Anthony, those emotions swirled together so often they were becoming a set pair. Like peanut butter and jelly or milk and cookies, our relationship blended desire and shame into pleasures so natural it seemed strange that I’d ever experienced one without the other.

A small pendant centered on the collar. Classy, like an old Victorian broach. Carved and white, the etched symbol was clear. A treble clef.

A musical symbol.

And the excitement became a sudden surge of dread.

He’d wanted to personalize the gift, and he chose music. The part of me I’d attempted to hide by placing myself in his control.

“—you’ll have more than one collar, depending on the scene and event...” Anthony spoke, but I hadn’t listened. I looked up only once he went silent. “What’s wrong, pet?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Does the thought of a collar frighten you?”

I couldn’t breathe. “No. Not at all. It isn’t that.”

His eyes drifted to the box. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The pendant trembled in my hand. “It’s...a little musical.”

“Yes.”

I closed the box and placed it on the nightstand. My pulse still raced so near the symbol. I averted my gaze.

“I…I’ve decided I’m giving up on music.”

Anthony stilled. “You’re giving up on music.”

“I’ve decided to take a different path. In life. You know.”

The sheets were far more inviting than Anthony’s burning gaze. I snuggled into the warmth, but nothing felt soft about this situation. I patted the other side of the bed. Anthony didn’t budge.

His voice hardened. “Why did you give up, Morgan?”

“It was…something I decided.”

“Without me?”

“I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“What about that audition I’d organized for you?”

I swallowed. I knew he’d eventually ask, but I hoped by then I might have figured out how to tell him the truth. One AM with a jet-lagged and tense Anthony was not the time to discuss anything, let alone my failures.

How could I even explain it? What was there to say?

I didn’t cut it.

They didn’t want me.

I wasn’t good enough.

How would that make any of this any better?

But this was good. I was finally taking control of my life—and cutting out music was the first honest decision I’d made. People changed careers all the time. He’d have to understand that.

Because I knew he wouldn’t understand the truth.

The lie popped out before I could stop it. “I didn’t go.”

Anthony stilled, his scowl the only movement across his expression.

I wrapped the blankets tighter around me. All I’d wanted was him by my side. To kiss and cuddle and have my wrists tethered to the bed frame like any other red-blooded, American girl. I didn’t like the way he looked at me.

How he judged me.

“You didn’t go?” The accusation stung.

“I’m done with music, sir. I gave it a lot of thought—”

“Bullshit. What the hell is wrong with you, Morgan?”

I stiffened. “I don’t want to be a violinist.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s your fucking life, Morgan. What do you think?”

I hesitated. He was angry. Vein in forehead, muscles tensed angry. Not what I expected. And definitely not what I wanted.

“I know it’s my life,” I said. “But there isn’t anything to discuss. Can’t we go to bed?”

“No, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

His voice could chisel diamond. “Because you didn’t go to the audition.”

“I didn’t want a musical career anymore.”

“Then what do you want? To stay in the coffee house for the rest of your life?”

“Did I say that?” My hands slammed against the comforter. “What is it with you and the coffeehouse? It’s just a job.”

“Exactly. It’s just a job. It isn’t the right one for you.”

“It’s pays my bills.”

“Barely.”

A slap to the face. “What? The car?” I bit down on my tongue and counted to five. “Fine. I’ll pay you back for the repairs. All of the damn repairs.”

“Keep your money.”

“What’s your problem?”

Anthony grabbed a shirt from his drawer and stalked to the door. “Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“Nothing? Look, I’m sorry about the audition—”

“It isn’t about the audition. This is about you. Your life. Your ambitions. You’re drifting, Morgan.”

I patted the bed. “Feels pretty stable to me.”

“Does it? Maybe it feels that way because you’re happy to fail.”

“Why would that make me happy?”

“Because it’s so goddamned familiar to you.”

Sucker-punched and he hadn’t even touched me. My fingers tangled in the blankets.

Now? At one in the morning, after I hadn’t seen him for five days, he decided to make an example out of my life?

Cold sweat blended with a mounting irritation. If I didn’t want to talk about this before, what the hell made him think now was the best time to discuss my life goals?

Life Goal Number Ten: Don’t ruin this.

“I think we should go to sleep.” I shouldn’t have spoken so sharply to him, but at least I didn’t swear. “I’m done talking about this.”

He shrugged. “Going to hide from it some more?”

“Yes.” No point in lying. “Yes, I am. Because it’s really stupid to talk about this.”

“Your future is stupid?”

“Trying to figure it out in the middle of the night isn’t too smart.”

“Then when? How many more months will you waste at that coffeehouse before you decide to do something productive with your life?”

