When their first sexual encounter as husband and wife leaves both Anton and Felicia shaken, Felicia becomes even more determined to find out what is behind Anton's facade. But when the only thing she has to bargain with is her body, things get complicated.
This 7,500 word short story is the fourth installment in The Billionaire's Wife series.
EXCERPT:
With a hmph, I turned away and started to lather my skin. In Vegas it was still warm, and I was coated in a lovely layer of slimy residue from sweating before - and during and after - the wedding. Turning the entire force of my attention to the task, I rubbed vigorously and tried to ignore Anton.
Which proved to be hard to do when he reached out and pried the soap from my fingers.
"Ass!" I told him. I whirled around and stared him straight in the eye. "I was using that!"
He smiled at me, that faint smile again, but this time I thought I detected a hint of teasing behind it. "Why do it yourself when it's so much fun for someone else to do it for you?" he replied, and began to soap me up.
I didn't stop him. I liked his hands too much, and besides, I was tired, and his hands were nice.
Gently he lathered his hands and began to run them over my body. Even if I hadn't been crazily addicted to the way he fucked me, I would have appreciated the gentle massage he gave. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do when they got there.
Slowly, gently, he smoothed soapy circles over my skin, digging his fingertips into the fleshy parts of my muscles that he ran across, letting them grind together, then relax under his touch. First he traveled down my arms, then up my stomach. Unwanted warmth gathered in my core, but I studiously ignored it, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly as he worked his way up, skirting my breasts. His palms cupped my shoulders, and he watched me intently.
"I could eat you up," he said, his voice low and husky.
I knew he could. He would swallow me alive if I let him. And the frightening thing was that a part of me did want him to consume me. I just wanted to fall into him and let him carry me, let him screw me into incoherence, and then I wouldn't have to think any more. I could just be.
But what would I be afterward? And what would he make me into, when I could no longer resist?...
This 7,500 word short story is the fourth installment in The Billionaire's Wife series.
EXCERPT:
With a hmph, I turned away and started to lather my skin. In Vegas it was still warm, and I was coated in a lovely layer of slimy residue from sweating before - and during and after - the wedding. Turning the entire force of my attention to the task, I rubbed vigorously and tried to ignore Anton.
Which proved to be hard to do when he reached out and pried the soap from my fingers.
"Ass!" I told him. I whirled around and stared him straight in the eye. "I was using that!"
He smiled at me, that faint smile again, but this time I thought I detected a hint of teasing behind it. "Why do it yourself when it's so much fun for someone else to do it for you?" he replied, and began to soap me up.
I didn't stop him. I liked his hands too much, and besides, I was tired, and his hands were nice.
Gently he lathered his hands and began to run them over my body. Even if I hadn't been crazily addicted to the way he fucked me, I would have appreciated the gentle massage he gave. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do when they got there.
Slowly, gently, he smoothed soapy circles over my skin, digging his fingertips into the fleshy parts of my muscles that he ran across, letting them grind together, then relax under his touch. First he traveled down my arms, then up my stomach. Unwanted warmth gathered in my core, but I studiously ignored it, forcing myself to breathe deeply and slowly as he worked his way up, skirting my breasts. His palms cupped my shoulders, and he watched me intently.
"I could eat you up," he said, his voice low and husky.
I knew he could. He would swallow me alive if I let him. And the frightening thing was that a part of me did want him to consume me. I just wanted to fall into him and let him carry me, let him screw me into incoherence, and then I wouldn't have to think any more. I could just be.
But what would I be afterward? And what would he make me into, when I could no longer resist?...
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