Bartered Submission: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 5 (A BDSM Erotic Romance) (3 page)

I blinked. I hadn't expected him to say that. “And
the baby pictures?” I said.

“Who keeps baby pictures of themselves around?” he
asked me.

I stomped my foot. “You know what I mean,” I said.
“Where are pictures of your family? And friends? You
have
family and friends,
right?”

For a long moment he regarded me intently. “I see,”
he said at last. “We're at this portion of the program now, are
we?”

I stiffened. “What do you mean?”

He stood very still. “You said you wanted to know
more about me. That's fair enough. Unlike you, I don't have a blog
that you can check.” I knew I should have deleted that thing. “But
I want things from you in return.”

Licking my lips, I forced myself to look him in the
eye. “I never thought it would be otherwise.”

He glanced at the door behind me. “Have you been
trying to get into the basement?” he wondered.

“I thought you might have a sex dungeon down
there.”

That
caught him off guard, and he laughed. I noticed that when
he laughed, he always looked shocked, as though I had somehow
inspired something foreign and strange in him. Visibly choking it
down, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, there's no sex dungeon
here.”

I noted that he didn't say there wasn't a sex
dungeon
at
all
, but I let that lie
for now. “So what's down there?”

He shook his head. “Nothing of import.” Stepping
forward, he put his hands on my arms, wrapping them in the warmth
of his palms. A shiver raced across my skin at the contact.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you would like a glass of wine?
And we can talk?”

Yes,
I thought.
God, yes. Anything to take the edge off.
But out loud all I could do was say, “That
sounds great.”

He gestured toward the kitchen. I slipped past him
and the heat radiating from his body made my mouth go dry. He was
like an overclocked machine. A sex machine.

Man, I should have been a poet.

In the kitchen, Anton opened the refrigerator and
withdrew a bottle of white wine. I stood awkwardly by the sink as
he popped the cork and poured out two glasses. Handing me one, he
lifted it in a little salute. I did the same and swallowed half of
it in one gulp.

Anton watched me. “I don't mean to make you nervous,”
he said at last.

“You don't,” I said automatically. Which was a total
lie and he knew it, so I just shrugged. “You kind of terrify me
more than make me nervous.”

He raised his brows. “Do I? Why is that?”

“
Oh...
you
know...” I said.

He shook his head.

I sighed and swallowed the rest of my wine, letting
its bitterness curl over my tongue while I tried to form a complete
thought. Without asking, Anton poured me another glass.

“That,” I said.

“What?”

“
You're a business guy. You make me nervous because
you act like you own me.” As I said it, I realized it was true. For
the same reason I hated men like my father, Anton's intensity, his
possessiveness, made me on edge, for more reasons than one. His
touch branded me, but a brand is not a fence. On one level,
being
his
was
attractive, delicious, overwhelmingly submissive. On another, I
couldn't help but feel he was slowly ensnaring me in a web,
building a cage around me from which I could not escape.

Sadie told me to get over my parents, but how could I
when I was suddenly in the same situation?

“I don't mean to act that way,” Anton said, cutting
through my thoughts. “You are my wife. It is my pleasure to pour a
glass of wine for you.”

“
Yes,” I said, “but I'm your wife
despite
the fact that we didn't go
through the whole getting-to-know-you phase. That's... that's kind
of important, I think.”

He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “I hate that phase,”
he said at last. “It seems to me to have been prudent to skip
it.”

He was really unbelievable. “Well, it can be awkward
at times, I guess,” I conceded, “but it's really fun.”

“Is it?”

I gulped more wine. “Falling in love? Yeah. It's
fun.”

Anton shook his head. “No. I don't want to fall in
love. That's not...” He appeared to search for the right word.
“That's not compatible with my continued happiness. Too messy. Too
much can go wrong. Like I said, cleaner this way.”

I stared at him. “Wow,” I said at last. “And I
thought I had issues.”

He cocked a brow at me and took another sip of wine.
“You do,” he said. “I've read your blog, remember?”

“Yeah, but you just said you want a wife without the
messy part of loving her. You need a fucking therapist to help you
with that, not an arranged marriage.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But
Felicia, why would I need a fucking therapist?” he asked me. “I
already know how to fuck.”

That caught me off guard and I laughed, nearly
spilling a mouthful of wine down my shirt. I stared at him in
amazement. “I didn't know you knew how to joke,” I said. “Oh,
whoops, we're getting to know each other now. That's not good.”

His lashes fluttered as he leaned against the counter
and took another sip of wine. “It's fine,” he said. “For now.”

“How gracious of you.” I cast about for something to
say, then finally hit on the perfect conversation starter. “So how
was work?”

“Full of headaches and triumphs,” he said. “Working
on the takeover of your father's company, actually.”

I had almost forgotten that was happening. In my
mind, marrying Anton meant only that my mother got medical
attention. Thinking about my father getting a second chance in life
made me want to throw up, but I didn't dare. The wine I was
drinking probably cost as much as a new iPhone and it would be a
terrible waste to send it back down the drain before I'd absorbed
its precious alcohol.

“Oh,” I said. “Good.”

“You don't sound too thrilled that your family is
avoiding total financial ruin the likes of which has not been seen
since 2008.”

I shrugged. “If you'd grown up with my dad, you
wouldn't care much what happened to him, either.”

“I still don't,” he said. “I just thought you
might.”

“Uh-oh,” I said. “Learning something about me. That's
dangerous.”

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.