The Billionaire's Wife (12 page)

“You entered a place we like to call subspace,” he told me, and
I realized his voice was still shaking, as though he were nervous. I gave him a
sidelong glance and tried to assess his mental state, but I didn't know him
well enough to read him.

“
Who
calls it that?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “The BDSM community,” he replied. His voice was
stronger now, more sure. “I am surprised it happened.”

I'd read about the toys he wanted to use—hell, they were
meticulously detailed in our prenuptial agreement—but I hadn't read about
anything that sounded like 'subspace.' “What's that?”

He shrugged. “It is simply a state of incoherence and abandon.”
His brow furrowed. “You were able to lose yourself.”

Yeah, that felt about right.

Next to me, Anton stood up. Thankfully I was able to stay
relatively upright and snuggled further into the blanket.

As it turned out, someone
had
packaged up my old clothes
for me, and Anton retrieved them and helped me put them on, though it was
probably like threading a spaghetti noodle through the eye of a needle for the
most part. Then we got out of the limo together and walked—me with shaking legs
and him mostly holding me up—to a private elevator. I leaned on him as we
ascended, and when the elevator doors
dinged
I was about ready to go to
sleep on my feet.

Anton half-carried me through the sumptuously appointed penthouse
suite, which was nice enough that I was actually able to notice it as I
stumbled through it on my way to bed. Gold and cream covered every surface, and
floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the strip drenched in the syrupy
golden light of the setting desert sun.

Then we were in the bedroom and Anton was undressing me with
warm, tender hands, and I could only let him, the soft pleasure of his touch
radiating out over my fatigued body. When at last I was completely nude, he
laid me down in the bed and coaxed me to drink a few sips of water before I let
myself sink into the pillow, which was soft and white as a cloud. Less damp,
though.

The last thing I remembered was Anton slipping a blanket that
radiated warmth under the covers with me and smoothing the hair back from my
forehead. Then I was asleep.

*

At precisely midnight I snapped awake. My whole body hummed with
energy, though my brain was a little behind the times. I had to force myself to
survey the room and remember where I was.

In Vegas,
I thought.
In Anton Waters' private suite.
And you're married to him.

Congratulations.

Licking my lips, I sat up and the soft comforter fell away from
me. Beside me, a body shifted, and I started.

Looking down, I was barely able to make out Anton's form in the
dark. He was bare-chested and fast asleep, and though I sort of wanted to study
that incredible physique a little longer, what I really wanted to do was take a
piss.

Yeah, I know. Romantic, right? Great wedding night.

Slipping out of the bed, I tiptoed quickly across the floor. My
eyes were adjusting quickly to the light, and I managed to find the door that
led out of the room and into the living area.

It wasn't quite as impressive in the dark, but the view of the
strip was better. Lights twinkled and danced outside the window, and I had to
repress the urge to go stare at them. I had to find a bathroom, fast.

I winched my legs in and danced around the room, my eyes darting
this way and that, trying to find a door that might maybe have led to a
bathroom. My only comfort was that if I did pee all over Anton's floor, at
least it was marble and easily cleaned up. I'd have been in real trouble if it
was carpeted. At last I found a door next to the kitchen and wrenched it open,
thanking the heavens when it revealed a lovely little half-bath. I dove inside
and sat down.

As the relief of finally being able to, well, relieve myself
washed over me, I found less worldly concerns begin to rise up and come to the
fore.

Such as... well, what
now?

I was now married to Anton Waters. I was now his wife, and I
still didn't really know anything about him. Except that he had a seemingly
magical cock that could make me do anything he wanted. That was not a good
thought to have. Reaching down, I wiped myself, and felt the residue of our
fuck-session in the limo.
Yuck.
I needed a shower. A hot shower. And I
needed to talk to someone.

