When she reached for the door handle, Claire turned back toward Anthony. Her lips incapable of words, her eyes questioned. Only after he nodded did she open the door and walk away. He listened to her shoes on the marble corridor. Out of mere curiosity, he went to his computer and found the camera’s view of the foyer. When Claire started to walk past the stairs toward the outside doors, Anthony shook his head and began walking toward the front of the house. He didn’t need to hurry. There was no way that she could escape the grounds; nevertheless, he’d just told her to stay in her suite. Going outside was definitely forbidden. By the time he made it to the foyer, she was halfway up the stairs. Though he stood near the banister and watched, she never turned toward him.

Satisfied, he went back to his office and resumed his work. Although he had a lot to accomplish, every now and then he would utilize the cameras and look into her suite. He had difficulty hiding the anticipation as he saw her on the sofa, freshly showered and redressed. A grin emerged from time to time as she sat and obediently waited for him.

Anthony Rawlings did not fail. Catherine was wrong. He would teach Claire that there were consequences.

* * *

Later that night, Anthony tested Claire’s reflexes as he rolled her hard nipple between his fingers. Their perspiration, combined with his recent oral assault, left the dark red nub slippery under his grasp. Though it appeared that she tried to anticipate his next move, her bristling and flinching indicated that she was unable. It wasn’t as though she could see what he was doing; her eyes were completely covered by the satin material. He imagined the green that lay beneath. Brushing away long, damp strands of hair from her blindfolded face, his thumb traced her swollen lips. Anthony was mesmerized by their color. It was almost as if she were still wearing lipstick, though he knew that hours earlier it had been worn away. Nearing his mouth to her ear, his warm breath bathed her skin, as goose bumps proclaimed their presence over her arms and legs. Though she had spoken earlier in their training, more recently only sounds had been offered. Anthony whispered in his most seductive voice, “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and turned away from his voice.

Pulling her chin toward him, he asked, “Claire, what have I said about verbal responses?”

“Yes,” her words choked, “you’ll be back.”

Stroking her hair, his cheeks rose. “That’s a good girl. You’re learning.”

He lifted himself from the side of her bed and walked toward the bookcase. With each step, his muscles pulled, tight and defined by their recent exertion. The constant vibration of his phone suggested that something of the utmost importance required his attention. As he reached for his phone, he contemplated the woman before him. Truthfully, he didn’t mind the break. After what had transpired earlier in the day in his office, he was prepared for this night to go on for a long time; besides, he was beginning to enjoy the role of teacher. With Claire’s recent attitude adjustment, he must be doing well. Grinning ruthlessly toward his student, he watched as her legs twisted in a way as to try to conceal her exposed body. He could help her—lift a sheet and cover her; after all, with her hands bound to the headboard, she wasn’t going to succeed alone—but he didn’t. He liked the view. She had an attractive body. As his gaze reluctantly moved from the bed, he tapped the screen of his phone and words and icons appeared.

Instead of the urgent business on the screen, he recalled the beginning of this lesson. He wasn’t sure if the satin scarves were necessary or purely an exhibition of his control. Either way, Anthony knew he wasn’t going to tolerate her ridiculous fighting any longer. She would learn her place.


The afternoon must have been educational, because as he secured the satin around her wrists, she didn’t argue or beg. He asked her, “Do you know why I’m doing this?”

At first, due to her tears, her response was difficult to understand.

He continued, “A few weeks ago, I had scratches on my arms. That’s not going to happen again.”

Her eyes, yet to be covered by the satin, opened wide. “I’m sorry, Anthony; I won’t scratch, I promise.”

“You won’t, but you did. Behaviors have consequences. Can you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat what I just said.”

“Behaviors have consequences.”

“So, whose fault is it that your hands are bound?”

Again, the waterworks. “Mine—it’s my fault.”

He stroked her hair. “That’s right.”

“This morning, I told you to be in my office by 10:30 AM. Did you do as you were told?”

Her shoulders shuddered with her response. “No.”

“Say it … what is my number-one rule?”

