Read Online Bartered Submission: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 5 (A BDSM Erotic Romance) by Ava Lore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ava Lore
Tags: Sex, BDSM, submission, domination, bartered, billionaire romance, BDSM Romance, billionaire bdsm, collar, leash, ava lore, the billionaires wife
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going to.
“Yeah, have someone move that stuff,” I told him. “Anyway, what's
on the agenda for today?”
A vague look of regret passed over his face. “I'll be
in meetings and at work all today, but I will be home in time to
take you out to dinner tonight. In the meantime, why don't you take
the time to get acquainted with your new home, and perhaps call
your, ahem, new personal assistant?”
Personal assistant? Oh, right! Sadie. She is going to
plotz. “Great. Coffee
with girlfriend, dinner with, um...” I trailed off. “You,” I
finished awkwardly.
The shutters behind his eyes closed, and I sighed
inwardly. Good going.
“Husband,” he supplied.
“Husband,” I said. “Sorry, it's all a bit sudden and
a little weird.”
To my surprise, he rubbed a finger against his
temple, and his shoulders relaxed. I hadn't even noticed them
tensing. “You are right,” he said. “This is very sudden for you.
I'm sorry.”
I could only nod as the car slowed down, and then we
were at Anton's house.
*
"Jesus shit," Sadie said when I opened the door later
that day, and I have to say I agreed with her assessment. Anton had
dropped me off at the house, telling me to explore to my heart's
content, then given me a quick kiss on the cheek and jetted off to
work, leaving me with a battered suitcase and an overwhelming
desire for some McDonald's. I'd called Sadie immediately and told
her where to meet me—with a Filet o' Fish—and set about
exploring.
And holy shit. A mansion on Central Park West. Even
in my father's wildest dreams he couldn't have afforded this
place.
Five floors and a basement. That's all I can really
say about it. Huge. Wood floors, stained glass, a garden, a
terrace, and, high on the fifth floor, the master bedroom
underneath a skylight, painted white, lined with bookshelves and
filled with light, even on this cloudy day. It was sick. Just
sick.
I loved it.
"This is just sick," Sadie said. "I love it."
"That's what I thought!" I told her. "But that's not
the best part. Anton wants me to have a personal assistant, and I
told him I already had one."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You do?"
And I'm the thick one? "You, dummy."
Sadie failed to faint at my feet in gratitude. "What
if I don't want to be your personal assistant?" she said. "What do
I look like, the help?"
I rolled my eyes and pulled her to the back of the
ground floor where the kitchen and breakfast nook stood, looking
out onto the garden. "Don't you get it?" I said. "This is free
money. You get hired, we spend the day hanging out together, you
get paid and don't report back to Anton any of the suspect stuff I
do, and we all go home happy."
"What suspect stuff?"
"Like figuring out what makes him tick," I told her.
"Here, have some coffee. It took me like fifteen minutes to figure
out how to use Anton's crazy coffee maker so you'd better drink
some."
Sadie pulled away. "Felicia," she said, which she
never says unless she is trying to be serious with me. "What is with you calling him Anton
all of a sudden? And why would he want me to report back to
him?"
I poured her some coffee and shoved it into her
hands. "He's got some control issues. And I think we're on a first
name basis now. You know, since we're married and all."
"Yeah. Which reminds me, you might not want to go on
the internet today."
I blinked. "What?" I hadn't even thought to check my
email yet. My phone was almost out of battery life and I'd left my
charger in my apartment, which was way out of reach now. I'd had to
turn it on and write down Sadie's number and call her from the
landline—Landline! How quaint!—in the living room.
"You're all over it." She sat down at the kitchen
table—a gorgeous wrought iron and glass affair—and sipped her
coffee. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at her.
"What?" I said again.
"Don't worry," she told me. "I hacked into your
Facebook account and made it private, and then I sent a really
flattering photo of you to
“Yeah, have someone move that stuff,” I told him. “Anyway, what's
on the agenda for today?”
A vague look of regret passed over his face. “I'll be
in meetings and at work all today, but I will be home in time to
take you out to dinner tonight. In the meantime, why don't you take
the time to get acquainted with your new home, and perhaps call
your, ahem, new personal assistant?”
Personal assistant? Oh, right! Sadie. She is going to
plotz. “Great. Coffee
with girlfriend, dinner with, um...” I trailed off. “You,” I
finished awkwardly.
The shutters behind his eyes closed, and I sighed
inwardly. Good going.
“Husband,” he supplied.
“Husband,” I said. “Sorry, it's all a bit sudden and
a little weird.”
To my surprise, he rubbed a finger against his
temple, and his shoulders relaxed. I hadn't even noticed them
tensing. “You are right,” he said. “This is very sudden for you.
I'm sorry.”
I could only nod as the car slowed down, and then we
were at Anton's house.
*
"Jesus shit," Sadie said when I opened the door later
that day, and I have to say I agreed with her assessment. Anton had
dropped me off at the house, telling me to explore to my heart's
content, then given me a quick kiss on the cheek and jetted off to
work, leaving me with a battered suitcase and an overwhelming
desire for some McDonald's. I'd called Sadie immediately and told
her where to meet me—with a Filet o' Fish—and set about
exploring.
And holy shit. A mansion on Central Park West. Even
in my father's wildest dreams he couldn't have afforded this
place.
Five floors and a basement. That's all I can really
say about it. Huge. Wood floors, stained glass, a garden, a
terrace, and, high on the fifth floor, the master bedroom
underneath a skylight, painted white, lined with bookshelves and
filled with light, even on this cloudy day. It was sick. Just
sick.
I loved it.
"This is just sick," Sadie said. "I love it."
"That's what I thought!" I told her. "But that's not
the best part. Anton wants me to have a personal assistant, and I
told him I already had one."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You do?"
And I'm the thick one? "You, dummy."
Sadie failed to faint at my feet in gratitude. "What
if I don't want to be your personal assistant?" she said. "What do
I look like, the help?"
I rolled my eyes and pulled her to the back of the
ground floor where the kitchen and breakfast nook stood, looking
out onto the garden. "Don't you get it?" I said. "This is free
money. You get hired, we spend the day hanging out together, you
get paid and don't report back to Anton any of the suspect stuff I
do, and we all go home happy."
"What suspect stuff?"
"Like figuring out what makes him tick," I told her.
"Here, have some coffee. It took me like fifteen minutes to figure
out how to use Anton's crazy coffee maker so you'd better drink
some."
Sadie pulled away. "Felicia," she said, which she
never says unless she is trying to be serious with me. "What is with you calling him Anton
all of a sudden? And why would he want me to report back to
him?"
I poured her some coffee and shoved it into her
hands. "He's got some control issues. And I think we're on a first
name basis now. You know, since we're married and all."
"Yeah. Which reminds me, you might not want to go on
the internet today."
I blinked. "What?" I hadn't even thought to check my
email yet. My phone was almost out of battery life and I'd left my
charger in my apartment, which was way out of reach now. I'd had to
turn it on and write down Sadie's number and call her from the
landline—Landline! How quaint!—in the living room.
"You're all over it." She sat down at the kitchen
table—a gorgeous wrought iron and glass affair—and sipped her
coffee. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at her.
"What?" I said again.
"Don't worry," she told me. "I hacked into your
Facebook account and made it private, and then I sent a really
flattering photo of you to
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