by Ava Lore
My mother waved her hand. "I don't want to hear it," she said. "You have to think about other people once in a while, Felicia. You can't be so selfish!"
I almost lost it, then. Almost told her that I'd married this guy for his money because she was sick and Dad was broke, but at the last second I caught myself. She wanted to keep her illness a secret, that was just fine with me. I'd do it for her. I'd save her life and she wouldn't even know it. I'd be like one of those dumb girls in fairytales.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "But it's done."
"It is not done," she said. "You are going to have a wedding. A proper one, for all our friends and family."
I blinked. "Um," I said. "I guess. But... you know, you'd have to pay for it."
She waved her hand. "Of course. I know we aren't as rich as your husband—" She spat the word like it was poison. "—but I'm sure we'll do very well for ourselves."
I glanced at my father. His eyes were on me, huge and pleading.
She didn't know. She didn't know he was broke.
Well. Didn't that just take the cake? What kind of ridiculous drama was he trying to drag me into?
I narrowed my eyes at him, promising him we'd Talk Later, then turned back to my mom. "All right, we'll have a wedding. But did you have to show up unnanounced?"
She threw her hands in the air. "Would you have answered your phone if you'd seen me calling?" she asked.
She probably had a point.
"Well, Anton and I were going to go out to dinner," I began.
"Oh? Good. We shall accompany you."
Just invite yourself along, why don't you? I thought. But that was my mother. Always trying to compensate for my father's inattention by drawing the attention of the world to herself. She didn't let herself think she wouldn't be welcome at a dinner between a recently married man and wife.
I opened my mouth to tell her we were going to go on our own, thank you very much, but then she began to cough.
And didn't stop.
Dread curdled in my stomach. Had she come all the way out here while undergoing treatment? She looked so thin. Was she going to continue treatment here? Was she dying?
Was this the last time I was going to see my mother?
I glanced at Anton, and though he still had a murderous glare on his face, he wavered enough to meet my eyes.
I'm sorry, I mouthed at him.
His lips tightened and he looked away. I tried not to let it hurt me, but his rejection stung like a knife deep in my belly. But I couldn't turn my back on my mother. She was the reason I had done all of this.
Grabbing a glass, I filled it with water and hurried over to her. "Okay, Mom," I said, pressing it into her hand. "We'll go to dinner."
She sipped water and the coughing fit passed. "Good," she said. "I'm hungry. Show your father a spare room where we can put our bags.
I didn't even glance at Anton, just nodded and hugged my mother. Thin bones poked through papery skin, and I closed my eyes.
*
Dinner was an awkward affair, but at least Anton didn't make any moves on me. Instead of being all over me, like I'd feared, he was distant and cold, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. I tried to laugh and look happy in case anyone was taking pictures of us, my mother spent half the meal berating me and the other half planning the wedding, and my father stared down at his steak and was uncharacteristically quiet.
When at last we returned to the mansion, I realized I hadn't even tasted the food I'd eaten. I couldn't even remember what I'd ordered. So much for living the high life.
To my everlasting dread, my mother fell asleep in the car on the way home—another reminder of her illness. I observed her in the light of the passing lampposts and bright marquees until we reached the house. My father woke her gently and together they went up the stairs to the third-floor bedroom. The bedroom I'd claimed as my own was on the fourth floor, and of course Anton's bedroom was on the top. I told my parents good night, and then followed Anton's silent back up the stairs to the fourth floor. When we reached it, I wavered.
Exhaustion overwhelmed me. Tension I didn't even know I was carrying curled into hard knots in my legs, and I could barely keep myself standing as I lingered on the landing, full of uncertainty. Should I go to my room? Did Anton even want to see me?
At the foot of the stairs, Anton turned and regarded me.
"This was an unexpected night," he said. His voice was level and even, but I heard a tight note under it. He was not happy. Not happy at all.
I licked my lips. "I'm sorry," I said. "I couldn't kick my parents out. My mom..." I trailed off. "She's sick. She's the reason I married you to help my dad."
