Bartered Passion: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 6 (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

  Bartered Passion: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 6

  Ava Lore

  Copyright 2012 Ava Lore

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  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, the please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Bartered Passion: The Billionaire's Wife

  by

  Ava Lore

  Part VI

  Having your parents show up at your door just as you are about to get down and dirty is, by far, the worst form of coitus interruptus imaginable. Okay, maybe not as bad as suddenly dropping dead of a heart attack or throwing up the last ten beers you drank all over your partner, but it's pretty bad.

  Because parents aren't sexy. They may be sexual beings and, at one point, may have actually Done It to give you life, but you don't want to think about that, and you certainly don't want to see them standing on your doorstep when you were on the brink of getting plowed like last year's cornfield. And getting a sobbing hug from your mom? Boner killer. And I didn't even have a boner.

  I patted her shoulders awkwardly. "Mom," I said. "What's wrong?"

  She pulled back and glared at me, her eyes sharp and angry. "You!" she almost shouted. "You are what's wrong!" Her eyes caught something over my shoulder and she glowered. "And you. You are what's wrong."

  I turned to see Anton behind me. Incredulous, I turned back to my mother. "Mom," I said, "are you okay?"

  "No!" she snapped at me. Without preamble, she pushed past me and into the house.

  On the porch, my father looked mortified, his eyes wide with horror. "Felicia," he started.

  I held up a hand and shook my head. We both knew my mother got into these fits every once in a while. It was the price she paid for feeling so much. When I was a little kid, she would dramatically rail against the characters on television, telling them they were idiots. To be fair, she was right, but it was definitely a quirk I was glad I hadn't inherited.

  I frowned, my gaze alighting on two large suitcases sitting next to him. "What is that?" I said.

  "Your mother said we needed to come quickly. We haven't made hotel reservations," he said. I raised my brows. She had been in a hurry. I had a sudden, unpleasant premonition: she was going to want to stay here in Anton's house.

  Oh, boy.

  I should have known she would have a reaction like this when she heard I was married. Actually, I had known she would react this way, which was why I hadn't called her or anything. I hadn't wanted to deal with her histrionics.

  Well, now she was here, and I had to do damage control. I turned and followed her. She had brushed past Anton, who stared at her retreating back in utter shock. I put a hand out and touched his arm slightly. "I'm sorry," I said. "She's just upset."

  He turned and frowned at me. "Handle this," he said.

  Stung, I flinched. Didn't he understand about moms? Well, he'd told me he didn't have parents, and he'd raised himself, so maybe he didn't. I just nodded and followed my mother to the kitchen, where stood, fussing over removing her coat. I hurried to help her and she waved me away.

  "No, no," she said. "Don't pretend you care about me. I'll just get this off myself."

  Oh great. She was in one of those moods. I took a step back. "Would you like some coffee, mom?"

  "Tea," she said. "I would like tea. Thank you."

  I moved to the cabinets and began searching for a kettle or a measuring cup. Anton and my father filed in. My father took a seat with my mother at the kitchen table while Anton installed himself in the corner next to the door leading to the garden terrace. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, his face controlled but clearly unhappy. I didn't really blame him. Who wanted their in-laws showing up on the second night they were married? Seemed like a good way to fast-track to divorce.

  My mother watched me from the kitchen table, her eyes sharp and hard. "You don't even know the kitchen!" she exclaimed as I opened doors aimlessly. "I knew it!"

  I froze. She knew? She knew I'd agreed to marriage with a man I didn't know to save Dad's stupid company—and her life?

  Something must have shown on my face, because she shook her head. "A mother knows. You ridiculous girl, you can't just marry anyone willy nilly!"

  What was she tallking about? I glanced at Anton, but he was no help, and my father was staring at his hands folded in front of him.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  She shook a finger at me, just as if she were a school marm and I were a disobedient student. "You didn't even think, did you? Just decided to elope. That's no basis for marriage!"

  My mouth dropped and I had to force it closed. "Um," I said. I turned back to the cabinets and redoubled my efforts to find the kettle. Relief flooded me as I opened a door and brushed steel gleamed out at me. Grabbing it, I filled it at the sink and set it on the range before cranking up the heat and heading to the pantry.

  "Did you even think about your family?" my mom was saying. "Even think that we might want to come to your wedding?"

  The pantry was spare, but luckily I spotted a tin of Earl Grey hidden in a dark corner. "I don't know," I said, grabbing it. "It was a spur of the moment thing."

  "Of course it was," my mom said. "And I haven't even met him. You didn't want to bring him home to me?"

  No, not really. Because I knew she would act this way. Never marry rich, she'd told me. Marry a good man, if you get married at all. Don't be like me. Money makes things worse, not better. Not that that had ever stopped her from spending all my dad’s money...

  "I'm sorry," I said. "Mom, uh, meet Anton Waters. My husband."

