Wargasm (Payne Brothers Romance Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

  I returned with the drinks, but Shannon had lost interest in her order. She played with her iPhone, glancing up only once I’d cleared my throat.

  “It’s on me, ma’am,” I said.

  “What a sweet pet.” Shannon examined the steamed-milk hearts I drew in the cappuccinos. “And so talented. Did they teach you that at college?”

  I searched the entrance for someone else to come in. No one wandered close to the storefront.

  What a time to get slow.

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  “Because you had such better things to do in college?” Shannon didn’t miss a beat. “Come on, pet. You’ve been holding out on us.”

  Shannon flashed her iPhone. The music was already playing, and she raised the volume until the violin flooded the seating area. I didn’t need to watch. The video was my own.

  “You are an internet sensation, aren’t you?” Shannon said.

  Genn grinned. “Nine thousand views on this one.”

  My eyebrow twitched. The song threatened me with a panic attack. I gripped the counter to keep steady.

  The melody had been a quick experiment with the looper pedal I’d received that Christmas. The pedal let me record my music with the touch of my foot, and I could incorporate the loop into a song I played live. Often, it let me create a harmony on the fly.

  The song was good, but I had better ones. Genn found a cover of a Beatles single. I regretted not deactivating my account.

  “I like it.” Mariah grabbed a lollypop from a container on the counter. She unwrapped it and gave it a lick. The guy salivating behind her nearly lost his mind. “You’re really talented, pet.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “So why are you here if you play violin?” Genn’s seemed to enjoy the video. “You’d probably get more views if you took off some clothes. Earn some more money from the ads. Is this Taylor Swift?”

  “Maybe she likes being a starving artist,” Mariah said. She giggled as Bad Blood blared from the iPhone.

  Shannon sipped her drink. “Her sugar daddy won’t let her starve.”

  “Anthony is not my sugar daddy.”

  “Oh, so you’re in it for the cock then?”

  One of my coworkers heard that one. Her eyebrows rose, and she darted to the others in the back. Just what I needed.

  Shannon selected another video. Then another. Brittany Spears to Guns N Roses to Adele. Why had I uploaded so many stupid covers?

  “It’s okay,” Mariah shrugged. “Master Anthony does have a very nice co—”

  “Don’t say it!” My eyes widened. “Please.”

  “Oh, she’s still all worked up about the show.” Genn hid her smirk. “Goodness, Morgan. We’ve all been fucked by Master Anthony. You don’t see us freaking out.”

  If she was offering me reassurance, a fist to the nose would have been more sympathetic.

  The last thing I wanted to think about was Anthony taking any other woman, let alone three beautiful and practiced submissives.

  Genn waved a hand. “Besides, you two were super-hot together. No dry panties in the club.”

  Mariah snuggled against Shannon. “Very sexy. Drove everyone crazy. Daddy had his way with me right there on the dance floor. Twice.”

  “Well, good then.” I took the opportunity to silence Shannon’s phone. “I’m glad you stopped by. I really should get back to work.”

  “I’m sure we’ll see you soon,” Genn said. “Always fun to have a new show at Duchess. Everyone will demand an encore...if Master Anthony doesn’t first.”

  Mariah blew me a kiss and took Genn’s hand, waving to the man at the booth behind her. Shannon wagged her finger, and I regretted approaching the counter. I leaned in, and she reached for my shirt before I could get away. My stomach rolled as she yanked the neck down, stuffing a folded, hundred-dollar bill into my bra.

  “For the drinks, whore,” she whispered. “Stop pretending. There won’t be an encore. You don’t have what it takes to please him the way he deserves. You’ll disappoint Anthony, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” She scrolled through the iPhone. “But at least you’ll record some very moving break-up songs.”

  She smiled, took her drink, and left without another word.

  I counted to ten before rushing to the bathroom. There weren’t enough locks on the door to keep everyone and everything out.

