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Below you’ll find the extended scene that was TOO HOT for Amazon—an anniversary celebration that takes Marcus and Toby to new heights.

The Anniversary

One year after the collar ceremony.
Set after the epilogue of The Penthouse Rule.

The St. Regis penthouse suite looked different in candlelight.

Toby stood in the doorway, heart pounding against his ribs, taking in the transformation. A year ago, this had been just another luxury hotel room—beautiful, impersonal, the kind of space that existed for business travelers and tourists with more money than imagination. Now it was something else entirely.

Candles lined every surface. Hundreds of them, casting flickering shadows across the walls, turning the suite into something out of a fever dream. The bed had been stripped of its hotel linens and remade with charcoal sheets—their sheets, the ones from the penthouse, the ones Toby had been sleeping in for over a year now.

And there, in the center of it all, stood Marcus.

He was wearing a suit—of course he was, Marcus always wore a suit for occasions that mattered—but he’d removed the jacket, rolled his sleeves to his elbows in that way that never failed to make Toby’s mouth water. His gray eyes caught the candlelight, glittering with something dark and promising.

“Happy anniversary,” Marcus said.

Toby’s hand went automatically to his throat, to the collar that rested there—soft leather, warm from his skin, the small silver ring catching light as he moved. One year since Marcus had fastened it around his neck. One year since Toby had said yes and meant it with every cell in his body.

“You did all this?” Toby’s voice came out breathless. “When did you even have time—”

“I have my ways.” Marcus crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. “Elena covered my afternoon meetings. I told her it was important.”

“You told Elena you needed time off to seduce me in a hotel room?”

“I told Elena it was our anniversary.” Marcus stopped in front of him, close enough to touch but not touching. “She filled in the blanks.”

Toby laughed—or tried to. The sound came out shaky, overwhelmed. “She definitely did.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Toby looked around again, drinking in every detail. “I can’t believe you remembered the candles. From our first time here, after the gala—”

“I remember everything about that night.” Marcus’s voice dropped low. “Every sound you made. Every way you trembled when I touched you. The look on your face when you finally let go.”

Heat flooded Toby’s cheeks. Even after a year of this—a year of submission and surrender and learning exactly how deep his need for Marcus went—he still blushed like it was new.

Maybe it would always be new. Maybe that was the point.

“I have something for you.” Marcus reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box.

“Another gift?” Toby touched the ring on his finger—the one Marcus had given him six months ago, the black diamond that matched his collar. “You already gave me—”

“This is different.”

He opened the box.

Inside, resting on black velvet, was a pair of cuffs. Leather, like the collar, but wider—maybe two inches across, with soft padding on the inside and small D-rings on the outside. They were beautiful, elegant, clearly expensive.

They were also unmistakably restraints.

“Oh,” Toby breathed.

“We’ve talked about this.” Marcus’s voice was steady, controlled, but Toby could see the pulse jumping in his throat. “About wanting to try more. About pushing boundaries.”

“Yes.”

“These are custom-made. Lined with lambskin, padded to prevent any marking or discomfort. They clip to each other, or to an anchor point, but they release with a single pull if you need to get free.” Marcus met his eyes. “I would never put you in something you couldn’t escape from.”

“I know.” Toby’s voice had gone rough. “I trust you.”

“Do you want to wear them tonight?”

The question hung between them. Toby looked at the cuffs—at the way the candlelight played across the leather, at the care that had obviously gone into their design. Marcus had planned this. Had thought about what Toby needed, what Toby wanted, and had found a way to give it to him that was safe, and beautiful, and perfect.

“Yes,” Toby said. “Yes, Daddy. I want to wear them.”

Something flared in Marcus’s eyes—that particular heat that always made Toby’s knees weak. He set the box aside and lifted one of the cuffs.

“Give me your wrist.”

Toby extended his arm. The old leather cuff—the one Marcus had given him over a year ago, the one he never took off—still circled his wrist. Marcus didn’t remove it. Instead, he fastened the new cuff just above it, so both symbols of their connection sat side by side on Toby’s skin.

“And the other.”

The second cuff joined the first. Toby flexed his wrists experimentally, feeling the soft leather shift against his skin. The weight was different from anything he’d worn before—not heavy, exactly, but present. A constant reminder that he was held. Bound. Owned.

