Bartered Passion: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 6 (A BDSM Erotic Romance) (4 page)

For a brief moment, I saw a fire in him as we stared at each other, a warning, a feeling, a passion flaring up, and my breath caught.

Then he broke away and the moment was gone. "Yes, of course, Mrs. Dare," he said formally as he slid into the car after my mother, in response to something I couldn't hear.

Thoughtful, I let the driver guide me into the front seat, and we were off.

*

Twenty minutes later I wished I had a gun. I didn't know what I was going to shoot, but it was going to be something, and it was going to be dramatic. All over the news. Billionaire Bridezilla Busts Boutique, Caps Cake. I'd be the lead-in on the late night talk shows for months. It would be grand.

"Do you think we should do the boxes or the plaques?" my mother was asking my husband. "The boxes are lovely, make me think of a little gift, but the plaques are more commemorative."

"I think you are right," Anton said noncommitally. In the ten minutes we'd been in the shop, my mother had gone through at least twenty different wedding invitation designs, cooing over each of them as if they were her grandchildren. I felt like I was on a Real Housewives episode. There hadn't been Real Housewives when I was a little girl, but it was exactly like my childhood.

And I was thirteen again, awkwardly standing in the background while my mother whirlwinded her way through thousands of dollars,
oohing
and
aahing
over the most ridiculous things. No one needed a five thousand dollar picnic basket, and yet we owned two. And I just let her dress me up like a doll all those years, even when I was most comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans. And sneakers. I liked my Nikes. And yet she'd taken me shoe shopping once a month, simply because no girl could possibly go longer than a month without buying a set of ridiculous heels.

I hate shopping. I wished, suddenly, that I had turned Anton down. Nothing was worse than being held captive to my mother's acquisitive whims. If I'd known it was all going to end in frilly-boxed wedding invitations, I would have said no and moved out of the country.

I should probably still do that.

"Felicia, dear, you still haven't told me your wedding colors."

I started. I'd been too lost in thought and stuck in the past to realize that my mother had been speaking to me.

"What? Oh. I don't know."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "You don't know? You don't have a favorite color? Just pick your favorite color and we'll decide what others will go with it."

God, this was all so inane. Pressing my lips together, I racked my brain. "Orange?" I said at last.

My mother turned and looked at me. Then she closed her eyes and appeared to collect herself. "Orange?" she said at last.

"I like orange roses," I said defensively.

"Not yellow? Or white or red?" she asked hopefully. "Even purple... there are some lovely purple-hued roses..."

I turned to Anton, mutely pleading with him for help, but he simply stared back at me. His gaze was watchful. Curious. He was waiting to see what I would do.

Thanks, douche,
I thought.
Way to stick up for your wife.

My therapist had told me to set boundaries and stick to them, and I was determined to do it. "No, I said orange," I told my mother.

"Nothing goes with orange," she said. "Why not pink?"

"I like orange."

Her lips thinned and she seemed to be sizing me up. "I think cream would work best. Cream with a tinge of pink. Orange is too gauche for a wedding, and cream with a tinge of pink is almost orange."

Almost orange is not orange!
I wanted to scream. I didn't even care about colors, but now I wanted orange because I wanted my orange roses, goddammit, and why did I care so much now? It didn't even matter because I was
already fucking married.

She was just going to push and push and get her way. I'd already had a wedding. And, I realized, it had at least been
my
wedding. I'd walked down that aisle with a vibrating bullet against my clit and my husband-to-be bringing me to climax, and while no little girl had ever dreamed of a wedding like that, it had been between Anton and me, and that was what had mattered. It was all kinds of fucked up, but it was
my
fucked up. This was for my mom, and she had cancer for God's sake. Why was I even thinking of fighting with her?

"Sure," I said. "Fine. Cream with pink."

My mother beamed at me. "It will go lovely with your coloring," she said.

I sighed. "I know."

My mother turned to Anton. "Cream with pink, yes?"

He shrugged. "Whatever my lovely wife wants."