  I’d never expected Duchess to intrude on my real life, and yet, there they were. The submissive clique that ruled the club from the bottom.

  God. I wasn’t just a pet to Anthony. Everyone in Duchess saw me as an object to be fucked. Men and women, dominants and submissives.

  I rested against the sink, cupping a handful of cold water and splashing it over my face. I patted my cheeks dry, but the same wide-eyed, overwhelmed Morgan from Duchess stared back at me.

  I wished Shannon’s words hadn’t scared me so much.

  I didn’t want to disappoint Anthony.

  Just the opposite. I craved his touch. His compliments.

  His approval.

  But I’d never have him if I didn’t sort myself out first. I’d lose him and myself forever if I didn’t face the truth.

  And that moment of clarity was a gift I hadn’t expected from a harpy like Shannon.

  I survived my double-shift and hurried home. I didn’t make it past the couch. Decisions weren’t my strong suit. Picking a college had nearly killed me, and dropping out destroyed what little of me remained. But taking this leap wasn’t scary.

  I knew what I wanted.

  If only I could pick the right words.

  I stared at my phone until the time read half-past why-the-hell-am-I-awake. I should have waited until morning to text, but it wasn’t fair that Shannon had been the one to strip my soul bare.

  I wanted Anthony. I needed him to help me understand.

  I trembled as I typed the text. Hi, sir. Call me when you’re up in the morning?

  The phone rang immediately.

  My breathing fluttered before I answered. I was close to tears. Anthony recognized it.

  The warmth of his voice was better than any fuzzy blanket. “Morgan? Talk to me.”

  My mind reeled. It was the first I’d heard from him since that night, and his voice wrapped over me like a soothing melody. Every muscle in my body relaxed. I sunk into the sofa, savoring the gruffness of his voice, the forced gentleness in his words, and the absolute compassion hidden behind the formality.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “Don’t lie to me, pet.”

  I didn’t think I was. “I hope I didn’t wake you up—”

  “Are you okay, Morgan?”

  I swallowed. “I wanted to talk.”

  “I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

  I glanced at the time again. “You don’t have to do that. I just thought—”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  Twenty minutes it was then. The phone went dead before I could argue. I sat up. My hair was braided for bed, and I wore pink fuzzy sleep pants, a white tank top, and two different colored socks. Good enough. I had just enough time to brush my teeth and wash my face before Anthony knocked.

  I leaned against the door, my words stolen by a misfiring brain. Dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, Anthony loomed larger than he did in his fancy suits. The shirt clung to his chest, and the muscles in his arms tightened as he looked me over. His hair was drawn back in a ponytail, swept away from his face. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl. His jaw was dusted with a nighttime stubble.

  I moved aside for him to enter.

  He had other plans.

  He pulled me into his arms, shielding me in his strength from all the terrible thoughts and fears that had chased me away from him.

  I sank into his embrace, loving how easily I slipped into his protection. His hands settled at my waist. The heat pooled deep in me. A single touch, and I came undone.

  Why fight it? With no one watching, I could submit to him in ev
ery way I’d imagined.

  But if I was to become the pet he desired, I needed to confront what scared me the most.

  He’d asked me before. He deserved an answer now.

  “Can you sit?”

  He did as I asked. That didn’t help my stress. Anthony claimed the center of my loveseat, leaving little room for me beyond his lap. It was hard enough to piece together what I wanted to say standing so near him. I needed space for this.

  I presented myself to him like I was on stage, awaiting the cue to begin my concerto.

  And it was a tempting word.

  “I’d like to talk,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  His voice rocked my body. I imagined him over me once more, thrusting between my legs, pinning me to the table and taking my orgasm.

  I wanted it again. I wanted to feel every part of him over every part of me. I’d give into his desires without hesitation this time. Savor his every shiver and groan.

  All this from single word?

  I swallowed. Not a good start.

  “I need to talk,” I said. “You need to listen.”

