by Ava Lore
Anton did not seem amused by my sarcastic remarks. Carefully he set his wineglass down, the clink of it on the marble counter top grating over my wine-heightened nerves.
“Felicia,” he began, but I held up my hand.
“No,” I cut him off. “I'm sorry. I know you're a private person. I didn't mean to imply that it wasn't okay. I'm just being an ass after a long and stressful day. Two days. Week. Whatever.”
He still watched me. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though girding his loins. When he opened them again, he had a determined set about his mouth.
“Is the sex not good enough for you? The money?” he asked.
He was so dense. But so was I. We were two peas in a pod, I guess.
“It's not that,” I said. “I just worry about you.” And it was true. He did not act like a rational human being. I should have been running in the opposite direction like my ass was on fire. But I needed him. And... well, I kind of liked him.
“You worry about me?” he said incredulously.
I shrugged. He wasn't the total asshole I'd thought he was.
Anton stepped across the narrow space, closing the distance between us. Reaching out, he stroked a finger over my cheek, a light, gentle gesture that left me trembling, my lips parted, begging for something I couldn't put a name to.
Bending his head, Anton slanted his lips against mine and kissed me.
God, the man could kiss.
Our lips slid together, soft and sensual. He nibbled at me, as though sampling delicate fruit. Then his tongue slipped from between his lips and I was falling open to him, falling apart, begging him to come into me.
His arms went around me, his hands tangling in my hair as I rubbed my hands up his chest. I felt his heart hammering beneath my palm as he broke our kiss and moved his mouth to my ear. Hot breath whispered inside my head, full of wordless answers I could never decipher.
I was putty in his hands, my whole body listing into him, as though I were a sinking ship and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. If he kissed me again, I knew I would drown.
He didn't. Pulling away, he took my hand. “We should continue this conversation upstairs,” he murmured.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. Upstairs. Yes.
He guided me back into the gallery and then up the narrow staircase. The creaking of the old floorboards beneath our feet crackled in the air between us.
We arrived in the master bedroom on the top floor. The room was dark, this late in the autumn, and the skylight above us was like a black hole. I imagined if it were to break we would be sucked out into space.
Anton switched on a bedside lamp, then took me by the hand and led me to the center of the floor, a few feet from the bed. The whole room was white and blonde, clean and fresh. Anton stood in front of me. His whole being screamed control, even in the way he relaxed his stance. The rock hard body underneath his suit hummed with tension. He had to control himself to relax, and, despite myself, my heart went out to him.
What had happened to make him so guarded? What made him so alone?
My fingers twitched. The gulf between us was so great, but if I could reach across it, if I could touch him where he stood trapped in his own iron grip...
“Ask me a question.” The words were sharp and hard, startling me. I hadn't even been thinking about asking questions. But as I studied his face in the soft lamplight, I could see he was determined about something. There was nothing in his expression that told me what he was determined about, but that in and of itself was something.
I licked my lips. “Tell me about your family,” I said.
The barest of tells: the muscles around his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Disrobe,” he commanded me.
I brought my hands to the buttons of my blouse. One by one, I released them, and he watched me. As I parted the fabric above my breasts, I paused.
“Are you going to tell me, or do I have to button back up again?” There was far more bravado in my words than I felt inside. My knees were jelly, and the heat in my core was spreading.
“What would you like to know about my family?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Anything.”
“Anything?”
I knew then that I'd made an error. He could tell me whatever he wanted, and I'd be no further than I was already. Well. Might as well double-down. I lifted my chin. “Yeah. Anything.”
His eyes flicked down my body. “Very well. I have no brothers or sisters. Continue.”
Could have been worse, I thought. My trembling fingers popped button after button through their holes, and each one revealed me to him. At last they were all done, and I let the blouse slip from my shoulders to the floor.
Cool air caressed my skin, and my nipples hardened inside my bra.
“Ask.”
Another command. I wracked my brain. His stare was distracting, discomfiting. How could I concentrate when he was standing so close, watching me like a wolf eying a spring lamb?
“What were your parents like?” It was all I could think of.
Again his eyes tightened, and this time they didn't relax. “Remove your bra.”
Reaching behind me, I did as I was told. The straps slid down my arms and I tossed it to the floor and stood before him, naked from the waist up. Only jeans, panties, and a pair of low heels kept me from him now.
His hand floated out, hovering in the air between us. Large and warm, it cupped one breast, and I let out a sigh.
“I didn't know my parents,” he said. “Kick off those heels.”
I did so.
“Ask.”
“Where did you grow up?”
Rough fingers turned me around so that my back was to him. “Take off those jeans.”
My hands were numb. I could hardly think straight. I felt him hovering behind me, a vast presence that could not be held by his physical body. I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down over my hips. They pooled on the floor and I stepped out of them.
“Didn't I say you were not to wear panties?” he asked from behind me.
All the hair on my body stood on end. I'd forgotten, or I hadn't thought he was serious. I should have known better.
“Take them off.”
No, I thought. No, I am important, too.
