Chapter Four
Wilder
She walks into the rented cabin like she’s expecting a trap. Can’t blame her. Nothing about me suggests safe. I’ve paid a twenty-one-year-old four million dollars to spend the weekend with me. I’m pretty sure that could be in a book somewhere as one of the creepiest deals to ever go down.
She’s standing near the fireplace, eyes bouncing across the vaulted ceilings like she’s never seen something so big. Or maybe, she’s just figuring out where to bolt if things go sideways.
“I called ahead and had some clothes sent over.”
“We were only in the car for an hour.”
“People that work for me move fast. I’d like you to go upstairs and change. There’s a room to the left that’s for you. You’ll know it’s yours because of the flowers on the dresser. I figured you for a sunflower girl.”
She bites back a smile as though she’s afraid of the emotion she’s having. “Yeah, I love sunflowers.”
“Good. I hope you like the clothes too.”
Her hand tightens around her purse strap and her shoulders tense. “You don’t like my dress? It took forever to pick out.”
“It’s sweet,” I say slowly, letting my gaze linger, “but I’d like to see you in something… more comfortable.”
Her cheeks pink and her voice catches. “Comfortable?”
“Go ahead.” I nudge her forward. “I’ll get someone started on dinner. Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes. No weird phone calls, and no escaping through the upstairs windows. Okay? If I have to chase you down, I don’t think you’ll like the consequences.”
That earns me a look, though I’m not sure what it means. Part of it looks intrigued. The other part, not so much.
Rolling her eyes, she slips through the hallway and disappears around the corner.
I wait until her footsteps fade upstairs before I let myself move again, then check the fireplace.
Wood crackles low and warm in the hearth.
It’s an experience I don’t usually get. I crouch, adjust a log, and watch as the flames catch and spit sparks into the dim space.
There’s something grounding about it. Something slow and deliberate, far removed from the sterility of glass and steel back in Miami.
There, I chase noise. Here, silence finds me. I always thought that would be a terrifying thing. So far, it’s not so bad. In fact, I’ve been enjoying it. There’s something about getting lost in the trees and fresh air that’s centered me back to a place I haven’t been to in a while.
Upstairs, there are sounds of her moving. I imagine her fingers brushing the fabric I had set out. Soft things. Clean lines. Luxury.
Thirty minutes gives her time to settle and explore the room I had put together for her.
The timeline was short, so I’m sure it’s not as perfect as I’d have liked it to be, but I can always trust that Reynolds won’t let me down.
While she’s with me, I want her to feel comfortable, like she can do or say whatever she wants.
Like she can upset me, and have opinions.
Like we’re two people here by accident, not with four million dollars on the line.
I pour a glass of bourbon and stare at the mountain range sweeping out before me. It’s all curated like everything else. The view, the silence, the illusion of peace. She’ll think it’s beautiful, but beauty is just another tool. A distraction to hide what’s beneath the surface.
I’m sure she’s wondering what kind of man chooses a stranger to play with for the weekend.
I’m sure she thinks it’s power, some kind of control fantasy, and maybe that’s true.
I wouldn’t mind her on her knees and begging, though deep down, I know this is more than that.
I bought clarity, and Penny is about as clear as they come.
She’s untouched. No masks, no rehearsed seduction, no polished lies. Just raw instinct.
The ice clinks in my glass as Reynolds steps into the room.
I’ll never understand why he insists on wearing a suit and tie after all these years, but he asserts that it’s the proper attire for a house manager on payroll.
Truth be told, I’ve offered him retirement many times, but he refuses to take it.
Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him.
“Sir, should I prepare dinner, or will you and your friend be dining out tonight?”
“We’re dining in. Thank you.”
“How’s everything going?” Reynolds drags his hand back through his gray hair, letting the moment slip to something more casual, which is most common for our interactions.
“Not sure. We’ll know soon enough.”
