The Billionaire's Wife (31 page)

For a long moment I sat impaled
upon him and shuddered. He overwhelmed me, flooded my senses until I couldn't
think any more. “Anton,” I said at last. “Anton, please. Please, just fuck me.
I can't take it.”

He didn't need a second
invitation. As soon as the words were out of my mouth he had me flipped over on
my back, hiking my legs up over his shoulders as he grabbed the sheets and
wound them around my upper body, trapping me as though I were in a
straightjacket. I shrieked as he pulled out and thrust his cock deep into my
pussy, pushing hard. Fireworks exploded in my head, and I caught fire like a
barren field too long without rain. “Fuck!” I cried. “Oh, Anton, please,
please,
please—”

“Felicia,” he grunted, his iron
control fraying at the edges, a sure sign I was getting to him. I moaned and
writhed, bucking against him as he pounded into me. My pussy gripped his cock,
the tight waves of my release already building inside my belly. I needed him to
come in me. I had to have him, all of him, I had to be his again.

“Fill me up,” I begged. “Fill me
up. I need you.”

“Jesus,”
he said, a
prayer or a curse, it didn't matter, only that he shuddered with pleasure,
rocking back on his heels and bringing my legs together as he pumped his hips,
his cock sliding in and out of my slick pussy. Reaching down he snaked a finger
between my thighs and rubbed my clit, quick and sharp, and I came with a howl.
My back arched and I rolled where I lay, my entire being rocked with the
strength of my release.

His cock pumped in and out of my
pussy as I came, his fingers digging into my flesh. His teeth found my calf and
he bit me, drawing my pleasure out until I thought I would die.

“Come in me,” I said. “Please.”

He dragged his fingers over my
clit again and my body locked down on his cock, and then he came, pumping hard
into me, filling me up. It leaked out of my pussy, the scent filling my nose,
filling my head, and when he was spent he withdrew and went down on me, licking
up his own cum, painting it onto my thighs and pussy lips and clit with his own
tongue.

We fucked long and hard. Anton
made me come over and over, until I was so exhausted I fell asleep.

I awoke to him kissing me in the
dark, the night having descended. Sleepily I responded, enjoying the hedonistic
feel of his skin against mine. He stopped kissing me for a moment.

“Your work of art was a
success,” he murmured. “Just so you know.”

I grinned at him. “I know that.
I'm here, aren't I? That means it worked.”

Running a hand over my face, he
returned the smile. “I guess it did,” he said. “But everyone is talking about
it. I checked while you were asleep. You'll have the run of every gallery in
the city after today.”

I flushed with pride. “You think
so?”

“The pictures are everywhere. I
don't think there's a single person who doesn't like it. Though some did have
something to say about where you put it...”

A giggle escaped me. “How else
was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Call?”

“Oh, please.”

“You're right. It was... a grand
gesture. And I must say you make a magnificent tiger.”

I blinked, then leaned back, frowning at him. “You mean I sculpt
a good tiger?” I asked him.

“No, I mean you look wonderful as a tiger.”

For a long moment, I was utterly speechless. “What are you
talking about?”

In the dim light I could practically feel the puzzlement
radiating from him. “You said the sculpture was us, remember? Was that wrong?”

“Noooo,” I said slowly. “But I'm not the tiger.
You
are.”

Surprise touched his features. “Me?” he said. “I thought I was
the rabbit.”

An extremely ugly snort burst out of me. “Oh yeah? How could you
possibly be the rabbit?”

He shook his head. “There's so much to you. I thought...” For
the first time, I saw a blush tinge his cheeks. It must have been a powerful
one for me to see in the dark. He was
embarrassed
. “I thought you wanted
me to free you. From...” He shrugged. “From all those things in your past that
keeps you weighed down. Your parents. Your distrust. Your fears... Didn't you?”

If I hadn't known just how thick he was when it came to
understanding people already, I would have slapped him. “No, you idiot,
I
want to free
you
.”