  Anthony agreed, resting against the couch. Perfectly patient and calm though I stood in the center of the tempest created by my mind.

  “I’m not mad or anything about what happened,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. Six seconds in and I was already chastised. He wanted specifics.

  Well, it wasn’t like I had any innocence left after Duchess. I started again.

  “I’m not upset about having sex. It was good. Very good.”

  His smirk was quick. An acknowledgment. His gaze didn’t falter. I squirmed, fearing the constant wiggling would erode my bones away and I’d collapse into a fleshy puddle of regretted arousal.

  “You fucked me,” I said. “You stripped me naked. Fucked me. Finished inside of me. While they watched and commented.”

  Anthony nodded.

  “That’s your biggest fantasy?” I asked.

  He nodded again.

  “That’s my biggest nightmare. I’m terrified of becoming the center of attention. I never wanted to perform again. I gave up on that part of my life.”

  Anthony leaned forward. His was such a normal, reflexive movement it almost startled me. Not the looming intimidation of my master, but just Anthony. A man. Edging forward to listen.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because.”

  “Morgan.”

  “Because that’s how I ruined my life.”

  Now he really smiled. “You’re twenty-three, and you’ve only missed a year of school.”

  “Technically, I need twelve credits to graduate.”

  “Pet, that isn’t ruining your life.”

  “It ruined nearly twenty years of planning and goals and lessons and...everything.”

  I gestured behind me, to the boxes stacked like mismatched legos against the wall. They contained everything. My music. My instruments. Everything that was once Morgan was condensed into bursting banker’s boxes and sealed up tight with duct tape.

  “Music was my life. I was gifted. Straight up, get me some testing, creepy-little-kindergartener-playing-Mozart gifted. I began lessons when I was old enough to sit at the piano. They gave me a violin when I was five. And all of it came easy to me.”

  “I believe it.”

  I covered my face. “No, you don’t. I’m not trying to boast, but, sir…you can’t imagine my talent. If you knew my skill, if you had ever listened to be perform…I’d lose you forever.”

  “Pet.”

  “You’d want nothing to do with me. You’d compare who I am now with what I’ve lost, and you’d be just as disgusted with me as my friends and family.”

  He reached for me, but I ignored the gesture. I had to say this on my own.

  “I studied with three different tutors from grade school through my senior year. Not one after another, but three at the same time. A rehearsal a day, rotating days between jazz, symphony, and classical. I practically bankrupted my family with lessons, auditions, instruments, travel for competitions. My mother demanded so much from me…” I couldn’t break now. Not yet. “I spent hours every night after school practicing. Hours, Anthony. I think I slept a total of five hours a night through high school. There wasn’t time for any more, not if I was going to be perfect.”

  “That sounds…difficult.”

  “Perfection is harsh. But it worked. I went to college and blew away the professors. I had scholarships on top of scholarships. I played concerts and joined bands and groups and musicals until I was eating lunch in the music lab and napping in a soundproof booth. And you know what happened?”

  Anthony’s expression darkened. “You burned out.”

  I laughed. He didn’t get the joke. I didn’t get the joke.

  “No.” My head ached. I should have waited for morning to bare my soul. “I loved music. Couldn’t get enough. But you know what I didn’t love? My chemistry course.”

  He frowned. Demanded an explanation. I shook my head.

  “Chem was the first class I took that…was hard. Usually, I didn’t have to study for anything. It just…stuck in my head, the way a song just plays over and over in your mind. But chemistry didn’t come easy. And I bombed the course.” I scrunched my nose. “But that didn’t make sense. Everything else had been so easy. What made this class impossible?”

  “It’s a difficult subject.”

  “And I failed it. That first test? I shoved it into the first garbage can I could find. I ignored the problem. I did everything I could but learn the material for the next class. I failed the next test. And the next. Until…all of a sudden…I had to drop the class. And maybe I was just tired. Maybe I had focused too much on the musical courses, but…I ruined that chance.”

