The Billionaire's Wife (18 page)

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.

At last the skylight above us
lightened, and he slept.

Exhausted, I stared at the sun
streaking over the sky. A cold morning dawning. I hadn't slept but in snatches
between fuck sessions. Anton loved to tie me up, and I knew there was more to
his lust than I had seen because just tying me up didn't seem to satisfy him.
There was more he wanted to do, and though it scared me to think of, I was also
intensely curious. What new depravities did he want to unleash?

And just how could I tell him I
wanted them?

At seven thirty I rolled out of
bed, spent and shaking. My legs barely held me as I made my way into the
bathroom and cranked the shower on. When it was good and hot, I got in.

Hot water poured over me, washing
away the grime of sweat. Too tired to stand, I sat on the floor and opened my
legs.

Anton's cum had dried, sticky, on
the insides of my thighs, but inside my pussy it was still collected.
Tentatively I dipped a finger inside, felt the aching aftermath of our fucking,
and shuddered with pain and pleasure.

Gently, I cleaned myself. My pussy
was red and raw, and I knew I wasn't going to walk right all day. Lathering my
whole body with soap I washed the night away and tried to rally.

When at last I was clean, I dragged
myself out of the shower stall and wrapped myself in one of the huge towels
hanging on the wall. Why did Anton have two towels? One for his body and one
for his ego? The world would never know. I let the soft cloth drag over my
hypersensitive skin, then wrapped it around my hair. Moving out of the bathroom
I saw Anton still asleep in his bed. I crossed the cold floor and looked down
at him.

He slept like a baby. His face, so
controlled in waking life, became slack, relaxed in repose. Where his beautiful
face seemed magnetic when animated, I found it alluring when asleep. I longed
to reach out and brush away the dark lock of hair that had fallen against his
forehead. I wanted to lean down and kiss him awake, but I didn't. He was still
untouchable. And besides, there was no telling what kind of punishment he'd
mete out for touching him without his conscious knowledge. The rules were
different for me.

With a resigned sigh, I hobbled
over to the closet and opened it. Inside hung an array of fine, extremely
expensive clothes. I grabbed a shirt from its hanger and put it on. At least it
covered my naked body. Bending down, I grabbed my little black dress from where
it had pooled on the floor and tiptoed out of the room, down the hall, and to
the stairs.

The steps creaked under my weight
as I made my way down them, but no one in the house was up yet except me.
Padding across cold floors, I made my way to the room I had chosen and shut the
door behind me.

Once inside, I stood, unsure what
to do. Lost. Anton had somehow unmoored me. Normally I'd know exactly what to
do. It wouldn't always be the correct thing to do—many times my decisions
involved smoking weed or texting old boyfriends—but at least I knew what I
wanted to do. Now, standing naked but for a dress shirt and a towel on my head,
I stared at the boxes holding my life and wondered what to do about such a
pitiful bounty.

This was it. My whole life, except
for my art, was here. My sculpting tools were all still at my old apartment,
and I wished, suddenly, that I had asked for them to be brought here. Nothing
would have made me feel better than to plunge my hands into some water and grab
a block of clay and just fucking go for it. Make a horse, or a wolf, or a goat.
Something lithe and beautiful. My hands would know what to do, if only I could
lay them on some clay.

But all that shit was across town,
and I was stuck here, cut off almost completely from the life I had lived a
scant week before.

...Well, no sense standing around
catching a cold about it.

I combed through the boxes, each
labeled well, especially since my apartment had been a total disaster area when
the movers had showed up, and found several boxes of clothes. Ripping them
open, I dug through them until I found something warm enough to wear and got
dressed. Just a sweater, slim jeans, and knock-off Ugg boots, but warm enough
and I started to feel better. Plus having clothes strewn all over the guest bed
I had claimed made the place feel a bit more like home already. I should just
open all the boxes and dump everything out, I thought. It seemed like a really
good idea. I mean, I'd only had about thirty minutes of sleep between getting
my brains fucked out, but it would make me feel better. I put a hand on a box.

My door opened and I jumped about a
foot in the air, stifling a shriek. Whirling around, I expected to see Anton
there, but instead my father stood in the doorway.

Ugh. Great.
Just who I
didn't want to see.

"What do you want?" I
snapped. "I'm busy."

"Felicia," he said, then
stopped, clearly uncomfortable and not sure what to say. I cocked a hip and
jammed a fist into it, waiting for him to continue. Finally he sighed. "I
was just coming to check up on you."

"Yeah?" I said.
"Well, it's a little late for that. I'm not your responsibility any more.
You sold me off."

"Oh god, don't say it like
that..."

I threw my hands in the air, a
gesture I suddenly remembered my mother employing to distraction last night,
and turned it into running my hands through my damp hair. "Well, what do
you want me to say?"

He shook his head, glancing around
at the boxes filling my room. "I don't know," he said. "

I almost told him I didn't hate
him, but I did. So I stayed silent.

Finally he blew a stream of air
through his teeth. "Your mother wants to go shopping today to start
getting your wedding in order."

Uuuuugh. I already had a wedding. I
seriously did not need another one, and I really didn't feel like going
shopping with my mother. Whenever I wondered why she stayed with my father
despite the fact that he cheated on her with a new girl every week, I just had
to go shopping with her to remember. She was addicted to plastic.

"You think she's going to feel
well enough to do that?" I asked.

He looked at me blankly for a
second, then seemed to remember that she was sick. "Oh, I'm sure she
will," he said. "She always feels well enough to spend money."