“Why the change in plan, sir?” Reynolds voice is rougher than usual, and I sense judgment behind it, as I did when I told him about the virgin auction.
“It was a last-minute decision.” I sip the warm bourbon and let it slide down my throat slowly. “She’s different. I can feel it.”
“What does that matter, sir?”
I let his question permeate for a long moment before answering. “I’m not sure yet.”
Footsteps echo in the hallway, interrupting our conversation. It’s Penny. She stares toward me with a soft gaze, curls framing her face. She’s so gorgeous.
“Oh,” she turns toward Reynolds, hand extended, “you must be Reynolds. I heard all about you on the way here.”
“Pleasure to meet you too, Miss. I’ll leave you alone. I’m sure we’ll have time to get to know each other over the weekend.”
Penny nods shyly and pauses in front of the fire as Reynolds leaves the room.
“You look gorgeous.” I draw my gaze over the soft white cashmere sweater and the tight black leggings I had left for her on the bed. The fabric hangs off her shoulder and frames her shape perfectly.
“I was expecting something slutty.” Her eyes narrow and her arms cross in front of her chest, pressing her firm breasts up even higher.
“You look gorgeous, but I could find you a leather corset and a pair of fishnets if you’d rather.”
“No.” She curls into the leather chair beside me, pulling her knees up like she’s protecting something. The rich fabric creaks softly beneath her, the room quiet enough to hear it. “I’m good.”
“You promised honesty, little lamb.” I take a sip of the bourbon, letting it burn. “What is it?”
Her gaze shifts to the fire reflecting something restless, as though she’s arguing with herself about something.
“Nothing. Thank you for the clothes.”
“This is going to get frustrating fast. I need you to be honest about your feelings the first time I ask. It’s part of the deal.” My tone is stiffer than I plan.
She bites the inside of her lip and stares at me. “It’s nothing. My sister texted. My dad… it’s a thing.” She lifts the hem of the sweater and bunches it in her fists, like she’s holding on to the softness with both hands.
My chest tightens. “What are you talking about?”
She drags in a heavy breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t see how this is relevant.” Her throat tightens, and I watch a lump move slowly as she swallows.
“Tell me.” I press as though whatever’s on her mind is owed to me, though I’m not sure it actually is.
She leans forward, her gaze lambent with hesitation.
“After my mom died, my dad went crazy. He started drinking all the time, and taking everything out on my sisters and I.” Her voice cracks, barely audible over the fire.
“Everything was rules, consequences, expectations I didn’t understand.
And when we failed to meet them, he’d remind us how worthless we are. ”
I don’t interrupt. Instead, I let the weight of her confession thrum in the quiet.
“He once made me stay outside all night,” she says, “in the middle of winter because I forgot to feed the foals. It wasn’t intentional.
I was sixteen. I’d had a hard day at school, our mom had passed away the year before, and I…
” Her eyes meet mine, the sweater still clenched in her fists.
“My sisters are still home getting terrorized. I’m using this money to move them out. ”
I lean in, fingers curled tight around the glass as I study her expressions.
There’s pain in her words, though she wears heavy emotional armor.
I want to fix it for her, though I can’t figure why.
I don’t usually involve myself in other people’s problems. But hers, I want to overhaul them.
It has to be the moment. “So that’s why you have to stay available for your sisters? ”
She stares toward me for a long moment, biting her lower lip.
“Yeah… I need to get them out of there. It’s my number one plan.
The moment we get out, we’re celebrating with a Morgan Waylon concert.
Front row. His music really got us through the past few years.
My sisters are obsessed. They need something positive to hold on to.
” Her lips move but I’m more focused on the tremble in her throat. The part she doesn’t show.
“I feel exposed.” She laughs nervously. “You have to tell me something now,” she says, still tugging on the hem of her sweater. “Something no one else knows.”
I lean back in the chair, melting ice in my glass still sharp enough to clink. “Well, now I want to hurt your dad. No one else knows that.”
“No, seriously. Tell me something about you. Something real.”
