The Billionaire's Wife

by Ava Lore

Anton put a hand out to steady me as my mother started forward, concern writ large on her face. I didn't want to worry her, not in her condition.

  “Anton,” I said, “ could you help me find somewhere to, uh, sit down for a bit? Or a place to splash water on my face?”

  The arm around me tensed, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. “Of course, dear,” he said, his voice rumbling against my arm. To everyone else, he sounded perfectly normal, but I could hear the tiny note of hoarseness threaded through his words.

  Firmly he steered me away from my parents. My mother watched me go, her eyes narrow. My father stood at one of the windows and stared down at the city. He couldn't have cared less.

  Well so what? The heat of Anton's body was already rolling off him in waves as he guided me toward the entrance and the two discreet restrooms that stood there behind nondescript doors.

  We entered the ladies' room. There was no one else in the restaurant—too early in the morning—and we had the place to ourselves. A small lounge greeted us, with a coffee table, a couch and two chairs against the wall.

  I didn't even have a chance to admire the decor before I was flat on my stomach over the coffee table as Anton hiked my skirt up over my hips. No panties again. Never again.

  Drawing his hand back, he spanked my exposed pussy and I hissed. I couldn't cry out, not here, not with everyone so close, but the flood of moisture between my legs was enough to tell Anton that I wanted exactly what he was going to give me.

  Which of course meant he had to torture me first.

  Another electrical charge jolted my nipples and I twitched and thrashed against the table. The leather of my jacket creaked and groaned as I twisted. Anton stroked my slit gently with one long finger, spreading my juices over my pussy lips until my sex was almost frictionless.

  "You are so dirty," he whispered. "You'd fuck me anywhere."

  "Hell yes," I said, earning another smack on the ass. The flat sound echoed off the walls and I clenched my teeth together, swallowing a shriek of pleasure. His hands were rough when he reached down and turned me over so I lay on the table, my thighs falling open. Eagerly his mouth descended on me, licking, stroking, probing, nipping. Anyone could walk in that door at any moment. I needed to come, and quick, or I'd spend the rest of the day frustrated.

  "Your fingers," I begged.

  He pulled back and lightly spanked my open pussy, the sensation on my clit sending tremors of desire out through my limbs. "I'll fuck you how I want," he growled. "And you will come."

  Yes, yes please, I thought. He resumed stroking my slit with his finger, playing with me, toying with me, and I writhed beneath his touch, my whole body begging him to give me the quick rough fuck I knew would take me over the edge.

  "Perhaps I should fuck your ass," he said thoughtfully, and his finger slid down my ass, playing with the sensitive flesh between my ass cheeks.

  No, my pussy, please, I wanted to say, but I forced myself to bite my lip. My hands had found the edges of the table and I was holding onto it for dear life.

  "Or perhaps your mouth. I could shoot my load all over your chest."

  I whimpered.

  "Or maybe I'll just let you please me with your hands..."

  Your cock, I wanted to shriek. Give me your cock.

  "What do you think, Felicia?" he said softly. "What hole should I fuck?" Reaching up, he coated my lips with my own juices, and I opened my mouth and sucked his finger deep inside, tasting my own need on his hands.

  He inhaled sharply when I swirled my tongue over his finger, wrapping deftly around it. "Fellicia," he said.

  He drew his hand back and I lay there, panting, knowing I had no choice but to let him do to me what he would. I wanted it that way. I would have done anything he wanted, wherever he wanted, as long as he stroked me into heaven again.

  The buzz of his zipper scraped over my ears, and he was pulling me off the coffee table, lifting me up until I was high in his arms and my legs wrapped around his waist. The length of his cock kissed my slick lips. I needed it. I had to have it.

  Anton pushed me up against the wall, hiking my legs up until my knees met my chest. My ankles hooked over his shoulders and his hand under my ass held me up. I felt his other hand beneath us, manipulating his cock, pressing it up and up.

  "We shall let fate decide which hole I fuck," he whispered, and his voice was so rough it seemed like two wet stones grating over each other. "The first hole I hit is what I fuck."

