by Sosie Frost
“I—it hurts, sir.”
“Is it too much?”
He knew better than me. I licked my lips and shuddered.
“Do you want more?” he asked.
Why did he torture me?
I didn’t let go of him, squeezing harder as I fumbled for a coherent thought. Anthony rubbed the soreness away. His fingers massaged lower. Down.
He brushed between my legs.
I was wet. Wetter than wet. I would drown in my own lust.
Anthony stroked my slit, and he didn’t need to spank me anymore. He had what he wanted.
My body submitted to him in both pleasure and pain. I craved only his touch.
A flick of his finger sent sparks through my core, but the slap of his palm against my skin burned me alive. In that moment, he’d owned me, and I tread a dangerous line between decadence and agony. One false move, and I’d either burst into tears or dissolve into an unrelenting orgasm.
But the worst thing he could have done was stop.
He commanded me again. “Talk to me, Morgan.”
His finger twisted against my wetness. I tensed. He pushed through my entrance and slipped inside of me.
We both groaned at the same time. I pawed against his leg, arching against the intrusion.
It pinched. It filled.
My God…if this was just what a finger felt like…?
His voice layered with threat. “Christ…you’re even tighter than I’d imagined.”
That made sense. He pushed in deeper. I collapsed against his legs. Every bone in my body softened. I whispered his name, groaning with every delicious push of his hand.
I’d been such a prude I hadn’t even experimented with myself. Never took anything inside.
This…this was amazing.
“I’m proud of you, pet.” He hooked his finger along a part of me I didn’t know existed. “Look at how this pussy grips me…”
I shuddered. I could handle the spanking. I’d suffered the pain and the embarrassment. But I couldn’t endure his compliments as he stroked me from the inside.
A frim slap landed on my behind. I clamped over him. Anthony chuckled, a possessive, pleased sound.
“You are innocent, aren’t you?”
I whimpered. His finger moved too slowly, pulling me from the inside out. I bucked. He spanked me again, hard and severe. The pain radiated into a heat that burrowed deep within my pussy.
“How many times has a man touched you like this?” he demanded.
His motions didn’t stop. I drew in a ragged breath. A shrug was all I could offer.
Slap. Wrong answer.
“Morgan. Tell me.”
Damn it.
“I…I’ve never really…” I pinched my eyes shut. “Sir, no one has ever paid any attention to me.”
As much of a confession as I could bear.
He stilled. He laughed, not a chuckle of understanding. A roaring, exhilarated laugh.
He thrust his finger inside. Hard. Forcing me open.
My body had to surrender. It knew nothing else. His knuckles struck against my clit. The heat built inside me. Worse than in the pool. At least there the pleasure was constant. Now, I was at his mercy, and he played my sensitive spot with an expertise that I didn’t think was possible.
A second finger poked at me. He pushed, but it pinched. I yelped a little too loudly. Anthony stopped, gently rubbing my slickness before attempting once more.
“I think I’ll have to be careful with you, pet…” He entered me, but I didn’t think I could stretch enough to accommodate his fingers. He understood. His thrust were a mere tease. “Very careful.”
Every part of my body sizzled. An ache joined the heat. His fingers explored and prodded, driving me open instead of granting me release. He built a rhythm, and I clenched against him, trying to keep his fingers tucked inside.
Slap.
I squealed as the sting dissolved into mild tremors over my skin.
Slap! Harder. Another yelp.
His fingers pushed in deep.
Slap, slap, slap!
Each successive strike was harder and faster than the last. His fingers fit as deeply as my body permitted. Two more slaps, and the panic returned. He drove in and out, in and out, a constant, unyielding beat, punctuated by the wild strikes upon my ass.
Slap, thrust, slap, thrust.
My mind blanked, falling into the pattern. The trembling seized control of me. I wiggled like a weak kitten trying to find a way off his legs. He didn’t let me.
I burned hot, chilled cold, and couldn’t tell the difference between the sting and pleasure. I tensed too hard. The cry of his name whispered as a plea for more than mercy.
Faster. Harder. Softer. Gentler.
I ground against him, arching to take him deeper. Every movement earned a harder spank, but even that wound me closer. His hands struck my ass, my thighs, even the base of my back. Tears dotted my eyelashes, but his fingers rammed me. Hard. Pounding.
I’d couldn’t hold out.
“Come, pet.”
One final spank, and I was lost.
I fell against his lap, convulsing from the inside out. My pussy clenched around his fingers so tightly my abdomen hurt. The sting of his last strike remained, coiled within each wave of pleasure.
This was what he’d tried to explain. But no words could describe it. Only the sensation. Only his expert hand.
I cried—tears in my eyes—not from pain or fear, but the sheer overwhelming realization that was submitting to Anthony. He removed his fingers, and I sobbed. My body clenched after him, rippling with tremors and need.
“I need you…” Anthony’s confession seared inside me.
He tossed me from his knees onto the bed.
I couldn’t think. My eyes had opened, but my sight was blinded by darkened bursts of delight.
