07BarteredPainThe BillionairesWifeARE
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Bartered Pain: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 7
Ava Lore
Copyright 2012 Ava Lore
ARe Edition
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ARe Edition, License Notes
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, the please return to AllRomanceeBooks.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Bartered Pain: The Billionaire's Wife
by
Ava Lore
Part VII
The Delegate's Dining Room at the United Nations. That's where I was standing.
Floor to ceiling windows surrounded us. The sun had come out from behind the clouds this morning, cascading warmth through the glass and filling the room with light.
“This place is huge,” I said.
Next to me, Anton pursed his lips. “I suppose,” he mused. “Perhaps we'll be able to fit everyone in here. I still think Gotham Hall would be better. It has more capacity.”
“I agree,” my mother said. “Absolutely all our friends and acquaintances will be invited. We want to make it the social event of the holiday season, and that means we need the most room possible. Right, Jonathan?” She turned to my father expectantly.
My father nodded. His face looked a little gray at the thought of spending all the money he probably didn't even have yet on a wedding. The freeing up of his credit would happen at the end of the month, presumably, but until then he was betting on my mother's infamous inability to make a decision and stick with it. It's why she had at least two hundred pairs of shoes with 'back-ups' in a different color.
I sighed. Already I was longing for the intense intimacy of our Las Vegas elopement. It had been frantic and unplanned and I had been utterly alone with Anton and two paid witnesses, but at least I hadn't had to make ten thousand decisions I couldn't possibly care about. Now we were scoping out reception and wedding areas, and I just wanted to throw myself through a window.
It'd been a week since Anton had showed me the softer side of himself—the strong, powerful man I could lean on, rather than the predator who stalked me and longed only to possess my body—and each night had been strangely sweet. The only things I'd unpacked in 'my' bedroom were my clothes and makeup. My books were still boxed, my kitchen utensils were useless, and my bedding... well, I had yet to spend a night in my own bed, so it seemed rather pointless to take them out.
In our day-to-day lives, however, it seemed like he was incapable of releasing his mask, at least in front of other people. He blandly agreed with my mother no matter what she said, and the rest of the time he was lost in la-la business land, no doubt wrapping up the particulars of acquiring my father's company. I didn't mind it, really. Our nights were enough for me at the moment. And when our nights bled into our days... Well, that was just a bonus.
As though he read my mind, a sudden jolt of electricity seared through my nipples and I gasped. Warmth flooded between my legs. Pain and pleasure were beginning to mix in my head, and my body certainly didn't seem to mind it. I shot Anton a glare from the corner of my eye, but he just smiled serenely at me. This was his way of showing concern about my dysfunctional relationship with my parents: I could either endure punishment when I thought about speaking up but didn't, or I could just speak up, tell them to go away, and be left in peace.
“It's not that simple,” I'd tried to tell him this morning when we'd dressed. “These are my parents. I can't just tell them to fuck off. My mom will be crushed if I don't have a wedding. And what if I tell her to fuck off and then she dies? What about that?”
He'd paused in the process of placing the electric shock nipple clamps on my breasts, and I immediately felt bad. He was probably thinking about his own dead parents. Great. Good going, Felicia.
“What you do with your life is up to you,” he said finally. “You should talk to your mother about her illness.”
“I can't,” I told him. “I—ooh, god—I, uh, I'm not supposed to know anything about it.” I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way Anton ran his thumb over my nipple, calling it to attention so he could get a better grip with the clamp. “Although I don't know how much longer I can play dumb. She goes to a 'doctor's appointment' every single day. At some point she's gotta know that I'm going to catch on... right?”
He said nothing, merely put the nipple clamp in place and stared down at me with what I could have sworn was concern. Then he lifted the remote control for the electric clamps and gave me a zap that made my knees weak and my pussy melt. “Oh,” I breathed, and he reached out and caught me, swiping his tongue over my ear and nibbling at my earlobe before pushing me away.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have a lot to do today.”
Mouth dry, I nodded and complied with his command.
Now, in the UN Dining room, I was getting hornier by the second as Anton slipped his arm around me and rubbed small, seductive circles over my hip with his thumb as my mother chattered on and on about who was getting invited and who had incurred her wrath enough to be officially snubbed and how she was going to let those people know just how snubbed they were.
Shut up, mom, I thought, then immediately felt guilty about it. But my god, she was killing my mood. Please, please be quiet.
Another shock lanced through my breasts and I hissed through my teeth. The sound was loud enough to cut through my mother's list of people she felt obligated to invite to the reception, but that weren't special enough to go to the wedding. She gave me a sharp look.
“Are you all right, Felicia?” she asked.
Licking my lips, I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I just, uh, I just have a headache—ah!”
Electricity crackled over my nipples and my legs buckled.
Anton put a hand out to steady me as my mother started forward, concern writ large on her face. I didn't want to worry her, not in her condition.
“Anton,” I said, “ could you help me find somewhere to, uh, sit down for a bit? Or a place to splash water on my face?”