Claire’s words were separated by exaggerated gasps of air. With each deep breath, her exposed breasts trembled. “Your rule … is to … do as you say.”

“Did you do that?”

“No, I didn’t do as I was told. I’m so sorry—i-it won’t happen again.”

He looked deeply into her eyes just before covering them with the satin. “No, Claire, it will not.” Securing the knot, careful to avoid her hair, he asked, “I’m going to tell you what to do right now. Will you follow my number-one rule?’

Her hands were now secured and her eyes were covered. He considered her ankles, but liked the possibilities available if he left them unbound.

“Y-yes,” she replied.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Anthony, I’ll do as you say.”


The screen of his phone brought him back to present and told him that he had two voice mails and three text messages. He looked past Claire to the clock. It was almost 7:00 PM and they hadn’t eaten. He checked the text messages first. One from his assistant, informing him of an important email she’d sent regarding an upcoming meeting. The next was a text message from Brent Simmons, head of Rawlings Industries’ legal department and Anthony’s closest friend. It, too, discussed the email.

Anthony could access the email in question from his phone, but perhaps both he and Claire could use a break. Besides, he may need to make a call or two if this truly was a big issue. Whatever was happening apparently had more than a few feathers ruffled. Looking toward the bed, he knew that calling from this room was too risky. What if Claire decided to make a noise? He walked over to the bed and leaned over her. As he neared, he watched her body grow still. Running his fingers slowly over her breasts and down her stomach, he said, “I have to make a few calls. I’m going to untie you.”

First, he untied the scarf, exposing her green eyes. Her makeup from earlier had smeared, and large black streaks covered her cheeks; nevertheless, from the moment he’d removed the blindfold, her eyes were fixed on his. She was learning the importance of eye contact. That was the first step of Anthony’s one step at a time training. He thought of the process as somewhat similar to what it must be like to break a wild horse. It took time and the correct balance of negative and positive reinforcement. Smiling, he continued, “When I untie your hands, are you going to behave?”

Her response was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

“As much as I appreciate verbal responses, I like them better if I could actually hear them, and I’d like them if they had more elaboration. Yes, what?”

Her lips trembled as she replied, “Yes, Anthony, I’ll behave.”

While he untied her wrists, he spoke, “I want you to take another shower and dress in a negligee—something black and long. I assume you remember my rules regarding attire? There’ll be nothing under that negligee.” Not waiting for an answer, he ran his thumb under her eye to smear more of the mascara. “You’ll also need to fix your makeup. Don’t take too long. I’ll be back soon.” Though she was no longer bound to the headboard, her hands were together over her chest as Anthony continued to release her wrists from the length of material. “You need to drink some water. I don’t want you to dehydrate, but do not go to sleep—I have plans. We have a long evening ahead.”

Claire didn’t speak. Once her hands were free, she rubbed her wrists, and her gaze searched for the robe she’d left lying near the bed. When she started to reach for it, Anthony corrected her. “No. I want to see you.”

He watched as she struggled with the decision to leave the robe and obey his command. Finally, she started to step away from the bed. As she did, Anthony noticed the ever so slight shake of her head and grasped her arm. She stilled where he held her. “What?” he asked. “Tell me why you shook your head.”

Claire stuttered. “I-I didn’t, or at least I don’t think I did.”

His grasp tightened. “Claire, you’ll be honest with me at all times. I saw you shake your head. What were you thinking?”

She closed her eyes and more tears cascaded down her cheeks. When she opened them, she said, “I was thinking.”

“Don’t make me ask you to elaborate—again.”

“I-I was thinking that this can’t be real. It’s some kind of nightmare. It can’t really be happening to me.”

Anthony let go of her arm and noticed the redness from his grasp. Claire’s hand immediately went to the spot and massaged. Standing, he looked down at her. “Oh, my dear, it’s real, and don’t pretend that you hate it. I can tell when someone enjoys herself and you,” he inclined his head and broadened his grin, taunting, “have enjoyed yourself more than once this evening.” When her eyes started to look away, he lifted her chin. “Haven’t you?”