Payton
twelve
Ainsley’s ignoring me.
She swam for the dock and I let her, knowing I’d read her too well and been too honest when she wasn’t ready to hear it.
It’s a fucking curse to see what people try to hide behind; the insecurities, what they don't even understand about themselves. That’s where Ainsley’s at.
She’s trying to be something she’s not, wearing hard emotions—her control, anger, hostility, hate, and venom—to keep everything good at bay because she knows how easily it can be taken away, or used against her.
It’s so fucking heartbreaking knowing someone did that to her, made her that way, because no one is hardwired to think like that—they’re programmed.
She took her things up to the pool and plopped onto a lounge chair, sunglasses firmly in place, hat back on, not sparing me a glance as she stares at her phone. I followed her sweet little ass calling her name, and now I’m stopped in front of her chair, casting a shadow over her.
“Hungry? Thirsty? Need some sunscreen so you don’t burn that pretty skin?”
She doesn’t answer me, thumbs flying over her phone screen, messaging someone, probably.
She may be telling them she’s frustrated or upset at the lake with some guy who’s being an unreasonable asshole to her.
She'll have to keep details about who it is and what we’re doing to a minimum after signing the NDA.
I’m confident in her ability to follow the rules, given her profession and how thoroughly she read through the document before signing it.
Or maybe she’s taking notes for the story I’ve agreed to and starting off strong with how much of a jerk I am.
Getting no response, I turn and head inside.
Maybe some time alone is what she needs.
Perhaps I should’ve waited more than twenty-four hours after meeting her to pull that nugget of information out and throw it in her face.
I may have just lost my opportunity at a friendship with Ainsley by pushing her boundaries and my luck.
It’s not often my meddling tendencies come back to bite me in the ass, but when they do, it’s pretty spectacular, and this feels like it could be one of those instances.
I lean against the wall of windows overlooking the pool and watch Ainsley on her phone below.
She’s beautiful, young, cranky as hell, driven, and lonely.
I recognized that part of her so quickly, seeing a reflection of myself in her workaholic tendencies and thinking I’d found a kindred spirit that maybe I could beat back the loneliness with if she’ll ever let me close enough.
When I return to the pool, I’m armed with a peace offering.
The tray loaded with food and drinks catches Ainsley’s attention and she actually looks at me as I walk past to an umbrella-covered double lounger with a table between the cushions perfect for a picnic.
I set the tray down and begin to arrange the food without acknowledgment.
I can feel her irritation despite being ten feet away.
I pour a chilled sparkling wine into two stemless glasses and set them next to a charcuterie spread full of meats and cheeses, sliced fruit, vegetables, bowls of pasta salad, baguette slices, and a plate of assorted chocolate truffles I hope don’t melt in the Georgia heat.
Satisfied my picnic is presented to the best of my abilities, I turn to the sapphire pool and dive in smoothly.
I swim the length and return to where I started before pulling myself onto the deck, sufficiently cooled off.
Ainsley is sitting up now, looking between the spread and me. I nod at the food as I push wet hair out of my face before collapsing onto one side of the lounger and grabbing a glass of wine.
“Help yourself.”
I pick up an olive and pop it into my mouth before creating a sandwich, not waiting for her to make up her mind if she’s going to join me.
I take a bite and will myself to ignore her as she gets up and makes her way over to me, wearing her button-down shirt over her bikini, the middle open so I can see her perky, palm-sized tits bounce with each step, the ends of the shirt hitting her high on the thighs, not doing much to act as a poolside cover-up and giving me plenty to look at.
I blink at the beautiful sight and go back to eating so I don’t end up needing to adjust my hardening cock in front of her.
She sits on the other side of the lounger, grabs a water bottle, untwists the cap, and takes a drink. She pops a chocolate truffle in her mouth as she inspects the charcuterie spread and begins to build her own sandwich.
“What, no comment about eating dessert first?” she asks wryly, grabbing another truffle and eating it in between words.
“None at all. I call that a dessert-itizer. You’re smart to start with the sweetest bite so you’re sure to enjoy it before you get full off the main meal.