  “Just chemistry?”

  My voice hollowed. “That was the first. After I dropped the course, it was like…this shame welled inside me. And the more I thought about how silly it was that I couldn’t pass an introductory chem class…the worse it got. It consumed me. I tried to focus on the concerts, but…”

  “How many concerts?”

  Too many to count. “There was symphony. Jazz band. The string quartet. Chamber music. The ensemble with the choir. Oh, the school’s musical. Then I had a couple competitions…”

  “Morgan, are you listening to yourself?”

  “But that was different. Yes, I had a lot to do, but…I should never have forgotten my 19th Century Lit paper.”

  “Another class?”

  “It dropped me a letter grade. I thought I lost my mind. Now I was failing two classes. But instead of making it up, I ignored it. Music was more important than dealing with real life. As long as I had music, who cared about my English or science credit?” I shrugged. “Or history. I gave that up too. And I hated my physical education elective, so I skipped it. Got an incomplete.”

  “You had one bad year.”

  “The trumpet.”

  Anthony frowned as the word tore through my throat, summoning a surge of tears with it.

  “What?” he asked.

  “The trumpet. It’s just…fucking hard to learn.”

  “I’ve never tried.”

  Then he wouldn’t understand. “All brass instruments are hard. But a trumpet…your lips and breath control the notes. All of them. I couldn’t do it. But the trumpet was a mandatory credit for the music program. I couldn’t just skip that. It was music. And it was me. I was supposed to be able to do it so easily. After all the practice and tutors and thousands of dollars…”

  “You didn’t pass?”

  “I needed the credit to stay a full-time student.” The tears burned my eyes. “I lost forty-thousand dollars worth of scholarships. My parents couldn’t afford to keep me in school. And that was it. Everything changed. My parents were beyond livid. I couldn’t face my friends. I had to take a job to pay for the next semester’s tuition, and that was it. No time for practicing. No time for rehearsals. It doesn’t matter
how well you play the violin if you’re too exhausted to look at the music before sitting with the ensemble. I dropped two chairs before the conductor asked me to recuse myself for the semester.” The tears trickled over my cheeks. “And then I had nothing left. Nothing except…”

  “Go on, Morgan. I’m listening.”

  “I had one chance. The conductor arranged for me to sit in with the city symphony, and they’d arranged a solo for me during one of the movements. It was an audition. A chance to be hired as soon as I graduated and placed in the symphony itself.” I smirked. “Or any of the other three ensembles that sent representatives after they heard I was to play.”

  “You were that…”

  “Renowned. Yes.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Neither did I. “But the stress of it…after failing the classes, humiliating myself at the trumpet…the music was so hard, and I’d become this insomniac mess, just staying up for hours every night worrying. I didn’t want to leave the dorm. I couldn’t talk to my friends. Even answering the phone sent me into this…spiral. I just wanted to sleep, that’s all. Just fall asleep and stay in bed where it was warm and safe.”

  “That’s depression, Morgan.”

  “Just felt like failure to me.” I let the tears fall. Who would they hurt now? “When the time came for the concert…I couldn’t even read the music. It all looked like squiggles to me. Just gibberish. I couldn’t play. I couldn’t think. I had gotten so sick that day. I think I had a fever. I don’t really remember. It felt like this weight crushed me from the inside out. I remember gasping for air. Sweating. It just…”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I couldn’t play the song. The symphony was unable to play around me. The conductor halted the song just to restart it after I ran from the stage.”

  He motioned for me to come closer. I refused.

  “Five hundred people watched me in the audience. Including scouts for the three different symphonies who specifically came because my conductor told them about my talent. I didn’t even make it off-stage before I threw up. I couldn’t stop throwing up. I couldn’t stop crying. I refused to eat, to sleep. My parents took me to the hospital…” I looked down. “I left before the psych consult.”

  Anthony eyed the boxes behind me. “And you’ve not played music since?”