The Billionaire's Wife (10 page)

Somehow, the knowledge calmed me. He was human after all, and I
could reach him. My fears eased a little and I licked my lips.

“All right,” I said. “Let's go.”

The car rolled through the city streets.

*

The sun was sinking in the sky when Anton's private jet touched
down in Las Vegas. He had relegated himself to the front of the aircraft,
telling me it was bad luck to see me before the wedding, though I privately
suspected he was still recovering from whatever had rocked him in the dressing
room. Whatever the reason, I was glad to give him space. He had requested I
tell no one about our pending wedding, and I abided by that request. I didn't
really want to talk to anyone anyway. I was too busy thinking.

Two separate cars met us at the airport, and when we arrived at
the chapel he had chosen I was hustled by strangers into a dressing room,
illuminated by a window looking out on the setting desert sun and a buzzing
fluorescent light.

Inside there hung two pieces of clothing: one beautiful—and
elegant—wedding gown, and one corset.

The corset was like no corset I'd ever seen before. It looked
like someone had forgotten to add the top half. A pair of lace panties were
laid over the chair in the corner, a white lace garter belt and white stockings
sat next to them, and two white satin pumps with the highest heels I'd ever
seen sat on the floor.

I took the corset off the door and tried to figure out how to
put it on.

A few minutes later I was still studying it and trying not to
think about what was about to happen when a knock came on the door. I retreated
to the far side of the room where a screen stood and hid behind it, only
leaving my head poking out from around the corner. “Come in!”

The door opened and Anton entered.

My breath caught.

He looked incredible, his dark hair spilling over his collar,
his green eyes perfectly accented by the elaborate gray ascot he wore. The vest
was of the same gray pattern, and tucked into his pocket was a dusky purple
flower I couldn't identify.

For the barest of moments I felt giddy that
I
was
marrying this man. Given my track record, that I was getting married at all was
a pretty big accomplishment.

Then I realized something.

“It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” I told him.

“It would be worse luck if I could not enjoy the wedding,” he
told me. Whatever he had planned, it sent a shiver up my spine. I lifted my
chin and stared him down as he stalked across the room. He plucked the panties,
garter belt, and stockings from the chair and held them out. “Put these on,” he
told me.

Ducking behind the screen, I hastily disrobed and did so. I'd
never worn a garter belt before. It was oddly thrilling.

“Done,” I said.

“The corset. Come out and give it to me.”

My breasts were bare and my nipples tight, but I didn't cover
them. I slipped from behind the screen and handed him the corset.

His eyes devoured me, but that was all. “Turn around,” he
instructed. I did so, and he lifted my arms and fitted the corset around me and
laced it up, pulling it so tight I saw black spots. When he was done, I had a
waist at least four inches smaller than it should have been. I stood straight,
my breasts thrusting out to him. I saw his fingers twitch when I turned back,
as though he thought to reach for me.

“Sit,” he commanded.

On shaking legs, I walked to the chair and sat. He withdrew
something from his pocket and approached.

It looked like a bullet, but larger. Maybe an egg. Smooth and
black, he held it between thumb and forefinger. The light of the setting sun
gleamed on its surface.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

He reached into his pocket again and took out something else. It
looked like an iPod. He pressed a button.

The little egg in his fingers began to buzz. It was a vibrator.

My mouth went dry as he knelt in front of me. Gently he placed a
hand on my chest, above my aching breasts, and pushed me back into the chair's
generous cushions. I let him. My knees parted, and he tugged the waistband of
my panties. Then, just as he was about to press the bullet into place, he
paused.

He looked up at me. In the light from the windows, his green
eyes were illuminated and intense. No longer lost, but certain.

“Felicia,” he said, “I want you to listen to me very carefully.”
He took a deep breath, and when the words came out, they were clipped and slow
and utterly clear:

“You can say no.”

I knew there were such things as safewords, but so far I didn't
think, during any of our encounters, I could have brought myself to say no once
he touched me. The realization rocked me.