He quirked a brow. "Sick?" he said.
"Cancer," I clarified. "I can't believe she flew out here." I shook my head. "She's really angry with me..."
He held up a hand. "Stop. I don't care. I wanted a wife, not her family."
For such a rich, handsome, sexually experienced douchebag, Anton really was kind of dumb when it came to interpersonal relationships. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but that's how it works. You marry a woman, her family comes along for the ride."
"Literally," he said sourly.
I shrugged. "They'll be gone after the wedding. Which, if mom has her way, is going to be in two months." Jesus. That'd be the end of December. Who got married at the end of December? People wanting a tax write-off, maybe.
"They aren't staying here for two months," Anton said, his face hard. "They are allowed to stay here tonight, and tomorrow they must leave."
I stared at him. "Christ, Anton. My mom has cancer. You're going to kick her out?"
His mouth tightened. "I think she might be more comfortable in a hotel. With an elevator and such. I will pay for it, of course."
I rubbed a hand over my face. "Wow."
"You do not have to like it," he said. "You simply have to make it happen."
Right. Like I could make my mom do anything. I'd never been good at getting my parents to listen to me. "I'll try," I said.
He reached out and ran a finger over my jaw. "You don't want to know what will happen if you do not."
Angrily, I pulled back. A threat? "Excuse me, but just because I fuck you like I'm your slave doesn't mean I am your slave." He didn't legally buy me, after all.
He stilled. For the first time, true fear went through me. I didn't know him at all. I didn't know what he was capable of. I didn't want to know. He did scare me. He did make me nervous.
And I couldn't do anything about it. On the floor below, my mother lay, sick in bed, and I was here, bound to this man, for good or for ill.
Slowly, Anton withdrew. "You will join me tonight, Felicia," he said. "Come." And he started back down the stairs.
On trembling legs, I followed him. I had no idea what he had in store for me, and part of me hoped he was only going to march to my parents room and demand they leave. But instead he kept descending, until we were on the ground floor again. Silently, he turned to the back of the house and strode smoothly to the back door where the house emptied out into the garden. Opening it, he stood aside and waved me through.
Heart in my throat, I passed him and walked out onto the patio. Cold autumn air hit me. I wore the little black dress Sadie and I had picked out, and while it was ideal for a lovely evening out on the town with my parents and new husband, it was not suited for the chilly night.
Behind me, Anton stepped out onto the terrace and closed the door behind him. It shut with a click that made my legs tremble.
His feet scraped over the concrete tiles, grinding the grit into the ground as he approached me from behind.
A hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped about a foot in the air. Anton chuckled at my reaction, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers over my skin. What new humiliation was he going to serve up this time? And why did I find myself excited about it? I must be sick in the head.
Slowly, lazily, the warmth of his hand trailed over my bare back, to the zip
per of my dress. For a moment I thought he would undress me, expose me to the cold, but instead his fingertips trailed over the fabric, down and down, until they met the swell of my ass.
Flattening his hand, Anton squeezed, and I gasped at the sensation. Under my dress I wore no panties, as he had commanded, and as my pussy lips parted with his fondling I suddenly realized how exposed I was, even still clothed. My heart picked up the pace, and in the light beaming down from the mansion windows the vapor of my breath puffed and curled in the air like smoke, coming in short, sharp bursts.
"You are very defiant, Felicia," Anton said behind me. "I cannot let that go unpunished."
Punishment. There it was again. What did he have in store for me?
I found out soon enough.
His hand departed my ass and traveled further down, down, to the hem of my skirt. A tug on the fabric, and then he was lifting the skirt up, moving it over my chilled skin, until my bare ass was exposed to him.
"Tell me, Felicia," he said. "Have you ever had a spanking before?"
Oh god. "No," I said. "Except when I was a really little kid. But my nanny stopped spanking me when I stopped responding to it."
