The Billionaire's Wife (16 page)

He didn't. Pulling away, he took my hand. “We should continue
this conversation upstairs,” he murmured.

Swallowing hard, I nodded. Upstairs. Yes.

He guided me back into the gallery and then up the narrow
staircase. The creaking of the old floorboards beneath our feet crackled in the
air between us.

We arrived in the master bedroom on the top floor. The room was
dark, this late in the autumn, and the skylight above us was like a black hole.
I imagined if it were to break we would be sucked out into space.

Anton switched on a bedside lamp, then took me by the hand and
led me to the center of the floor, a few feet from the bed. The whole room was
white and blonde, clean and fresh. Anton stood in front of me. His whole being
screamed control, even in the way he relaxed his stance. The rock hard body
underneath his suit hummed with tension. He had to control himself to relax,
and, despite myself, my heart went out to him.

What had happened to make him so guarded? What made him so alone?

My fingers twitched. The gulf between us was so great, but if I
could reach across it, if I could touch him where he stood trapped in his own
iron grip...

“Ask me a question.” The words were sharp and hard, startling me.
I hadn't even been thinking about asking questions. But as I studied his face
in the soft lamplight, I could see he was determined about something. There was
nothing in his expression that told me
what
he was determined about, but
that in and of itself was something.

I licked my lips. “Tell me about your family,” I said.

The barest of tells: the muscles around his eyes tightened almost
imperceptibly.

“Disrobe,” he commanded me.

I brought my hands to the buttons of my blouse. One by one, I
released them, and he watched me. As I parted the fabric above my breasts, I
paused.

“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to button back up again?”
There was far more bravado in my words than I felt inside. My knees were jelly,
and the heat in my core was spreading.

“What would you like to know about my family?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

I knew then that I'd made an error. He could tell me whatever he
wanted, and I'd be no further than I was already. Well. Might as well
double-down. I lifted my chin. “Yeah. Anything.”

His eyes flicked down my body. “Very well. I have no brothers or
sisters. Continue.”

Could have been worse,
I thought. My trembling fingers
popped button after button through their holes, and each one revealed me to
him. At last they were all done, and I let the blouse slip from my shoulders to
the floor.

Cool air caressed my skin, and my nipples hardened inside my bra.

“Ask.”

Another command. I wracked my brain. His stare was distracting,
discomfiting. How could I concentrate when he was standing so close, watching
me like a wolf eying a spring lamb?

“What were your parents like?” It was all I could think of.

Again his eyes tightened, and this time they didn't relax.
“Remove your bra.”

Reaching behind me, I did as I was told. The straps slid down my
arms and I tossed it to the floor and stood before him, naked from the waist up.
Only jeans, panties, and a pair of low heels kept me from him now.

His hand floated out, hovering in the air between us. Large and
warm, it cupped one breast, and I let out a sigh.

“I didn't know my parents,” he said. “Kick off those heels.”

I did so.

“Ask.”

“Where did you grow up?”

Rough fingers turned me around so that my back was to him. “Take
off those jeans.”

My hands were numb. I could hardly think straight. I felt him
hovering behind me, a vast presence that could not be held by his physical body.
I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down over my hips. They pooled on the
floor and I stepped out of them.

“Didn't I say you were not to wear panties?” he asked from behind
me.

All the hair on my body stood on end. I'd forgotten, or I hadn't
thought he was serious. I should have known better.

“Take them off.”

No,
I thought.
No, I am important, too.

“Where did you grow up?” I asked him again. I had to force my
hands to stay at my sides, even though every bell in my head was ringing. Fight
or flight. Fuck or flee.

He took his sweet damn time. “Florida,” he finally said. “Now.
Remove your panties.”

For a moment I hesitated. He needed me to obey him. He
needed
to
be in control at all times. Even when he was bargaining away his secrets, he
had to have that illusion. If I put on my clothes right now, what would he do?

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and pushed
them down.

A hand alighted on my back as they reached the floor, before I
could straighten again.

“On your hands and knees,” he said.

Licking my lips, I did so. The wood of the floor bit into my
skin, but I lowered myself to the ground and assumed the position he required.
Naked, my bare ass pointed at him. I was staring at the door that led to the
bathroom, and outside the sounds of traffic were still loud on the street.