I looked at the vibrator in his hand. Did he mean I could say no
to it? Or to the wedding?

Did I
want
to say no to either?

He leaned down and caught my eye again. “Do you understand?” he
asked.

I swallowed and nodded.

He hesitated for moment, obviously waiting for me to tell him to
fuck off. When I didn't, he gently placed the vibrator against my clit and
replaced the lace panties. Anticipation hummed inside me, and I was already
growing wet.

“I thought you didn't want me to wear panties any more,” I said,
inanely.

The faint smile returned to his face at last. “Just this one
last time,” he said. “There is pleasure in taking them off.”

He helped me up, and then, with warm, gentle hands, he dressed
me. There was nothing to be done for my hair, but he tucked a flower behind my
ear, and then it was time.

I waited out of sight as Anton stood at the little altar in a
tiny chapel. Someone pressed a bouquet of the same gray-purple flowers into my
hands, and then the wedding march began to play, and I walked down the aisle.
About three steps into it, the vibrator buzzed to life.

I faltered, teetering on the heels, but managed to right myself.
Head held high, I approached the altar.

Anton smiled at me, almost proud, and I couldn't help but smile
back.

The ceremony passed in a blur. With each response I gave, Anton
ratcheted up the power, and the little egg nestled in my slick pussy lips
revved higher and higher. The corset kept me from catching my breath. Stars
danced across my eyes.

“You may kiss the bride.”

I blinked.
What?
I wanted to say.
No! Wait...

Anton Waters turned to me, and the tiny bullet against my clit
kicked into overdrive as he reached out and cradled my head in one large, warm
palm.

“Come for me,” he whispered, and, as his lips descended, I did.
He swallowed my shrieks as we shared our first kiss before the officiant.

His tongue thrust into my mouth possessively, and my pussy
quivered and clenched as I came, melting into his arms. He held me up, kept me
from falling, and my hips jerked and twisted of their own accord, arching into
him. His erection pressed against my mound, and my orgasm intensified. My
fingernails dug into his coat and he swept his tongue against mine, our teeth
clicking as died a tiny death in his arms.

At last he pulled away, and the look on his face was fierce,
satisfied.

“You are mine,” he said. The vibrator between my legs subsided
and I relaxed. Then it ramped up again, carrying me through another wave as we
walked back down the aisle, and my knees turned to water as I cried out,
embarrassment and ecstasy rubbed together, fast and quick, like fire-starting
sticks. If it hadn't been for his strong arm around me, I would have collapsed
to the floor.

We signed the certificate. Each time I thought he was done
torturing me, he slipped his hand in his pocket and sent me reeling and shaking
again. I came as I signed my name, leaving a dark smudge over my middle
initial.

Then Anton Waters put his arm around my cinched waist and guided
me into his waiting limo.

He didn't even wait for it to pull away from the chapel before
he was on me. Stitches ripped as he pushed me down against the seat, his
fingers fumbling at the dress he had thought was so important.

“Anton,” I said.

“You are mine,” he told me again, and then I was under him. His
weight pressed me into the soft limo seat, his hot mouth, his lips and tongue
and teeth, working my throat. I moaned, every nerve alight. I couldn't have
said no even if I wanted to.

Sadie had been right. I wasn't the sharpest marble in the bag,
and now I was stuck.

For better or for worse, I was his.

Chapter Four:

Bartered Desire

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Anton's hands were all over
me, and the corset cinched around my waist made it impossible to draw air. I
saw stars as he half-removed, half-ripped the wedding dress from my body,
revealing my bared breasts and soaked panties. His hot mouth descended on my
throat, his teeth sharp at my jugular. For a wild, oxygen-deprived moment, I
wondered if I'd married a secret vampire, and he was now going to devour my
virgin flesh. Except I wasn't a virgin. Well, except for my ass, and judging by
the way his hands were massaging it he was quite interested in ensuring that I
didn't remain virginal there for very long.