“I’m twenty-three years old. I can’t even rent a car by myself yet, and you want me to invest in a 401k by Tuesday?”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.” I tangled my fingers in hair. “Why do I have to figure my life out right now? I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need to do. Christ, Anthony, you’re my dom. Aren’t you supposed to make those decisions for me?”

The silence crashed into the conversation.

Anthony went still, rigid. “Concerto.”

Concerto?

If a word could have staked me in the heart, I was pretty sure that one aimed for my chest with my violin bow.

A cold fear drilled through me, stealing my voice. That was fine. He had more than enough to say for the both of us.

“That isn’t what a dom does,” Anthony said. “And if you haven’t learned that by now, then I’ve done a terrible job teaching you what this lifestyle is all about.”

I twisted the blankets. “I don’t get it. You wanted to be in charge of me. Make my decisions. Have me call you sir and master. You gave me a freaking collar. Isn’t controlling me what you want?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want from me? Christ, Anthony, tell me now, because I don’t understand anymore?”

Anthony’s expression hardened, the same clenched jaw and narrowed eyes he used when looming over me at Duchess. Except this time, the look wasn’t the result of excitement and fun. He distanced himself. The unguarded, comfortable Anthony was gone, replaced by the facade of the man who performed and acted. The man who explored his desires through planned scenes so he could walk away without tangling in the delicate and unknowing complications of desire, emotion, and lust.

My stomach rolled.

His words were every punishment I’d endured from his hand. “I don’t dominate you to break you into a shell of a woman. I do it because you allow me. Because you’ve given me that control.”

“And I surrendered to you.” My chest ached like the blankets were made of crushing lead. “I trust you, Anthony. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Not like this. I can’t make life decisions for you. You need to figure it out yourself.”

I groaned. “What? School? Jobs? That isn’t important!”

“Yes, it is. You need a plan. You aren’t this weak, Morgan.”

The word hurt.

“No offense, but I don’t want to talk about this now. Not here.” I reached under the pillow and dangled one of the restraints in the air. “This is a safe place for me. I don’t have to worry about the world when I’m with you. This place…it’s my escape from real life.”

Wrong thing to say.

Anthony looked away, as if I’d hurt him. Maybe I had. I didn’t understand.

“Is that what I am to you?” he asked. “An escape?”

“That’s a good thing.”

“No. It’s not. Duchess isn’t an escape for me.”

“You aren’t listening. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yes, you did.” Anthony refused to hear me. His anger simmered, brimming to the surface in a quick scowl. “You meant every word. That’s what you think of this lifestyle. How you treat it. You think that this life—our relationship—is a game.”

I counted to three before answering. I probably needed to go to ten, but I didn’t want Anthony boiling over. “Eating sushi off naked women and getting blow jobs under tables isn’t a game?”

“It’s a demonstration of power, Morgan.”

“You don’t think Duchess is your way to relax after working for eighteen hours a day? That you don’t go there to play and blow off steam?”

Wrong question. Wrong assumption. Wrong everything.

Anthony stiffened. I prepared to launch out of the bed after him if he slammed the door on me. The knot in my stomach sprouted barbs and latched on to my insides.

Anthony’s voice grated my bones. “I am this lifestyle.”

“I know, but—”

“If you took Duchess from me, you wouldn’t have the same man anymore. I see the world in black and white—dominant and submissive, control and surrender. It’s how I work. It’s how I manage relationships. It’s how I exist. It’s my life¸ Morgan.”

“I wasn’t insulting you.”

“Yes, you were. If you never went back to Duchess, if you stopped calling me sir, what would change for you?”

I’d be miserable, lost and confused. But I didn’t answer.

Anthony snorted. “That’s right. You’d be the same Morgan. Same old college dropout, afraid of failure, Morgan.

Why did I even bother covering my nudity with the sheet? Anthony saw me naked plenty of times. But this…

This was a new way to be stripped. Condensed down to my worse attributes.

I could live with the label college drop-out. Everyone knew that about me—the alumni tag on Facebook wasn’t fooling anyone.

But afraid of failure? No fucking shit. Who wasn’t terrified of failing?

Anthony.

When had he ever been afraid? When had he ever counted his last quarters to buy a sack of rice and bag of beans from the store? When had he ever faced down a crowd of hundreds of people, all whispering and mocking a terrible musical performance?

“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “You could never understand.”

“Why?”

My voice hardened. He didn’t need to patronize me. “Nothing’s ever rattled you, Anthony. Nothing’s ever challenged you.”

“Is that right?”

“Your biggest fear is trying to fuck some slut at Duchess and not getting hard.” I choked on the harshness in my voice. “Don’t equate your sexcapades with my life. I’m hurting here.”

