Anthony had made it clear from the very beginning—love, attention, even the simplest acts of affection—none of it came without a price. And that price was always submission.

Tonight was no different.

Anthony sat back against the leather seat, cradling a glass of red wine in one hand. The fire behind him cracked and danced, throwing a warm, flickering light that cut across his face, catching the sharp line of his jaw and his quiet smirk.

"I know what you want," Anthony murmured, swirling his glass. "But you haven’t begged properly yet."