  Oh god, I thought. Fruitlessly, I tried to angle my hips, but I was pinned, immobile, like a butterfly. The soft, wet head of his cock slid perilously close to my puckered entrance before it glided up and up, and then he was snug against my slick channel, the hand under me slowly releasing my weight.

  I slid down onto his cock with the ease of long nights of practice, and I closed my eyes.

  Each time was the same. Mind blowing. I couldn't breathe as he filled my body with his, fitting into me, easing the ache he caused with his very presence. Every time, it was the same. Each time it was new.

  He speared me with his cock until it was fully engulfed, my clit smashed against the hard muscles of his abs. Pressing me harder into the wall, he pulled out and pressed in, the smallest of thrusts, but it sent sparks dancing through me. My toes curled with the sensation of his stomach scraping over my clit as the head of his cock jutted over my g-spot on its way to my womb. He set a quick, sharp pace, an urgent humping sending relentless bursts of pleasure through my pussy, dragging a fierce fire from my aching clit as he pounded into me. Tiny whines escaped my throat as I clung to him, helpless beneath his assault, and my body opened before him, melting around him. I wished it would go on forever. I wished it would end quickly.

  I got my wish. One of them, anyway. We came together, a fun little party trick we'd been working on that made a quickie like this so smooth and perfect. My body contracted, pulling him deeper, and with a visceral grunt he spent himself inside of me, hot cum squirting into my slick channel.

  There was no time for coming down. Without preamble, Anton slipped out of me and tucked his cock back into his pants while I tugged my skirt back down over my ass. Long strings of his thick, hot milk dripped down the inside of my thigh, unimpeded by anything so convenient as underwear, and I rubbed my legs together, smearing Anton's seed over my skin. The smell of cum hit my nose. I would reek of it until I had a chance to clean up.

  Which wasn't now, because no sooner had I smoothed my skirt down than my mother popped into the ladies lounge, elbows flying, clearly concerned that Anton couldn't handle a headache. I hoped she couldn't smell the cum on my legs. It just kept dripping...

  "Are you feeling better?" she asked me. I ran a hand through my hair. My legs shook. The aftershocks of our fuck sent tremors through my limbs and I swayed on my feet. I licked my lips and tried to sound wan and consumptive. "I... I don't know," I told her. "Maybe I should go home."

  She pressed her lips together, and I felt the tiniest pangs of guilt, but then Anton's warm, strong arm snaked around my shoulders. "I'll take you home in the car," he said.

  I leaned against him and breathed him in.

  *

  I was soaking the effects of our fucking away in the bathtub when my phone rang. The theme song from Requiem for a Dream, since it was the most dramatic piece of music I could think of. What else would I give Sadie, my most dramatic friend?

  Drunk on fine bubble bath and great sex, I crawled over the lip of the tub toward my phone. It stopped ringing before I reached it, so I waited for the ding of a voicemail.

  Instead, it rang again.

  I frowned. Usually Sadie was content to leave me a voicemail or text me. She'd been dispatched this afternoon to interview bands for the reception, since that's the sort of thing Sadie does best. Maybe she got mugged? Worried, I picked the phone up.

  “Hello?”

  “I'm coming over,” Sadie blurted on the other end of the line. “Don't go anywhere. I'm coming over.”


  There was a nervous tremor in her voice. I could hear it even over our crappy connection.

  “What?” I said. “Why? What's wrong?”

  “Just... don't do anything. Don't turn on the TV. Don't look at the internet. Lis, I am so fucking serious, wait for me to get there.”

  Dread curdled in my stomach. “Why?” I demanded. “What's going on?”

  “Just wait for me!” she pleaded, and hung up.

  I stared at the dead phone in my hands. My hands were like lead weights at the end of my arms, but I was already starting to shake. What had happened?

  Don't turn on the TV? Don't check the internet? I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me quickly. What the hell could Sadie have meant by that?

  Another terrorist attack on the city? Another giant hurricane headed our way?

  Then a thought occurred to me. What if it had something to do with Anton? He'd left the house at noon, promising to be home to take me out to dinner. Was he in an accident?

  Was he dead?