He forced my legs apart and fell between them. A kiss silenced my protests. I clung to his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt. He nipped at my lips, a new strength surging through his veins.
“It’s time you’ve been taken, Morgan…” His voice shivered through me. “I’m going to make you mine.”
More than he realized.
Uh-oh.
Anthony towered over me, his arms pressed beside my body. His expression darkened, regal, a stoic sculpture of pure aggression. His hair fell between us, dark and thick.
But every brush of his clothes against my flesh was like sandpaper. I tugged at his sleeves, unable to find the words.
I had to tell him.
I couldn’t tell him.
I never meant to lie.
He leaned down, taking one of my nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue, and the pressure reignited the fire in my core. I whimpered as his teeth grazed the sensitive peek.
He bit.
I loved it.
“You’re perfect, Morgan. Everything about you. Your body. Your taste. Your kiss.” Anthony’s smile leered like a wolf aiming for a throat. “Your obedience. You are the most natural submissive I’ve ever had.”
Maybe because I didn’t know what I was doing?
Maybe because this was turning into quite a bit of trouble.
Maybe because he was right, and I wanted only to give him all of me for his own pleasure.
He unbuttoned his shirt as I squirmed beneath him. My legs spread wide, pushed by his hips. His eyes never left that not-so-secret part of me.
But my stomach quivered. My breasts rose and fell in rapid breaths.
He studied me, his words a roughened growl. “Tell me, Morgan.”
The truth?
Another lie?
I didn’t know what to do with my hands, and so I tucked them at my sides, palms down, gripping the blanket. He liked that.
“Tell me that you submit to me.” His voice changed, and a new need growled from deep within him. “You’ll submit for me and me alone.”
Wasn’t that obvious? I panted and writhed on his bed, the fireworks evapor
ating from my mind only to shoot off another grand finale as he edged between my legs.
“I’m yours, sir.”
Anthony undid the last button on his shirt. He tossed the material from his chest and returned to me, his flesh hot and hard against mine. I closed my eyes as his lips grazed the hollow of my throat.
“Do you want me?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please.”
His eyes found mine. “We fuck my way. I’m the master. You’re the pet. Understand?”
Only too well. I nodded, certain my expression flickered like a wild rabbit he caught in his maw.
“This won’t be gentle. It won’t be romantic. When I fuck you, I take you to make you mine. To prove that you are little more than a slick, waiting pussy to be filled by your master.”
His lips traced a trail from my shoulder to my neck, nibbling and pecking between bites.
If I told him now, he’d stop. I’d lose his heat. His lips. That wonderful fear that was my desire.
I curled my fingers into the bedspread as he dipped his finger once more into the wetness between my legs.
“Stay still.”
I arched as he stroked the sensitive spot inside me.
“You’re ready for me. You’re wet. Slick. So hot, Morgan. You want this, don’t you?”
Anthony unhooked his belt. The heat spread to my face as I saw the glistening wetness on his finger. The leather buckle clinked as he undid his pants.
I had to tell him.
I had to feel him.
I needed him.
I needed to tell the truth.
His pants kicked away. My legs fell open.
The bulge in his boxers stretched the material taut. He was a monster, plain and simple. He’d tear through me. I’d be completely impaled.
It was all I wanted.
But not like this. Not in a lie. Not trapped between my own guilt and his pledge of protection.
He reached for his thickness, pumping the massive length within his hand. I swallowed, reaching for him as he laid over me.
His cock stroked the outside of my pussy.
Hot blended with wet.
We both groaned.
But I spoke before he pushed too hard and realized the truth.
“Concerto.”
Anthony tensed. He met my stare, his confusion mounting as I began to cry.
“Pet, what’s wrong?”
Everything.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you. I never meant to hide it. I didn’t want to lie.”
“Morgan, what the hell are you talking about—”
“I’m a virgin, sir.” The word chilled the air. “You’ll be my first time.”
11
The silence broke only with Anthony’s profanity.
“Fuck.”
He swore. Twice. He sat back, his hands resting on his thighs. A tendon in his neck tensed until I thought it would pop. I rose to my elbows, carefully refolding my legs.
His frustration mirrored my own. I looked away.
“You’re a virgin?”
He moved off the bed, fixing himself to tame the raging erection straining to return to my heat. I edged to the pillows, plucking one from the set to hold in my own comforting hug.
He only stared.
But this wasn’t his usual attempt to make me feel vulnerable. This was real astonishment.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You lied to me.”
“I know.”
“I told you I expected honesty.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Morgan. If I knew that—”
“You’d have stopped?”
“Fuck, no.” His jaw tensed. “I’d have gone slower. Trying to a teach a virgin the things we do at Duchess? It’s madness. You don’t know the first thing about your body, your mind, your desires.”
That wasn’t fair. “I can figure it out.”
“Could you?”
Not a fucking clue. “Anthony, sir, I know I hid this from you, but—”
“No.”
I quieted. His words were sharp, severe. He pointed me to the bed.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“What?”
“You lied to me, Morgan. I told you we had to be honest with one and other. That’s the only way this will work.”
