by Sosie Frost
Anthony had the decency to not look me over. “I’d say that’s a prerequisite for what we do.”
And now he was joking? My toes curled until I was sure I dented my shoes.
“I am not some prude,” I said. “I understand how it…works.”
Anthony enjoyed my poorly contained anger. “Please, Morgan. You’re as innocent as they come…”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve had sex?”
The lie of the century. “Yeah. Sure. Everyone has.”
He didn’t believe me, like he could read the lie by how hard I squirmed. “And how was it?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just a question.”
How did someone answer a question like that, especially when they had no idea what they were talking about? “It was…fine.”
Now I had his attention. “Fine?”
“I mean. Fine. It’s just sex.”
“It’s never just sex.”
I huffed. “No?”
“What did he do wrong?”
“Who?” I caught myself before Anthony laughed. “I mean, what do any of them do? I’m…they didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Did you orgasm?”
I ducked like he threw his coffee at me. Wasn’t shouting orgasm in a crowded café as bad as yelling fire?
“It’s an honest question,” Anthony said. “I’ve answered yours.”
“We’re in public.”
“And?”
He didn’t care. Of course, he didn’t care. He owned and frequented a fetish club. Nothing was off limits to him, and nothing was probably sacred either. Lecturing him on proper decorum wouldn’t end well.
“I’ve…orgasmed.” I guessed. Sometimes. Occasionally. “I’ve had good times before.”
Even if they were alone.
“I’m sure you did.” Anthony read my displeasure. “But it wasn’t great.”
I heaved a sigh. Okay. I’d give him a little piece of the Morgan Bradly experience.
“I had a boyfriend during my sophomore year. But he had…expectations. He thought because I’m black…” I cleared my throat. “That I would be more assertive in the bedroom. I guess he’d watched a lot of videos and thought I should act more like the women in them. You know, screaming and cursing and acting like a…”
“And that wasn’t for you?”
“No.” I hated remembering that night. Embarrassment was so much more profound while naked and vulnerable. “He called me passive.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, I...interacted. But I couldn’t act the way he wanted. It wasn’t me.”
Anthony seemed to understand. He watched me, his lips curling into a smile. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a natural submissive.”
“I am?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know!”
He raised a hand, silencing me before my voice went supersonic. “Trust me. I’m an excellent judge of character in these matters.”
I guzzled down the remainder of my coffee. Granted, I had been thinking about this sort of thing all last night, all morning, and now all evening, but I hadn’t considered what it meant to me.
“You aren’t passive,” he said. “You need a man who prefers a submissive woman.”
My voice turned hoarse. “Do you prefer that?”
“Almost exclusively.”
Almost? I took a shot in the dark. “Simone? Are you and her...?”
“Friends. Simone and I are both doms. A relationship became too complicated.”
I straightened. “Are you so sure I’m not a secret dom too?”
Anthony didn’t answer. His silence rang louder than any talk of sex and fetishes.
Question answered.
“Right.” I tangled my fingers around the coffee cup. “Do you have a Submission for Dummies book I could borrow?”
“This isn’t something you read in a book.”
“Then how…” I shrugged. “How will I know if I like it?”
“If you’re serious about it, you need to experience it.”
I distracted myself with my coffee. “Easier said than done. If I remember correctly, someone told me Duchess wasn’t a place where I belonged.”
“It isn’t. Not until you understand what submission is.”
“So, I can’t read about it in a book, and I can’t go to a place dedicated to that type of pastime...”
“There are some shady doms out there who prey on the inexperienced. It can be dangerous. There’s nothing wrong with being curious, and nothing shameful about those desires, but you can’t just jump into the lifestyle. You need to find the right person to teach you.”
Our eyes met.
I knew exactly who I wanted to teach me.
But Anthony shook his head. “But you aren’t right for this yet. You’re too sexually inexperienced to know what you’d want from this sort of relationship.”
“It’s sex.” I braved saying the word. “Not nuclear physics.”
“It’s more than sex. This is a lifestyle. It’s not something that happens on weekends and flicks off when you’re tired. You don’t know what to expect yet.”
“Do you…take on new submissives?”
“No.”
“Have you ever?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
He offered me only a taste of his charm, but already I was addicted.
“What I do is too advanced, too intense for an innocent girl like you,” he said. “But I suppose that’s why I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met at Duchess.”
I swallowed. His words warmed me better than the coffee. “You’ve been thinking about me?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about you too.”
“I know.”
“I’ve never…done this before.” I looked down. “Like…met a man this way.”
“That’s not a surprise.”
“And I’ve never admitted…”
“That you’d give yourself to a total stranger?”
Perfect stranger was more like it. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“And that makes you…” He sucked in a breath. “The wrong kind for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m the type of man who ruins girls like you. Corrupts them. Twists pure minds and binds unblemished wrists.”
