by Sosie Frost
This was too much for us.
For me.
“You cook, sir?” I asked.
That amused him. “No. I ordered in.”
“Neat.”
“I thought we should celebrate.”
My eyebrow arched. “Celebrate…what?”
“Our arrangement.”
He said nothing else. I nodded, too amazed by the food to jeopardize a breakfast that wasn’t a microwaved greasy fast-food sandwich from the café’s glass case.
The last time I had a real breakfast—with sausage and eggs and bacon and all manner of jellies—was when I’d visited home months ago, when my mother could still have a conversation with me without the aid of the National Guard.
Anthony offered me a bit of everything. I took it with a smile. He didn’t let the plate go until I thanked him with a sir.
I poked at my scrambled eggs, a perfectly soft and fluffy consistency. “You didn’t come to bed last night.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He went quiet. He didn’t seem angry, but he wanted to watch me squirm. Touché. I probably deserved that.
“What did you do all night?”
“Worked.”
“All night?”
“Depending on the latest wild and unknowing whim of Atwood Industries…I tend to pull many all-nighters for my client.”
“You have only one?”
“Sarah’s enough of a handful.”
“Does it get boring?”
“It’s never boring with an Atwood and Bennett in the same room.”
“And you’re…corporate law? Contracts and mergers and all that?”
He nodded. “Mergers, acquisitions, and divestiture. Consulting, analysis, financials.”
“Right.”
“You seem…surprised.”
“My work consists of doodling flowers and letters in foam on top of a cup of coffee. You…” I glanced over the balcony. “Well, one day I’m going to wake up from this sexy dream with a newfound fetish and unrealistic expectations for my future relationships.”
“You’re more than coffee, Morgan.”
“Nothing is as impressive as what you have.”
“It’s no violin.”
I unsuccessfully swallowed my bite of bacon. It scratched all the way down and exploded into shrapnel in my stomach.
And here I thought sex would be the most awkward topic of the morning.
“Can’t live in a violin…” I forced a laugh. “But you have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you, pet.”
“I get the feeling you’re not here much.”
His attention diverted to his phone as it buzzed against the table. He sighed, checked his email, and opened a document on his laptop. If he was tired, he didn’t show it. His hair shined dark, smoothed into a respectable ponytail. He wore only his vest and pants, properly pressed and expertly tailored to his frame. He’d tossed the suit jacket over another chair. As casual as Anthony could become.
“My job requires considerable traveling, mostly north to San Jose,” he said. “I’ll likely be out of town this week.”
“Oh.”
Did the disappointment in my voice need to carry over the awakening city? Well, if nothing else, I’d earned his complete attention.
“Oh?” He leaned back in the chair. Every inch of him rippled with power wrapped in the suit. Most men shrunk in suits, especially the beaten-down middle management types shuffling through the café between meetings. But the vest and slacks belonged on him, as natural as the collars binding the submissives at Duchess.
I twisted. Suddenly the eggs weren’t the only things scrambled at the table.
“How long will you be gone?” I bit my lip.
“Why? Will you miss me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I don’t think he anticipated my honesty, but his heated glance was worth the confession. “Forthcoming, aren’t you, little one?”
“What’s left for me to hide, sir?”
“Hopefully nothing.”
If only he knew. The only secret I kept was one he could read in my squirming. Last night, I’d longed for him to return to the bed. To pull away the blankets and climb upon my trembling body. I’d hoped to be devoured and claimed, filled and pounded until my body screamed for him as loudly as my heart.
His smile was knowing, a bit of power I never should have given him. “If that’s the case, I’ll ensure I’m back in a few days.”
“Okay.”
His eyes shined black in the sunlight. “You’re a good pet, Morgan, but I’m glad I didn’t fuck you last night.”
I sucked in a breath, flinching at the word.
Not what I wanted to hear. No warm, sensual promise shadowed that humiliation. My arousal did a one-eighty and fluttered into nausea.
Anthony’s voice was kinder than the gut-punch deserved. “You should have been honest with me.”
“I know.”
“There’s nothing shameful about being a virgin, but you didn’t respect me enough to tell me the truth.”
“Anthony, I respect you, I do. More than you realize—”
“You weren’t ready to submit to me.”
And I wasn’t ready to be chastised. “I felt pretty submitted.”
“You weren’t ready, and that’s the end of it.”
“But…” I picked at my fruit. “But you spanked me.”
“Yes.”
“And you made me...”
“Say it, pet.”
“You spanked me and made me come.” I breathed easier once the words escaped. “I was ready for you. Whatever you wanted, I would have done.”
“Anything?”
“Anything, sir.”
“You’d have given me your virginity?”
“I’d give it to you right now on this table if I wasn’t so sure we’d spill the syrup.”
He chuckled, running his hand along his chin. He studied me. I loved how warm his gaze teased. “And I’d take it. You know that.”
“Then why…”
“Because you didn’t submit.”
And I didn’t understand. “What more do you want from me?”
Anthony held my gaze, intense, as if he were peeling away my clothes and exploring my body once more. My lips parted. I needed something. A touch. A kiss. Even a slap. I craved some sort of contact to quiet the demanding part of me that wanted everything.
