Ainsley
eleven
Payton pulls up to the entrance of a lakefront property, hits a button to activate the gate, and then winds down a driveway that snakes along a hillside until a stunning view of Lake Lanier appears and the house finally comes into sight.
“This is your lakehouse?” I look around in awe as he parks and hops out.
He rounds the small sports car to help me with the stupid door and offers a hand to climb out of the low seat.
I take it, too caught up in what I’m seeing to refuse.
I allow him to keep my hand in his even after the help is no longer needed.
I'm getting used to touching him, and honestly, it’s not the worst. Payton has big, strong hands with long fingers that looked really good against my leg earlier and feel just as nice laced with mine now.
I turn my attention back to the lake house.
It’s more of a mansion, which shouldn’t surprise me in the least, despite being absolutely insane.
The house is a sandy-toned behemoth of modern angles and stone elements seamlessly creating a masculine design that somehow blends into the hillside and keeps it from standing out like a sore thumb against the landscape.
The hillside slopes down to the water. We’re at the top, where garages are situated around a courtyard, but I can see the house is four levels in total, each level having an outdoor terrace providing an incredible view of the lake below.
One level has a covered patio with a fireplace and an outdoor dining area.
Another has a bocce ball court. The lowest level features a stunning sapphire blue infinity edge pool and hot tub perched so it looks like an extension of the lake itself.
Down at the lake, there’s a long dock next to an enclosed boathouse with an outdoor slip.
A white sailboat is moored in the large cove.
It’s far more private than I expected. It’s a good distance to the wide mouth of the cove, where the lake properly spreads out and watercraft of all shapes and sizes go by.
“Catching flies, Muffin?” Payton asks, his finger stroking under my chin.
Apparently, it’d been hanging open as I took in the wealth and decadence of his lakehouse, which is more than most people can hope to have in their hard-earned forever homes.
And he’s rarely here. It makes me kind of sick, despite how beautiful it is.
“It just seems like…overkill to spend this much money on a place that you visit, what, a few days a year,” I say, my mouth turning down with the words.
“Fuck, I love when you tell me how you really feel and insult me in the process,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side.
It’s then I realize how much taller he is.
My head barely reaches his shoulder, so I’m pressed tightly against his body, my cheek feeling all those beautiful muscles I saw in too graphic detail on our FaceTime call this morning.
I push against him for distance because not only does he feel hard and amazing, he smells incredible, too.
Sea salt and amber, both invigorating and warm, fresh and sultry.
I want to take in greedy breaths of his scent, which makes me take big steps back from him instead.
Self-preservation is my go-to when I’m overwhelmed and wanting what I shouldn’t.
That means putting distance between me and what I know will hurt me due to my penchant for wanting them.
Payton is a walking red flag for everything that could easily ensnare and devastate me.
Hot, rich, technologically inclined, interested in the chase, liable to have me eating out of his hand, and using me for his own gain. Yeah, that’s a big fat no for me.
I say the first hurtful thing that comes to mind, hoping to push him away.
“You’re the weirdest man I‘ve ever met. Why do you like being insulted so much? Is it a kink thing? Degradation gets you off?” I cross my arms over my chest, not entirely comfortable talking about kinks with him but wanting to know if that’s his so I can avoid it going forward.
The less I encourage him sexually, the better.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “I have plenty of kinks, but that’s not one of them.
” He tilts his head, studying me, and I swear he can see into my head with his sharp eyes.
Cold fear washes over me and snaps my spine straight.
I lower my arms to my sides hesitantly. He smiles at my look of discomfort. It’s predatory and pleased.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask cautiously.
He walks up to me slowly, smile not dropping, but his blue eyes heat and I can’t look away. His hand reaches out and takes hold of my hip, pulling me forward until I’m flush against his body. His other hand tilts my chin up so I’m looking into his face.
“Is it one of yours, Princess?”
