The Billionaire's Wife Read online

  Piercing green eyes studied me, gauging my reactions. I saw there was a hidden panel behind the limo's front seat where he had stored all his toys. Reaching in, he pulled out a blanket and what appeared to be a candy bar. I didn't even want to know what horrible orifices he was thinking of putting that candy bar in.

  As it turned out, he was only concerned with putting it into my mouth. After swaddling me in the blanket—a luxurious, warm, fuzzy thing that almost swallowed me whole—he unwrapped the candy bar and broke off a piece. Gently he coaxed my mouth open and placed the piece on my tongue with trembling fingers, like a sinful sacrament. Then he closed my jaw and resumed his seat beside me, his arms falling around me and pulling me close. He planted a soft kiss on my hair.

  We stayed like that for a while: Anton feeding me chocolate and occasionally kissing the top of my head, and me floating in a strange, indefinable state that I'd never felt before.

  Finally the limo slowed, then jerked to a stop, and I roused myself enough to look out the window. We were in an underground parking garage. There was no natural light, and that was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to see what I must look like.

  “How are you feeling, Felicia?”

  His warm voice startled me, but this time it didn't hurt. For a moment I pondered the question, probing my brain and finding it, surprisingly, intact.

  “I... I think I'm okay,” I said, turning to him. “That was, uh... really intense.”

  He smiled at me, though it was hollow and strange and didn't quite reach his eyes, and I had the strangest sensation of falling, as though I were seeing an entirely different Anton Waters than the one I knew. Admittedly, I didn't really know him, but it was a startling experience. It only lasted for a moment, though, because I looked away.

  “You entered a place we like to call subspace,” he told me, and I realized his voice was still shaking, as though he were nervous. I gave him a sidelong glance and tried to assess his mental state, but I didn't know him well enough to read him.

  “Who calls it that?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “The BDSM community,” he replied. His voice was stronger now, more sure. “I am surprised it happened.”

  I'd read about the toys he wanted to use—hell, they were meticulously detailed in our prenuptial agreement—but I hadn't read about anything that sounded like 'subspace.' “What's that?”

  He shrugged. “It is simply a state of incoherence and abandon.” His brow furrowed. “You were able to lose yourself.”

  Yeah, that felt about right.

  Next to me, Anton stood up. Thankfully I was able to stay relatively upright and snuggled further into the blanket.

  As it turned out, someone had packaged up my old clothes for me, and Anton retrieved them and helped me put them on, though it was probably like threading a spaghetti noodle through the eye of a needle for the most part. Then we got out of the limo together and walked—me with shaking legs and him mostly holding me up—to a private elevator. I leaned on him as we ascended, and when the elevator doors dinged I was about ready to go to sleep on my feet.

  Anton half-carried me through the sumptuously appointed penthouse suite, which was nice enough that I was actually able to notice it as I stumbled through it on my way to bed. Gold and cream covered every surface, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the strip drenched in the syrupy golden light of the setting desert sun.

  Then we were in the bedroom and Anton was undressing me with warm, tender hands, and I could only let him, the soft pleasure of his touch radiating out over my fatigued body. When at last I was completely nude, he laid me down in the bed and coaxed me to drink a few sips of water before I let myself sink into the pillow, which was soft and white as a cloud. Less damp, though.

  The last thing I remembered was Anton slipping a blanket that radiated warmth under the covers with me and smoothing the hair back from my forehead. Then I was asleep.

  *

  At precisely midnight I snapped awake. My whole body hummed with energy, though my brain was a little behind the times. I had to force myself to survey the room and remember where I was.

  In Vegas, I thought. In Anton Waters' private suite. And you're married to him.

  Congratulations.

  Licking my lips, I sat up and the soft comforter fell away from me. Beside me, a body shifted, and I started.

  Looking down, I was barely able to make out Anton's form in the dark. He was bare-chested and fast asleep, and though I sort of wanted to study that incredible physique a little longer, what I really wanted to do was take a piss.

