The Billionaire's Wife (9 page)

I felt Anton's hesitance behind me. Then his fingers tightened,
and again that incredible electric charge between us sparked.

“You look beautiful in white,” he whispered, and then he tugged
his hand away and was undoing the dress, unhooking the fastenings and slowly,
tortuously tugging the zipper down. Bit by bit, my back was bared to him, and
he covered every inch revealed with a heated kiss.

Arousal heated in my belly. Sparks danced up and down my spine
as my legs turned to jelly and I put my hands out to brace myself against the
wall. My head was suddenly too heavy for my neck, and I bit my lip as his soft,
warm lips teased sensations from my skin that I hadn't even known existed.

“Oh,” I moaned softly. “Oh, please...”

He drew back. “Please, what, Felicia?”

I didn't even know. “Please, don't stop,” I said.

“Don't stop...
what?”

There was an edge in his voice I'd heard before, when he
cornered me in his office, when he'd sucked my clit beneath the table and made
me come. He was going to do it again.

“Don't stop kissing me,” I said. “Don't stop
anything.”

“You aren't in any position to give me demands,” he said. Then
his hand closed over the back of my neck and he pulled me away from the wall.

This was a dangerous game I was playing, and I didn't know any
of the rules, but I found I didn't really care. He would teach them to me, and
I would enjoy every minute of it. I sagged into him, but his hand was like
iron, holding me up.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered in my ear. His breath sent
shivers raging over my neck and up my scalp, and I found myself doing as he
bade without even thinking about it. I walked my feet outwards, until I stood
in a wide stance.

His hand crept up into my hair and caught it, not painfully, but
firmly. I was in his control.

“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly.

“I told you I'd let you live on your feet,” he said. Then he
pushed, flipping me over, bending me at the waist.

The sudden change disoriented me and I gasped and put my hands
out to keep from falling. The rough carpet of the floor burned my palms and I
hissed, but I had no time to dwell on that because he was gathering the endless
layers of skirts in his hands and pushing them up over my back, until the upper
half of my body was trapped in a tent of tulle and my ass was exposed for the
world to see.

Hot fingers slipped under the elastic of my panties. A cool
draft of air hit my heated pussy lips as he pulled the crotch away. Then he
released it and let it snap back against my cunt and I squeaked.

“You should never wear panties around me,” he said. “It's so
inconvenient.”

I felt moisture gather inside me at those words. “All... all
right.”

“You understand?” he said. “No more panties. Ever.”

His voice was hard. I gulped. “No,” I said. “Never.”

“Good,” he said. His hand retreated, but I stayed where I was.
The long stretch of my hamstrings at the back of my legs felt good and painful
at the same time, and the knowledge that I was at his mercy made my knees weak.

I heard a click, and then the air hit my slick folds again as he
pulled the crotch of my panties away once more. There was a pressure and a
pulling, and then the fabric snapped, released.

He had cut my panties.

“Much better,” he purred. One fingertip parted my pussy lips and
I gasped sharply. My breasts hung heavy and my legs were starting to ache, but
all I could do was focus on what he was doing to me.

Slowly he stroked my entrance. I felt the flesh there quiver and
clench, hungry and alive at his touch, but he did nothing more, only stroked me
softly, occasionally flicking my clit, and inside me desire mounted. Blood
rushed to my cunt, and I ached with emptiness. I needed him to fill it.

Whimpering, I squirmed, trying to catch his finger, but he
wouldn't allow it.

“Tell me what you want, Felicia,” he said. His voice was loud in
the silence of the dressing room. My toes curled at the sound.

“Please,” I said, and it came out as a breathless moan. “I want
you inside me.”

He stroked my pussy again, and I felt his gaze on it, admiring the
way I quivered and quaked, aching for him.

“No,” he said softly. “Not here.”

Not here?
You went down on me in a restaurant!
I wanted
to scream. What made this place any different? I pushed my hips back, trying to
force him inside, but he moved away, teasing me.

“Why won't you fuck me?” I whispered. I hated how plaintive my
voice sounded.