“I'm the tiger?” He looked astonished. “That's how you see me?”

“Of course.”

“But... I'm so...” He swallowed hard. His hands began to move,
smoothing over my back, up and down my arms, warm and sweet and shivery. “I'm a
coward. When it comes to you, I'm a coward.”

I smiled and closed my eyes. “You don't have to be afraid,” I
said. “Don't be afraid of me. I'm only a rabbit. The worst I'll do is hump your
foot to death.”

“Which one?”

“The right.”

“That's only my second favorite foot,” he said. “It's probably
worth it to keep you around.” He kissed me and I laughed into his mouth, and
then we were tangled together again, striving and straining, and we fucked like
rabbits, fucked like tigers, made love like wild things until at last we fell
asleep, entwined in the early gray light as the world turned toward a new day.

One Month Later

My shoes were hurting. My back was cramping. My legs were
exhausted. My head ached. And I couldn't breath. My wedding corset? Had been
great when we got married and then immediately retired to the limo to screw our
brains out. When you have to stand around at a reception afterward, smiling and
nodding at a bunch of people whose names have passed you like ships in the
night? Not ideal.

In fact, pretty much the opposite of ideal. The Platonic ideal
of unideal.

Haha,
I thought to myself.
I'm so clever.
I really
needed air.

Actually, I really needed to sit down. And I
really
needed
to not be listening to this old guy with the inscrutable accent talk about
hedge funds. Or was he talking about actual hedges? I couldn't even tell. Or
was that care? I couldn't even care? Yeah. That was probably it.

With great effort, I drew a breath. The stays of my corset
creaked as I struggled to suck air into my lungs, but in the end they held and
I had to content myself with taking a light-headed gulp of champagne and
smiling politely.

“Felicia!” My mother bustled up to me and grabbed my arm. “Have
you met Mr. and Mrs. Mordon from the Mordon Foundational Trust? I'm sorry, Mr.
Steinbeck, but I simply must steal my daughter for a moment.”

Out of the frying pan and into the suicidally boring fire, as
they say. I gave Mr. Steinbeck an apologetic smile as my mother herded me off
to meet yet another rich person I couldn't care less about. She, of course, was
in heaven, so I couldn't very well throw myself on the floor and have a
screaming tantrum like I used to when I was four, but the urge was still very
much there. All my friends were busy hobnobbing and trying to suck up to all
the rich potential patrons of the arts, Sadie was off somewhere making sure
things ran smoothly, and my husband was nowhere to be found. There was no one
to rescue me. I could really use a sledgehammer right about now. Smash up the
bar, perhaps. Or one of the ice sculptures, even though each of them was a
replica of one of my works.

It was a nice touch. Sadie really outdid herself. But a girl's
got her limits, and I was fast approaching mine.

My mother's hand on my arm propelled me toward a couple in their
fifties, laughing about something with another bland couple in their fifties,
and I wanted to shoot myself. When I'd envisioned my wedding reception when I
was slightly younger, I'd always imagined something like an Irish wake, but
without the dead body. Or hell, bring a dead body. As long as it wasn't anyone
I, personally, had known.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mordon!” my mother called. “Let me introduce you
to my daughter...”

One half of the couples turned toward me, all smiles, and I
smiled back automatically. Mr. Mordon, a pleasant man who looked like he'd
eaten one too many Valium, held out his hand, and I automatically put my
white-gloved fingers in his.

“A pleasure,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips. My god.
What century was this?

But the second his mouth pressed to my fingertips, a jolt of
electricity shot through me.

I gasped and staggered, the vibrator in my pussy suddenly
roaring to life. My knees turned to jelly and I couldn't get enough air. I was
going to faint—

A strong arm circled my shoulders, and I sighed with relief.

“Pardon me,” Anton said to the startled group, “but I must
borrow my wife for a moment.” He guided me away, the vibrator ratcheting up in
intensity.