“And if that’s what I’m looking for?”
“How would you know?”
“Don’t you just…” I bit my lip. “Feel it?”
“Is that what you feel?”
“You tell me.” I met his gaze. “What makes you the way you are? Dominant.”
“I don’t think there is a what. No root cause. This is who I am, what I prefer in my bedroom and relationship. I learned my desires long ago.”
“Which are?”
“Obedient women. Complete surrender. A willing, capable submissive who breathes respect, hungers for my cock, and lives to serve deviant desires.”
Well, that was certainly…enlightening.
I’d never heard such talk before. I squirmed. Searched his gaze.
Fantasized.
“What happens if you find someone who…mirrors those passions?” I whispered.
“Many have offered, but I’ve never found the right one.”
“Would you know her if you saw her?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No hedging.
Anthony stared at me, his jaw tight and muscles tensed. The feral heat built between us, a suffocating layer of confusion and longing so powerful I’d crumble if I didn’t have a touch, a kiss, a moment with him to feel even the briefest of releases.
I lost myself in his eyes.
But I found my courage in his desires.
A carnal need I shared, even if I didn’t understand it.
But his voice threaded an apology in a brisk authority. “Morgan. You’re too inexperienced. You don’t know what you want.”
“Yes.” He teased me. “Given the chance, I’d always know what you want.”
“But?”
“But I won’t do that to you. The world is so lacking in innocence anymore. Why would I destroy that in you?”
I crinkled my nose. “I’ve gotta say…this is the worst rejection I’ve ever had.”
Anthony was silent. His gaze flicked away, across the cafe. Thinking. “It is, isn’t it?”
I fiddled with my fork once more. “Do you…not want to reject me?”
“I don’t.”
I nodded, polite as always, despite the uncontrollable trembling clenching my insides.
If he’d asked me to go home with him, I would have taken the keys from his hand. Hell, I would have sprinted down the street and jumped into the moving car.
He leaned in against the table. Closer than he had been before.
I couldn’t encourage him, but I couldn’t hide it.
He knew I was attracted to him.
Hell, everyone in the damn cafe was probably attracted to him—men and women.
Telling him to take a chance on me was no better than jumping on the table, lifting my skirt, and demanding he take me then and there.
But he was right. I had no idea what I was asking. Or what he wanted. My limited sexual experience had ended before I understood what Ryan meant by asking me to get on top.
But submission made sense. I wasn’t sure what I needed, but the image of the wall, Anthony, and the rocking came back to me. That was a good place to start.
Sure, I was a virgin, but who better to learn from? Anthony seemed honest. Handsome.
Sexy.
I sighed. Staying at the table would be a huge mistake. Awaiting his decision was another. This man was deciding my sexual fate from information he gleaned over a coffee he didn’t even drink.
He cracked a knuckle by pinching his fingers against his thumb. The motion was slight and halfway hidden, but I saw it nevertheless. The only hesitation he’d offered.
“Okay…” His voice deepened. “What do you want?”
Damn. I thought he was the dominant one. Wasn’t I supposed to follow his lead?
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Here’s the problem. You don’t know your own desires and limits. Here’s my solution. I demonstrate what is out there. Step-by-step.”
“Bondage training wheels?” I laughed.
“You want bondage?” He teased a dark playfulness. “I’ll show you bondage. We can run the whole gambit. Domination, submission, punishment, everything.”
Jackpot. “Okay!”
“Not okay.” He pointed at me. “This is serious. You need to consider it carefully.”
“Oka—I mean, I will.”
A smile touched his lips that looked every bit as sadistic as Simone’s smirk. His voice hardened, shifting from gentle conversation to rough expectation.
“This is important, Morgan. I know nothing about your preferences, what you’ve done, what you enjoy, what you’d fear. We have to start at the very beginning.”
“You don’t seem like a beginner to me.”
“It’ll be a learning experience for us both.”
A thrill stiffened me. “You’re really going to show me?”
Touch me? Take me?
Make me yours?
“Not yet,” he said. “First, you need an introduction. I’ll need to ensure that you can behave. The only way I’ll train you is if I know that you can be a good girl for me.”
His threat came at the worst time. A couple passed by just as Anthony spoke. The girl looked back over her shoulder as they exited the café. The coffee boiled into a whirlpool in my stomach.
Anthony ignored everyone but me.
“I’ve been invited to a dinner party on Wednesday,” he said. “A few of my friends will be attending. It will be a good place to start.”
“A dinner?” How would that help? “With friends?”
“Do you like sushi?”
“I’ve never really tried it...”
Anthony waved over the waitress and motioned for the check.
Apparently, we were done.
“I want you to think this over.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and slid it across the table. “If you want to go, call me on Tuesday night at eight. Not a minute before.”
I eyed the card.