I groan. “For what it’s worth, I hated my father too.
All his life, he never appreciated anything or anyone.
Punched him square in the jaw when I was fifteen for talking shit to my mom.
It was his favorite pastime. I thought it would fix him, that he’d see the hurt he was causing.
It didn’t.” I pause and lock eyes with the girl in front of me.
“It didn’t work last time, but I can offer your dad the same reminder, if you’re interested. ”
She doesn’t speak right away. She just blinks, slow and deliberate, like she’s processing the weight of what I said.
Then she exhales, and it’s shaky. “You’re not the first person to try,” she whispers, “but let’s do each other a favor and not sugarcoat things this weekend.
I can play pretend with you, but I don’t need you getting all fake with me. ”
“I’m not being fake. You’re so… sweet and… innocent. I don’t understand how anyone hurts you and sleeps at night.”
“No one should hurt anyone. Innocence has nothing to do with it.”
“You’re right, but in this situation, it does. I mean, you’re small and you’ve got some grown man taking advantage of you. It’s fucked up.” I shift in my seat, suddenly aware of how close we are and how quiet the room’s gotten. The air feels thick, like it’s holding its breath with us.
“I can take care of myself.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
Then I see the tear that slips past her defenses.
She wipes it away fast, like it betrayed her.
“Sorry, I don’t cry in front of people. I work.
I work hard and I make money so I can get my sisters out of the mess we’re in.
That’s why I’m here. Not for sweet nothings. I’m here for my family.”
I watch for a moment, memorizing her softness.
She wipes her eyes, pretends she’s fine, but I can see it. She’s unraveling.
“You’re allowed to fall apart,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to hold it together for me. I won’t pretend with you if it makes you uncomfortable.”
She shakes her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “It’s been so long since I’ve let go, I don’t even know how anymore. It’s like my fingers are bent around the rope so tight they’re fused in place.”
Her eyes meet mine with something raw I can’t explain. Something I’ve seen in people strung out with work, burnt out by responsibility, but never in this context.
I lean forward, my voice low as I ask, “Will you let me show you how to let go?”
She blinks. “How?”
I set the glass down, the clink loud in the silence. “You say you have a daddy kink, right?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“I assume you have that fetish because you’re looking for safety. Your body’s craving it. Let me help you let go.”
Her eyes roll to the side and back again as her fingers clench the chair rail tight. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Your fantasies.”
“Right now, my fantasy is to watch you let go.” My voice deepens, the scent of bourbon twisting in the room as I stare toward her and say, “Crawl to me.”
Her breath catches and her body stills as her lips part. “What?”
“Crawl to me.”
“Why?” Her brows narrow, and her fingers curl tighter around the hem of the sweater.
“You said you didn’t know how to let go. I can help you. You’ve just got to give me control.”
She stares at me, eyes flickering with something between defiance and desperation. “Aren’t you paying me to take control?”
“No, little lamb.” I glance down at my glass then up again.
“Your control belongs to you, until you give it to me. But,” I glance toward her, studying the way her rosy cheeks pink in the heat of the room, “I think you’re exhausted.
I think you’ve been holding on so tight for so long that you need someone to tell you it’s okay to stop fighting for a minute. ”
Her lips press together, trembling slightly. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to know,” I say. “You just have to try.”
She looks down, her shoulders rising and falling with a shaky breath. The silence stretches, thick and fragile. Then, slowly, she shifts forward, knees brushing the edge of the rug. Her sweater slips off one shoulder, and she doesn’t fix it.
I stay still, letting her move at her own pace. Her eyes never leave mine, even as her hands touch the floor, tentative and unsure.
Each inch she closes between us feels like a confession.
When she’s close enough to feel the heat off my skin, I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before leaning into her lips with a gentle kiss. “You’re safe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t look away, and suddenly I’m tangled up in a feeling. A real, in the moment, heart thrumming feeling, and I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with it.