“Where did you grow up?” I asked him again. I had to force my hands to stay at my sides, even though every bell in my head was ringing. Fight or flight. Fuck or flee.
He took his sweet damn time. “Florida,” he finally said. “Now. Remove your panties.”
For a moment I hesitated. He needed me to obey him. He needed to be in control at all times. Even when he was bargaining away his secrets, he had to have that illusion. If I put on my clothes right now, what would he do?
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and pushed them down.
A hand alighted on my back as they reached the floor, before I could straighten again.
“On your hands and knees,” he said.
Licking my lips, I did so. The wood of the floor bit into my skin, but I lowered myself to the ground and assumed the position he required. Naked, my bare ass pointed at him. I was staring at the door that led to the bathroom, and outside the sounds of traffic were still loud on the street.
I heard him move behind me, and then his warm, thick fingers were working their way between my thighs, cupping my sex. He stroked his index finger up my slit and I moaned.
“Ask.”
Fuck. How can I think about anything but this? I fought through the fog of arousal.
“Who raised you?”
His hand on me stilled, and I knew I had struck something inside him.
He retreated, and I wanted to bite my tongue off. Rustling came from behind me and curiosity burned a hole through my head, but I didn't dare look at him. I knew instinctively that I had pushed him further than he was willing to go.
Something cool and leather slipped around my throat, then tightened and I inhale
d sharply.
A collar.
He'd collared me like a dog.
I guess he could have a dog and fuck it, too. Goddammit.
The snap of a clip closing, and a sinuous slither of leather caressed my back. Then he tugged on the leash, and I felt a dark wave of pleasure swell up inside.
“I raised me, Felicia,” he whispered. “And I think we are at the end of our questions for today.”
It didn't matter. I couldn't breathe. The collar around my throat seemed to be directly connected to the pleasure center of my brain. My pussy heated and quivered, knowing I was at his mercy. Almost lazily, he dipped a finger inside me, and I clenched around it, aching for him to fill me.
A sudden buzz sounded through the room, and I started, suddenly brought out of the spell Anton had cast over me. Behind me and in me, Anton froze at the sound, then began to move his hand again, crooking his finger and stroking it against my upper walls. My toes curled and my arms collapsed beneath me.
“Just the doorbell,” he said softly as I pressed my forehead to the wood floor, panting.
The buzz came again.
Clearly determined to ignore it, Anton slipped another finger inside me. He scissored his fingers, pressing against my walls, opening me, preparing me for his invasion. I ached, wet and hot for him, every nerve alive.
A third buzz.
Anton stiffened, then, to my despair, he withdrew. I heard him stand.
“Stay there,” he commanded. “If I find you have moved while I was out of the room, you will be punished.”
Punished. I liked the sound of that. Wait, no I didn't.
Yes, I did.
Damn Anton and his magic cock.
I watched from my position on the floor as he strolled at a leisurely pace out of the room. I heard him descend the stairs. Below us, I knew, he kept an office. I was betting he had a camera set up there to see who was calling.
What would he do when he came back? Would he take me from behind? Would he lead me around like a dog? Would I like it?
Oh, who was I kidding? I knew I would. I could say no any time I wanted to. I just hadn't reached that point yet. Anton took me places I never knew existed.
My pussy pulsed and I had to fight to keep my hands on the wood floor next to my face. I was certain moving to ease the pleasurable pain he had inspired was against the rules.
Then again, I was a bit curious about that punishment...
I never got a chance to try it out, because the buzzer of the doorbell sounded again, and this time it didn't let up.
Heavy feet stomped up the stairs, and when Anton entered the room his face was murderous. Flipping a switch on the wall, harsh light flooded the room, and I blinked.
“Get up,” he said. “Put some clothes on. We have a visitor that we can't turn away.”
Confused, I did as he bade me. The touch of fabric to my skin made me jumpy, but I did my best to make myself presentable, though the seam of my jeans against my bare slit—taking Anton's words to heart, I stuffed my panties in my pocket—was almost too much to bear. When I was done, Anton removed the collar and led me back down the stairs to the garden floor. The doorbell was still buzzing. Whoever was ringing it was not to be dissuaded easily.
Anton opened the door.
There on the steps stood a woman with long dark hair and large dark eyes, in her mid-fifties. She was well-preserved, but the last time I had seen her there had been more meat on her bones. Her cheeks were thin, and she seemed lost inside the classic pea coat I remembered her wearing ever since I was a little girl. Behind her, my father hovered, looking older than ever.
Oops, I thought. Word travels really fast.
“Felicia,” the woman said, and threw herself into my arms and began to sob.
“Oh,” I said. “Hello, mother.”
Chapter Six:
Bartered Passion
Having your parents show up at your door just as you are about to get down and dirty is, by far, the worst form of coitus interruptus imaginable. Okay, maybe not as bad as suddenly dropping dead of a heart attack or throwing up the last ten beers you drank all over your partner, but it's pretty bad.
Because parents aren't sexy. They may be sexual beings and, at one point, may have actually Done It to give you life, but you don't want to think about that, and you certainly don't want to see them standing on your doorstep when you were on the brink of getting plowed like last year's cornfield. And getting a sobbing hug from your mom? Boner killer. And I didn't even have a boner.
