by Ava Lore
Somehow, the knowledge calmed me. He was human after all, and I could reach him. My fears eased a little and I licked my lips.
“All right,” I said. “Let's go.”
The car rolled through the city streets.
*
The sun was sinking in the sky when Anton's private jet touched down in Las Vegas. He had relegated himself to the front of the aircraft, telling me it was bad luck to see me before the wedding, though I privately suspected he was still recovering from whatever had rocked him in the dressing room. Whatever the reason, I was glad to give him space. He had requested I tell no one about our pending wedding, and I abided by that request. I didn't really want to talk to anyone anyway. I was too busy thinking.
Two separate cars met us at the airport, and when we arrived at the chapel he had chosen I was hustled by strangers into a dressing room, illuminated by a window looking out on the setting desert sun and a buzzing fluorescent light.
Inside there hung two pieces of clothing: one beautiful—and elegant—wedding gown, and one corset.
The corset was like no corset I'd ever seen before. It looked like someone had forgotten to add the top half. A pair of lace panties were laid over the chair in the corner, a white lace garter belt and white stockings sat next to them, and two white satin pumps with the highest heels I'd ever seen sat on the floor.
I took the corset off the door and tried to figure out how to put it on.
A few minutes later I was still studying it and trying not to think about what was about to happen when a knock came on the door. I retreated to the far side of the room where a screen stood and hid behind it, only leaving my head poking out from around the corner. “Come in!”
The door opened and Anton entered.
My breath caught.
He looked incredible, his dark hair spilling over his collar, his green eyes perfectly accented by the elaborate gray ascot he wore. The vest was of the same gray pattern, and tucked into his pocket was a dusky purple flower I couldn't identify.
For the barest of moments I felt giddy that I was marrying this man. Given my track record, that I was getting married at all was a pretty big accomplishment.
Then I realized something.
“It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” I told him.
“It would be worse luck if I could not enjoy the wedding,” he told me. Whatever he had planned, it sent a shiver up my spine. I lifted my chin and stared him down as he stalked across the room. He plucked the panties, garter belt, and stockings from the chair and held them out. “Put these on,” he told me.
Ducking behind the screen, I hastily disrobed and did so. I'd never worn a garter belt before. It was oddly thrilling.
“Done,” I said.
“The corset. Come out and give it to me.”
My breasts were bare and my nipples tight, but I didn't cover them. I slipped from behind the screen and handed him the corset.
His eyes devoured me, but that was all. “Turn around,” he instructed. I did so, and he lifted my arms and fitted the corset around me and laced it up, pulling it so tight I saw black spots. When he was done, I had a waist at least four inches smaller than it should have been. I stood straight, my breasts thrusting out to him. I saw his fingers twitch when I turned back, as though he thought to reach for me.
“Sit,” he commanded.
On shaking legs, I walked to the chair and sat. He withdrew something from his pocket and approached.
It looked like a bullet, but larger. Maybe an egg. Smooth and black, he held it between thumb and forefinger. The light of the setting sun gleamed on its surface.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked me.
I shook my head.
He reached into his pocket again and took out something else. It looked like an iPod. He pressed a button.
The little egg in his fingers began to buzz. It was a vibrator.
My mouth went dry as he knelt in front of me. Gently he placed a hand on my chest, above my aching breasts, and pushed me back into the chair's generous cushions. I let him. My knees parted, and he tugged the waistband of my panties. Then, just as he was about to press the bullet into place, he paused.
He looked up at me. In the light from the windows, his green eyes were illuminated and intense. No longer lost, but certain.
“Felicia,” he said, “I want you to listen to me very carefully.” He took a deep breath, and when the words came out, they were clipped and slow and utterly clear:
“You can say no.”
I knew there were such things as safewords, but so far I didn't think, during any of our encounters, I could have brought myself to say no once he touched me. The realization rocked me.
I looked at the vibrator in his hand. Did he mean I could say no to it? Or to the wedding?
Did I want to say no to either?
He leaned down and caught my eye again. “Do you understand?” he asked.
I swallowed and nodded.
He hesitated for moment, obviously waiting for me to tell him to fuck off. When I didn't, he gently placed the vibrator against my clit and replaced the lace panties. Anticipation hummed inside me, and I was already growing wet.
“I thought you didn't want me to wear panties any more,” I said, inanely.
The faint smile returned to his face at last. “Just this one last time,” he said. “There is pleasure in taking them off.”
He helped me up, and then, with warm, gentle hands, he dressed me. There was nothing to be done for my hair, but he tucked a flower behind my ear, and then it was time.
I waited out of sight as Anton stood at the little altar in a tiny chapel. Someone pressed a bouquet of the same gray-purple flowers into my hands, and then the wedding march began to play, and I walked down the aisle. About three steps into it, the vibrator buzzed to life.
I faltered, teetering on the heels, but managed to right myself. Head held high, I approached the altar.
Anton smiled at me, almost proud, and I couldn't help but smile back.
The ceremony passed in a blur. With each response I gave, Anton ratcheted up the power, and the little egg nestled in my slick pussy lips revved higher and higher. The corset kept me from catching my breath. Stars danced across my eyes.
“You may kiss the bride.”
I blinked. What? I wanted to say. No! Wait...
Anton Waters turned to me, and the tiny bullet against my clit kicked into overdrive as he reached out and cradled my head in one large, warm palm.
“Come for me,” he whispered, and, as his lips descended, I did. He swallowed my shrieks as we shared our first kiss before the officiant.
His tongue thrust into my mouth possessively, and my pussy quivered and clenched as I came, melting into his arms. He held me up, kept me from falling, and my hips jerked and twisted of their own accord, arching into him. His erection pressed against my mound, and my orgasm intensified. My fingernails dug into his coat and he swept his tongue against mine, our teeth clicking as died a tiny death in his arms.
At last he pulled away, and the look on his face was fierce, satisfied.
“You are mine,” he said. The vibrator between my legs subsided and I relaxed. Then it ramped up again, carrying me through another wave as we walked back down the aisle, and my knees turned to water as I cried out, embarrassment and ecstasy rubbed together, fast and quick, like fire-starting sticks. If it hadn't been for his strong arm around me, I would have collapsed to the floor.
We signed the certificate. Each time I thought he was done torturing me, he slipped his hand in his pocket and sent me reeling and shaking again. I came as I signed my name, leaving a dark smudge over my middle initial.
Then Anton Waters put his arm around my cinched waist and guided me into his waiting limo.
He didn't even wait for it to pull away from the chapel before he was on me. Stitches ripped as he pushed me down against the seat, his fingers fumbling at the dress he had thought was so important.
&nb
sp; “Anton,” I said.
“You are mine,” he told me again, and then I was under him. His weight pressed me into the soft limo seat, his hot mouth, his lips and tongue and teeth, working my throat. I moaned, every nerve alight. I couldn't have said no even if I wanted to.
Sadie had been right. I wasn't the sharpest marble in the bag, and now I was stuck.
For better or for worse, I was his.
* * *
To be continued in Bartered Desire: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 4!
About the Author
Ava Lore was raised by wombats and lives to corrupt the innocent. When she's not writing erotic romance, she spends her time thinking about writing erotic romance and drinking enough iced coffee to kill a musk ox.
Discover more titles by Ava Lore at Amazon.com.
You can email Ava Lore at [email protected]. She yearns for your approval.
Other Titles by Ava Lore
Bartered Proposal: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 1
Bartered Seduction: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 2
Maddy Takes a Memo (BBW Billionaire Menage Erotica)
Her Alien Abductor: Galactic Concubine, Part 1 (Alien Erotica)