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As it turned out, he was only concerned with putting it into my mouth. After swaddling me in the blanket—a luxurious, warm, fuzzy thing that almost swallowed me whole—he unwrapped the candy bar and broke off a piece. Gently he coaxed my mouth open and placed the piece on my tongue with trembling fingers, like a sinful sacrament. Then he closed my jaw and resumed his seat beside me, his arms falling around me and pulling me close. He planted a soft kiss on my hair.
We stayed like that for a while: Anton feeding me chocolate and occasionally kissing the top of my head, and me floating in a strange, indefinable state that I'd never felt before.
Finally the limo slowed, then jerked to a stop, and I roused myself enough to look out the window. We were in an underground parking garage. There was no natural light, and that was fine with me. I didn't want anyone to see what I must look like.
“How are you feeling, Felicia?”
His warm voice startled me, but this time it didn't hurt. For a moment I pondered the question, probing my brain and finding it, surprisingly, intact.
“I... I think I'm okay,” I said, turning to him. “That was, uh... really intense.”
He smiled at me, though it was hollow and strange and didn't quite reach his eyes, and I had the strangest sensation of falling, as though I were seeing an entirely different Anton Waters than the one I knew. Admittedly, I didn't really know him, but it was a startling experience. It only lasted for a moment, though, because I looked away.
“You entered a place we like to call subspace,” he told me, and I realized his voice was still shaking, as though he were nervous. I gave him a sidelong glance and tried to assess his mental state, but I didn't know him well enough to read him.
“Who calls it that?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “The BDSM community,” he replied. His voice was stronger now, more sure. “I am surprised it happened.”
I'd read about the toys he wanted to use—hell, they were meticulously detailed in our prenuptial agreement—but I hadn't read about anything that sounded like 'subspace.' “What's that?”
He shrugged. “It is simply a state of incoherence and abandon.” His brow furrowed. “You were able to lose yourself.”
Yeah, that felt about right.
Next to me, Anton stood up. Thankfully I was able to stay relatively upright and snuggled further into the blanket.
As it turned out, someone had packaged up my old clothes for me, and Anton retrieved them and helped me put them on, though it was probably like threading a spaghetti noodle through the eye of a needle for the most part. Then we got out of the limo together and walked—me with shaking legs and him mostly holding me up—to a private elevator. I leaned on him as we ascended, and when the elevator doors dinged I was about ready to go to sleep on my feet.
Anton half-carried me through the sumptuously appointed penthouse suite, which was nice enough that I was actually able to notice it as I stumbled through it on my way to bed. Gold and cream covered every surface, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the strip drenched in the syrupy golden light of the setting desert sun.
Then we were in the bedroom and Anton was undressing me with warm, tender hands, and I could only let him, the soft pleasure of his touch radiating out over my fatigued body. When at last I was completely nude, he laid me down in the bed and coaxed me to drink a few sips of water before I let myself sink into the pillow, which was soft and white as a cloud. Less damp, though.
The last thing I remembered was Anton slipping a blanket that radiated warmth under the covers with me and smoothing the hair back from my forehead. Then I was asleep.
*
At precisely midnight I snapped awake. My whole body hummed with energy, though my brain was a little behind the times. I had to force myself to survey the room and remember where I was.
In Vegas, I thought. In Anton Waters' private suite. And you're married to him.
Congratulations.
Licking my lips, I sat up and the soft comforter fell away from me. Beside me, a body shifted, and I started.
Looking down, I was barely able to make out Anton's form in the dark. He was bare-chested and fast asleep, and though I sort of wanted to study that incredible physique a little longer, what I really wanted to do was take a piss.
Yeah, I know. Romantic, right? Great wedding night.
Slipping out of the bed, I tiptoed quickly across the floor. My eyes were adjusting quickly to the light, and I managed to find the door that led out of the room and into the living area.
It wasn't quite as impressive in the dark, but the view of the strip was better. Lights twinkled and danced outside the window, and I had to repress the urge to go stare at them. I had to find a bathroom, fast.
I winched my legs in and danced around the room, my eyes darting this way and that, trying to find a door that might maybe have led to a bathroom. My only comfort was that if I did pee all over Anton's floor, at least it was marble and easily cleaned up. I'd have been in real trouble if it was carpeted. At last I found a door next to the kitchen and wrenched it open, thanking the heavens when it revealed a lovely little half-bath. I dove inside and sat down.
As the relief of finally being able to, well, relieve myself washed over me, I found less worldly concerns begin to rise up and come to the fore.
Such as... well, what now?