  "Oh!" She threw her hands in the air, overcome with the drama of it all. "Oh, fine." She turned to Anton and somehow managed to look down her nose at him from her position at the kitchen table. It was impressive. "I am Felicia's mother, Selene Dare. It's good to make your acquaintance." She shot another glare at me. "And I'm sure Felicia thinks so, too."

  "Mom!"

  "What?" she said. "I checked your blog. You didn't mention him anywhere in it, and when I talked to Sadie she just hemmed and hawwed at me."

  "You talked to Sadie?" I said. "When?"

  "On our way over," she said. "From the airport."

  In the past thirty minutes, then. I was sure to have several frantic messages and at least five texts on my phone from Sadie warning me about the coming storm. But stupid me, I was getting ready to get fucked like a dog. I needed to get my priorities in order.

  "Well," I said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it really was a spur of the moment. We were going to have a wedding and everything—" I glanced at Anton, but he was busy trying to kill my mother with his mind. "—but we sort of... got swept up in the moment."

  My mother waved her hand. "I don't want to hear it," she said. "You have to think about other people once in a while, Felicia. You can't be so selfish!"

  I almost lost it, then. Almost told her that I'd married this guy for his money because she was sick and Dad was broke, but at the last second I caught myself. She wanted to keep her illness a secret, tha
t was just fine with me. I'd do it for her. I'd save her life and she wouldn't even know it. I'd be like one of those dumb girls in fairytales.

  "I'm sorry," I said again. "But it's done."

  "It is not done," she said. "You are going to have a wedding. A proper one, for all our friends and family."

  I blinked. "Um," I said. "I guess. But... you know, you'd have to pay for it."

  She waved her hand. "Of course. I know we aren't as rich as your husband—" She spat the word like it was poison. "—but I'm sure we'll do very well for ourselves."

  I glanced at my father. His eyes were on me, huge and pleading.

  She didn't know. She didn't know he was broke.

  Well. Didn't that just take the cake? What kind of ridiculous drama was he trying to drag me into?

  I narrowed my eyes at him, promising him we'd Talk Later, then turned back to my mom. "All right, we'll have a wedding. But did you have to show up unnanounced?"

  She threw her hands in the air. "Would you have answered your phone if you'd seen me calling?" she asked.

  She probably had a point.

  "Well, Anton and I were going to go out to dinner," I began.

  "Oh? Good. We shall accompany you."

  Just invite yourself along, why don't you? I thought. But that was my mother. Always trying to compensate for my father's inattention by drawing the attention of the world to herself. She didn't let herself think she wouldn't be welcome at a dinner between a recently married man and wife.

  I opened my mouth to tell her we were going to go on our own, thank you very much, but then she began to cough.

  And didn't stop.

  Dread curdled in my stomach. Had she come all the way out here while undergoing treatment? She looked so thin. Was she going to continue treatment here? Was she dying?

  Was this the last time I was going to see my mother?

  I glanced at Anton, and though he still had a murderous glare on his face, he wavered enough to meet my eyes.

  I'm sorry, I mouthed at him.

  His lips tightened and he looked away. I tried not to let it hurt me, but his rejection stung like a knife deep in my belly. But I couldn't turn my back on my mother. She was the reason I had done all of this.

  Grabbing a glass, I filled it with water and hurried over to her. "Okay, Mom," I said, pressing it into her hand. "We'll go to dinner."

  She sipped water and the coughing fit passed. "Good," she said. "I'm hungry. Show your father a spare room where we can put our bags.

  I didn't even glance at Anton, just nodded and hugged my mother. Thin bones poked through papery skin, and I closed my eyes.

  *

  Dinner was an awkward affair, but at least Anton didn't make any moves on me. Instead of being all over me, like I'd feared, he was distant and cold, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. I tried to laugh and look happy in case anyone was taking pictures of us, my mother spent half the meal berating me and the other half planning the wedding, and my father stared down at his steak and was uncharacteristically quiet.

  When at last we returned to the mansion, I realized I hadn't even tasted the food I'd eaten. I couldn't even remember what I'd ordered. So much for living the high life.

  To my everlasting dread, my mother fell asleep in the car on the way home—another reminder of her illness. I observed her in the light of the passing lampposts and bright marquees until we reached the house. My father woke her gently and together they went up the stairs to the third-floor bedroom. The bedroom I'd claimed as my own was on the fourth floor, and of course Anton's bedroom was on the top. I told my parents good night, and then followed Anton's silent back up the stairs to the fourth floor. When we reached it, I wavered.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed me. Tension I didn't even know I was carrying curled into hard knots in my legs, and I could barely keep myself standing as I lingered on the landing, full of uncertainty. Should I go to my room? Did Anton even want to see me?

  At the foot of the stairs, Anton turned and regarded me.

  "This was an unexpected night," he said. His voice was level and even, but I heard a tight note under it. He was not happy. Not happy at all.

  I licked my lips. "I'm sorry," I said. "I couldn't kick my parents out. My mom..." I trailed off. "She's sick. She's the reason I married you to help my dad."

  He quirked a brow. "Sick?" he said.