I flushed, washed my hands, and exited the bathroom. In the
light of the strip, the suite was illuminated, if not as bright as day then at
least to the brightness of a full moon. Squinting, I poked my way around,
hoping against hope that someone had given me more than three seconds' thought
and brought my purse up. At last I spotted it on the kitchen counter, snugged
into a corner and looking very out of place on the fine granite. Digging inside
it I sighed with relief when I found my phone.

I flipped it on and found it still had quite a bit of battery
left. I hightailed it back to the half-bath, shut the door, and called Sadie.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, girl,” she drawled. “How'd dress shopping go?”

“I'm married,” I blurted.

She didn't answer for a moment. Then: “What?”

“I'm married,” I repeated.

“What?”

“Married,
Sadie.
Married.”

“I fucking heard you the first time!” she snapped. “What I want
to know is...
What?
And... like,
how?”

“I don't know,” I snapped back. “It's all kind of a blur.”

“Jesus fuck, Lis. When I said you needed to get married in the
next twenty-four hours before I drunk-blabbed it, I didn't fucking
mean it.”

“Well it wasn't my idea,” I said, and I briefly outlined the
sequence of events that had led to a sudden elopement in Vegas.

“So what you're saying is you gave him a blowjob so amazing that
he had to marry you right then and there?” Sadie asked when I was done.

“No!” Memories of Anton's traumatized face flashed across my
mind and I shuddered. “No, nothing like that. It was like a spur of the moment
thing, I guess.”

“I
guess,”
she said. “You didn't tell me you were
sleeping with him already.”

“I'm not,” I said. “I mean, I wasn't. I... shit, I don't know.
All I know is that he is super hot and we were kind of all over each other
since the first day we met. But we didn't do, like, The Deed until after we
were married.”

She started to laugh. “You waited to have sex until you were
married?” she howled at me. “Oh my god, that's
rich.”

“Shut up! It wasn't
my
choice,” I said. “I'd have fucked
him five minutes after meeting him if he'd let me. And we've done other
things.”

“You didn't tell me
that
before.”

“It didn't seem important.”

“You really are a ditz,” Sadie said. “Of course it's important.
He's really into you. You don't think that's a big deal somehow? Like, I don't
know, it might have an impact on your
marriage?”

Okay, truthfully, I hadn't
really
thought it out that
far. And it hadn't seemed like the sort of thing you needed for a stable
marriage. Huge libidos, I had always thought, seemed like they were
less
likely
to make a marriage work. Just look at my parents.

“I don't know if he's into
me
or just wants a wife,” I
said.

“I thought you were going to talk to him about that or
something.”

“I don't remember.”

“Shit.” I heard her sigh over the line. “You don't remember a
lot. What, does his semen contain some kind of mind-altering drug?”

I hesitated. “Maaaaaaaaaaaaybe,” I said.

“Jesus. What time is it there?”

“Only midnight.”

“You'd better go wake him up,” she said. “You need to ask him
why he wanted a wife in the first place.”

“But what if he drugs me with his cock again?” I asked nastily.

“Then bottle that shit up and sell it,” she said, and hung up.
Sadie liked to hang up at dramatic points in conversations. She said it kept
her life more like a Hollywood drama and less like a seedy, unfinished biopic.
I said it was really fucking annoying, but what did I know? I was a ditz.

I shut my phone off and sat on the toilet seat for a moment,
trying to gather my thoughts. When that didn't work, I resolved to have a
shower. Showers always helped me think. Also I was extra gross.

But when I tiptoed back into our bedroom, I found myself slowing
down and trying to decide what to do. If I took a shower in the bathroom that
had
to be around here somewhere, he was probably going to wake up and want to
fuck me. And for the first time, I found myself not wanting that. The
experience we shared in the limo was still too new, too raw and at the surface.
I just wanted to take a shower and go back to sleep. So what turned men off
from sex?

I smiled.
Talking.

I scrambled into bed next to Anton and gave him a hard poke in
the side.

He woke almost instantly, inhaling sharply and twitching out of
sleep so violently that I almost felt bad for him. Almost. In the dim light, he
turned and blinked at me.

“Felicia,” he said. “What's wrong?”

