by Sosie Frost
“You’re looking at about eight hundred.”
Now I was going to be sick. I nearly dropped the phone. Anthony stood, but I turned away before I shamed myself any more.
“That much?” My mouth dried. “Can’t you do anything else?”
“This car is as old as you, missy. You’re lucky it runs at all.”
It didn’t feel very lucky. I tangled my hand in my hair.
“Do the absolute minimum that you can.”
“It really needs more than that—”
“The minimum.”
“It’s your ass on the line. I’ll call when it’s done.”
He didn’t need to bother. I wouldn’t be able to pick it up until I got paid.
If even then. I probably needed two paychecks to cover it.
A month without the car. How was I supposed to get to work?
Anthony’s voice washed over me. “Pet—”
I cut him off. “Please, wait. I need to figure this out.”
The calculator app didn’t help. It wouldn’t lie, no matter how many times I punched in the numbers. Hours worked multiplied by my wage. Any overtime I could manage. Take out for taxes. Rent. Utilities. Those god damned student loans.
Everything was short, short, short.
The rent was going up soon too. I needed everything I had in my bank account to help cushion the blow until I could find a cheaper place. If I could find a cheaper place. Looking online for apartments made my stomach hurt.
Everything about this made me hurt. The job at the cafe. The bills awaiting me at home.
It wasn’t fair. For three solid minutes, I’d played my violin, and they were the greatest minutes I experienced since the last time Anthony had filled me.
Sex and music, the only sanctuary I had. Everything else boiled my brain.
Responsibilities. Things I had to do. Places I had to be. Bills I had to pay. And none of it was what I wanted. None of it was where I should have been.
I’d never pictured myself with aching feet from an eight-hour shift serving strangers coffee just so I could survive on two meals a day and the single pair of jeans that weren’t frayed to nothing in my closet.
Everything I did was to pass the time, to get by, until I could figure out how the hell to get the courage to play the violin again.
“Morgan.”
And now he wanted to talk? How could I even explain something like this to a man like Anthony? He was rich. Successful. He didn’t know what it was like to anxiety himself out of the gifts he’d been given.
“How much is it, Morgan?” he asked.
He probably had the money in is couch cushions. I sighed. “It’s okay. I just need to do a little creative accounting.”
“Give me your phone.”
I didn’t offer it, but he took my cell anyway. He scrolled through the call log and redialed the mechanic’s number.
“What are you doing?” I lunged for the phone. He seized my wrist and warned me to sit still.
The mechanic answered.
And Anthony took command of a situation thoroughly out of my control.
“You just spoke with Morgan Bradley. I’d like a detailed listing of the work needed on her car.” He paused. “No, a detail of all the work required to make the car operational and safe.”
I hoped he had some time to settle in—make some popcorn and laugh at my severed windshield-washer fluid line. Anthony listened, nodding as the mechanic revealed all that was wrong with my car. Maybe he could list everything in my life as well. Brakes. Tires. Withdrawn from friends, family, and former passions. Depression. Sexually exploitative.
“Go ahead and repair everything,” Anthony said.
My mouth fell open. No sound could escape.
Did he not see the brutally honest calculator?
Anthony ignored me. “No. I want new tires. And change the belts then too. Filters, spark plugs, everything.”
I stopped listening. Where was the bathroom? I couldn’t heave everything I’d ever eaten onto his carpet now.
That was it. It’d have to go on the credit card. The interest would eat me alive. All of my savings now plus anything I could spare for months to come.
I was fucked, and I wasn’t even in Duchess.
Anthony thanked the mechanic. “Get the work done immediately. I’ll pick the car up tomorrow evening.”
He passed the phone to me. I didn’t have the strength to take it.
My eyes rested only on my violin.
I knew exactly how much I could get if I sold it. It was a sickening number that suck in my mind. I always thought I’d sell blood, plasma, and my hair before it got to that.
“Pet. Come here.”
Easier said than done. He had to repeat the order. In another life, where I had no other concerns but kinky, hypothetical discipline, I might have worried about disobeying him.
Anthony sighed. “Morgan. I’ll pay for these repairs.”
I jerked my head up so fast my neck ached. “What?”
“I’ll take care of your car.”
“It’s like…eight hundred dollars to fix.”
“Eight hundred to patch. I want you safe. So, he’s going to do some work on it.” Anthony approached, his shadow cloaking me in amazement. “Leave it to me.”
Like hell. I rocketed up from the couch. “What do you mean? Anthony, I can’t pay you back.”
“I’m not asking you to reimburse me.”
“You can’t spend that kind of money on me.”
Wrong thing to say.
Anthony scowled. Pinned between him and the sofa, the only place I could go was down. I sat and lowered my eyes.
He liked that.
“It is not your place to tell me how I spend my money, pet.” The nickname sliced the air like the swipe of a cane. “I choose to fix your car so you are safe and comfortable.”
I gnawed on my lip. “It’s so expensive.”
Anthony gestured around the penthouse. “Money doesn’t concern me. You do.”
“But…I don’t know if it’s even right to accept a gift like this.”