The arm around me tensed, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. “Of course, dear,” he said, his voice rumbling against my arm. To everyone else, he sounded perfectly normal, but I could hear the tiny note of hoarseness threaded through his words.
Firmly he steered me away from my parents. My mother watched me go, her eyes narrow. My father stood at one of the windows and stared down at the city. He couldn't have cared less.
Well so what? The heat of Anton's body was already rolling off him in waves as he guided me toward the entrance and the two discreet restrooms that stood there behind nondescript doors.
We entered the ladies' room. There was no one else in the restaurant—too early in the morning—and we had the place to ourselves. A small lounge greeted us, with a coffee table, a couch and two chairs against the wall.
I didn't even have a chance to admire the decor before I was flat on my stomach over the coffee table as Anton hiked my skirt up over my hips. No panties again. Never again.
Drawing his hand back, he spanked my exposed pussy and I hissed. I couldn't cry out, not here, not with everyone so close, but the flood of moisture between my legs was enough to tell Anton that I wanted exactly what he was going to give me.
Which of course meant he had to torture me first.
"You are so dirty," he whispered. "You'd fuck me anywhere."
"Hell yes," I said, earning another smack on the ass. The flat sound echoed off the walls and I clenched my teeth together, swallowing a shriek of pleasure. His hands were rough when he reached down and turned me over so I lay on the table, my thighs falling open. Eagerly his mouth descended on me, licking, stroking, probing, nipping. Anyone could walk in that door at any moment. I needed to come, and quick, or I'd spend the rest of the day frustrated.
"Your fingers," I begged.
He pulled back and lightly spanked my open pussy, the sensation on my clit sending tremors of desire out through my limbs. "I'll fuck you how I want," he growled. "And you will come."
Yes, yes please, I thought. He resumed stroking my slit with his finger, playing with me, toying with me, and I writhed beneath his touch, my whole body begging him to give me the quick rough fuck I knew would take me over the edge.
"Perhaps I should fuck your ass," he said thoughtfully, and his finger slid down my ass, playing with the sensitive flesh between my ass cheeks.
No, my pussy, please, I wanted to say, but I forced myself to bite my lip. My hands had found the edges of the table and I was holding onto it for dear life.
"Or perhaps your mouth. I could shoot my load all over your chest."
I whimpered.
"Or maybe I'll just let you please me with your hands..."
Your cock, I wanted to shriek. Give me your cock.
"What do you think, Felicia?" he said softly. "What hole should I fuck?" Reaching up, he coated my lips with my own juices, and I opened my mouth and sucked his finger deep inside, tasting my own need on his hands.
He inhaled sharply when I swirled my tongue over his finger, wrapping deftly around it. "Fellicia," he said.
He drew his hand back and I lay there, panting, knowing I had no choice but to let him do to me what he would. I wanted it that way. I would have done anything he wanted, wherever he wanted, as long as he stroked me into heaven again.
The buzz of his zipper scraped over my ears, and he was pulling me off the coffee table, lifting me up until I was high in his arms and my legs wrapped around his waist. The length of his cock kissed my slick lips. I needed it. I had to have it.
Anton pushed me up against the wall, hiking my legs up until my knees met my chest. My ankles hooked over his shoulders and his hand under my ass held me up. I felt his other hand beneath us, manipulating his cock, pressing it up and up.
"We shall let fate decide which hole I fuck," he whispered, and his voice was so rough it seemed like two wet stones grating over each other. "The first hole I hit is what I fuck."
Oh god, I thought. Fruitlessly, I tried to angle my hips, but I was pinned, immobile, like a butterfly. The soft, wet head of his cock slid perilously close to my puckered entrance before it glided up and up, and then he was snug against my slick channel, the hand under me slowly releasing my weight.
I slid down onto his cock with the ease of long nights of practice, and I closed my eyes.
Each time was the same. Mind blowing. I couldn't breathe as he filled my body with his, fitting into me, easing the ache he caused with his very presence. Every time, it was the same. Each time it was new.
He speared me with his cock until it was fully engulfed, my clit smashed against the hard muscles of his abs. Pressing me harder into the wall, he pulled out and pressed in, the smallest of thrusts, but it sent sparks dancing through me. My toes curled with the sensation of his stomach scraping over my clit as the head of his cock jutted over my g-spot on its way to my womb. He set a quick, sharp pace, an urgent humping sending relentless bursts of pleasure through my pussy, dragging a fierce fire from my aching clit as he pounded into me. Tiny whines escaped my throat as I clung to him, helpless beneath his assault, and my body opened before him, melting around him. I wished it would go on forever. I wished it would end quickly.
I got my wish. One of them, anyway. We came together, a fun little party trick we'd been working on that made a quickie like this so smooth and perfect. My body contracted, pulling him deeper, and with a visceral grunt he spent himself inside of me, hot cum squirting into my slick channel.