“How does it feel?”

“Perfect.” The word came out hoarse. “It feels perfect.”

“Good.” Marcus’s hands came up to cup his face. “Now. I’m going to undress you. Then I’m going to tie you to that bed. And then I’m going to spend the next several hours reminding you exactly who you belong to.”

Toby’s breath stuttered. “Hours?”

“We have the room until tomorrow afternoon.” Marcus’s thumb traced along his jaw. “I intend to use every minute.”

“Oh god.”

“Is that your safeword?”

Despite everything, Toby laughed. “No. My safeword is red. And I don’t plan on using it.”

“Confident.”

“Eager.” Toby leaned into Marcus’s touch. “Please, Daddy. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Since you texted me the address, I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything—”

“I know.” Marcus’s smile was slow, wicked. “Jamie called me. Said you were useless in your afternoon meetings, staring into space with a ridiculous look on your face.”

“Traitor.”

“Observant friend.” Marcus kissed him—soft at first, almost chaste, then deeper, claiming. By the time he pulled back, Toby was swaying on his feet. “Now. Clothes off. On the bed.”

Toby stripped with trembling hands. The suit Marcus had picked out for him that morning—navy, perfectly tailored, chosen with the same care Marcus brought to everything—fell to the floor piece by piece. Jacket, tie, shirt, trousers, until Toby stood naked except for his collar, his ring, and the new cuffs circling his wrists.

Marcus’s gaze traveled over him, hungry and appreciative. “Beautiful. Get on the bed. Hands above your head.”

The charcoal sheets were cool against Toby’s heated skin as he arranged himself in the center of the mattress. He stretched his arms above his head, wrists crossed, and waited.

Marcus moved to the head of the bed. Toby heard a soft click—the D-rings on his cuffs connecting to something, an anchor point he couldn’t see. When he tried to lower his arms, they stayed in place.

His heart rate spiked.

“Pull if you need to get free,” Marcus reminded him. “One sharp tug and the quick-release will open.”

Toby tested it—not because he wanted to escape, but because he needed to know he could. The mechanism worked exactly as promised: a single pull and the cuffs separated from the anchor. He relaxed back into the restraints, letting them hold his weight.

“Okay?” Marcus asked.

“More than okay.” Toby’s voice had dropped to something rough and needy. “I’m yours, Daddy. Do whatever you want.”

The look that crossed Marcus’s face was predatory. He began to undress with the same deliberate control he brought to everything—jacket hung carefully over a chair, tie loosened and removed, shirt unbuttoned with maddening slowness.

Toby watched, helpless and desperate, as each inch of skin was revealed. Marcus at fifty was even more beautiful than Marcus at forty-five—silver at his temples now, lines around his eyes that deepened when he smiled, a body kept lean and strong through discipline and dedication. Toby would never get tired of looking at him.

He would never get tired of belonging to him.

“Please,” Toby heard himself beg. “Please touch me. I need—”

“I know what you need.” Marcus climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between Toby’s spread thighs. “But tonight, we’re doing this my way. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Toby’s sternum. Then another, lower. Then another. A trail of heat leading down Toby’s body while his hands explored in the opposite direction—stroking up Toby’s sides, thumbs brushing over his nipples, finding every sensitive spot and exploiting them mercilessly.

Toby writhed in his restraints. The cuffs held firm, keeping his arms stretched above his head, and the helplessness of it sent a spike of arousal through him so intense it was almost painful.

“Daddy—”

“Shh.” Marcus’s mouth had reached his hip. He bit down gently, just enough to sting, and Toby cried out. “You’ll take what I give you. As slowly as I want to give it.”

“Yes. Yes, Daddy. Whatever you want.”

Marcus rewarded him with a long, slow lick up the underside of his cock—root to tip, devastating in its thoroughness. Toby’s hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the sensation, but Marcus’s hands clamped down on his thighs and held him still.

“Don’t move.” The command was steel wrapped in velvet. “You’ll come when I tell you to come. Not before.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“You can.” Marcus’s eyes met his, dark and certain. “Because I’m telling you that you can. Because you’re my good boy, and good boys follow the rules.”