I heard him move behind me, and then his warm, thick fingers were
working their way between my thighs, cupping my sex. He stroked his index
finger up my slit and I moaned.

“Ask.”

Fuck. How can I think about anything but this?
I fought
through the fog of arousal.

“Who raised you?”

His hand on me stilled, and I knew I had struck something inside
him.

He retreated, and I wanted to bite my tongue off. Rustling came
from behind me and curiosity burned a hole through my head, but I didn't dare
look at him. I knew instinctively that I had pushed him further than he was
willing to go.

Something cool and leather slipped around my throat, then
tightened and I inhaled sharply.

A collar.

He'd collared me like a dog.

I guess he
could
have a dog and fuck it, too. God
dammit.

The snap of a clip closing, and a sinuous slither of leather
caressed my back. Then he tugged on the leash, and I felt a dark wave of
pleasure swell up inside.

“I
raised me, Felicia,” he whispered. “And I think we are
at the end of our questions for today.”

It didn't matter. I couldn't breathe. The collar around my throat
seemed to be directly connected to the pleasure center of my brain. My pussy
heated and quivered, knowing I was at his mercy. Almost lazily, he dipped a
finger inside me, and I clenched around it, aching for him to fill me.

A sudden buzz sounded through the room, and I started, suddenly
brought out of the spell Anton had cast over me. Behind me and in me, Anton
froze at the sound, then began to move his hand again, crooking his finger and
stroking it against my upper walls. My toes curled and my arms collapsed
beneath me.

“Just the doorbell,” he said softly as I pressed my forehead to
the wood floor, panting.

The buzz came again.

Clearly determined to ignore it, Anton slipped another finger
inside me. He scissored his fingers, pressing against my walls, opening me,
preparing me for his invasion. I ached, wet and hot for him, every nerve alive.

A third buzz.

Anton stiffened, then, to my despair, he withdrew. I heard him
stand.

“Stay there,” he commanded. “If I find you have moved while I was
out of the room, you will be punished.”

Punished. I liked the sound of that. Wait, no I didn't.

Yes, I did.

Damn Anton and his magic cock.

I watched from my position on the floor as he strolled at a
leisurely pace out of the room. I heard him descend the stairs. Below us, I
knew, he kept an office. I was betting he had a camera set up there to see who
was calling.

What would he do when he came back? Would he take me from behind?
Would he lead me around like a dog? Would I like it?

Oh, who was I kidding? I knew I would. I could say no any time I
wanted to. I just hadn't reached that point yet. Anton took me places I never
knew existed.

My pussy pulsed and I had to fight to keep my hands on the wood
floor next to my face. I was certain moving to ease the pleasurable pain he had
inspired was against the rules.

Then again, I
was
a bit curious about that punishment...

I never got a chance to try it out, because the buzzer of the
doorbell sounded again, and this time it didn't let up.

Heavy feet stomped up the stairs, and when Anton entered the room
his face was murderous. Flipping a switch on the wall, harsh light flooded the
room, and I blinked.

“Get up,” he said. “Put some clothes on. We have a visitor that
we can't turn away.”

Confused, I did as he bade me. The touch of fabric to my skin
made me jumpy, but I did my best to make myself presentable, though the seam of
my jeans against my bare slit—taking Anton's words to heart, I stuffed my
panties in my pocket—was almost too much to bear. When I was done, Anton
removed the collar and led me back down the stairs to the garden floor. The
doorbell was still buzzing. Whoever was ringing it was not to be dissuaded
easily.

Anton opened the door.

There on the steps stood a woman with long dark hair and large
dark eyes, in her mid-fifties. She was well-preserved, but the last time I had
seen her there had been more meat on her bones. Her cheeks were thin, and she
seemed lost inside the classic pea coat I remembered her wearing ever since I
was a little girl. Behind her, my father hovered, looking older than ever.

Oops,
I thought. Word travels
really
fast.

“Felicia,” the woman said, and threw herself into my arms and
began to sob.

“Oh,” I said. “Hello, mother.”

Chapter Six:

Bartered Passion

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?