  Fear like I'd never known shot through me and I fairly ran out of the bathroom, not even bothering to pull the plug on the bathtub. The colder air of the bedroom sliced over my still-damp skin like a razor and I started to shiver as my skin broke out in goosebumps. Running over to the small, distressed-white armoire, I opened the doors to reveal the ultra-thin flat-screen TV that Anton never watched. The remote sat next to it and I snatched it up, mashing the power button.

  Nothing happened.

  Of course. He probably didn't even have it hooked up. Like Anton Waters had time to watch Dancing with the Stars or whatever. He was too busy fucking his wife.

  Running back to the closet, I grabbed one of Anton's perfectly fitted cashmere sweaters from where it sat folded neatly on a shelf before reclaiming a pair of jeans I'd left strewn on the floor two nights ago. Dressed semi-decently, I ran back out to the bedroom and skipped down the stairs to the fourth floor where Anton kept his office, a cozy room full of mahogany furniture and even more books than he stored in his bedroom. The dark green and cream walls made the place look like a gilded-age smoking room where the gentlemen would retire after dinner to discuss things while the women complained about how bad their husbands were in bed over cocktails.

  Anton's desktop computer—a sleek, overpowered thing that intimidated me with its sci-fi aesthetic—sat placidly on his desk. Wiggling the mouse, I put the password in, though the shaking of my hands meant I had to retype it three times, and opened a browser window.

  Google stared back at me and I put my fingers on the keyboard. Then I paused. Perhaps I should wait for Sadie like she told me? Certainly she would have said something about Anton being dead... right?

  So this is something else. Something really bad that needs a friend to intervene. A buffer.

  Hoo boy.

  For once in my life, I decided to listen to Sadie. She was usually right about things, and I wanted to trust her. Restlessly, I wandered out of the office and downstairs to make myself some coffee, a nervous, aimless task, but at least it gave me something to do with my hands. Just as I switched the coffee maker on, the doorbell rang.

  I jogged to the front door and peered out, then heaved a sigh of relief. Sadie stood there. I opened the door.

  "Hey Sa—" I began.

  "Okay!" she shouted, pushing past me and into the house. Under her arm was a stack of garishly-colored tabloids. "Don't freak out!"

  This was not good.

  The shaking in my hands returned, and my breathing picked up. Sadie grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a firm rattle, the tabloids spilling to the fine marble floor of the entryway. "No!" she commanded. "I said don't freak out!"

  "How can I not freak out when you're yelling at me!" I cried. My eyes fell to the technicolor mess on the creamy marble. It looked like a pile of vomit. Trashy vomit. "What's with the tabloids?"

  In answer, Sadie enveloped me in a fierce hug. "It's going to be okay," she said.

  Okay, I thought, now I know this is really bad. On trembling legs I lowered myself to the floor, and Sadie took a step back to allow me to do so, almost as though she were giving me a respectful space to mourn my dead. With numb fingers I reached out and grabbed a National Enquirer.

  WATERS AND WIFE'S DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS screamed the headline. And there, beneath it, was a blurry night-vision picture of me sprawled over Anton's lap, my bare ass in the air, as he spanked me in the back garden.

  I knew it, I thought. I knew we couldn't get away with it. Another picture of us as we got in a car, my face clear as day, hovered in the lower corner of the front page, just in case no one knew exactly who I was.

  The blood drained from my head and I sat heavily on the floor, swaying. Numbly I picked up a copy of the Star. That one was even worse. A shot of Anton and I on the balcony, a collar around my neck, the leash in Anton's hand as he plowed me from behind. That had only been a few days ago.

  "Oh my god," I breathed.

  Sadie stood next to me, clearly feeling awkward. "Well," she said at last, "at least your tits look good."

  I gave a weak laugh. "They're blurred out."

  "Yeah. But firm as hell. I mean... damn girl."

  I shook my head. "This is... this is not good."

  Sadie sat down next to me. "I don't know," she said. "Look how a sex tape launched Paris Hilton's career."

  "What career?"

  "Oh, you know. Stuff. And you actually have talent! Everyone's going to want a piece of sculpture from the billionaire mogul's sex slave."