The praise washed through Toby like a wave. He forced his body to still, forced his breathing to slow, and gave himself over to whatever Marcus wanted to do to him.

What Marcus wanted, apparently, was to drive him insane.

He worked Toby with hands and mouth and teeth, building pleasure in waves that crested just short of release. Every time Toby got close—every time his body tensed and his breath caught and the orgasm hovered just out of reach—Marcus would pull back, would slow down, would wait until Toby had retreated from the edge before starting again.

Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

By the fifth denial, Toby was sobbing.

“Please.” The word was wrecked, barely recognizable. “Please, Daddy, I can’t—I need—”

“You can.” Marcus pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, his voice maddeningly calm. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“Daddy—”

“Tell me what you need.”

“You. Inside me. Please.” Toby was beyond shame, beyond coherence. “I need to feel you. I need to come with you inside me. Please, Daddy, please—”

Marcus was quiet for a moment, considering. Then he reached for the nightstand, where a bottle of lube sat waiting—because of course he’d planned for this, had laid everything out in advance, had orchestrated the entire evening with the same meticulous attention he brought to everything.

“Since you asked so beautifully.” He slicked his fingers. “Since you’ve been such a good boy for me.”

The first finger pressed inside, and Toby keened. He was so sensitive, so wound up from the extended edging, that even this gentle intrusion felt overwhelming. Marcus worked him open slowly, adding a second finger, then a third, stretching him with a patience that bordered on cruelty.

“Ready?”

“Yes. God, yes. Please—”

Marcus positioned himself and pushed in slowly.

Toby’s back arched off the bed. The stretch, the fullness, the sensation of being claimed so completely—it overwhelmed every other thought, every other feeling, until all that existed was Marcus inside him and the desperate need for release.

“Look at me.”

Toby forced his eyes open. Marcus was above him, face tight with concentration, the control he prized so highly clearly costing him. Knowing that Toby could affect him like this—could make the unshakeable Marcus Ashford shake—was its own kind of power.

“I love you,” Marcus said. “More than anything. More than my own life.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” Tears slid down Toby’s temples. “Always. Forever.”

“Come for me.” Marcus began to move—deep, grinding thrusts that hit exactly the right angle. “Now. I want to feel you.”

The permission was all Toby needed. The orgasm that had been building for what felt like hours finally crashed through him—so intense his vision went white, so overwhelming he forgot his own name. He felt himself clenching around Marcus, felt Marcus follow him over the edge, felt them fall apart together in a tangle of sweat and tears and whispered endearments.

When Toby came back to himself, Marcus was releasing the cuffs from the anchor point. His hands were gentle as he rubbed circulation back into Toby’s wrists, pressing kisses to each red mark left by the leather.

“How do you feel?”

“Destroyed.” The word came out slurred. “In the best possible way.”

Marcus laughed softly and pulled him close. “Water first. Then rest. Then round two.”

“Round two?”

“I told you.” Marcus pressed a kiss to his hair. “We have the room until tomorrow afternoon. I intend to use every minute.”

Toby smiled into Marcus’s chest and let his eyes drift closed.

One year of this. One year of being loved, being owned, being exactly who he was meant to be.

And a lifetime more to come.

* * *

They didn’t leave the suite until checkout the next afternoon.

By then, Toby had lost count of the rounds—of how many times Marcus had taken him apart and put him back together, how many times he’d begged and been rewarded, how many different ways they’d used that beautiful, enormous bed.

The cuffs stayed on the entire time. Toby wasn’t ready to take them off. Wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.

“We should do this more often,” he murmured as they rode the elevator down, tucked against Marcus’s side. “The anniversary thing. Every month, maybe.”

“Monthly anniversaries seem excessive.”

“Weekly, then.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“You made me this way.” Toby grinned up at him. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Marcus kissed him—soft, sweet, nothing like the filthy things they’d done upstairs. “I’ll take the blame gladly.”

The elevator doors opened. The world waited outside—responsibilities and routines and all the ordinary demands of their lives.

But underneath all of it, nothing had changed.

Toby was still Marcus’s. Collar around his throat, cuffs on his wrists, ring on his finger.

Owned. Loved. Kept.

Forever.

THE END

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