by Sosie Frost
But I had been fucked.
Legs in the air, pussy filled with Anthony’s cum, as sweaty and vulgar as any woman could be. Duchess treated it like a star show. A night of entertainment presented by Anthony. He got off on the cheering and praise.
And once, so did I. Music had done the same for me. Just a year ago, I’d set my violin up on a corner of campus and played anything that came to mind—even using my fancy audio equipment to set up loops and drum beats for a real concert. I’d loved the attention, and my audience loved the sound.
But that was songs…not sex.
And at least the sex was better than bombing my solo in front of the entire symphony and sold-out audience filled with recruiters and prospective patrons.
Was I sweating? My breathing shallowed. I didn’t know who sat the elephant on my chest, but it sure as hell wasn’t appreciated.
Anthony took my hand. My hearing buzzed like I was dunked underwater, but I’d caught enough. He said our goodbyes.
He knew I was freaking out, just like he knew everything else about me. I wanted to thank him for leaving, for rescuing me from the lights and the staring. But I couldn’t.
I’d left my apartment excited and happy. That innocent part of me crashed, burned, and orgasm’ed into oblivion, and suddenly, I’d been thrust into the spotlight once more.
And the terrible memories came with it.
I shouldn’t have been so confused.
I curled into the Mercedes, huddled against the window. Anthony’s hand rested on my knee. I didn’t bother to push it away. I needed it as much as I hated it. He drove, but I had nothing to say, nothing to chase away the silence.
As always, he’d swooped in to rescue me, to pull me from the dark web that spun my mind into sticky mayhem.
But it was too late.
I glanced at the passing street signs.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Home,” he said. “You deserve some rest.”
That sounded great, but we weren’t going the right way. “Where?”
“My home.”
I pinched my eyes closed. The word escaped before I meant to speak.
“No.”
Anthony hesitated. So did I. But that had been the clearest decision I’d made in a few hours.
“I should go to my apartment.” The words tore from my throat. “I have...I just want...”
“Okay.”
That wasn’t what I wished to say, but my voice didn’t work so close to him. I could still feel his heat and smell the sharpness of his scent.
I wanted to dive into the shivers he created, but I feared what I’d find. Worse, I wondered if I’d even resurface.
He deserved an explanation, but he interrupted me before I whispered.
“It’s okay, Morgan. I respect the decision. I told you I would. I promised.”
That he did. And that made it so much harder.
He turned around and returned me to my apartment without another word.
My stomach churned, but I declined his offer to walk me up. If he went with me, I knew I’d invite him inside. We’d talk. He’d make it better. We’d kiss. I’d let him take me again.
And we’d be right back where we started, with me twisting in a cyclone of whatever-the-fuck, completely overwhelmed.
“I need some time to think…” I said. Anthony nodded. He was understanding. I wanted to collapse into his arms. I didn’t. “Thank you for...the evening.”
I escaped the car and hurried along the sidewalk only to rush back to the Mercedes before he pulled away. His eyes met mine.
“Sir,” I said. “Sorry...I forgot to say it. Sir.”
I might have been a total flake, but at least I was polite.
It didn’t make sense, but the rules offered me a bit of stability. If my newest goal was not to lose my mind, then I needed Anthony’s structure and discipline.
I locked the door behind me, breathing in the familiar stale air circulated by the air conditioner. The dress came off. Immediately. Tossed into the corner of my closet.
I grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a comfy t-shirt and dressed once more, even throwing some fuzzy socks on to cover more of my skin. The bed welcomed me—warm and free of judgement. I tucked the blankets under my chin.
Safer, but it wasn’t what I wanted.
Blankets and fuzzy socks did nothing to piece together the interstate of speeding thoughts buzzing in my head. I’d never decipher how I felt.
Used, humiliated, desired, safe, frightened, lonely…
Sleep was impossible, and a shower would only take Anthony’s scent from me. My car was acting up. No sense chancing a road-trip to figure myself out.
The urge struck me suddenly, as clear as daylight.
I knew how to concentrate. How to grind out my frustrations.
I hadn’t picked it up for a year, but my violin called to me, an old friend who understood everything about me…
Even why I’d abandoned it for so long.
I played my violin all night.
15
Had I survived college, found a decent job, and allowed myself to play my music, I might have handled sex like a mature, rational adult.
Instead, I pulled the Morgan Special.
I’d called off sick, made two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and ignored my responsibilities by any means possible.
The mailbox jammed with bills, my car’s inspection was due, and no matter how many times I played Mozart—or any pop song that crossed my mind—my violin was not going to make as much money as serving a cup of coffee.
Just a healthy dose of depression heaped upon the mayhem left in Anthony’s wake.