“You misunderstood.” His voice rumbled. “I
will
fuck you,
but not
...here,”
he said, then plunged his finger inside my slick
channel.

I couldn't help it. I cried out softly, unable to hold back.

But my relief was short-lived because he immediately withdrew
and swiped his finger against my asshole.

I stiffened all over. He couldn't mean to...

But he did. One by one, I felt each finger invade my pussy, and
my pussy clung to each one, coating it in my juices. And each time he withdrew
and further lathered my tight, puckered entrance.

“Are you a virgin here?” he wondered out loud. “Has anyone else
taken this sweet little ass before me?”

I bit my lip, praying the assistant had disappeared into the
shop to give us privacy. What did he want to hear?

His fingers departed and my ass and pussy quivered in
anticipation.

Then he spanked me. Hard.

I gasped, tears springing to my eyes at the sharp, stinging
sensation spreading over my ass cheeks and pussy lips.

“Answer me,” he said, his voice low and dark, but before I had a
chance to do so, he spanked me again, and I cried out.

“Answer me.”

Another spank, the
crack
of flesh on flesh echoing in the
small dressing room. There was no way the shop assistant couldn't hear it.

“Answer. Have you let another man fuck you in the ass?” Another
spank, this one harder than any previous, and I sobbed, forcing myself to say
the words.

“Ah! God, no!”

“Good,” he said, and I heard the rustle of fabric and the long,
slow zip of his trousers unfastening.

I wish I could say what I did next was because I wanted to
retain a shred of dignity, but really, I just wanted him to be as humiliated
and helpless to resist our chemistry as I was.

In a smooth motion I stood up, letting the skirt fall back
around my legs. I caught the barest glimpse of his face—shocked, as though no
one had ever thought to defy him before—and then I was diving for his cock, my
mouth wide open.

I'd surprised him. He stumbled backwards into the wall as I
grabbed his hips. His hands reached for my hair, perhaps to pull me away, but I
won the race.

In one fluid motion his cock was in my mouth—large and hot, the
taste of sweet precum dripping onto my tongue, the smell of sweat and man going
straight to my head—and I gave it a long, slow suck.

And just like that, Anton's control shredded.

His hips bucked, and I swallowed his cock down, reveling in his
abandon. He thrust once, twice, then over and over, fucking my mouth. All I had
needed was the courage to reach for him.

I had power. He wanted me. Not just the way a man wants a woman
he sees and casually might want to fuck, but the way I wanted him. In the back
of my mind, in the tiny part not reveling in the feel of his hard cock sliding
against my lips and the quivering muscles of his thighs beneath my hands, I
wondered if we would have come this far if our first meeting hadn't gone the
way it had. If he had found me only mildly attractive, would we still be
getting married?

Yes. He'd wanted a wife. That he actually
wanted
that
wife must be a bonus.

He wanted
me.

The knowledge was fuel on the fire. My pussy ached as I reached
up and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, squeezing as I withdrew,
trying to milk his orgasm from him. Above me, he grunted, a strangled sound,
and tangled his hands in my hair.
“Felicia,”
he hissed, and I cupped his
balls in my other hand, the petal-soft sack full to bursting in my palm.

I wanted to tell him to cum inside my mouth, but that would have
required letting him go, and I just couldn't. All his power and wealth, all his
tight self-control—it was nothing under the assault of my mouth on his hard
shaft. Since we had first laid eyes on each other, he had tried to dominate
me—emotionally, financially, physically, legally, sexually—but I wasn't going
to go down that easy. He was going to have to fight for it.

I moaned around the heavy shaft, swirling my tongue over the
soft head as I withdrew and he let out a groan, loud and unrehearsed. I felt
his balls tighten in my hand, and I gently closed my fingers around the top of
his sack and gave it a soft tug.

“Jesus!” His voice sounded nothing like the smooth, controlled
purr I'd grown accustomed to, and it inflamed me. Suddenly I wanted him to cum
so hard he screamed, just like I had. I wanted to swallow his load, keep it
inside as a reminder that
I
had gotten the better of him for a change.
He had no say in the matter. He would have to live knowing I had milked him
dry, and he hadn't been able to resist.