I cringed inwardly, but I shot him a glare. He merely watched me as, next to him, my mother flitted and fluttered between choices. Invitations, favors, flowers, decorations—all flowed past me, out of my control.

All of it was out of my control.

*

For the tenth time in fifteen minutes my mother checked her watch. The service at the bistro Anton had brought us to was far too slow for her liking.

"Do you have to be somewhere?" Anton asked her, all politeness and courtesy.

She started, but recovered quickly. She looked tired. "Yes," she said. "I have an appointment to go to."

"Please, don't let us keep you waiting."

As if she were afraid of leaving me alone with him, my mother glanced at me, a guarded look on her face. "Well," she said, dragging the word out, "I suppose. If it's all right with you, Felicia?"

God, please,
I thought. "It's not a problem," I said. Then, because it was getting too much for me, I said, "What appointment do you have?"

For a moment she was flustered. "Oh!" she said, waving a hand. "Just a doctor's appointment."

I raised my eyebrows. "In the city? Is something wrong?"
Just tell me. Christ.

But she just shook her head. "No, it's nothing." Standing up, she gathered her purse and coat, then leaned over and gave me a kiss. The cloying scent of her perfume clogged my nostrils, but I held my breath and hugged her back. "I'll see you later today. Don't forget to go dress shopping."

I nodded. Like hell I was going dress shopping. It hadn't ended very well the last time I'd gone. Maybe Sadie wanted to go drinking with me...

The moment my mother was gone, Anton turned to me. "Are you hungry, Felicia?" he asked.

I looked at him in surprise, mostly because I hadn't expected him to be so perceptive. "Actually, I'm not," I confessed. Who knew getting run over all roughshod could wreck an appetite?

"Then perhaps I should take you home."

I gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"I have to get back to work," he said, "so I will drop you off."

Oh.
Oh,
that's
why.
Oh well. I knew it was going to be like this when I married him. No big deal.

We rode home in silence, but when the car stopped in front of the house—my house, it was
my
house now—he got out of the car with me and held the door as I dragged myself inside.

A note on the kitchen table from my father informed me that we were alone in the house—no doubt he'd run off to do some kind of work as well, or perhaps was going to meet my mother at her appointment—and for the first time since the night before I felt as though I could relax.

Except for the fact that Anton lingered in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and watching me.

"What?" I said. I was too tired to even try to be polite with him. "Don't you have to go back to work?"

"That can wait for a bit," he said.

I stared at him, not really understanding. "Okay," I said finally. "So... what? You want a quickie before you go back?"

"Well, yes," he admitted, "but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

At least he was honest. I arched a brow at him, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time, I saw him truly hesitate, as though he were about to jump into water with depth unknown.

"Do your parents always walk all over you like that?" he asked me at last.

I laughed. "Oh, you noticed?" I said. I gave him a shrug. "I'm their only kid. My dad thinks I'm an asset and my mom thinks I'm a doll she can dress up."

He frowned faintly. "And you let them?"

I sighed and began to unbutton my coat. "I was doing pretty well keeping them off my back until you came into the picture," I said, then realized what I'd said. I put a hand over my mouth. "Oh, sorry," I said. "I didn't really mean it like that."

"Oh? Then how did you mean it?"

To my relief, he didn't seem angry. I rubbed my forehead and tried to think through the sleep-deprived fog shrouding my brain. "I mean that my life got very complicated. I didn't really talk to my dad before he showed up on my doorstep telling me I needed to marry you. And I hadn't seen my mother in a while. I talked to her on the phone once a week, but she lived in California and I lived here. There was distance." And I had liked that distance. Yeah, working long hours at the bar sucked and eating ramen five nights a week was terrible for me, but it was
my
shitty life and I'd been mostly free of their drama and control. But all that progress was turned back now, and I was back in the same place I had been in before I'd left home.

I shook my head. "It's not like they beat me or abused me or something," I said. "They just weren't great to have around. And now they're around again. I can't get away."

Anton pushed away from the door and came to stand in front of me as I shucked my coat from my shoulders and laid it over the nearest chair. "I don't think that's true," he said.

