6. Chapter 6 – Peyton
Chapter 6 – Peyton
I managed to avoid the terrifying man most of the day, interacting briefly as I laid his lunch on the table outside of his office door and knocked but didn’t enter, as instructed. Nonetheless, I was on edge, like he was going to walk around the corner at any minute.
I couldn’t quite describe the feeling I got in his home, but it was like he was always near, but just out of sight. And it made me jumpy.
So jumpy that when Mr. Thomas the groundskeeper for the estate came in through the back patio door to tell me that the hot tub had been drained and cleaned as requested, I screamed and flung the tray full of silverware I had just polished for the second time in two days all over the butler’s pantry.
The whole day was all a fricken wreck, to be honest. I even cried in the bathroom.
Twice.
Mr. Bryce was so cold and abrasive that it made it hard to find any common ground in his presence. And sure, masturbating in his hot tub probably didn’t help my case, but it felt over the top. And did he have to be so deliciously good-looking at the same time? Last night in the dark, I hadn’t been able to see him clearly through the shadows and steam. At breakfast, however, his good looks were on display for me, and I had to resist not to stare. He was so tall, even more so than I imagined, looking up at him from the jacuzzi on my knees the night before. He wore black-framed glasses at breakfast, and it darkened the entire look he gave off as he stared at me powerfully like some dark and dangerous Clark Kent. I still didn’t know his exact age, but he shaved his jaw before breakfast, and the overall effect, along with his black-framed glasses, exuded dirty college professor vibes, leaving me to wonder more than a few times if he had ever spanked a bad girl.
Further proving I was psychotic, lusting after and imagining him in any sexual nature at all was the opposite of helpful, and I needed to figure out how to stop.
Perhaps it was from nerves and hormones. New jobs sucked on a good day. And I hadn’t had one of those in months.
But dinnertime was breathing down my neck, meaning Mr. Bryce would make an appearance any minute. Even if I was so not ready to face him again.
“Ms. Everett.” His deep voice surprised me from behind and I jumped, whipping around to face him as he came into the kitchen from the servant’s stairwell, because even in the year 2021, of course, his mansion had separate stairwells.
“Mr. Bryce.” I wrung my hands together in front of me and questioned my outfit for the hundredth time since putting it on before coming back to the main house after my break. My dress was serviceable and black, but the black silk stockings and semi-modest heels made it feel fancier than a normal outfit. Dinner service felt like the time to impress.
Especially because he hated me .
Maybe he wouldn’t hate me if I was at least physically appealing to him.
Fuck, my plan was so stupid.
If the man found me repulsive while I was naked and orgasming in his hot tub, some expensive stockings weren’t going to make him suddenly approachable.
“Is my meal ready?”
“It is,” I ducked my head stupidly, “I’ll bring it right out.”
“Good.” He walked past me to the dining room where he ate his meals, and I couldn’t help but follow him with my eyes as he left. Same as this morning when he came down for breakfast, he wore a pair of black sweatpants and a casual long-sleeve cotton shirt. He looked better suited for the gym or lazy Sunday movie marathon; not the expansive mansion he was roaming around.
I took a deep breath and picked up the bottle of wine Mrs. Straight noted as a favorite of his and followed him.
He sat down at the head of the fancy table that fit sixteen chairs, watching me as he flicked his napkin out over his lap when I approached. His dark eyes felt eerily haunting as he tracked my every move and a shiver broke out over my skin, raising every hair as I got near him.
I swallowed my fear down and offered him a small smile, “Would you like some wine?” I held the bottle out to him, and he glanced at it before looking back at me.
A long pause filled the space between us before he broke the stare and pushed his glass toward me. “Did you pick that bottle out yourself?”
I uncorked it and tried not to drop it or mess it up as he watched me closely. “Mrs. Straight left a list of your preferred picks,” I replied, pouring the recommended amount into the glass and sliding it back to him.
“Put it here.” He tapped the space on the other side of his plate across the table, catching me off guard.
I knew where a wine glass was supposed to be placed for dinner service but didn’t refuse his demand. Instead, I gently leaned forward and placed the glass where he indicated, trying not to notice how close I had to get into his personal space to do so.
