Anthony had been distracted all day.

Which, frankly, was unacceptable. He had meetings lined up, business deals that required his full attention, millions on the table that depended on his ability to focus—but all of it faded into the background, nothing more than static noise behind the anticipation that clawed beneath his skin.

Because no matter how much he tried, his mind kept drifting back to what was waiting for him tonight.

By the time the workday ended, his patience was fraying. He barely remembered the drive to your apartment, but the second the door shut behind him, everything clicked into place.

His shirt had been discarded somewhere along the way, forgotten in his desperation to be here, kneeling at your feet with nothing but the snug weight of the collar around his throat. You sat before him on the sofa, observing him. He was helpless against that gaze, his stomach tightening with the silent command it carried. Anthony hands twitched at his sides, but he knew better than to move without permission. No, if he wanted anything, he had to earn it.

Until finally, the collar jerked tight, a sharp pull that sent him lurching forward before he could think, instinct driving him to press closer, to press his face against your thigh and breathe. The warmth of your skin sent a shiver down his spine, and he exhaled, slow and needy, waiting for the reward he had yet to receive.

But it didn’t come.

Not yet.

Because you were never that merciful.

Anthony let out a breathy whine against your skin, fighting the urge to beg. But god, he wanted to. He wanted your praise, wanted your touch, wanted to hear you call him something humiliating just to remind him that he was hers. His tongue traced the smoothness of your skin, an offering, a plea, a silent way of saying please touch me, please praise me, please don’t make me wait any longer.

Still, you gave him nothing. And it was only when desperation finally cracked something inside him that he gave in.

"Woof."

Pathetic. Quiet. A little sound of submission.