Bartered Desire: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 4 (A BDSM Erotic Romance)

Bartered Desire: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 4

Ava Lore

Copyright 2012 Ava Lore

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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

Bartered Desire: The Billionaire's Wife

by

Ava Lore

Part IV

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Anton's hands were all over me, and the corset cinched around my waist made it impossible to draw air. I saw stars as he half-removed, half-ripped the wedding dress from my body, revealing my bared breasts and soaked panties. His hot mouth descended on my throat, his teeth sharp at my jugular. For a wild, oxygen-deprived moment, I wondered if I'd married a secret vampire, and he was now going to devour my virgin flesh. Except I wasn't a virgin. Well, except for my ass, and judging by the way his hands were massaging it he was quite interested in ensuring that I didn't remain virginal there for very long.

The thought landed in my brain like a meteor, sending shock waves through me as he scraped his teeth against my collarbone and then retreated until he was kneeling on the floor of the limo beside where I reclined on the seat. Reaching out, he gripped my chin in his hand, gently, but with hidden steel behind it. Heated green eyes stared into mine.

“I'm going to fuck you now,” he said. “And you are going to scream.”

I licked my lips and nodded. There was really nothing for me to say. He already knew how to make me scream, and I wanted his cock snug inside my pussy so badly that I would have done anything for it.

“Turn over.”

Swallowing hard, I did so. Rough hands gripped my hips and slid me over the soft leather of the seat until I was kneeling next to him, bent over the cushions. The dress I'd worn, much worse for the wear, hung around my waist. I still wore my stockings and panties. The little bullet-shaped vibrator he'd used to drive me to orgasm during our wedding ceremony still snuggled against my clit, and the mile-high satin stilettos remained on my feet. I wanted to reach back and remove them, but I didn't dare move without his permission. I didn't want to give him any excuse not to fuck me.

He ran a hand over my ass, as though judging a fine horse or a dog. It made me feel reduced, but also deliciously vulnerable. Anton Waters was going to fuck me, and there was nothing I could do about it except, perhaps, say no. And maybe not even then. The abdication of responsibility was almost freeing.

Fingers moved my soaking panties aside, and the little vibrator fell to the floor of the limo with a thump. I found myself sad that it was gone. It had been good to me. Then Anton placed a thumb at the slick entrance of my pussy and my whole body quivered with anticipation.

“You are so ready,” he whispered. “I'm glad.” Then he placed his other thumb on the other side of my cunt and began to part my slick lips, exposing my tight, aching channel to his gaze. I swallowed and let my forehead fall to the seat, struggling to stay still as the limo picked up speed beneath me.

His thumbs dipped farther inside, spreading me insistently, leaving a gaping emptiness inside me that I needed to fill. Slowly he ran his thumbs over my inner walls, giving me pressure, but not fulfillment.

I bit my lip and tasted blood.

Then his thumbs slid up and began to coat the tight entrance of my ass with the juices of my pussy.

I wanted to cry.
Just fuck me, fuck me in the cunt!
I wanted to scream, but I forced myself to be silent. If he knew how much I wanted it, he wouldn't. I knew that as surely as I knew my own name.

As though reading my mind, Anton chuckled. “Don't worry, dear,” he said, his words a mockery of our relationship, “I will not leave this sweet little cunt wanting any longer.”

I heard him moving behind me. A drawer opened and shut. Champagne? Now? God, if he didn't mount me in the next five seconds it would be hard for me not to turn the tables on him again, the way I'd tackled him and sucked his cock dry in the dressing room back in New York...

Then the memory of his face afterward—full of fear and loss, devastated and abandoned—rose up and ruthlessly quelled the impulse.

No.
No, I couldn't. I couldn't be responsible for that look. Not on his face. Not on anyone's face. Never again.

Then something smooth and rounded was pressing against the tight hole of my ass, and thought fled.

“What are you doing?” I groaned, lifting my head and trying to turn to see what he had in his hand, but before I could, he wound up and smacked my ass hard enough to make me cry out.

“No peeking,” he said, sounding amused. The swollen lips of my labia smarted with the impact, but when his soothing fingers returned to my pussy the pleasure somehow felt even better. The object poised against my puckered entrance pushed forward, and I was surprised at how easily and eagerly I parted before it.

Panting, I let it enter me. It was bigger than I'd thought, stretching me out, a long, aching scrape against tight inner walls. Wider and wider it went, and I gasped and forced myself to relax around it. All the while, Anton played with my pussy, tickling my clit, stroking my slippery folds. Stars spun across my vision as I tried to get enough air, but the corset held me fast, and all I could do was lie helplessly against the seat of the limo, my hands clenched into fists, my forehead plastered to the leather with my own sweat.

Without warning, the thing in my ass suddenly seemed to slip past the tight ring of muscle, and my body closed around it. An anal plug. Of course. It filled me up—even if it wasn't quite where I wanted to be filled—and I squirmed with need. Without even knowing it, my hands drifted down my body. My breasts lay heavy on the seat, my taut nipples rubbing over the leather and sending shivers down my arms. My fingers crept down over my stomach until I found my clit and began to massage it.

I didn't get very far.

Anton's heavy hand came down on my ass again, and I yelped. He clucked at me, like a teacher scolding me. “Felicia, my bride, I said that
I
would fuck you. I will decide when you come.” And he reached down and grabbed my wrists.