“Why did you want a wife?” I said.

He blinked again. “What?” he asked.

“I'm curious. I want to know why you wanted to marry someone you
didn't even know?”

Sagging back into his pillow, Anton rubbed a hand over his face.
“Felicia...” he said.

I knew that tone of voice. The worst tone. “Nuh-uh,” I told him.
“You said you would listen to whatever I had to say.”

“Yes, but I never promised to answer your questions.”

Fuck.
He was right. And there was nothing I could do
about that, was there?

“Fuck you,” I said. “Eat a bag of dicks. I'm going to go take a
shower.”

I barely heard him say, clearly amused, “How big of a bag?”
because I'd finally spotted the bathroom over his shoulder on the other side of
the bed. I scrambled out and stalked to it, not caring that I was naked. It was
too dark to see much. I opened the door, switched on the light, and let the
door slam behind me. Just so he knew he was dealing with a mature and measured
person.

The bathroom was just as ridiculous as the rest of the suite.
Shaded lamps on the walls softly illuminated granite counter tops and marble
flooring. A huge tub sat next to the vanities, and an enormous glass shower
stall that was probably the biggest pain in the ass to clean dominated one
corner of the room. I made a beeline for it and turned the water on, making
sure it was steaming hot before I stepped inside.

The jet of water hit my skin and I felt myself finally relaxing.
Not relaxing as I had after the orgasm Anton had given me in the limo—that had
been, looking back, an almost frightening experience—but as though I were
finally centering. I reached out and grabbed the soap, and the scent of
spearmint and rosemary tickled my nose. Gratefully, I began to scrub myself
down, letting the hot water soothe my tense and aching muscles.

The sound of the door opening made me tense up again.

“Dammit!” I said, turning and glaring at Anton through the glass
doors. “Can't I just have a shower in peace?”

He looked amused as he began to disrobe—a short task since he
was only wearing a pair of silken boxers. “I thought you wanted to know why I
wanted a wife?” he said.

I scowled at him and stuck my head under the shower spray. “I
do,” I told him. “Are you going to tell me?”

He didn't reply, simply opened the shower stall and stepped in.

Of course. What a dick.

My haughty ire probably would have had more impact if I 'd been
able to keep myself from snatching a peek at his naked body.

Yeah,
I thought as I tried to keep my glance cursory,
and
what
a dick it is.

I won't lie. Anton Waters had a very nice cock, and I kind of
hated him for it. Even flaccid, it looked thick and meaty, just the kind of
cock you'd want to play with and coax into standing at attention. Even for the
few seconds I stared at it, it twitched at me.

Okay, maybe I stared at it for more than a few seconds. Can you
blame me?

With a
hmph,
I turned away and started to lather my skin.
In Vegas it was still warm, and I was coated in a lovely layer of slimy residue
from sweating before—and during and after—the wedding. Turning the entire force
of my attention to the task, I rubbed vigorously and tried to ignore Anton.

Which proved to be hard to do when he reached out and pried the
soap from my fingers.

“Ass!” I told him. I whirled around and stared him straight in
the eye. “I was using that!”

He smiled at me, that faint smile again, but this time I thought
I detected a hint of teasing behind it. “Why do it yourself when it's so much
fun for someone else to do it for you?” he replied, and began to soap me up.

I didn't stop him. I liked his hands too much, and besides, I
was
tired, and his hands
were
nice.

Gently he lathered his hands and began to run them over my body.
Even if I hadn't been crazily addicted to the way he fucked me, I would have
appreciated the gentle massage he gave. His fingers seemed to know exactly
where to go and what to do when they got there.

Slowly, gently, he smoothed soapy circles over my skin, digging
his fingertips into the fleshy parts of my muscles that he ran across, letting
them grind together, then relax under his touch. First he traveled down my
arms, then up my stomach. Unwanted warmth gathered in my core, but I studiously
ignored it, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly as he worked his way
up, skirting my breasts. His palms cupped my shoulders, and he watched me intently.