There was no time for coming down. Without preamble, Anton slipped out of me and tucked his cock back into his pants while I tugged my skirt back down over my ass. Long strings of his thick, hot milk dripped down the inside of my thigh, unimpeded by anything so convenient as underwear, and I rubbed my legs together, smearing Anton's seed over my skin. The smell of cum hit my nose. I would reek of it until I had a chance to clean up.
Which wasn't now, because no sooner had I smoothed my skirt down than my mother popped into the ladies lounge, elbows flying, clearly concerned that Anton couldn't handle a headache. I hoped she couldn't smell the cum on my legs. It just kept dripping...
"Are you feeling better?" she asked me. I ran a hand through my hair. My legs shook. The aftershocks of our fuck sent tremors through my limbs and I swayed on my feet. I licked my lips and tried to sound wan and consumptive. "I... I don't know," I told her. "Maybe I should go home."
She pressed her lips together, and I felt the tiniest pangs of guilt, but then Anton's warm, strong arm snaked around my shoulders. "I'll take you home in the car," he said.
I leaned against him and breathed him in.
*
I was soaking the effects of our fucking away in the bathtub when my phone rang. The theme song from Requiem for a Dream, since it was the most dramatic piece of music I could think of. What else would I give Sadie, my most dramatic friend?
Drunk on fine bubble bath and great sex, I crawled over the lip of the tub toward my phone. It stopped ringing before I reached it, so I waited for the ding of a voicemail.
Instead, it rang again.
I frowned. Usually Sadie was content to leave me a voicemail or text me. She'd been dispatched this afternoon to interview bands for the reception, since that's the sort of thing Sadie does best. Maybe she got mugged? Worried, I picked the phone up.
“Hello?”
“I'm coming over,” Sadie blurted on the other end of the line. “Don't go anywhere. I'm coming over.”
There was a nervous tremor in her voice. I could hear it even over our crappy connection.
“What?” I said. “Why? What's wrong?”
“Just... don't do anything. Don't turn on the TV. Don't look at the internet. Lis, I am so fucking serious, wait for me to get there.”
Dread curdled in my stomach. “Why?” I demanded. “What's going on?”
“Just wait for me!” she pleaded, and hung up.
I stared at the dead phone in my hands. My hands were like lead weights at the end of my arms, but I was already starting to shake. What had happened?
Don't turn on the TV? Don't check the internet? I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me quickly. What the hell could Sadie have meant by that?
Another terrorist attack on the city? Another giant hurricane headed our way?
Then a thought occurred to me. What if it had something to do with Anton? He'd left the house at noon, promising to be home to take me out to dinner. Was he in an accident?
Was he dead?
Fear like I'd never known shot through me and I fairly ran out of the bathroom, not even bothering to pull the plug on the bathtub. The colder air of the bedroom sliced over my still-damp skin like a razor and I started to shiver as my skin broke out in goosebumps. Running over to the small, distressed-white armoire, I opened the doors to reveal the ultra-thin flat-screen TV that Anton never watched. The remote sat next to it and I snatched it up, mashing the power button.
Nothing happened.
Of course. He probably didn't even have it hooked u
p. Like Anton Waters had time to watch Dancing with the Stars or whatever. He was too busy fucking his wife.
Running back to the closet, I grabbed one of Anton's perfectly fitted cashmere sweaters from where it sat folded neatly on a shelf before reclaiming a pair of jeans I'd left strewn on the floor two nights ago. Dressed semi-decently, I ran back out to the bedroom and skipped down the stairs to the fourth floor where Anton kept his office, a cozy room full of mahogany furniture and even more books than he stored in his bedroom. The dark green and cream walls made the place look like a gilded-age smoking room where the gentlemen would retire after dinner to discuss things while the women complained about how bad their husbands were in bed over cocktails.
Anton's desktop computer—a sleek, overpowered thing that intimidated me with its sci-fi aesthetic—sat placidly on his desk. Wiggling the mouse, I put the password in, though the shaking of my hands meant I had to retype it three times, and opened a browser window.
Google stared back at me and I put my fingers on the keyboard. Then I paused. Perhaps I should wait for Sadie like she told me? Certainly she would have said something about Anton being dead... right?
So this is something else. Something really bad that needs a friend to intervene. A buffer.
Hoo boy.
For once in my life, I decided to listen to Sadie. She was usually right about things, and I wanted to trust her. Restlessly, I wandered out of the office and downstairs to make myself some coffee, a nervous, aimless task, but at least it gave me something to do with my hands. Just as I switched the coffee maker on, the doorbell rang.
I jogged to the front door and peered out, then heaved a sigh of relief. Sadie stood there. I opened the door.
"Hey Sa—" I began.
"Okay!" she shouted, pushing past me and into the house. Under her arm was a stack of garishly-colored tabloids. "Don't freak out!"
This was not good.
The shaking in my hands returned, and my breathing picked up. Sadie grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a firm rattle, the tabloids spilling to the fine marble floor of the entryway. "No!" she commanded. "I said don't freak out!"