  Yeah, I know. Romantic, right? Great wedding night.

  Slipping out of the bed, I tiptoed quickly across the floor. My eyes were adjusting quickly to the light, and I managed to find the door that led out of the room and into the living area.

  It wasn't quite as impressive in the dark, but the view of the strip was better. Lights twinkled and danced outside the window, and I had to repress the urge to go stare at them. I had to find a bathroom, fast.

  I winched my legs in and danced around the room, my eyes darting this way and that, trying to find a door that might maybe have led to a bathroom. My only comfort was that if I did pee all over Anton's floor, at least it was marble and easily cleaned up. I'd have been in real trouble if it was carpeted. At last I found a door next to the kitchen and wrenched it open, thanking the heavens when it revealed a lovely little half-bath. I dove inside and sat down.

  As the relief of finally being able to, well, relieve myself washed over me, I found less worldly concerns begin to rise up and come to the fore.

  Such as... well, what now?

  I was now married to Anton Waters. I was now his wife, and I still didn't really know anything about him. Except that he had a seemingly magical cock that could make me do anything he wanted. That was not a good thought to have. Reaching down, I wiped myself, and felt the residue of our fuck-session in the limo. Yuck. I needed a shower. A hot shower. And I needed to talk to someone.

  I flushed, washed my hands, and exited the bathroom. In the light of the strip, the suite was illuminated, if not as bright as day then at least to the brightness of a full moon. Squinting, I poked my way around, hoping against hope that someone had given me more than three seconds' thought and brought my purse up. At last I spotted it on the kitchen counter, snugged into a corner and looking very out of place on the fine granite. Digging inside it I sighed with relief when I found my phone.

  I flipped it on and found it still had quite a bit of battery left. I hightailed it back to the half-bath, shut the door, and called Sadie.

  She picked up on the third ring.

  “Hey, girl,” she drawled. “How'd dress shopping go?”

  “I'm married,” I blurted.

  She didn't answer for a moment. Then: “What?”

  “I'm married,” I repeated.

  “What?”

  “Married, Sadie. Married.”

  “I fucking heard you the first time!” she snapped. “What I want to know is... What? And... like, how?”

  “I don't know,” I snapped back. “It's all kind of a blur.”

  “Jesus fuck, Lis. When I said you needed to get married in the next twenty-four hours before I drunk-blabbed it, I didn't fucking mean it.”

  “Well it wasn't my idea,” I said, and I briefly outlined the sequence of events that had led to a sudden elopement in Vegas.

  “So what you're saying is you gave him a blowjob so amazing that he had to marry you right then and there?” Sadie asked when I was done.

  “No!” Memories of Anton's traumatized face flashed across my mind and I shuddered. “No, nothing like that. It was like a spur of the moment thing, I guess.”

  “I guess,” she said. “You didn't tell me you were sleeping with him already.”

  “I'm not,” I said. “I mean, I wasn't. I... shit, I don't know. All I know is that he is super hot and we were kind of all over each other since the first day we met. But we didn't do, l
ike, The Deed until after we were married.”

  She started to laugh. “You waited to have sex until you were married?” she howled at me. “Oh my god, that's rich.”

  “Shut up! It wasn't my choice,” I said. “I'd have fucked him five minutes after meeting him if he'd let me. And we've done other things.”

  “You didn't tell me that before.”

  “It didn't seem important.”

  “You really are a ditz,” Sadie said. “Of course it's important. He's really into you. You don't think that's a big deal somehow? Like, I don't know, it might have an impact on your marriage?”

  Okay, truthfully, I hadn't really thought it out that far. And it hadn't seemed like the sort of thing you needed for a stable marriage. Huge libidos, I had always thought, seemed like they were less likely to make a marriage work. Just look at my parents.

  “I don't know if he's into me or just wants a wife,” I said.