“You are my responsibility. You deserve a car that isn’t leaking three different types of fluids.” His voice softened. “Morgan, be prepared to have me spoil you. This might not be romantic, but at least I’ll know your car won’t spontaneously catch fire while you’re driving it.”
Tears prickled my eyes. “You don’t understand what this means to me.”
Anthony helped me to my feet. I welcomed his arms around me. The tension and burdens and horrible thoughts whizzing around my head smacked into the barrier that was Anthony.
I rested against his chest. Everything about him was perfect. His embrace. His sharp scent. He was my own prince charming who happened to get a little kinky in front of his kingdom.
But even that I liked.
I couldn’t repay him for his generosity, but I needed to accept it. I wanted to accept it.
“I’ve found an audition for you.”
The muscles that had softened and relaxed in his presence all tensed on cue. Fear ripped through me, nearly cramping me in two.
“One of my business associates manages a nightclub with a house orchestra. I can arrange an audition. A musical career is more dignifying than serving coffee. You’re worth more than that.”
The room swirled. I clung to Anthony.
An audition? An orchestra? Music, for a living?
Playing the violin. For people. In front of people.
My chest swelled with anything from laughter to sobbing cries, and I didn’t know which would come out first. First, he’d offered me relief from the relentless bills. Then he provided something that was either my greatest dream or my most horrific nightmare.
How was it possible for one man to alternate between savior and personal demon?
I pulled away from him.
“You wanted to hear me play…” I frowned. “Was that...an audition?”
“I wanted to hear, if only so
I can tell him he needs to offer you double.”
My chest collapsed, simultaneously hyperventilating and refusing any more air.
“What’s wrong with working at the coffee house?” I asked.
“You’re a musician.”
“Not...not really. Not anymore.”
“Don’t you want to try?”
How was I supposed to know? The thought shadowed my mind like an aneurysm waiting to explode.
“You are my pet.” Anthony kissed me. Heavy. Deep. “It’s my responsibility to take care of you in all ways.”
He nibbled at me. So far, he did an admirable job.
His tongue slipped over mine. A quick dart then pulling away, leaving me to chase him. Heat burned away my lingering doubt.
If nothing else, I was a pro at denial and compartmentalizing. Cars and auditions? Those were worries I could ignore while Anthony pulled me close. Kissed my neck. Bit on the tender space between my shoulder and throat.
Within seconds I panted, and my fists clenched against his clothing. Too many layers existed between us. I needed to feel his body against mine.
So did Anthony.
I moaned and he answered with an unrestrained growl. Masculine. A warning. He effortless hauled me into his arms, saying nothing as he walked me from the den into his bedroom.
He tossed me onto his bed—the lights on and windows uncovered.
Nothing would ever shame this man.
But we were alone. Only our breathing disturbed the silence. No one watched from the corners or danced in the other room. Here, I could focus on Anthony and Anthony alone.
He helped to pull the shirt from over my head and slipped my pants down my legs. I eagerly offered all of me, sliding from my bra as our mouth met once more. Harder. Passionately. He aimed for my panties, and I murmured in quiet enthusiasm. The thin material rolled to my ankles. He tossed the silk away, and I prayed it’d be the last time I’d ever see them.
“Lay back, little girl.”
I obeyed. Surrendered. Opened my legs so he’d see exactly how much I enjoyed our kiss.
His gaze never shifted, never left the molten wetness between my legs. He waited only long enough to unbutton his shirt and toss it to the ground. Then he attacked.
I wound my legs over his waist as he kissed my lips, neck, and sunk his teeth over my nipple. The sharpness was a grand surprise. He bit harder, listening as I yelped and arched and rolled to escape.
Then he released me in a blistering relief that shook me with shivers.
My core ached almost as much as my bruised flesh.
He did it again, seizing my other breast. This time he nipped the soft skin above my nipple. I writhed, whimpered, and tried to push his shoulders away. He seized my wrists, crossing them over my head.
“No struggling.”
His teeth returned, claiming my nipple between the animal bite. He sucked, pulled, and my breath caught in a panicked yelp. The mark left in his wake matched the one on my other breast. Higher this time. It’d be unhidden by the cups of my bra.
“Simone struck you with the cane.” He surveyed his work. My nipples budded, preparing for another attack. “But you’re mine. I should be the one to mark you.”
And I’d take anything and everything he offered.
Light touches. Spankings. Even a bite.
Every touch exhilarated me. I’d never have enough.
I wiggled as he moved between my legs. His pants dragged against my bare skin, but he made no effort to remove them. Instead he reached behind me, dragging something out from behind the headboard.
A restraint.
Of course he had restraints on his bed.
Anthony’s expression turned dark. He wrapped a leather cuff over my wrist and tightened the fit before mirroring the motions with my other arm. I shivered as the thin chain rattled against the headboard.
“You will stay still for your master.”
For a brief moment, I regretted not having an audience, witnesses in case his demands turned too severe. My arms stretched over my head. Trapped.
He stared at me, flat on my back, my arms pulled taut against the bed. I shrunk in his shadow. My belly looked thinner, my legs shorter. Even completely stretched out, my feet didn’t come close to the bottom of the bed.