I patted her shoulders awkwardly. "Mom," I said. "What's wrong?"
She pulled back and glared at me, her eyes sharp and angry. "You!" she almost shouted. "You are what's wrong!" Her eyes caught something over my shoulder and she glowered. "And you. You are what's wrong."
I turned to see Anton behind me. Incredulous, I turned back to my mother. "Mom," I said, "are you okay?"
"No!" she snapped at me. Without preamble, she pushed past me and into the house.
On the porch, my father looked mortified, his eyes wide with horror. "Felicia," he started.
I held up a hand and shook my head. We both knew my mother got into these fits every once in a while. It was the price she paid for feeling so much. When I was a little kid, she would dramatically rail against the characters on television, telling them they were idiots. To be fair, she was right, but it was definitely a quirk I was glad I hadn't inherited.
I frowned, my gaze alighting on two large suitcases sitting next to him. "What is that?" I said.
"Your mother said we needed to come quickly. We haven't made hotel reservations," he said. I raised my brows. She had been in a hurry. I had a sudden, unpleasant premonition: she was going to want to stay here in Anton's house.
Oh, boy.
I should have known she would have a reaction like this when she heard I was married. Actually, I had known she would react this way, which was why I hadn't called her or anything. I hadn't wanted to deal with her histrionics.
Well, now she was here, and I had to do damage control. I turned and followed her. She had brushed past Anton, who stared at her retreating back in utter shock. I put a hand out and touched his arm slightly. "I'm sorry," I said. "She's just upset."
He turned and frowned at me. "Handle this," he said.
Stung, I flinched. Didn't he understand about moms? Well, he'd told me he didn't have parents, and he'd raised himself, so maybe he didn't. I just nodded and followed my mother to the kitchen, where stood, fussing over removing her coat. I hurried to help her and she waved me away.
"No, no," she said. "Don't pretend you care about me. I'll just get this off myself."
Oh great. She was in one of those moods. I took a step back. "Would you like some coffee, mom?"
"Tea," she said. "I would like tea. Thank you."
I moved to the cabinets and began searching for a kettle or a measuring cup. Anton and my father filed in. My father took a seat with my mother at the kitchen table while Anton installed himself in the corner next to the door leading to the garden terrace. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, his face controlled but clearly unhappy. I didn't really blame him. Who wanted their in-laws showing up on the second night they were married? Seemed like a good way to fast-track to divorce.
My mother watched me from the kitchen table, her eyes sharp and hard. "You don't even know the kitchen!" she exclaimed as I opened doors aimlessly. "I knew it!"
I froze. She knew? She knew I'd agreed to marriage with a man I didn't know to save Dad's stupid company—and her life?
Something must have shown on my face, because she shook her head. "A mother knows. You ridiculous girl, you can't just marry anyone willy nilly!"
What was she tallking about? I glanced at Anton, but he was no help, and my father was staring at his hands folded in front of him.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She shook a finger at me, just as if she were a school marm and I were a disobedient student. "
You didn't even think, did you? Just decided to elope. That's no basis for marriage!"
My mouth dropped and I had to force it closed. "Um," I said. I turned back to the cabinets and redoubled my efforts to find the kettle. Relief flooded me as I opened a door and brushed steel gleamed out at me. Grabbing it, I filled it at the sink and set it on the range before cranking up the heat and heading to the pantry.
"Did you even think about your family?" my mom was saying. "Even think that we might want to come to your wedding?"
The pantry was spare, but luckily I spotted a tin of Earl Grey hidden in a dark corner. "I don't know," I said, grabbing it. "It was a spur of the moment thing."
"Of course it was," my mom said. "And I haven't even met him. You didn't want to bring him home to me?"
No, not really. Because I knew she would act this way. Never marry rich, she'd told me. Marry a good man, if you get married at all. Don't be like me. Money makes things worse, not better. Not that that had ever stopped her from spending all my dad’s money...
"I'm sorry," I said. "Mom, uh, meet Anton Waters. My husband."
"Oh!" She threw her hands in the air, overcome with the drama of it all. "Oh, fine." She turned to Anton and somehow managed to look down her nose at him from her position at the kitchen table. It was impressive. "I am Felicia's mother, Selene Dare. It's good to make your acquaintance." She shot another glare at me. "And I'm sure Felicia thinks so, too."
"Mom!"
"What?" she said. "I checked your blog. You didn't mention him anywhere in it, and when I talked to Sadie she just hemmed and hawwed at me."
"You talked to Sadie?" I said. "When?"
"On our way over," she said. "From the airport."
In the past thirty minutes, then. I was sure to have several frantic messages and at least five texts on my phone from Sadie warning me about the coming storm. But stupid me, I was getting ready to get fucked like a dog. I needed to get my priorities in order.
"Well," I said, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it really was a spur of the moment. We were going to have a wedding and everything—" I glanced at Anton, but he was busy trying to kill my mother with his mind. "—but we sort of... got swept up in the moment."