Too aroused to protest, I let him wrench my arms behind me. Easily he held me in the grip of one hand, but I wasn't inclined to fight him. The sound of the drawer opening came again, and I wondered, in the part of my head that wasn't starved for sex or air, what kind of kinky dungeon limo this was. Did this stuff come standard for bondage fetishists? Or did Anton have it specially made?

I felt the unmistakable caress of leather on my fingers and I knew exactly what he was going to do. I'd seen it when I'd looked up some of the terms of his contract on the internet. I licked my lips and held my breath.

Gently he worked a long, thin leather sleeve over my hand, past my wrist, up my arm. Then he put another sleeve over my other hand. The material warmed with the heat of my own skin. When they had reached as far up my arm as they would go, he pulled my arms together and fastened them to each other with leather straps, securing them in place. I was now helplessly immobile. My pussy burned with need and arousal.

Anton's hand slipped over the lips of my labia. “You're so wet for me,” he said. “Do you really want me that much?”

It seemed impossible that he could think otherwise. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do.”

“Tell me.”

He seemed to love it when I talked dirty.

“I want your cock in my cunt,” I said. “I want you to fuck me until I can't walk.”

To my shock, he spanked me.
Hard.

“No,” he said, and his hand smoothed over my ass again. My filled ass and empty cunt both quivered at his touch. “Tell me that you want
me.”

But how can I?
I wondered.
I don't even know you.

One finger entered my pussy and I clenched around it, whimpering.

“Tell me, Felicia.”

I grappled for coherent thought as his finger slowly began to pump, in and out, in and out.

“I want you, Anton,” I said at last. “I want you. Please. Don't...” I couldn't think of what he might want me to say. “I want you to fuck me.”

A second finger entered me, and I collapsed completely against the seat. The limo went over a bump, and Anton reached out to steady me. Then I realized what he must be thinking.

“I want you to catch me,” I said. “I want you to hold me up and hold me down. I want to talk to you about dumb shit while you try to read your quarterly earnings report.”

He laughed, and I heard the surprise in his voice.

“I want to learn what you like. What you want.”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I'd like that, too.”

And though he didn't say anything about learning what I wanted, he seemed to know that already.

His fingers retreated and I heard his clothes rustling, shifting, unzipping.

Then the soft head of his cock was pressed against my slick folds, and I almost cried with happiness as he slowly, inexorably, pushed forward.

My body parted for him like it had never done for any other man. All his teasing, all the terrible, terrifying, mind-blowing orgasms he'd given me, all of them had prepared me for him like nothing else could have. I felt every millimeter of his cock as he filled me, each vein and ridge as he slid inside.

“Anton,” I panted, and then he was fully seated in me.

I felt him from the inside out. His flesh burned inside me, and I wanted nothing more than for him to ride me until I couldn't walk, make me come until I couldn't even feel any more. The hem of his shirt brushed against my ass and I felt the fine fabric of his tuxedo pants grazing my thighs. His balls tickled my clit as he gave his hips an experimental rotation, grinding against me, and I moaned and shuddered.

“You are very beautiful, Felicia,” he said. “I am glad you married me.”

Then he started to fuck me.

It was torture. Sweet, delicious torture, but torture all the same. His cock filled my pussy and the plug filled my ass, but the way he moved was so slow, so lazy and unhurried that I wanted to scream in frustration. And I would have, too, if it hadn't been for the fact that he angled his cock downwards and with each thrust he rubbed over something inside me that set me alight, something I had never felt before. With every long, drawn-out push of his cock he speared it, and each push sent stars pinwheeling across my field of vision.

Sweat broke out all over my body. My toes curled. Something opened inside me, falling to pieces with every nudge of his hips.

I saw nothing but stars. I heard nothing but my own cries and Anton's ragged panting behind me. My arms and shoulders ached, my knees rubbed raw against the floor as he fucked me. Every time he pressed into me, he sent me one step further toward the edge. I could feel the great howling void just a few steps beyond my reach, and fear scrabbled at the back of my brain. If he pushed me over, I would fall. I would disappear, swallowed up by it. I would cease to exist.

And yet I wanted it.

“Please,” I begged him begged the universe. “Please, I... I don't... I'm going to...”

He leaned over me. His hard chest and firm abs pressed against my bound arms, twisting them into an even more painful position, but all that did was make the pleasure of his erection moving inside me even more acute.

His arms came around me, his hands grasping my shoulders. Gently he began to massage the muscles there, and kisses fell on my back, soft and caressing.

“Felicia,” he said softly. “You are going to come.”

I didn't want to. I can't say why, but it seemed to me in that moment that if I fell from the cliff in front of me and coming closer with every thrust, that I would change forever. Become another person. Pleasure loomed, threatening to transform me. But all I could say was:
“Please.”

One hand left my shoulder and moved down my back, dragging a shudder of need in its wake. In my ass, I felt the pressure of the plug he'd placed in me increase as he pressed on the base, moving it inside me.

I couldn't take it. Moaning, I squirmed. I felt like my whole body existed only to squeeze down on his cock. I flexed my inner muscles as he pressed against the base of the plug, letting it slide over my inner walls. I knew he could feel it from the other side. I could feel his cock and the plug reaching for each other as his thrusting picked up pace. My forehead, slippery with sweat, slid easily over the leather seat. My arms were on fire. My pussy filled, tightened.