  “I thought you were going to talk to him about that or something.”

  “I don't remember.”

  “Shit.” I heard her sigh over the line. “You don't remember a lot. What, does his semen contain some kind of mind-altering drug?”

  I hesitated. “Maaaaaaaaaaaaybe,” I said.

  “Jesus. What time is it there?”

  “Only midnight.”

  “You'd better go wake him up,” she said. “You need to ask him why he wanted a wife in the first place.”

  “But what if he drugs me with his cock again?” I asked nastily.

  “Then bottle that shit up and sell it,” she said, and hung up. Sadie liked to hang up at dramatic points in conversations. She said it kept her life more like a Hollywood drama and less like a seedy, unfinished biopic. I said it was really fucking annoying, but what did I know? I was a ditz.

  I shut my phone off and sat on the toilet seat for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. When that didn't work, I resolved to have a shower. Showers always helped me think. Also I was extra gross.

  But when I tiptoed back into our bedroom, I found myself slowing down and trying to decide what to do. If I took a shower in the bathroom that had to be around here somewhere, he was probably going to wake up and want to fuck me. And for the first time, I found myself not wanting that. The experience we shared in the limo was still too new, too raw and at the surface. I just wanted to take a shower and go back to sleep. So what turned men off from sex?

  I smiled. Talking.

  I scrambled into bed next to Anton and gave him a hard poke in the side.

  He woke almost instantly, inhaling sharply and twitching out of sleep so violently that I almost felt bad for him. Almost. In the dim light, he turned and blinked at me.

  “Felicia,” he said. “What's wrong?”

  “Why did you want a wife?” I said.

  He blinked again. “What?” he asked.

  “I'm curious. I want to know why you wanted to marry someone you didn't even know?”

  Sagging back into his pillow, Anton rubbed a hand over his face. “Felicia...” he said.

  I knew that tone of voice. The worst tone. “Nuh-uh,” I told him. “You said you would listen to whatever I had to say.”

  “Yes, but I never promised to answer your questions.”

  Fuck. He was right. And there was nothing I could do about that, was there?

  “Fuck you,” I said. “Eat a bag of dicks. I'm going to go take a shower.”

  I barely heard him say, clearly amused, “How big of a bag?” because I'd finally spotted the bathroom over his shoulder on the other side of the bed. I scrambled out and stalked to it, not caring that I was naked. It was too dark to see much. I opened the door, switched on the light, and let the door slam behind me. Just so he knew he was dealing with a mature and measured person.

  The bathroom was just as ridiculous as the rest of the suite. Shaded lamps on the walls softly illuminated granite counter tops and marble flooring. A huge tub sat next to the vanities, and an enormous glass shower stall that was probably the biggest pain in the ass to clean dominated one corner of the room. I made a beeline for it and turned the water on, making sure it was steaming hot before I stepped inside.

  The jet of water hit my skin and I felt myself finally relaxing. Not relaxing as I had after the orgasm Anton had given me in the limo—that had been, looking back, an almost frightening experience—but as though I were finally centering. I reached out and grabbed the soap, and the scent of spearmint and rosemary tickled my nose. Gratefully, I began to scrub myself down, letting the hot water soothe my tense and aching muscles.

  The sound of the door opening made me tense up again.

  “Dammit!” I said, turning and glaring at Anton through the glass doors. “Can't I just have a shower in peace?”

  He looked amused as he began to disrobe—a short task since he was only wearing a pair of silken boxers. “I thought you wanted to know why I wanted a wife?” he said.

  I scowled at him and stuck my head under the shower spray. “I do,” I told him. “Are you going to tell me?”

  He didn't reply, simply opened the shower stall and stepped in.

  Of course. What a dick.

  My haughty ire probably would have had more impact if I 'd been able to keep myself from snatching a peek at his naked body.

  Yeah, I thought as I tried to keep my glance cursory, and what a dick it is.