“I’ll be right back with your meal.” Upon my return to the kitchen, I removed the cover from his resting braised pork dinner. I garnished the plate, added the side dishes, and returned to him. “Here you are.” Gently leaning over his arm and catching the woodsy scent in his hair as I stood back up. It was the same scent I caught in his closet when I snooped before he returned.
“Did you cook this?” He asked, eyeing the meal before looking over at me. He was so damn tall that even with my heels on and him sitting, we were still almost level.
“Yes,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the closeness to his perfection and power, aching to get as far away from it as possible while simultaneously wanting to see if it would burn against my skin how I imagined.
“Where did you learn how to cook?” He asked, cutting through the meat.
“Nowhere, really,” I replied and took another step backward to create more space between us, even though he hadn’t released me yet. “Family and self-taught.”
“You didn’t study somewhere abroad?” He took a bite of the pork and chewed slowly before looking up at me.
“No, Sir.” I answered, and then for some stupid reason I asked, “Do you like it? ”
He finished chewing and swallowed, transfixing me as I watched the muscles in his neck move. I expected him to ridicule me for seeking his praise, or perhaps even insult the meal completely, even though I knew it was delicious. Instead, he held my stare with his dark bottomless one and licked his lips before saying, “It’s divine.”
I froze in place as he continued staring at me. He placed another bite in his mouth and chewed it. Why did he have to be so damn sexually appetizing and a massive jerk wrapped into one?
One or the other would have been enough torture.
“That’s all. You can leave now.” He interrupted my thoughts where I stood at the side of the table.
Backing away, I mentally kicked myself for thinking anything fond about the vapid man as I replied automatically. “Yes, Sir.”
As I left his house through the back door and crossed the patio to the guest house, the clicking of my heels annoyed me so much that I tore them off. I then walked across the stone in my expensive stockings, shredding them with every step.
In an attempt to ignore the embarrassment still burning in my gut, I purposely avoided looking at the hot tub altogether.
Questioning every decision that led me to Mr. Bryce’s front door, I slammed the door shut to my guest house and leaned against it.
My cell phone pinged in my pocket, and I opened it, hoping maybe it was a funny meme from my sister or something to distract me, but found an icon lit up I didn’t recognize.
I walked through my space on autopilot as I clicked on it and paused when the message thread from last night with the mysterious person popped up with a new message.
Are you feeling braver tonight?
I eyed it momentarily and then laid it down on the bathroom counter as I stripped out of my dress and put on the bathrobe I bought myself for my birthday last year. When I saw it in the store, I thought about snapping a photo of it and sending it to Tyson as a gift idea but realized before I even got my phone out that day, that he wouldn’t get it for me even if I put it in his cart digitally and told him just to click buy.
He’d find some reason not to.
So I grabbed the sexy pink thing and bought it for myself.
And as I walked around the guest house of the bajillionaire I worked for, with a fresh glass of wine in my hand and a message from a man on a sex site I didn’t know on my phone, I felt powerful.
Fuck Tyson, and his little boy issues. And fuck the big man in the main house who continuously made me feel small all day.
I picked my phone back up and leaned back in the large reading chair in the corner of my living room and opened the message back up.
Depends. What do I get for giving you anything?
Feisty. I like a little fight with my chase. What do you want?
Information. Your profile is blank and I’m not about to talk to John Doe just to find out he’s some creep in his mama’s basement with a limp dick and a boredom kink.
I smiled down at my phone triumphantly for finally feeling big and bad, even if it was to a faceless John on the internet. I needed to feel in charge of something in my life.
Ask your questions.
Before I could even start typing out the hundreds of them that came to mind, another reply popped up.
But for every question you ask, you give me something in exchange.
What, exactly?
I’ll name the price after I give you my answer. Ready to play?
Fuck it, sure. Why did you message me? My profile is blank, just like yours.
Yours isn’t blank, it’s just evasive. I saw enough to interest me. So I messaged you. Now I want a picture.