The thought landed in my brain like a meteor, sending shock
waves through me as he scraped his teeth against my collarbone and then
retreated until he was kneeling on the floor of the limo beside where I
reclined on the seat. Reaching out, he gripped my chin in his hand, gently, but
with hidden steel behind it. Heated green eyes stared into mine.

“I'm going to fuck you now,” he said. “And you are going to
scream.”

I licked my lips and nodded. There was really nothing for me to
say. He already knew how to make me scream, and I wanted his cock snug inside
my pussy so badly that I would have done anything for it.

“Turn over.”

Swallowing hard, I did so. Rough hands gripped my hips and slid
me over the soft leather of the seat until I was kneeling next to him, bent
over the cushions. The dress I'd worn, much worse for the wear, hung around my
waist. I still wore my stockings and panties. The little bullet-shaped vibrator
he'd used to drive me to orgasm during our wedding ceremony still snuggled
against my clit, and the mile-high satin stilettos remained on my feet. I
wanted to reach back and remove them, but I didn't dare move without his
permission. I didn't want to give him any excuse not to fuck me.

He ran a hand over my ass, as though judging a fine horse or a
dog. It made me feel reduced, but also deliciously vulnerable. Anton Waters was
going to fuck me, and there was nothing I could do about it except, perhaps,
say no. And maybe not even then. The abdication of responsibility was almost
freeing.

Fingers moved my soaking panties aside, and the little vibrator
fell to the floor of the limo with a thump. I found myself sad that it was
gone. It had been good to me. Then Anton placed a thumb at the slick entrance
of my pussy and my whole body quivered with anticipation.

“You are so ready,” he whispered. “I'm glad.” Then he placed his
other thumb on the other side of my cunt and began to part my slick lips,
exposing my tight, aching channel to his gaze. I swallowed and let my forehead
fall to the seat, struggling to stay still as the limo picked up speed beneath
me.

His thumbs dipped farther inside, spreading me insistently,
leaving a gaping emptiness inside me that I needed to fill. Slowly he ran his
thumbs over my inner walls, giving me pressure, but not fulfillment.

I bit my lip and tasted blood.

Then his thumbs slid up and began to coat the tight entrance of
my ass with the juices of my pussy.

I wanted to cry.
Just fuck me, fuck me in the cunt!
I
wanted to scream, but I forced myself to be silent. If he knew how much I
wanted it, he wouldn't. I knew that as surely as I knew my own name.

As though reading my mind, Anton chuckled. “Don't worry, dear,”
he said, his words a mockery of our relationship, “I will not leave this sweet
little cunt wanting any longer.”

I heard him moving behind me. A drawer opened and shut.
Champagne? Now? God, if he didn't mount me in the next five seconds it would be
hard for me not to turn the tables on him again, the way I'd tackled him and
sucked his cock dry in the dressing room back in New York...

Then the memory of his face afterward—full of fear and loss,
devastated and abandoned—rose up and ruthlessly quelled the impulse.

No.
No, I couldn't. I couldn't be responsible for that
look. Not on his face. Not on anyone's face. Never again.

Then something smooth and rounded was pressing against the tight
hole of my ass, and thought fled.

“What are you doing?” I groaned, lifting my head and trying to
turn to see what he had in his hand, but before I could, he wound up and
smacked my ass hard enough to make me cry out.

“No peeking,” he said, sounding amused. The swollen lips of my
labia smarted with the impact, but when his soothing fingers returned to my
pussy the pleasure somehow felt even better. The object poised against my
puckered entrance pushed forward, and I was surprised at how easily and eagerly
I parted before it.

Panting, I let it enter me. It was bigger than I'd thought,
stretching me out, a long, aching scrape against tight inner walls. Wider and
wider it went, and I gasped and forced myself to relax around it. All the
while, Anton played with my pussy, tickling my clit, stroking my slippery
folds. Stars spun across my vision as I tried to get enough air, but the corset
held me fast, and all I could do was lie helplessly against the seat of the
limo, my hands clenched into fists, my forehead plastered to the leather with
my own sweat.