My brain liked to overdose itself with the stresses of adulthood before compartmentalizing everything back into neat, deniable, and avoidable wrinkles of my mind.
Except Anthony had earned more than a wrinkle. My head gave him an entire hemisphere to corrupt and destroy.
And, if nothing else, he was something different to worry about. No longer was I college dropout, waste of musical talent, virginal Morgan.
Now I was a submissive whore who spread her legs for a random man in a club of depraved and twisted perverts.
Except, even my muddled head knew that was an unfair comparison.
Despite the collars and chains, spankings and exposed skin, the members of Duchess were nothing but pleasant to me...as pleasant as someone brandishing a leash and leading a whipped woman could be.
If half of the music department had been as welcoming as Duchess, I might have lasted longer in the program.
Sunday passed with one PB&J after another. Monday was worse. Though I didn’t have a solid work schedule, the monotony of the week reset on Mondays. I much preferred working afternoons or evenings. At least then the clientele sported funky toboggan caps and skinny jeans instead of pressed suits and permanent frowns.
The morning shift smelled of burnt coffee and the wasted English degrees of my coworkers. Each time I served a customer juggling their laptop and lattes, my mother’s voice rang in my head.
You should be on the other side of the counter, Morgan…even if coffee will stunt your growth…nothing we can do about that now, but you never were beautiful like your brothers…
At least my coworkers could blame the economy. I didn’t have the luxury of that excuse. Abandoned musical programs didn’t offer much industry-relevant experience. And, even then, I couldn’t imagine donning a pantsuit and discussing the latest fumbling teen pop-star around the water cooler. I needed my violin.
I craved music as badly as I desired Anthony.
Fucked up. That’s what I was.
I waited until my break and slipped out the back, kneeling amid the cigarette butt and chewing gum mural our resident artist had designed. My cellphone had stayed silent all weekend.
I stared at the time for a while, counting the hours until my shift was over before mentally adding how long I had off before the next shift began. Of course, th
at spurred the calculations of how much money I’d make this week, how little of it I could save, and how many days I had left before the new lease came into effect.
Spoiler: The number was frighteningly small.
But something worse compounded the usual concerns. I had no missed calls. No texts. Anthony had gone radio silent. But I told him I’d wanted to be alone. He respected that. At least, I hope he respected that.
For all I knew, he’d taken what he’d liked and was relieved to be rid of me.
Only one way to find out.
Hey. Just checking in.
I deleted the text message immediately.
Anthony wasn’t some middle-aged aunt to poked on Facebook. And what would I have even said after that? Wanted to make sure you aren’t super pissed, and that burying yourself in my pussy had been a satisfactory way to spend your evening.
I tapped the phone against my head. I couldn’t trivialize this. What had happened, happened. I may have come like a whore, but after the lust passed, I’d freaked and left. Anthony deserved an explanation at least.
I just need some time to think.
That one was deleted too. Obviously, I was thinking. I had done nothing but think since he’d pulled out of me.
And I really wasn’t liking what I thought.
I had a dream about you last night.
I wasn’t even trying anymore. The text turned into a damn diary entry. And I hadn’t even acknowledged the depraved dream to myself yet. Telling Anthony via text message would only end in therapy.
The dream wasn’t a nightmare, but it’d scared me just the same. I was naked, bound to his bed, getting spanked and licked and mounted by him while a variety of party-guests sipped cocktails and listened to string music in his penthouse.
And the worst part wasn’t how real he felt inside me. Or that I’d begged him for more and more.
It was when I woke up, hot and panting and fully conscious of my actions in the dark of my apartment.
It wasn’t lust that forced me to touch myself until I whispered his name in sweet bliss.
It was something more. Something dangerous.
Something too strong and confusing to let myself feel.
I was falling for Anthony.
One of my coworkers banged against the door. Sammy leaned outside, peeking at me through her favorite black-rimmed glasses despite her perfect vision.
“Your friends are here, Morgan,” Sarah said. “They asked for you specifically.”
Rose was here? This wasn’t Anathema’s territory, and her biker boyfriend was stricter than Anthony when it came to keeping her out of trouble. Maybe she’d traveled out with her brothers? But unless they planned to spike their coffee, the café wasn’t their scene.
I followed Sammy back inside, tightening the bow on my apron.
I wished I’d tied the knot around my neck.
Shannon, Mariah, and Genn giggled at the register, their smiles turning to squealed giggles as I rounded the corner. I froze like a deer on the highway but every car had swerved to let me live.
How did they know where I worked?
I wasn’t sure if my heart stopped or exploded into a million different brands of coffee grounds. If the cardiac arrest didn’t kill me, the panic attack would.