I tried not to roll my eyes at him and failed. "Oh yeah?" I said. "Well, you aren't me. I'm not you. I can't just command everyone to do my bidding with a word and a glance of those come-hither eyes."

"You think I have come-hither eyes?" he said, amused.

"Don't push it," I told him.

Anton smiled, real and genuine, not his Zen smile. He was amazing when he smiled. "You do have power, Felicia," he said. "You only have to learn to use it."

I shook my head. "I don't know how."

His face softened. Without warning, he reached out and pulled me to him. I stumbled, startled, against his chest, my hands coming up to brace myself, but the sensation of his hard body against the palms of my hands had me pausing, lingering, savoring.

His fingers trailed over my back, up my arms, and I listed into him, tilting my head back.

He gazed down at me with intense, green eyes, fixated on my lips. His hands slid up and up, until he cradled my head in his hands. A thumb alighted on my lips.

"Your voice," he said. "You must use your voice. Speak and make yourself be heard."

His other hand abandoned my face, slipping down my arm and coming up to cover my fingers where they lay against his chest. "And if people will not listen to you, you must do what you must. Use these hands. I've seen your art—there is power in you. Build your own life, Felicia."

Tears stung my eyes. How could he say such things to me? I had been coerced into marrying him. Nothing was mine any longer.

He seemed to read my mind, or perhaps my thoughts were plain on my face. Leaning in, he rested his forehead against mine.

"I am not the enemy, Felicia. I am your companion, as you are mine. I may have... acquired you in an unconventional way, but I wanted a wife. And you acquired me in the bargain."

I closed my eyes. My heart hurt in my chest, as though it had been rubbed raw.

Anton drew me closer, and I felt the stirrings of his arousal against my belly. I inhaled sharply.

"You can say no," he said. His voice vibrated in my skin, in my bones. "You always have the last say. I'll not be a rapist."

I swallowed, hard. "I don't want to say no," I said. "Please, just make me come."
Wipe it away. Make me forget for a little while.

"Gladly," he breathed.

He kissed me then, and I flung myself into him, into the feeling of his arms around me, his lips on mine. For the first time, there was a tenderness to his possession, a sweetness to his dominance. It reached deep inside me and touched my heart. So much kept us apart, but his strength buoyed me up, kept me afloat. If I could keep my head above water, we could become something.

But for now, I was content to be his.

Slowly, deliberately, he broke away from my mouth and placed a kiss on my chin, over my jaw. His hands turned me in his embrace, his lips trailing down over my throat to top of my spine. Reaching up, he swept my hair to the side and planted a kiss in the hollow of my neck and I shivered, my sex melting in anticipation.

With gentle hands he guided me to the stairs, and with each step I mounted my thighs rubbed against my aching pussy, sending tremors of pleasure through my body. He touched me as we climbed the narrow stairway, his hand slipping over my ass, between my legs, and by the time we reached his room I was breathless with anticipation.

He undressed me, slowly, standing back to admire me as, one by one, my clothes gathered on the floor. I stood there and let him, my desire building with every sweep of his eyes over my body. At last, when I was fully nude, he stepped away and surveyed me.

"You are lovely," he said.

I closed my eyes.

His footsteps echoed on the floor, and a drawer scraped open. Then he returned to my side and soft cloth whispered over my skin as he tied a blindfold over my eyes.

In the darkness inside my head, I trembled with want. My whole body, sore still from last night's fucking, stood at attention, and my ears strained to hear his movements.

Warm hands alighted on my shoulders, and he moved me backwards until the backs of my legs hit the bed. I sat, and he tipped me over until I was fully supine. His hands slid over my breasts, catching my waist, slipping against my stomach, and I arched into him. One finger ran down my slit, then retreated.

Something cool and smooth pressed against my tender entrance, and I forced myself to relax. It slipped past my pussy lips and snuggled against my g-spot, curving up and over my mound. A double vibrator. Ridges rubbed against my clit.