“It'd better be longer than a moment,” I muttered to him under
my breath, and he laughed at me as he gently pointed me through a door onto the
balcony. It was cold out here, but there were still fellow revelers. To my
immense satisfaction, they all took notice of us and discreetly dispersed,
leaving us alone on the small side terrace.

I sagged into Anton, and he put his arms around me as I moaned.
“Jesus,” I panted. “You really know how to keep a girl waiting.”

“Well, a number of business associates are here,” he said. “I
find it a bit crass to mix business and pleasure.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is that it?”

He had the good grace to cough as he produced the vibrator's
remote and began adjusting the strength of it, until it pulsed in my slick,
tight passage and I started to tremble. “Perhaps that is not entirely it,” he
said, though I could hardly hear him over the sound of my heart in my ears.
“I'm starting to want to be the only one to see your face as you come.”

I would have laughed at that, but I was too busy trying to stay
conscious. The corset was so tight I thought I could feel my ribs cracking as
he drove me higher and higher. My fingers tangled in his fine tuxedo jacket and
I clung to him for dear life. The slender, beautiful wedding dress I wore was
too narrow, and I had to reach down to hike it up over my hips so I could hook
my leg over Anton's. In sexual agony, I rubbed my clit over his hard thigh, the
little vibe in my cunt buzzing me straight to heaven. He stood stock still and
watched me with satisfaction as I moaned and ground against him.

“Guys?” The sound of the door opening cut through my pleasure,
but I was too far gone to stop. “We're about to do the toasts, so if you
could—good shitting God, you two, wait til you're on the honeymoon!”

In a haze, I turned my head to see Sadie, her cheeks flame red,
retreating with her hands over her eyes. “Hurry up out here!” she commanded.
“There's only so much alcohol in the world and these rich fucks are going to
drink it all if you don't wrap it up!”

“No... no problem!” I called to her, breathlessly, and then
Anton reached up and pinched one nipple through the satin of my wedding dress,
and I came for him. He held me tight and I felt him smile against my temple as
Sadie ran back inside.

“I... I thought you wanted to be the only one to see my face...”
I panted as I came down from the high.

He smiled at me, almost insolent. “I said
starting.”
I
poked him in the shoulder and he laughed. “Come, my dear. Our audience awaits.”

“Was that double entendre intentional?” I demanded. “I'm not
sure I want to come with my mom watching.”

He laughed again. “Maybe. Do you trust me?”

I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

He held out his arm. “Then allow me, Mrs. Waters.”

The little vibe's buzzing subsided, but not entirely. I sighed
at him, exasperated. “With pleasure, Mr. Waters,” I said, placing my hand on
his arm.

“I know,” he said, and together we walked back to our wedding,
side by side.

Author’s Notes

Felicia's art is based on the beautiful and amazing
sculpture of Beth Cavener Stichter. You can visit her website
here
or view parts of her
amazing “Come Undone” exhibition
here
.
Felicia's paean to her relationship with Anton takes heavy inspiration from
both
The
Question that Devours
(
detail
)
and
The
Sentimental Question
(
detail
).

* * *

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Don’t miss Sadie’s story in
His
Acquisition (The Billionaire’s Muse, Book #1)
!

After about five minutes, I realized Malcolm had no idea what
the hell he was doing.

What was going on here?

“Do you need some help?” I asked him without thinking. It came
out sharp and kind of snide, and immediately I remembered Felicia's admonition
to be less of a surly jackass.
Oh well, already screwed the pooch on that
one, I guess.

“Oh yes, if you could. I've never worked with these lights before.”

I sighed and walked toward him. “Then what are you doing with
them? I thought you were an amateur photographer.”

“Amateur artist,” he said. “And I figured that if I was going to
do photography I might as well have a studio.”

“A studio you've never used?”

He shrugged at me as I arrived by his side. He smelled the same
as he did last night, but it was a riper scent now, as though he had been
sweating slightly. The smell, rather than repulsing me, did weird things to my
thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder what his sweat would taste like, if it
would bead on his brow and run down his face as he strained and worked,
doing...
something.