  I won't lie. Anton Waters had a very nice cock, and I kind of hated him for it. Even flaccid, it looked thick and meaty, just the kind of cock you'd want to play with and coax into standing at attention. Even for the few seconds I stared at it, it twitched at me.

  Okay, maybe I stared at it for more than a few seconds. Can you blame me?

  With a hmph, I turned away and started to lather my skin. In Vegas it was still warm, and I was coated in a lovely layer of slimy residue from sweating before—and during and after—the wedding. Turning the entire force of my attention to the task, I rubbed vigorously and tried to ignore Anton.

  Which proved to be hard to do when he reached out and pried the soap from my fingers.

  “Ass!” I told him. I whirled around and stared him straight in the eye. “I was using that!”

  He smiled at me, that faint smile again, but this time I thought I detected a hint of teasing behind it. “Why do it yourself when it's so much fun for someone else to do it for you?” he replied, and began to soap me up.

  I didn't stop him. I liked his hands too much, and besides, I was tired, and his hands were nice.

  Gently he lathered his hands and began to run them over my body. Even if I hadn't been crazily addicted to the way he fucked me, I would have appreciated the gentle massage he gave. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do when they got there.

  Slowly, gently, he smoothed soapy circles over my skin, digging his fingertips into the fleshy parts of my muscles that he ran across, letting them grind together, then relax under his touch. First he traveled down my arms, then up my stomach. Unwanted warmth gathered in my core, but I studiously ignored it, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly as he worked his way up, skirting my breasts. His palms cupped my shoulders, and he watched me intently.

  “I could eat you up,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  I knew he could. He would swallow me alive if I let him. And the frightening thing was that a part of me did want him to consume me. I just wanted to fall into him and let him carry me, let him screw me into incoherence, and then I wouldn't have to think any more. I could just be.

  But what would I be afterward? And what would he make me into, when I could no longer resist?

  “Why did you want a wife?” I asked him. My voice was loud and flat in the shower stall. The sound of the falling water deafened me. “It seems like you could just marry anyone you wanted.”

  “Of course I could,” he said. He seemed utterly fascinated by the way the water ran over my breasts. His big, warm palms slipped from my shoulders and migrated over my back while I tri
ed not to melt. “It was simply cleaner this way.”

  “Cleaner?”

  He moved in, the heat of his body rolling from his skin. “Marriage is a legal contract,” he said. “I wanted a woman who would enter into it as such with me. I don't require love. Simply a companion. It seemed unfair to ask someone who wanted to fall in love to fulfill the role.”

  That brought me up short, planting a wiggle of worry in my stomach. I did want to fall in love. Just not necessarily with him.

  “But why?” I asked. “Why do you want a... a companion? You could find someone who was already into this stuff without all the song and dance, couldn't you?” I could tell I was pushing against some sort of barrier, one that he kept erected for a reason, but that I couldn't help but scratch at, like a barely healed wound.

  His eyes hardened. “That is none of your business,” he said, and I quaked as the touch of his hands grew rougher. He reached down to my hip and grabbed a handful of flesh there, squeezing until I winced. Then he smacked me, lightly, and I felt the impact reverberate up my body, traveling up my torso to my breasts. They jiggled under his burning gaze.

  “Let's make a deal,” I said. “I do things for you, and you talk to me.”

  “Things?” he said. “What sort of things.”

  Jeez. How the hell did I know? He was the experienced freak here. I was merely a freak-in-training. “Use your imagination,” I hazarded.

  His mouth quirked. “I can already persuade you to do whatever I want, sexually.”

  “Then maybe I could persuade you instead.”

  He tilted his head, and wet dark locks fell against his forehead. “Interesting,” he said. “You want to try to turn the tables? Switch me from dom to sub?”

  I shrugged. “How about this: if you don't reduce me to an incoherent mess of sloppy orgasms, I get to ask you whatever I want and you have to answer me. Truthfully.”