His laugh wasn’t kind, so rough I thought it’d scrape my exposed skin. “That’s cute, Morgan. Real cute.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Then I’m not listening.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re shutting down because it got tough. Do you always run away when life get difficult?”

“So not fair.”

“I care about you, Morgan.”

“That’s a funny way of showing it.”

“I organized that audition for you. I tried to push you back to the violin.”

I groaned. “But you knew it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“It’s what you need.”

“Just drop it! I am not going to play violin again. That isn’t what I want in life.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why does this bother you so much?”

“How doesn’t it bother you? You’re wasting all of your talent!”

“Christ, you sound just like my father—” I choked on the word. “Family.”

Oh God. The room spun. I held my head in my hands as he sighed.

“Ever think they might know what’s best for you?”

I shrugged. “Fine. Tell me what you think is best. Want me to go back to school? How about if I take my violin to Duchess? I’ll play them all a little song, and you can show me off and prove to them that I’m worth something.”

“Listen to yourself. Stop doing what you think I want and start acting in your best interests.”

My hands thumped against the bed. “I’m trying to be a good submissive!”

“Then I must be a terrible teacher because you aren’t getting it yet.”

“Then what do you call all the times we went to Duchess? The restraints? The spankings? I did everything you wanted, and I was good at it.”

“No.” The truth cut us both. “You did it because you thought that submitting was all you were good for.”

“That is not true.”

“Are you sure?”

I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes. “I submitted to you because it made me feel like I was different. Like I could become a new person. That I could forget everything bad that happened and take control of something new and exciting in my life.” I hesitated. “I wanted to become someone important to you.”

I held his gaze for only a second—a single measly second when I bared everything I was and ever hoped to be to the man I hoped would understand.

He looked away.

My heart crashed against my chest until it was bruised and broken. The perfect offering for a man as sadistic as my Anthony.

“This isn’t about me respecting myself…” My whisper choked on tears. “This is about you.”

Anthony didn’t answer.

I said it for him. “You don’t respect me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. You think I’m wasting my life. You think I’m wasting your life.”

I hated the hissed intake of his breath. It was a stall. A way to spare my feelings.

Why did he even bother?

“I want to see you succeed,” he said.

“Yeah, right.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.” I snapped. “I get it. You want me to respect myself and make good decisions and become a strong, capable woman so you can fuck the dignity right back out of me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Come on, sir. What’s more impressive? Fucking a barista or fucking a concert violinist?”

“You’re twisting this.”

“I get it. You’re all about presentation. The show. You want to impress people, make them envy you. And the only way to ensure you’re the star of the scene is to ensure the slut you’re fucking is worth watching. And now that I’m not the exotic little virgin anymore, you need a new hook.

“Morgan—”

I ignored him and rose from the bed, reaching for the nearest shirt. I picked up his, swore, and pitched it into the closet. My skin prickled with goose bumps. I ignored them and rummaged through my half-empty bag. I found a shirt and panties, and it was a good enough start.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going home.”

If he hadn’t expected that answer, he was as much an idiot as he was an asshole. But his brow furrowed, and he dropped the holier-than-thou attitude.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m not good enough for you. Admit it.” I stared him down, the single pink sock on my foot clashed with the yellow panties peeking from under my work shirt. “Your penthouse and Mercedes and Duchess. I’m not good enough for it. Say it!”

His hesitation didn’t last long. “Not if you don’t try.”

Another sucker punch and a roundhouse kick just for laughs.

“I have to get out of here.”

I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t, even if I tried. I pawed through the laundry basket and shoved as many of my clothes into my bag as I could. Unfolded and dirty—because afraid-of-life Morgan couldn’t handle doing laundry and being responsible for one fucking afternoon.

“Stop it,” Anthony said. “Get back in bed. We’ll talk.”

I zipped the bag and nearly took my finger off with it. “I think we’ve said everything we needed.”

“And I think we’ve said a lot of things we don’t mean.”

“I can’t handle any more conversation right now.” I didn’t recognize my voice, a year’s worth of frustration and denial condensed into a hiss. “I’ll let myself out.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I won’t take long.”

Anthony didn’t get out of my way. He stood there, watching me wrap up the bits of my life that had accidentally migrated to better pastures. If I any pride left, I might have cried, no matter how hard I wished. At least if I left slobbering and sniffling and wet with tears, it might have proved that what he said wasn’t true.

But the cold numbness proved his every accusation.

I didn’t know who I hated more—him or me.

I grabbed my things and escaped from the apartment without saying good-bye. Without saying anything. I didn’t think I’d ever speak a word to him again.

I’d been right about one thing these past weeks. I was in over my head with Anthony.

But I hadn’t realized how head over heels I was for him.

And that hurt most of all.