"Oh?" he said. His fingers drifted over the crack of my ass, skating against the sensitive skin there, then going further down, until he was probing the hot delta at the apex of my thighs. Blood rushed to follow his touch, and I swayed on my feet, lightheaded. "I dare you to resist it now."
Dare? Dare was my last name, I was fond of saying. But I didn't tell him that. I didn't want to bait him. I wanted to fuck him. And if I had to go through a spanking to do it, well, that was fine. I could pretend to enjoy it.
"Stay," he commanded, and the warmth of his hand retreated, leaving me shivering in the cool air, my ass exposed like a full moon to the night. Suddenly I had a nervous thought: anyone could look out of the house, or any house on either side of us, and see me. The garden wasn't exactly private. But then the sound of Anton dragging a heavy metal chair over the concrete captured my attention, and I forgot my compunctions.
I heard him shift, his clothes moving against each other, and then I knew he was sitting down.
"Felicia," he said. "Come lie across my lap and recieve your punishment."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to turn around and go inside. But part of me also wanted to see what was going to happen. Curiosity killed the cat? Curiosity would be the end of me.
I turned to see him sitting languidly in an old, iron chair, sprawled out as though he were on a couch in a warm room, one foot stuck out, one arm over the back. His thighs, straining against the fine fabric of his trousers, looked full and inviting. I wanted to squeeze them, to chew on them. I wanted to wrap my legs around them and ride them to heaven. I hadn't straddled him yet, and I wanted to. What would his hips feel like, pounding into me? What would it feel like to be impaled under him, impaled on top of him?
Swallowing, I walked across the short distance to him. The grit of dust scratched under my feet.
He watched me. His green eyes seemed to glow in the light of the city around us, looking straight through my skin to the person underneath. I felt like he knew me, even though that couldn't be true. He had wrung me out, hung me up to dry and twist in the wind, and I wanted more. I hated rich men, men who wanted only to possess, not to love, and yet I was a slave to him. With every touch of his hand, he unmade me and remade me again.
I laid down over his lap, my ass cold and bare, and stared at the pattern of the poured concrete under my face. His thighs burned against me, warm and inviting. The heat we would make would drive the cold away. But not before he had taken his fill of my submission.
One warm hand moved against my thighs, squeezing, rubbing, and I had to force myself not to squirm. My heart hammered against my chest, beating against my bones, looking for a way out.
Fingers moved up, parted my slick pussy lips, revealing me to the cold, and I moaned softly.
"Fight it, Felicia," he whispered. "Don't give in."
Then he lifted his hand, and I knew he was going to spank me.
But that knowledge did nothing to prepare me for it.
His hand came down, a heavy smack, across my ass and on the lips of my pussy, and I couldn't help but cry out and jerk.
"Fight it," he hissed at me.
I bit my lip and he pulled back and spanked me again. The sting radiated out across my ass, over the flesh, and I felt it jiggle all the way up my body. My cunt ached for his touch, and it seemed it would take it any way it could get it, because with the next smack I felt a pulse deep in my belly, rich and throbbing. Was it possible he could make me come just by spanking me? I didn't want to know, but I couldn't tell him to stop. My breasts lay heavy against his legs, my nipples two burning points as they rubbed over him with each smack of his hand and jerk of my body.
He picked up his pace, and my pussy throbbed. My inner walls clenched, begging to be fucked while my clit stood at attention, a hard little ground zero for Anton's open palm. Again and again he spanked me, and at last I couldn't help it.
My lips parted and I moaned as my body jerked and twitched beyond my control, the open slap of his palm driving me higher and higher, pain and pleasure mixing in a way I never knew possible. I was going to come, was going to give myself over to his punishment and let him take me. I wanted it. I needed it. He had made me an addict for his hands, for his control. I needed to be his.
"Please," I said.
"Beg me," he answered. "Beg me for it."
"Please, let me come. Please!"
He spanked me again, lighter this time, but the swell of my ass was so sensitive by now that I still jerked and spasmed, unable to stop myself. The nub of my clit pulsed, and he flattened his palm and began to spank my pussy, lightly, quickly, deftly tapping against my slick lips until my whole body curled and coiled inward.