Anthony Delvanis, Attorney-At-Law
Well, that answered the job question, but not much else. It was another dismissal.
I’d never had a date come to such a crashing halt before. But it didn’t bother Anthony. Maybe it was normal for him to have such control over everyone and everything.
At least, that’s what I was banking on.
I gathered my purse and bit my lip. “Thanks. For the coffee and the...” I held up the card. “Offer.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll give you a call.”
Anthony didn’t seem convinced. “You won’t regret this, Morgan. But I’ll require one thing from you.”
“Submission?”
He shook his head, slow, deliberate, holding my gaze until I was certain I’d fallen into his arms.
“Trust.”
3
How many days did it take to completely shatter my innocence?
Three.
Three days.
Three long ass days of the little voice in my head sounding so disappointed in my behavior that I swore my mother had packed her bags and moved right on into my skull.
Tuesday finally came, kicking and screaming through the week with all the reluctance of a cat tossed in a bathtub.
Had I made a decision about Anthony?
Hell no.
Part of me decided to say no—the side dolled up in pigtails that lugged my violin around the campus. That part of me insisted that I curtsey, thank him for coffee, then skip merrily to the bursar’s office to re-enroll in college. Once that was done, everyone who’d told me I had so much potential and talent could feel validated and sleep better at night.
But I’d lost that Morgan long ago. My opportunities, grades, financial aid, and graduating class had passed me by. I probably retained some talent, but the layer of dust growing on my violin filled me with doubt.
And guilt. A lot of guilt.
In the pigtailed girl’s place was a new Morgan. One who scalded herself serving coffee because her mind wasn’t on lattes and espresso but latex and asphyxiation.
I’d researched all sorts of kinky things to help make a logical decision, but wasn’t something I could pro, con, and empirically study to figure out. Domination, submission, and all the other nasties that made my insides flutter ran on emotion. It had to be something I felt.
Did it feel natural?
Both parts of me said yes. Whether it was submitting to sexual desire or everyone’s rigorous expectations, it did feel natural.
Could I really do this? Give myself—my first time—to a man like this? It’d be physical only. Pure lust. Nothing emotional. Nothing meaningful.
Except to me.
Maybe this was what I needed. A chance to break out of whatever nothingness my life had become. So what if my first sexual experience wouldn’t be with someone who knew the real me? I wasn’t sure I liked the real me anyway. I needed a change. A new life.
And this was certainly…new.
Then again, I had no idea what I was doing. For all I knew, I’d offer myself to this experienced, amazingly sensual man, and I’d be no better than the hazelnut flavoring that had spoiled his coffee. It’d be easier to do something wrong than get anything about the experience right.
My stomach rolled, and I considered sitting on the bathroom floor while I made the call.
“I never used to care…” I tapped my cell against my forehead. “What the hell changed?”
Everything.
I used to love attention, but that was before anyone had something negative to say. I’d been a campus rockstar. Morg
an and her violin. My friends would round up the dorm while I gave an impromptu concert of top 40 hits on my violin. Improv impressed everyone, and it was an easy way to make friends and a name for myself.
But now? The only people recognizing me were the ones who remembered me as the girl who couldn’t cut it. Nothing new. Nothing original. Just the same, tired sob story of a kid who flunked out.
Life Goal Number Three: Don’t disappoint anyone else.
Fortunately, Anthony knew nothing of my past. He didn’t care about the music or college, the stress or the breakdown. Best of all, he’d be a great distraction from my shitty job, the mounting bills, and the ruins of my life.
Still, a call seemed intimidating.
I’d text instead.
I climbed into bed and burrowed into the super-soft throw I’d tucked under the sheet. My own fuzzy cocoon.
I could do this.
Hey, it’s Morgan. I’d like to go to dinner tomorrow.
My phone rang.
Apparently, Anthony wasn’t a texter.
I let the ringtone play through the tinny concerto before I answered. My voice squealed a sharp, wretched note that I couldn’t place on the scale. I hoped Anthony was tone deaf.
“Hello, Morgan.”
His voice.
My eyes fluttered closed. There was no way he was tone deaf. Not when his every word deserved top billing at the Met.
“You texted.” A quiet disapproval.
“It was...easier.”
“Were you afraid to talk to me?”
Oh, Christ. This wasn’t a gentle inquiry. More a bare to me every aspect of your soul command.
“I prefer texting,” I said.
“I’m sure you do. But you’re lying.”
“It’s not a total lie.”
“I’ll demand total honesty from you.”
His chair creaked. I imagined him sitting in some extravagant office. Giant bookshelves. A fireplace. The bar loaded with expensive alcohols. He paused long enough for me to also picture his whips, chains, and harem of naked women.
“Morgan, I’m not doing this to intimidate you,” he said. “You must tell me absolutely every thought that comes into your mind.”