“Why did you drop out of college?”
The breakfast curdled in my stomach.
My foreplay turned interrogation, and the familiar shadow of disappointment and unease crept into my veins.
I said nothing.
“If you want to submit to me, if you’re offering me such a priceless part of your life…I want to know why. I want to know who you are, Morgan. Not just how you feel, what you like, what you dislike. I want you, and until you give me the truth…”
Sleeping naked in his bed. Fancy shower and breakfast on the balcony. And he wanted to discuss my humiliating college failure and subsequent dropout?
Playing the piano had been a mistake, and I knew it’d bite me the instant I’d sat at the keyboard.
But I’d wanted to show him. In that moment, in that blinding madness, I’d thought I’d could impress him by offering just a piece of the life I once had.
And now? Ruined.
My heart would stop if it didn’t break first.
Real-life flooded back to me. I hadn’t checked the mail for three days. The dread ripped through me. Student loans were waiting. My updated lease. The newsletter from college. Nothing good every came in the mail, and most of it sucked out what little savings I had dwindling from my bank account.
And I needed that money. I’d be scrounging around my car, looking for laundry quarters again. My grocery trip this week would substitute a jug of milk for a sponge to scrub the tub. I had a double shift at the coffeehouse tomorrow so I could pay for a new pair of work shoes and maybe a few extra groceries, but my violin needed s
trings.
Not that it mattered. I hadn’t played in weeks.
Why? Why did he do this to me now?
Every day, I existed. I did just enough to push all those responsibilities and memories from my mind—forcing me to forget what had been a life consisting of more than a barista gig and constant worry. Anthony was the one barrier I had, the one escape from real-life and my horrible mistakes.
Was it so much to want a distraction? A relationship comprised of rules and rituals so complicated it’d compel me to focus on someone else instead?
“Morgan?” Anthony asked. “You can tell me.”
My mouth dried like I swallowed my napkin instead of my breakfast. I couldn’t handle the sugary scent of the pastries blending with the savory grease of the bacon and sausage. My stomach heaved.
No. I couldn’t talk about this now. Not in the multi-million-dollar home of a man who had no concept of the word failure.
“Concerto,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Concerto. I don’t want to talk about that.”
His gaze burned. “Morgan, that’s not how the word works—”
“You said you would stop.” I didn’t mean for my words to waver. I scooted the chair backwards, preparing to run if he pressed any harder. “I don’t want to talk about that. Please. Sir.”
Anthony didn’t move. His muscles tensed.
And his disappointment ached through me.
His voice lowered. “I didn’t think you wanted this to be just about sex.”
“I don’t!” I spoke quickly, without considering just what such a confession meant. Somehow that truth was easier to endure than my music. “I don’t. But that’s such a personal question...”
“Did something happen to you at college?”
“Please, sir.”
“Did someone hurt you?”
Oh God. Anthony was serious. He thought the absolute worst, and that possibility enraged him. His fist tightened over his vibrating phone. His knuckles turned white.
It was a good thing no one had ever harmed me.
Anthony prepared for war.
“No, sir,” I knotted my napkin in my lap. “College was one self-inflicted mistake. I’m not a druggie or cutter or anything like that, so don’t worry. I’m your run-of-the-mill screw-up. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“The Morgan at the piano last night and the Morgan having breakfast with me are two different women.”
Truth. “I shouldn’t have played the piano.”
“Why?”
“Concerto.”
“I told you that isn’t how it works.”
“Then you lied to me.”
Anthony’s phone rang again. This time, he’d answer.
And I saw how this relationship would end.
He wanted answers. Worse. He wanted to understand me. He’d liked the musical Morgan, probably preferred her to the exotic beauty he’d claimed through sheer attraction. And, classic me, I panicked. Instead of sleeping with Anthony, I’d snuggled up with my constant companions—denial and anxiety.
Would telling him the truth be any worse than pissing him off and losing what we had?
Why was this so scary?
“Last night was the first time I played music in a year,” I whispered.
Anthony ignored the call. “And?”
I hated how harsh he sounded. “And that’s a big deal to me.”
“Why?”
“Because it is.” My voice turned into a timid vibrato. “For the first time since I left college, I played music again. And I owe it to you. Or…what you represent. Or because I wanted you to see me how I was, before everything screwed up. That was a big moment for me, but you wouldn’t understand even if I explained it. You’re not like me.” I sighed. “And believe me, Anthony. I want to be like you. I think that’s the whole reason I’m so…” No word sounded right. “Smitten.”
“Smitten?” He smirked.
Fuck me, whatever. “Smitten.”
The gesture was slight, just a few curled fingers, but it was everything I needed. He welcomed me into his lap, and I wove myself tight against his chest.
“I want you to trust me, pet.”
“I wouldn’t have played if I didn’t trust you.” I braved a glance to his eyes. “I’m not sure how to explain what happened a year ago. Suffice to say, it’s gotten so bad my mother peeled off my stick figure from the back window of her SUV.”