I exploded.
My orgasm came upon me like a ton of dynamite, my clit and pussy suddenly contracting so hard I saw stars. My body curled over his legs, and against my side I felt the grinding hardness of his erection. Tap tap tap went his hand, and I shrieked, every nerve alive and alight with pleasure as I came.
He didn't let me recover. Instead, as my pussy still quivered and clenched, he curled a hand around the cleft of my ass, pushing his fingers into my slick channel, rough but oh, so delicious. I pushed back into his hand, mindless and needy, and then he was lifting me as easily as if I were a rag doll, standing me up in front of his chair, my back to him.
I quivered and jerked with each wave of my orgasm as he reached down, sliding his hands over the sensitive insides of my thighs.
"You will ride me," he said, and his words aroused me even further. A gaping emptiness between my legs told me I needed his cock inside me, and I was pathetically grateful he was going to give it to me. He was going to fuck me, and I couldn't have been happier.
Somewhere far away, I knew I was acting out of character, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to help it. What had being uptight, in control Felicia ever gotten me? A string of shit boyfriends and shit relationships. What Anton and I had wasn't exactly traditional, but he made me come, and right now, that was enough. That was all I needed.
The soft sound of his zipper reached my ears, and then he was pulling me back by my hips. My heated flesh pimpled in the frigid air, but my pussy was as hot and wet as ever. I helped him lift me up and spread my thighs, until I was straddling his lap, so stretched out my hamstrings screamed for mercy. I paid them no attention. All I wanted was his cock, and then it was pushing into me, against the slick entrance of my pussy, and I wanted to cry with relief.
Then he pulled me down, slamming his hips into mine, and I cried out, no longer caring what I sounded like or who heard me. My parents were only a few floors up. If they looked out a back window, they'd see their daughter getting plowed by the man she'd bound herself to for their sakes. They'd sold me. I had no power. And that let me give myself over to Anton.
His arms
snaked around me, warm and hard, like hot iron bands, and his rough fingers found first my breast and then my clit. With a hard, insistent rhythm, he stroked my clit, pinched and kneaded my breast, and I squirmed, my body quivering around the cock buried inside me. I wanted to make him come.
With superhuman effort, I reached back and looped an arm around his neck, gripping the back of the heavy iron chair. Using him as my anchor, I lifted my hips, letting his cock slide out of me, almost to complete retreat, then allowed my legs relax. Gravity pulled me back down, and he filled me again, almost painfully. I moaned with each thrust, and his magical fingers stroked and circled my clit. I felt his chest rumble—a grunt, a groan—and his fingers picked up the pace.
"Come for me," he commanded, but his voice was strained, fraying at the edges, and I knew he was losing it.
I knew I shouldn't do it. I knew he would only take control back harder and more ruthlessly than before. And yet I couldn't help myself.
"Make me," I said.
And then he wrapped his arms around me and held me fast as he thrust upwards, again and again, filling me up to bursting, and I shrieked into the cold night air, the lights of the city blurring around me. I couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure he was making me feel, but I wanted it. I wanted all of it.
"Fuck!" I cried. "Fuck me!"
He made a strangled cry behind me, and pistoned into me harder, his fingers on my clit clumsy and fumbling, but they were enough. They were enough.
"Anton!"
His name left my lips, and I came again, and this time he followed me, his hips jerking and pausing in their frantic pounding, and then I felt his thick, hot cum pumping into me, filling me up.
I was his.
*
My defiance cost me.
He took me up to his room, and the rest of the night he fucked me, hard and long. Each time I drifted into sleep I was awoken again by his hands on me, twisting the sheets around my arms. Face down, ass up, he fucked me, seeming not to care if I came or not, but of course I did. It was impossible for me not to, not with him possessing me, utterly and completely. My muscles ached, my pussy burned, but each time he emptied his seed into me I came, milking him dry.