I instantly prepared for the annoyance or disgust to bloom at his request that came every time Tyson demanded nudes from me. But it didn’t come.
Of what?
Your decision. But it has to be taken right now.
He was letting me choose the direction I went, instead of demanding to see my body or something revealing. Something about that made me want to send him something scandalous. I contemplated sending him a photo of the fake plant in the corner or something equally as disappointing, but found some middle ground between nudes and herbology porn.
I crossed my legs, letting the pink silk of my robe part just enough to reveal my knees and lower legs down to my French tipped toes, and snapped the photo.
The lighting was low, adding to the sensuality of it and perhaps it was the wine I was quickly consuming or the intrigue of talking to a stranger, but arousal bloomed in my belly.
I wondered what my monster would think about me playing with fire with my stalker from the internet like I was. Would he punish me if he was real?
Those toes could make you a lot of money selling feet pictures.
I took another sip of wine as his next message came in.
Those legs would look good on my shoulders.
I ignored his comments, because I couldn’t quite come to terms with why they excited me so much.
Your turn.
For what?
A picture. Or an answer to a question.
The cursor on the message thread blinked mockingly as more time passed with no reply from him, and I wondered if he spooked that easily. But then, an image popped up on my screen and I sat up straight and set my glass down so I could focus on the deliciousness sent to me.
It was a photo of him leaned back in a massive office chair with an exuberant number of black computer screens behind him like an enormous wall of televisions. Each screen had back lighting, creating a kaleidoscope of different neon colors in the dark room. His phone must have been resting on something across from him because I could see his entire body down to his bare feet, yet the vibrant lighting behind him obscured his face and distinguishing features in shadow.
But what I could see—damn.
He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black pants. And black ink everywhere but on his feet and hands from what I could see, and his body was magnificent.
And I was hooked.
Yet I wanted to see his face. I wanted to know what color my stalker’s eyes were. I wanted to know if he had a beard or was clean shaven.
He replied after that.
Where’s my compliment? I complimented your toes.
You don’t actually like my toes?
I teased instead of telling him just how sexy I thought he was. Something told me a man like him had an ego big enough for both of us. And besides, I wanted to play a little hard to get.
I’d suck your soul straight out of your toes before I moved up to the heaven between your thighs.
Fuck. Me.
The man was dangerous and had a mouth on him. Though it didn’t give me an ick like it would if most men spoke like him.
Now that I have you warmed up, answer my question from last night. Are you here looking for your hunter?
One more answer from you, then I’ll answer that. Why do you chase? What do you get out of it?
The darkness is the only place I feel sane. When I’m hunting for the fun of it, I feel in control of myself.
I hadn’t expected that answer, and I wasn’t sure it made me feel any more comfortable with him once I had it. Did it mean he was insane anytime he wasn’t chasing women? Was I really imagining him chasing me, with the end goal being to let him fuck me?
Yes. There was no denying that anymore. I wanted to try it. I needed to give the primal kink inside of me free rein to know if I was obsessed with it as I thought I was.
I’m here to find my hunter.
I think we both know you already have.
What happens now?
Now, you tell me how much control you want or don’t want in the chase. Now, you tell me how far you want to go. Now, you tell me how far to push you.
All the way. I want to lose myself to it. I want to let loose for once. I want everything.
Then clear your schedule on Friday night.
Friday night you’re mine.
Friday was two days away. My heart raced as my thumbs hovered over the keys, trying to figure out what to do.
What do I do? Then and now?
Now, you just imagine how good it’s going to feel to be helpless to your monster in the dark. Now, you fantasize about how it’s going to feel when I push my way through your hesitations and reservations deep into your body. Now, you trust your monster will make you feel so good.
And then, on Friday, you run.
You fight.
You let every emotion you’ve ever repressed free, and you let it all go.
I panted, reading his messages as they kept popping up until I knew without a doubt that I wanted what he offered.
Yes, Sir.
Call me, Dane. Sirs are weak, they give commands expecting them to be fulfilled. I’ll make you do what I want you to.
Yes, Dane.
Good girl. I’ll be in touch.