” I resolutely keep my attention on my own food, grabbing a fork and turning to my pasta salad while she quietly stews next to me as I eat.
I’m just happy to see her eating what I’ve prepared, letting me take care of her in this small way.
I keep her guessing the rest of the day.
We eat, swim, and take my sailboat around the lake for a few hours.
Not once do I touch her. I don't slip sex into the conversation. I don't flirt. She’s on edge by the time we’re driving back to Atlanta, shoulders slightly sunburnt, and tired from spending the day outside.
“What are you doing?” she snaps when we’re nearly back to the city.
“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my attention on the road, but I can see her arms are crossed and she’s staring at my profile. It’s cute watching her work out this change.
“You’re not flirting. You’re acting like a normal human. You haven’t touched me since we got out of the lake.” She ticks off her accusations on her fingers. “What are you up to?”
I spare her a glance before returning my attention to the road. “I’m respecting your boundaries. You wanted me to stop, so I have.”
“Is this another way to mess with my head because you’re a master manipulator? You changed it up to keep me guessing?”
“You give me too much credit. Thank you for thinking me devious enough to execute that successfully with you,” I say sincerely.
“That’s it? You’re just going to…stop? It’s that easy? Why didn’t you stop the other times I asked?”
“You actually meant it this time, and I told you I’d show you I’ll respect your boundaries.
I’m a man of my word, and even though I really enjoy flirting with you, I’m doing as you asked.
Don't you like it better this way? It’s what you wanted, after all.
” I keep my eyes ahead, but I feel her processing this information, warring with her natural distrust.
“So if I flirted with you, or touched you, you wouldn’t do anything back?”
“Do you want to flirt with and touch me?”
“Of course not. I was asking about your response. Like, if I put my hand on your thigh right now, or turned the tables and started talking like you’ve been, you’d respect my boundaries?”
“Oh, little Spitfire, make no mistake. That’s not at all what I’m saying,” I tell her, glancing over quickly and catching a calculating look on her face, wishing I could see beneath her sunglasses.
“If you initiate, I’ll follow your signals, but I won't follow for long. I’ll take control and then we’ll see what you’re hiding under that hostility and anger and how fun you can be. ”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Why can’t I torture you the same way you’ve been driving me insane the last twenty-four hours?
I should be able to get payback, right? You need to know how annoying you are and how awful it is to have someone not only pick you apart but not listen when you beg them to stop. ”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and glance her way again, debating if I give her what she’s asking for or not. Honesty is the best policy in the early stages of any relationship, I guess, and strong communication will be the only way we make this work.
“You are torturing me. It’s pretty fucking hard not to flirt with you when that’s my default.
It sucks not touching you when I want because I like how you feel under my hands and despite what you say, your body’s reactions tell me you enjoy it when I touch you, too.
I read people, so not calling out everything I see that you blatantly ignore is driving me crazy. ”
I glance her way, seeing her attention riveted on me, her thighs pressed together like she can feel my words on her skin even if my hands aren’t.
She’s definitely a words girl, and mine are doing it for her.
I return my attention back to the road, but I lower my voice and slow my cadence, aware it’ll get to her even more.
“It’s absolutely excruciating knowing I can use a certain tone, say a few dirty words, look at you a certain way, and you’d be rubbing your thighs together for me, looking for something only I can give you, but I have to keep that locked up when I'm certain it would feel so fucking good for both of us to play.”
I rub a palm down my face instead of reaching for her thigh like I want to. I drop my hand to my shorts, where my cock is making a valiant effort to strain against the bonds of the fabric in this position, and adjust myself for her to see.
“Is that what you want, Ainsley? For me to suffer as long as you want me to because I’m willing to respect your boundaries?”
“How do you manage to infuse sex into an answer like that?” she asks, her voice husky and tremulous, unable to take her eyes off my cock. My body. Me.
Yes, Princess, look at Daddy and see what you do to me. Want me and everything I can give you. Trust me to take care of you.
“It’s a talent of mine,” I muse, focusing again on the road.