At least I was dressed.
At least they were dressed.
Three of Duchess’s most prominent submissives pranced through my cafe—and I doubted they wanted coffee. Had it been just Mariah, I might have considered the visit friendly, or, at the very least, coincidental. But Shannon’s sneer practically flayed my skin.
No matter how naked I was at Duchess, no matter how brazenly I’d wrapped around Anthony, nothing stripped me more than Shannon’s gaze.
What did they want?
And how could I get them to leave?
It wasn’t fair. I’d finally secured a stable job, and it promised a raise and benefits in another two months. One smart-ass comment from Shannon, and the life I’d meticulously cobbled together with hand-me-downs, ramen noodles, and fuzzy blankets would be ruined.
“Well, well, well.” Shannon tapped her manicured nails on the countertop. Each click pierced my heart. “Hello, pet.”
Mariah giggled again. Genn tucked her sunglasses down her nose, searching the menu board.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Is that any way to address us?” Shannon shared a glance with Genn. “Such a naughty girl, Morgan. Try again before I tell Master Anthony how disrespectful you are.”
No Anthony to save me. No Thomas to stop Shannon.
Hell, I even wished for Simone—at least she wouldn’t have tolerated their games.
Not only was Shannon eager to embarrass me, she wanted to tattle. I hadn’t talked to Anthony since that night, but I couldn’t break one of his rules. Not when I was so close to figuring it out.
Figuring him out.
Figuring me out.
“I’m sorry…” I flinched. “Ma’am.”
“I can’t hear you. Speak up.”
I sucked in a breath. “I said, I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“She’s so shy.” Genn’s voice was sugary sweet, enough to top any of our coffees. She nibbled on the stem of her sunglasses. “Come on, Morgan. Play along. This is a service industry, isn’t it? Shouldn’t she always be a polite little slut?”
My stomach twisted, but none of my coworkers or the other customers heard the insult. No wonder Reed usually gagged her.
“So...you work here?” Mariah leaned over the counter, her breasts propped up to her chin thanks in part to an especially dedicated bra. “Like…for a job?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pointed to the cookie she wanted. “I like coffee. Must be fun.”
A chocolate chip fell off the cookie as I stuffed it into the bag. It wasn’t the only casualty of my trembling. My elbow knocked into the stack of cups, and I lunged to catch them before they clattered to the ground.
“So, this is what you do all day when you aren’t getting rutted?” Shannon asked.
I flinched. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Like, everyday?”
“It’s a fulltime job.”
“Ew.”
I braved asking a question. “I don’t suppose you work?”
Mariah had yet to stand up straight. A man sitting in one of the booths watched as she bent over the counter. She arched her back, letting her plaid skirt ride up over her hips. Genn caught the man staring. She gave a naughty wave of her finger before her hand trailed down Mariah’s back.
Lower, lower, lower…
And suddenly the cafe was no longer family-friendly.
“We’re kept women,” Mariah explained. “I used to work in the fashion industry though.”
I didn’t understand much about her sultry, plaid-skirted ensemble, so I believed her. She cooed as Genn’s hand grazed a sensitive bit and shimmied for the stranger behind her.
“Daddy doesn’t want me to worry about anything but him, so I work only on request now.” Mariah tugged on my apron. “This is cute.”
“I liked her naked better,” Genn said.
“I’d rather see her in a collar.”
My cheeks burned like I dunked my head in a coffee pot. I checked over my shoulder for any wayward coworkers who’d drifted too close to my nightmare. “Look, I have to get back to work—”
“You are working.” Shannon’s tone would have earned a slap from Simone. “We’re customers, pet. So you better serve us.”
I considered my options. Letting my coworkers talk to them was absolutely not an option. I had no idea what they would say, do, or touch.
I surrendered. “What would you like, ma’am?”
“Mmm, I love hearing that,” Shannon groaned.
Mariah giggled. “You’re such a switch.”
Shannon patted Mariah’s behind. “Only with the good girls.”
Genn ignored them both. “Can I have a cappuccin
o?”
Mariah brightened. She definitely didn’t need the caffeine. “Oh, me too!”
Easy enough.
But Shannon tapped her chin. “Give me a...medium, extra hot, half-cream, half-soy, double shot with a touch of sugar free caramel, two pumps of cinnamon, and two packets of Splenda. Pour it in a large cup and fill the room with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.”
I gritted my teeth. “Is that all?”
“Make sure you design something pretty in their cappuccinos.”
She really was evil, but at least it gave me some time to get the hell away from them. I hurried to prepare their coffees and spent the next glorious two minutes in merciful solitude.
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.”