“I didn’t have to tell you. I could have let you take me.”
The thought seemed to both arouse and frustrate him. “Would that have been fair to you?”
My body still ached for him. “I wouldn’t have complained.”
“You deserve more than a quick rut, Morgan.” He rubbed his face. “And I need a submissive that I know will be honest with me.”
My pulse raced. “Anthony—no. I promise. I just got scared.”
He sensed my distress, but the hand to my cheek wasn’t the comfort I needed. “I never want you to be afraid of me, Morgan. Never.”
“I wasn’t afraid of you…” My voice weakened. “I was afraid of losing you.”
“Losing me?”
“You don’t understand…” I hated revealing this miserable ugliness to him, but the tears threatened to reveal so much more. “You’re the best thing in my life, sir. The most fun. The most dangerous. I’ve never known I could feel this way, that my body could do so many things and like so many…” I looked away. “I’m inexperienced, Anthony. But I’m not that naïve. I want you. I know that. And I’m not afraid to tell you how much it’d mean to me if you were my first.”
A long moment passed.
One desperate heartbeat. Then another. And another.
Anthony sighed, but his calmness returned. He pulled back the sheets, not saying a word until I was tucked under the blankets. Safe. Warm.
Protected.
“Sleep,” he ordered. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“Aren’t…you coming to bed?”
“And trust myself to not ravage you in your sleep?” He sucked in a frustrated breath. “If I get in this bed, nothing is going to stop me from impaling that sweet, innocent pussy all night long.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Yes, it does.” The warmth in his voice betrayed a sudden mischief. “Especially when I have plans for you.”
“Sir?”
“Sleep, Morgan.” He teased me with a hungry glance. “Tomorrow…I’m going to teach you the true meaning of submission.”
12
It was hard to sleep in Anthony’s bed. Every twist, every turn, every fluff of the pillows tortured my dreams with memories of him.
But what a night’s sleep—well deserved after such a rough spanking and consuming orgasm.
Plus, Anthony’s bed had everything—perfectly functional springs, soft sheets, and enough room to not kick a wall or freeze my toes if I happened to shrug off the covers. It was the best night’s sleep I’d had in years.
Though sleeping with Anthony would have made it better—literally and figuratively.
He’d bundled my clothes on the dresser—my panties and bra bleach white in a completely masculine room. He had a minimalist style. Bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Dressers. Chair. My underwear, on display for the world to see as proof of the naked girl in his bed.
I slipped from the covers, worried I’d flash the entire city with my walk of shame to the bathroom. Fortunately, Anthony had prepared for these contingencies. A folded towel, new plastic wrapped toothbrush, and a fresh hairbrush waited beside my clothes.
So…what was the etiquette for something like this? I’d never stayed at a man’s home before. Would he mind me showering? Using his soap?
One glance inside the master bathroom, and I knew I couldn’t refuse this opportunity. His bathroom was nearly as large as my studio apartment. Two sinks framed the walls. A Jacuzzi tub tempted me, separate from a tiled, walk-in shower.
He’d installed heated floors.
The dark granite and gol
d accents screamed Anthony, but the hair dryer, curling iron, and straightener belonged to a woman.
Apparently, Simone was no stranger to this penthouse.
Anthony’s shower qualified as one of the seven wonders of my world—right up there with the time I touched a Stradivarius violin and the night we’d served coffee to the entire cast of Phantom of the Opera. Variable temperature settings and multiple jets and moveable shower heads made for an interesting experience, though the pulsing massage setting only reminded me of the fun at Simone’s pool party.
Figured. The shower was big enough for two—certainly large enough for Anthony to do anything he wished to me under the water. The relaxing shower turned frustrating. I hopped out before the soap bubbles did me in. No sense getting hot and bothered if Anthony was set on giving me only a cold shoulder.
Why else wouldn’t he have come to bed?
How badly did I screw everything up?
Without my parade of conditioners and shampoos I opted to only rinse off. Fortunately, Simone had left a decent supply of scrunchies. I wrapped my hair into two pigtail buns, yelping as her brush bit through a knot in my hair. She’d probably love my squeal.
Dried, dressed, and mortified, I braved an escape into the rest of the penthouse. Not that I had a choice. My shift at the café started at noon, and I couldn’t miss it.
Sunlight streamed through the penthouse, but Anthony waited for me outside on his balcony, overlooking a city kissed pink by the sunrise. Breakfast was served on a picturesque dining table, decorated in the same muted greys and blacks as his interior furniture.
His laptop and papers spread on the table between covered catering dishes. He gestured for me to take a seat as he ended his phone call. I squirmed into the cushioned chair and avoided his gaze by surveying the amazing view afforded by his luxurious home.
“Breakfast, pet?” Anthony poured me a cup of coffee—mocha with a dash of caramel, just how I’d ordered on our first date. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Hungry. Confused. I’d never refuse bacon.
He removed the lid from one of the dishes, revealing a bounty of colorful pastries. A curtain of sugar plumed from the dish. My stomach rumbled. The second container housed scrambled eggs and bacon. A third brimmed with fruit.