He liked that. Size was another form of dominance.
Everything to Anthony was a form of dominance.
He guided my legs apart and observed just how much I enjoyed the treatment. His fingers traced my glistening folds. He pushed the finger inside me. I gripped him. Tightened over him. Three strokes of his hand was all it took to hear my wetness. He licked the finger clean.
“I’m going to fuck you, pet,” he said. “Just like this. All tied up for me.”
“But no one’s here.”
“You think I only fuck with an audience?” He squeezed my breast, targeting an already aching nipple. “I fuck you at Duchess because you are my pet, and you’ll please me when I say.”
He slapped my breast, the sound echoing in the room as the sting radiated through my ribs. Then he leaned in, his lips softly kissing the rigid peak. I arched, begging him to take me into his mouth. He refused.
“And I’ll take you in my bed because you’re so god damned perfect I can’t fucking resist you.”
Perfect.
That word again.
I gasped for air under his kiss. He pulled away only to remove his pants. Then he was back. Pushing against me. Angling my hips upwards and thrusting all at once into me.
Completely.
Refusing my body a moment to adjust.
I cried out, but this was a message. He stretched me, fully, painfully so, to remind me that I belonged to him. I served him.
I was his pet, made to take every last inch of his cock.
But I didn’t need the proof. I’d promised every submission until his thrust drove the air from my lungs.
The pleasure rippled through me. I struggled against the restraints. Chains. The leather cuffs gripped me like another person held me down for Anthony. I shivered. Flashes of corsets and Simone’s auburn hair flooded in my mind. My insides clenched.
Since when did I like being held down? Helpless? The cuffs bound me to the bed and prepared me for Anthony’s conquering. No sense fighting them. I welcomed their strain against my skin, the rattle of the chains as I arched at the intrusion of his cock.
This was where I wanted to be. Strapped to his bed. Used for his pleasure. Taken by his hand and shielded from everything.
I’d beg him for a world where my only concern was him—kissing him, sucking him, earning his cum. He could tie me to his bed or take me at Duchess, and I’d willingly obey. I wanted nothing more than to live in a little cage at his side, protected and devoured by him.
Anthony knelt between my legs, his cock slowly, ever so slowly, easing out of me. He watched it. Stared as my body trembled and shook and stretched over every throbbing vein of his length. The delicious pull of his stroke created even more creamy wetness, absolutely contrasting the darkness of my petals.
He was perfect. The sex was perfect. Every inch he demanded of me was perfect.
It was a good thing he’d restrained me. I only wished he had gagged me too. I had no idea what I might say now that he started moving.
The restraints prevented me from moving to him. Anthony did all the work. My legs wrapped around his waist, and he leaned over me. His hips flexed and pushed. Driving himself deeper until I whimpered and shifted and begged him to withdraw.
His arms planted at my sides, and he drew me under his chest. He was so much bigger than me. So much stronger. The bites to my breast hurt almost as much as the tightness of the restraints. I whimpered, begging for a kiss from the one man who both delighted and terrified me.
He gazed at me, his eyes dark with lust as my moans turned heavy and my muscles started to clench.
“Don’t come.”
My insides spasmed as their natural response was denied at
his command.
Don’t come? Was he serious? Was that even possible?
He hadn’t slowed his thrusts. I fought a natural need bursting deep in my core, but Anthony didn’t allow me to pull away. I could do nothing to alleviate the pleasure building from each of his strokes. My arms ached from the restraints. I groaned.
“How?” I didn’t recognize my voice, the breathy whine that tumbled out. “I can’t stop it.”
“Do as I say.”
“How?”
“It’s easy, pet. You wait for permission—you will always wait for permission.”
I trembled under him.
This wasn’t fair. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t do anything but endure the agonizing draw of his cock out of me and surrender to the forceful, possessive thrust inside.
How was I to stop my orgasm? Everything my body did near him was involuntary, instinctual. Didn’t he want my pleasure? He’d conquered everything else from me.
He watched me squirm. Tense. Tighten. Wetten.
“Don’t. Come.”
His thrusts deepened. I fought against the restraints.
Cruel, terrible bastard. My breathing raged, torn from my lungs. I forced myself to concentrate on anything besides the pulsing ache that’d spread from my core outwards. Every muscle screamed, and my heartbeat strained against my chest.
I wasn’t above begging. Anthony’s arms tucked closer against my body. His chest lowered to mine. I was lost. This was torture. Skin against skin, heat against heat.
My head lolled back. I wished the rest of me were restrained. My hips pressed upwards, offering more of my body. My breasts aimed up for him. To see. To touch. To bite.
Anything he wanted was his, including the hot, wet mess that his cock claimed.
And he knew it. His breathing became a singular, hollow growl. The cadence of his thrusts quickened. I could ignore his touch. I could ignore his length twitching inside me before pounding against my most delicate area. But I couldn’t ignore him. His scent and weight over me. He was all I could see, all I could feel.
And his desire was as great as mine. He held back as much as I did. Every movement, every groaned effort and passion-fueled caress.
And then I understood. My pleasure came with his. It was simple. Natural.
Intimate.