  "Cancer," I clarified. "I can't believe she flew out here." I shook my head. "She's really angry with me..."

  He held up a hand. "Stop. I don't care. I wanted a wife, not her family."

  For such a rich, handsome, sexually experienced douchebag, Anton really was kind of dumb when it came to interpersonal relationships. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but that's how it works. You marry a woman, her family comes along for the ride."

  "Literally," he said sourly.

  I shrugged. "They'll be gone after the wedding. Which, if mom has her way, is going to be in two months." Jesus. That'd be the end of December. Who got married at the end of December? People wanting a tax write-off, maybe.

  "They aren't staying here for two months," Anton said, his face hard. "They are allowed to stay here tonight, and tomorrow they must leave."

  I stared at him. "Christ, Anton. My mom has cancer. You're going to kick her out?"

  His mouth tightened. "I think she might be more comfortable in a hotel. With an elevator and such. I will pay for it, of course."

  I rubbed a hand over my face. "Wow."

  "You do not have to like it," he said. "You simply have to make it happen."

  Right. Like I could make my mom do anything. I'd never been good at getting my parents to listen to me. "I'll try," I said.

  He reached out and ran a finger over my jaw. "You don't want to know what will happen if you do not."

  Angrily, I pulled back. A threat? "Excuse me, but just because I fuck you like I'm your slave doesn't mean I am your slave." He didn't legally buy me, after all.

  He stilled. For the first time, true fear went through me. I didn't know him at all. I didn't know what he was capable of. I didn't want to know. He did scare me. He did make me nervous.

  And I couldn't do anything about it. On the floor below, my mother lay, sick in bed, and I was here, bound to this man, for good or for ill.

  Slowly, Anton withdrew. "You will join me tonight, Felicia," he said. "Come." And he started back down the stairs.

  On trembling legs, I followed him. I had no idea what he had in store for me, and part of me hoped he was only going to march to my parents room and demand they leave. But instead he kept descending, until we were on the ground floor again. Silently, he turned to the back of the house and strode smoothly to the back door where the house emptied out into the garden. Opening it, he stood aside and waved me through.

  Heart in my throat, I passed him and walked out onto the patio. Cold autumn air hit me. I wore the little black dress Sadie and I had picked out, and while it was ideal for a lovely evening out on the town with my parents and new husband, it was not suited for the chilly night.

  Behind me, Anton stepped out onto the terrace and closed the door behind him. It shut with a click that made my legs tremble.

  His feet scraped over the concrete tiles, grinding the grit into the ground as he approached me from behind.

  A hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped about a foot in the air. Anton chuckled at my reaction, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers over my skin. What new humiliation was he going to serve up this time? And why did I find myself excited about it? I must be sick in the head.

  Slowly, lazily, the warmth of his hand trailed over my bare back, to the zipper of my dress. For a moment I thought he would undress me, expose me to the cold, but instead his fingertips trailed over the fabric, down and down, until they met the swell of my ass.

  Flattening his hand, Anton squeezed, and I gasped at the sensation. Under my dress I wore no panties, as he had commanded, and as my pussy lips parted with his fondling I suddenly realized h
ow exposed I was, even still clothed. My heart picked up the pace, and in the light beaming down from the mansion windows the vapor of my breath puffed and curled in the air like smoke, coming in short, sharp bursts.

  "You are very defiant, Felicia," Anton said behind me. "I cannot let that go unpunished."

  Punishment. There it was again. What did he have in store for me?

  I found out soon enough.

  His hand departed my ass and traveled further down, down, to the hem of my skirt. A tug on the fabric, and then he was lifting the skirt up, moving it over my chilled skin, until my bare ass was exposed to him.

  "Tell me, Felicia," he said. "Have you ever had a spanking before?"

  Oh god. "No," I said. "Except when I was a really little kid. But my nanny stopped spanking me when I stopped responding to it."

  "Oh?" he said. His fingers drifted over the crack of my ass, skating against the sensitive skin there, then going further down, until he was probing the hot delta at the apex of my thighs. Blood rushed to follow his touch, and I swayed on my feet, lightheaded. "I dare you to resist it now."

  Dare? Dare was my last name, I was fond of saying. But I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to bait him. I wanted to fuck him. And if I had to go through a spanking to do it, well, that was fine. I could pretend to enjoy it.

  "Stay," he commanded, and the warmth of his hand retreated, leaving me shivering in the cool air, my ass exposed like a full moon to the night. Suddenly I had a nervous thought: anyone could look out of the house, or any house on either side of us, and see me. The garden wasn't exactly private. But then the sound of Anton dragging a heavy metal chair over the concrete captured my attention, and I forgot my compunctions.

  I heard him shift, his clothes moving against each other, and then I knew he was sitting down.

  "Felicia," he said. "Come lie across my lap and recieve your punishment."

  I wanted to say no. I wanted to turn around and go inside. But part of me also wanted to see what was going to happen. Curiosity killed the cat? Curiosity would be the end of me.