Bartered Desire: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 4 (A BDSM Erotic Romance) (3 page)

“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 tried 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.”

“What's in it for me?”

I smiled at him. “Someone to listen to you,” I told him. “And a happy wife. I've heard that's very important.”

Anton chuckled at that, then he pulled me to him and his mouth descended on mine.

Desire rose up in me, an inferno that I couldn't tamp down, no matter how I tried. It spread like wildfire over me, sweeping away my determination. My skin slipped and slid on his, our thighs, our chests, our arms and legs and cock and mound, all were smashed together in the hot, soapy steam. His kiss lifted me up as he nipped at my lips with his teeth, but somehow I found the strength to resist him. My pussy and ass were still aching from our earlier encounter, and I was
tired.

He drew back and looked down at me. “Already attempting to bargain with me?” he asked.

Beneath his words I heard a knife balanced on edge, and I hastened to assure him this was not the case. “Not at all,” I said as he ran his hands down my sides. Somehow I was on my tiptoes, my arms around his neck. How did these things keep
happening?
“I'm just...”

His hands squeezed my backside, and I gasped, stumbling into him. His hardening erection slid against my abdomen.

“I still want to fuck your ass,” he said conversationally.

“Yes,” I said. “I... I think I want that, too.”

“Then turn around.”

It took all my strength, but I managed it. “N—no.”

He stilled. “What did you say?”

“You said I could say no,” I told him. “So... no.”

He seemed to think about this. “I did say that. What would you like to do instead?”

I sighed and let my forehead fall against his shoulder. “Sleep.”

I could feel the confusion radiating from him. “Sleep?” he said, as though it were a foreign word he'd never heard before. “You mean...
sleep
sleep?”

“Yeah. I'd like to get out, dry off, get in bed, and fall unconscious.”

He didn't say anything for a moment. “I don't suppose you'd let me fuck you while you're asleep, would you?” he said.

Indignant, I drew back, ready to give him a piece of my mind, and he laughed. “Relax, Felicia. I would never.”

“That's goddamn right. Which reminds me, shouldn't I have a safeword or something?”

His mouth twisted. “Yes, you should,” he said. “Especially given how you responded to me this afternoon. I've been very irresponsible not to give you one.”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to bestow upon me the word that would keep me safe from whatever horrors he wanted to visit upon me.

He smiled. “How about... Jonathan?”

I made a face. “My dad's name? Ew. Ew, ew,
ew.
No, that's
gross.”
I gave him a little shove as he laughed at me again. “You are
gross,
Anton Waters.”

“I never claimed otherwise,” he told me. “Fine, you pick.”

I chewed my lip and absently drew away from him, letting the water cascade over me and wash the soap away. “How about... Trixie?”

This time it was Anton's turn to make a face. “Trixie?” he said. “What kind of name is that?”

“My first dog's name,” I said defensively.

“Well, it'll definitely stop me in my tracks,” he said. “Very well. Trixie it is.”

“Good,” I said, washed the last of the soap from my body, then pushed past him and got out.

“Where are you going?” he wanted to know.

“To sleep!” I told him, grabbing a towel and exiting the bathroom.

I was already snuggled in bed and half-dreaming when he slid under the covers with me. He reached out and pulled me to him. I didn't resist. Laying my cheek on his bare shoulder, I reveled in the warmth we shared and kept my eyes firmly shut. I wouldn't be tempted by the hard thighs pressed against mine. Not at
all.

“I have to return to New York tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “I canceled meetings left and right to come here.”

“Hmm,” I said. Meetings.
Boring.

“We'll need to make living arrangements,” he continued, and I heard an edge come into his voice, a bit of a strain. “I meant to discuss them with you before we wed, but...”

He trailed off. I was beginning to suspect that he was feeling a little embarrassed about his hasty decision to marry me without any kind of notice to anyone, let alone me. His need to control everything around him was a weakness, and I knew I could use it to find the answers I sought.

Anton cleared his throat. “Anyway, my schedule is packed tomorrow afternoon. I've arranged for an assistant to help you organize your things and plan out the next few weeks while we settle in.”

I saw an opening. “I actually have an assistant,” I said.

“You do?” He sounded amused.

“Yes. And by assistant, I mean a friend who needs a job.”

He was quiet. “Very well. I will give the job to your friend.
Conditionally
based on performance.”

Oooh, that would go over well with Sadie. “Done,” I said. Hey, she needed rent.

He continued. “And we'll talk about the honeymoon this weekend...”