I jerked my head and tightened my grip on the base of his shaft,
consuming him as I squeezed and released, squeezed and released, and each
withdrawal of my mouth had my tongue curling around the head of his cock. I
whimpered in the back of my throat, small, insistent, rhythmic cries, and he
answered me with his own.

Within moments his balls bounced and surged in my hand, and his
body jerked and shuddered. A wordless cry wrenched from his throat, and then he
was spilling his hot cum inside my mouth and down the back of my throat.

I'd never liked swallowing cum, but it had never tasted so
sweet. It tasted like victory.

I gulped it all down, swallowing around his cock, sucking more
and more as his hips jerked and he moaned, almost sobbing as I wrung him dry.

At last he was done. He released my hair, his hands falling to
his sides. I was woefully unsatisfied, but for a change I didn't really mind. I
had finally turned the tables on Anton Waters and taken control of my destiny
in some small way.

I withdrew, giving the soft head of his cock one last lick,
sending an aftershock through his body, and smiled. Delicately, I cleaned my
face and smiled, watching the thick rod in front of me pulse with his
heartbeat.

Reaching out I placed a hand on his thigh and rubbed it,
admiring the hard muscles there.

Then I frowned.

Beneath my hand he was shaking. Literally shaking. Not just from
pleasure, but from something else. Frowning I looked up at him.

The expression on his face sent a bolt of cold through my heart.

He stared at me, unseeing, lost.
Scared.
His brows were
drawn over his beautiful green eyes, and his full mouth was parted, but not in
pleasure. He looked like a man devastated, struggling to catch his breath.

Apprehension cut through my arousal. Unsure what to do, I
reached for his hand.

“Anton?” I whispered. The first time I'd ever called him by his
name.

With a physical jerk, he came crashing back to reality, his eyes
focusing on my face.

“Don't,” he said. “Don't do that again.”

I backed away and stood while he ran a shaking hand over his
face.

“I...” I had no idea what to say. “I didn't mean—”

He turned, opened the door, and walked out of the dressing room.

I stood inside, alone, suddenly feeling lost and adrift. I had
only wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead, I had traumatized
him. With a blow job.

What just happened?

My own fingers shook as I wiggled out of the wedding dress. I
didn't bother to hang it up again, just left it on the floor as I stuffed
myself back into my clothes and hurried out into the boutique, regret and anger
warring for dominance in my chest, though why I was angry—or at whom—was a
mystery.

Anton wasn't in the boutique, and I rushed outside. A wave of
relief hit me when I saw the car was still sitting at the curb, and Zachary
stood waiting to let me in. He opened the door and I clambered in back.

I found my groom-to-be sitting motionless and staring out the
window at passing cars.

I opened my mouth and started to babble. “Anton, I'm sorry, I...
I didn't know...”

He turned his head and regarded me coolly. There was none of the
fear, none of the devastation that I had seen still on his face. He looked at
me with a vague indifference that I found even more terrifying than anger.

“We are going back to your apartment,” he said softly. “You will
gather the necessities. A change of clothes. Your toiletries. Whatever else you
need.”

The blood drained from my face. “What?”

He turned and looked out the window again. “We are going to Las
Vegas to be married.”

I stammered for a second. “But.. but I thought we would be
married here. Aren't we going to have... you know... friends and family and
stuff?” Did he even have any friends? It was like asking if God had friends.
Sure, maybe Vishnu came around every once in a while, but it was probably just
awkward shop chat...

Okay, now my
brain
was babbling. That's how bad things
were.

He watched me. “I find I wish to marry you immediately,” he
said. “I have a penthouse suite on the strip and there is no waiting period.”

I stared at him as the car began to move. “Are you sure?” I
said.

He looked at me and said nothing. The same indifferent mask he
had worn at our first meeting had fallen back into place, and I realized I had
glimpsed, for a second, the man behind what had to be a carefully constructed
facade. I had breached his defenses, and he was reasserting his control.