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The Delegate's Dining Room at the United Nations. That's where I was standing.
Floor to ceiling windows surrounded us. The sun had come out from behind the clouds this morning, cascading warmth through the glass and filling the room with light.
“This place is huge,” I said.
Next to me, Anton pursed his lips. “I suppose,” he mused. “Perhaps we'll be able to fit everyone in here. I still think Gotham Hall would be better. It has more capacity.”
“I agree,” my mother said. “Absolutely all our friends and acquaintances will be invited. We want to make it the social event of the holiday season, and that means we need the most room possible. Right, Jonathan?” She turned to my father expectantly.
My father nodded. His face looked a little gray at the thought of spending all the money he probably didn't even have yet on a wedding. The freeing up of his credit would happen at the end of the month, presumably, but until then he was betting on my mother's infamous inability to make a decision and stick with it. It's why she had at least two hundred pairs of shoes with 'back-ups' in a different color.
I sighed. Already I was longing for the intense intimacy of our Las Vegas elopement. It had been frantic and unplanned and I had been utterly alone with Anton and two paid witnesses, but at least I hadn't had to make ten thousand decisions I couldn't possibly care about. Now we were scoping out reception and wedding areas, and I just wanted to throw myself through a window.
It'd been a week since Anton had showed me the softer side of himself—the strong, powerful man I could lean on, rather than the predator who stalked me and longed only to possess my body—and each night had been strangely sweet. The only things I'd unpacked in 'my' bedroom were my clothes and makeup. My books were still boxed, my kitchen utensils were useless, and my bedding... well, I had yet to spend a night in my own bed, so it seemed rather pointless to take them out.
In our day-to-day lives, however, it seemed like he was incapable of releasing his mask, at least in front of other people. He blandly agreed with my mother no matter what she said, and the rest of the time he was lost in la-la business land, no doubt wrapping up the particulars of acquiring my father's company. I didn't mind it, really. Our nights were enough for me at the moment. And when our nights bled into our days... Well, that was just a bonus.
As though he read my mind, a sudden jolt of electricity seared through my nipples and I gasped. Warmth flooded between my legs. Pain and pleasure were beginning to mix in my head, and my body certainly didn't seem to mind it. I shot Anton a glare from the corner of my eye, but he just smiled serenely at me. This was his way of showing concern about my dysfunctional relationship with my parents: I could either endure punishment when I thought about speaking up but didn't, or I could just speak up, tell them to go away, and be left in peace.
“It's not that simple,” I'd tried to tell him this morning when we'd dressed. “These are my parents. I can't just tell them to fuck off. My mom will be crushed if I don't have a wedding. And what if I tell her to fuck off and then she dies? What about that?”
He'd paused in the process of placing the electric shock nipple clamps on my breasts, and I immediately felt bad. He was probably thinking about
his own dead parents. Great. Good going, Felicia.
“What you do with your life is up to you,” he said finally. “You should talk to your mother about her illness.”
“I can't,” I told him. “I—ooh, god—I, uh, I'm not supposed to know anything about it.” I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way Anton ran his thumb over my nipple, calling it to attention so he could get a better grip with the clamp. “Although I don't know how much longer I can play dumb. She goes to a 'doctor's appointment' every single day. At some point she's gotta know that I'm going to catch on... right?”
He said nothing, merely put the nipple clamp in place and stared down at me with what I could have sworn was concern. Then he lifted the remote control for the electric clamps and gave me a zap that made my knees weak and my pussy melt. “Oh,” I breathed, and he reached out and caught me, swiping his tongue over my ear and nibbling at my earlobe before pushing me away.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We have a lot to do today.”
Mouth dry, I nodded and complied with his command.
Now, in the UN Dining room, I was getting hornier by the second as Anton slipped his arm around me and rubbed small, seductive circles over my hip with his thumb as my mother chattered on and on about who was getting invited and who had incurred her wrath enough to be officially snubbed and how she was going to let those people know just how snubbed they were.
Shut up, mom, I thought, then immediately felt guilty about it. But my god, she was killing my mood. Please, please be quiet.
Another shock lanced through my breasts and I hissed through my teeth. The sound was loud enough to cut through my mother's list of people she felt obligated to invite to the reception, but that weren't special enough to go to the wedding. She gave me a sharp look.
“Are you all right, Felicia?” she asked.
Licking my lips, I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I just, uh, I just have a headache—ah!”
Electricity crackled over my nipples and my legs buckled.
Anton put a hand out to steady me as my mother started forward, concern writ large on her face. I didn't want to worry her, not in her condition.
“Anton,” I said, “ could you help me find somewhere to, uh, sit down for a bit? Or a place to splash water on my face?”
The arm around me tensed, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. “Of course, dear,” he said, his voice rumbling against my arm. To everyone else, he sounded perfectly normal, but I could hear the tiny note of hoarseness threaded through his words.
Firmly he steered me away from my parents. My mother watched me go, her eyes narrow. My father stood at one of the windows and stared down at the city. He couldn't have cared less.
Well so what? The heat of Anton's body was already rolling off him in waves as he guided me toward the entrance and the two discreet restrooms that stood there behind nondescript doors.
We entered the ladies' room. There was no one else in the restaurant—too early in the morning—and we had the place to ourselves. A small lounge greeted us, with a coffee table, a couch and two chairs against the wall.