“I...guess that is bad.”
“I’m figuring things out. My life. What I want to do now that music isn’t an option. I have no answers for you…but you’ll be the first to know when I find out.”
He gave me a sigh, knocking his forehead against mine. “Are you sure you want this relationship? Are you sure you want me?”
“More than anything, sir.” I kissed his cheek. It felt wholesome and silly, but he seemed charmed. “Do you want me?”
“I’ve never had a sub of my own before.”
The admission shocked me. “What? Really?”
“I’d owned Duchess for years. We had plenty of submissive girls at our disposal.” He brushed a finger along my cheek. “They wanted a dom as much as I’d wanted to get off. We never made it anything…personal. Just fucking.”
He combined such brazen truth with a soft caress. It stunned me.
“So…” I shrugged. “Why take the time to teach me?”
“Because I knew you were different.”
His pale hand against my dark skin made sense. “Obviously.”
His soft petting became a quick, but gentle, slap against my cheek. “Your skin is part of it, but it only enhances your beauty. What I’m talking about is something inside you. Something that makes you special. Different is a good thing, Morgan. And don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The girls at Duchess know they’re submissives. They’re looking for someone to tie them up, toss them around, get them off. They don’t care who holds the paddle.” He stared at me. “And I think you do.”
My stomach danced a bit too close to the fire he kindled just a little lower. I stayed quiet.
“You’re a natural submissive, pet…but you wouldn’t act this way for anyone, would you?”
I shook my head.
“You’re mine.” His smile grew, simultaneously sincere and wicked. “And you’ll be mine in every way possible.”
“Sir?”
“Do you know how tempting you are, little one?” His hand traced to my neck and squeezed, just enough to keep my attention. “An innocent virgin, right here in my lap. Waiting to be fucked for the very first time.”
“By you?”
“No one else is ever going to touch you, Morgan.”
I stilled, but he didn’t. His words deepened, a rough and possessive growl. “You are completely innocent. Practically untouched. I’ve waited to take a submissive because I wanted the perfect one…and along came you, poor little thing. Lost and confused, stumbled right into my trap.”
“Not much of a trap.” I reached for his hand on my throat. He didn’t release me, and I didn’t fight it. “I can’t imagine giving myself to anyone else.”
“You’re not giving anything, pet. I’m taking it. Every inch of you will belong to me. Every spanking. Every orgasm. Every fucking thrust inside you. You will marked, owned, and completely trained just…for…me…”
The grip tightened, but he didn’t hurt or cut off my air, just made my heart beat that much faster. Wasn’t a surprise. I was pretty sure he already controlled that part of me, even if I couldn’t admit it.
“But if we’re going to continue, I’m going to expect certain things from you, Morgan.”
“Anything, sir.”
“I’ll be demanding. I’ll expect you to learn the etiquette and rituals. There’s more I need to show you to learn your limits, things you can’t even imagine. I’ll occupy a lot of your time.”
Nothing sounded more perfect. “Believe me, sir. I used to
have mandatory practices and rehearsals and recitals and classes and music theory lessons every day. I’m not afraid of being busy.”
And I wasn’t afraid of finding a suitable replacement for those lost musical hours either.
Anthony pulled me close, nibbling at my lips. The tension coiling in my muscles faded into a possessive warmth that drew me into him—his arms, the sharp scent, the feel of his tongue over mine. I groaned, my fingers digging into his vest.
He rewarded my boldness with a deep kiss. I whimpered as he wrapped his arms over me. Holding me tight. An image of last night wove through my mind, tangled up together, arching as he just nearly thrust inside me.
“You aren’t satisfied from last night,” he murmured.
“Were you?”
He didn’t answer. “Did you like the spanking?”
I didn’t stop kissing him, only gasped during momentary breaths. “Every second.”
My hips moved over his. He’d hardened, and the bulge fought against the tug of his slacks. Apparently, he’d liked the spanking too. 0
I timidly shrugged. “You didn’t get to...”
“No need for such modesty, Morgan.” His fingers dug into my waist, deliberately striking a spot still sore from the spanking. My breathing hissed, but the sensation transformed from pain to a quick, pulsing heat.
“You didn’t get to come.” The word sounded so dirty I nearly said it again. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not, pet?”
“Because…I did.”
His hand snaked to my neck. “Try again.”
His grip tightened the longer I hesitated. Within seconds I knew why, but the thought drew a low whimper from my lips.
“Because you’re my...” I shivered. “Because I’m the pet, and you’re...”
“Your master.”
Oh, the word hit me harder than any spanking.
I hadn’t called him that before—the word sir just as much an endearment as pet. It sounded naughty. Dirty. Formal.
And I needed to be formal. I’d overstepped a boundary I didn’t know existed.
“It isn’t your decision when or where I take my pleasure.” Anthony kissed my throat, punctuating his control with a quick nip. “If I’d wanted it, I’d have taken it. Nothing would have stopped me.”
“Do you want it now?”
His phone rang. I groaned. Anthony pushed me from his lap, but he didn’t let me sit. Instead, he guided me to his feet, planting me between his legs.