  "Sadie!" I covered my face with my hands. Fucking Anton. Fucking Anton and his stupid need to get off in public. This was the worst.

  She reached out and patted my shoulder awkwardly. "It'll be okay. It's not the end of the world," she said. "And look at it this way: you guys are married. Who cares what married people do? It's the twenty-first century. Maybe if you guys were swingers or something that would be bad, but this is just... just..."

  I sneaked a glance at her. She was staring at the Star cover, biting her lip. She was definitely not sure what to think about the leash and collar, but she rallied well. "This is just like something out of a Rihanna video. Yeah, it'll get banned in some places, but everyone's going to be sinfully envious of you. Waters is hot. You got to marry him. And you guys have a sex life like some crazy Eyes Wide Shut shit."

  Despite myself, I started to feel a little better. "Maybe I should go talk to Anton," I said.

  Sadie nodded wisely, clearly relieved to be wrapping up the topic. "I think that's a good idea. Oh! But I found a great caterer. How do you feel about Ethiopian food?"

  I smiled. "Sadie..." I began.

  She grinned at me. "More importantly, how do you think your mother will feel about Ethiopian food?"

  That made me grin back. “I don't know what I'd do without you,” I said.

  *

  Two hours later I was walking into Empire Capital's headquarters. I was a familiar enough face that I didn't have to check in any more, simply go to the elevator and head up to the top floor.

  I glanced at Katy, manning the front desk, and gave her a smile.

  She looked away immediately.

  Oh, I thought.

  The sick feeling in my stomach returned. What was my mother going to say when she found out? What was my father going to do? He'd never shown any sort of fatherly inclinations to keep me pure and untouched, but when his little girl was splashed across the tabloids in compromising positions he might have a different reaction.

  Nerves singing, I mashed the elevator button and waited for it to descend.

  People passed me. No one looked me in the eye. I felt my cheeks begin to burn.

  The elevator dinged and I leaped inside it, pushing the button for the top floor. Outside the door, a small gaggle of businesspeople waited, each and every one looking anywhere but at me.

  There's room, I wanted to say, but I didn't. The doors closed with a hiss and I ascended.

  I forced myself
to breath slowly and deeply. Anton would know what to do. Anton knew everything there was to know about being a rich and famous schmuck targeted by paparazzi.

  So why didn't he think twice about fucking me where we could be photographed? Come to think of it, why didn't I think twice about it?

  But I already knew the answer. I had thought about it. I'd thought about it each time it happened, but in the heat of the moment, tangled and twisted up with arousal, I hadn't been able to voice my concerns. I'd only had one thing on my mind: Anton.

  The elevator slowed to a stop and I exited. Arthur, Anton's personal assistant, sat at his desk. He met my eyes and smiled. Was it my imagination, or was that smile a little false, a little plastic?

  "He's in his office, Mrs. Waters," Arthur told me. "Go on in."

  Licking my lips, I nodded and skirted around him, entering one of the doors leading to the small, spare foyer. My hands shook as I opened the door to Anton's office.

  Anton sat at his desk , serenely typing away at his computer. He glanced up as I edged my way in.

  "Hey," I said.

  He gave me his signature faint smile. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked me. "I missed out on a lot of work this morning."

  I winced. I knew my mother's insistence on his attendance at the wedding planning was definitely eating into his time, but he acquiesced to her demands out of... I guess out of concern for me. Funny, I'd been writing it off as through the goodness of his heart, but I realized, as he stared at me from the tranquility of his office—full of zen fountains and running water—that he was much happier here, working. He probably wouldn't endure my mother out of some misplaced sense of kindness. I frowned as I stared at him.

  "Felicia?" he said.

  I started. "Um." Opening my purse, I dug the tabloids out of the depths. "I have something you should probably look at."

  He raised a brow, but beckoned me closer. I walked the length of the room—an endless length, it seemed like—and presented the tabloids to him with trembling hands.

  What was he going to think? Was he going to somehow blame me for this? Would this negatively impact his business? I worried my lip between my teeth as he laid the tabloids down on the desk and studied them. Then he looked back to me.