His voice has taken on a deep, commanding tone that sends goosebumps rushing across my skin. The new nickname slips into place far easier than anything he’s called me before. I shiver and press closer against him on instinct.
“Do you like being called an eager little cumslut? Get off on being a filthy cocktease who wants to choke on a mouthful of cum, but only if you deserve it? Do you want to be my beautiful little fucktoy? Will you be a bratty whore for my cock? Or is it more of a good girl who takes Daddy’s cock so well that you prefer? ”
His thumb brushes along my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly and ghosting across the tip of my tongue, making my mouth go dry with need.
“I think you have a praise kink in there, regardless of whatever else you may want to hear.” He taps my lips and releases my chin.
His filthy words may have left my mouth dry, but my bikini bottoms are absolutely flooded and my core pulses, squeezing around nothing. I blink at him, not sure how to respond. My jaw works uselessly. Finally, I stutter out a hoarse, “W-what the f-fuck?”
That didn’t go as planned and I’m mortified and, oh my God, I’m so wet and…
no, I can’t be…turned on? This is wrong on so many levels.
I’ve never been spoken to like that and reacted like this.
I’d slap anyone for saying those things to me.
I refuse to be called names or let a man debase me, but what he said, or maybe it was the way he said it, had an effect on me that I can't even begin to process. He strokes his hand along my hip, his intense eyes drinking me in. I’m frozen as I stare mutely in horror at my reaction.
I’m putty in his hands, shaped by the words he spoke to me, molded into whatever he wants to make me.
“I think I hit on something there, Princess,” he says quietly.
“We’ll table that for a later discussion, but know we’ll talk about it again.
” His eyes lower slowly from my lips, down over my hardened nipples peeking through the soft material of my shirt, across my trembling torso, and finally to where my thighs are clenched together.
“Unless you want to talk about it now and maybe do something about being this tightly wound up?” His gaze travels back up the same path until he meets my eyes and I still don’t have my shit together.
I shake my head, pulling out of the possessive grip he has on me, unable to speak more than a few words. “I need…” I croak, voice breaking as my iced coffee drops to the ground at my feet from my shaking hands while I vibrate in my anxious, now sexually fueled tension.
“I know what you need.” He bends and picks up my bag from the car, tosses the strap over his shoulder, then takes my hand in his and drags me toward the house.
I fight the lust-filled spell he cast on me with his filthy words and that sexy as fuck voice of his that somehow got deeper and sent me to a place in my head I didn’t know existed.
At the door, the lock automatically turns, and we walk into the house that’s as modern and gorgeous as you’d expect from the exterior.
He leads me through the upper floor which I can’t fully appreciate while in my current state.
We continue down several flights of stairs to the final level that opens to the pool terrace, where it appears he’s taking me.
I’m dizzy from the stairs, and still, he continues to pull me along with him.
I’m slowly getting over my shock at his ease with the dirty and commanding words he spoke to me. He said that’s not his kink, but he’s obviously familiar with dishing out the degradation and had no trouble pulling out easy examples that made me feel some kind of way I’ve never experienced before.
Do I have a degradation kink? Holy shit, maybe I do.
I’m all sorts of fucked up over other things.
Maybe I’ve developed something there, too.
I’m not about to explore that with him, though.
He doesn't have to know that what he said hit a little too close to home, no matter what my reaction may have told him. I’ll have to try harder to have no reaction should he ever make a repeat of his stupid recitation of those types of phrases.
They’re just words, after all, and I know better than most that words only have the power we give them.
I realize we’re on the dock when the ground shifts under my feet. Payton pulls me all the way to the end before finally letting me go and drops my bag at our feet.
“Do you want me to help you with your shirt, or have your hands stopped shaking enough to get those buttons?” he asks, nodding at me while he begins to swiftly unbutton his own.
“I’m not a child,” I snap, feeling more like myself now.
“There’s my girl,” he says, smiling. “Take off your clothes before I throw you in with everything on.”
“I’m not your girl.” I snarl, feeling stupid as I argue.