Ainsley
twenty-four
Telling Payton I want him and I’m willing to explore this Daddy-Princess thing didn’t result in him taking me back to the bedroom to fuck me while calling me his filthy little cumslut like I thought it would.
Instead, he smiled and kissed my forehead before taking my hand and leading me to the dining room where a breakfast spread was set out for us.
He pulled out a chair for me at the dining table and asked what I wanted to eat, then made us both plates of food while I tried to figure him out.
I feel emotionally hungover after unloading on him last night.
He took every sordid memory I unleashed and validated my experience in the most calming, comforting way imaginable.
He didn’t swear to kill Archer or to make up for what I’d experienced.
He just sat with me and listened, hearing my pain and loving me through it.
Wait, nope. That’s a clingy koala thought.
Slow down, you slutty demonic koala. Just because you’ve decided to fuck him does not mean you need to show up claiming to be in love. Back the fuck up.
I frown at him. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own food and you’re a billionaire with staff to do this. Why are you insisting on serving me like this?” I ask as he sets a plate piled with waffles, fruit, bacon, and scrambled eggs on the table before taking a seat next to me.
“I want to. More iced coffee?” He motions at my empty glass.
It was perfectly made, just the right amount of vanilla creamer, and the ice hadn’t melted, so he must have allowed the coffee to cool before he made it.
It's really thoughtful and attentive because the stupid man pays attention to everything and I wish I could fault him for it.
I snort a laugh. “No, one coffee is fine. You think I’m wound up and cranky with multiple caffeinated beverages.”
He leans over and traces his nose along my jaw to my ear, where he whispers playfully, “I like you bratty and unfiltered, Spitfire. Remember that the mean things you say do it for me just as much as the rest of your…very…impressive…package,” he says, nipping at my neck with his teeth between each word, causing my head to roll to the side for him as he traces kisses along my skin.
Good Lord, he knows exactly what to say and do to make me crave more. My nipples are painfully hard and goosebumps rise over my skin when he finally pulls his lips away.
“Should I put on my glasses and scold you so you’ll do that again? Or what was it you said? Push my skirt up and fuck me on the table?” I taunt, but it’s a little breathy and less sarcastic than intended.
Payton’s eyes grow dark with desire as they dart between me and the table, and I know he’s thinking of doing just that.
“Mmm,” he growls, and it vibrates deep in his chest as he catches his bottom lip with his teeth, staring down at me.
Fuck, that’s so sexy. “I like you being a little cocktease. You want me to fuck you so badly now, but you have to wait. We have plans and they don’t include a marathon sex session right now, as amazing as that sounds.
Be a good girl for me until I get you all to myself later.
I want you wet and squirming thinking of what I’ll do to that needy cunt.
You’ll be begging for my cock before the day is over.
Just know I’ll have you coming on my fingers and mouth before I ever give it to you.
You’ll be a dirty little whore for me today, right Princess? ”
I nod, pressing my thighs together as my core throbs with each filthy word he utters in that commanding tone of his that sucks me in. “Yes.”
He takes my chin in his hand and gives me a look that says he likes me in this obedient state. “Yes what, my perfect cumslut?”
I know what he’s looking for, and I’m willing to give it to him despite how foreign it feels to the independent, controlled woman I am in my everyday life.
There’s a part of me that thrills to use the term with him, to give up control and place my trust in his hands in a safe space, knowing it’ll precede something my body and mind needs for whatever reason.
“Yes, Daddy.” I tremble as I say the words and he smiles.
“That’s my good girl.”
He releases my chin and caresses his hands down my bare arms, smoothing over the goosebumps his deep voice and dirty talk cause. He brings my hands to his lips to kiss my knuckles.
“Please eat your breakfast before I feed you by hand.”
I laugh as he drops my hands and turn back to my food, feeling lighter, though now I’m wet and squirming in my seat, just the way he wants me.
We take a tender boat into Jekyll Island and Payton treats me to a day of touristy activities.
He takes photos of us every time we stop somewhere he deems picturesque, or he likes the background for a selfie.
He’s posting them regularly to his personal social media pages, knowing his family and the thousands of people who follow him will see them, for the purpose of spreading our couple status.
He’s really convincing at playing a besotted boyfriend, and it’s pretty hard to distinguish the lines between real or fake with him when he keeps pulling me back into his arms, kissing my head, and tucking me against his side, even when no one’s around to see us.
My text notifications are going off like crazy, mostly from Della wanting to know how things with Payton are going, and what we’re up to, so I give her regular updates.
She’s thrilled, obviously, and wants details, but I don’t have much I can say.
She hearts my photos when I send her a few I’ve taken of us, including one where Payton is standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my shoulders, kissing my head while I scrunch my face up in a mix of a smile and grimace.
Her response is in all caps and curse words, so I think she’s both shocked and happy.
I’m also getting regular nasty messages that I know are from Archer, and I keep blocking those unknown numbers.
Payton notices each time I tense up or sigh in frustration but doesn’t say anything.
He pulls me closer and runs his fingers through my hair or smooths his hand down my back until I relax again.
He doesn’t seem to mind that I pull my phone out often while I’m with him.
He just gives me an indulgent look and smiles when I catch his eye as I finish up whatever I’m typing.
I take plenty of photos of him looking incredible against the coastal backdrop and historic scenery for research purposes.
And maybe for my own use. The man is drop-dead gorgeous, after all.
We visit the Mosaic Museum where Payton patiently allows me to pull him along as I learn the history of the island and the stories of the people who shaped it during the Gilded Age.
“I could fuck you properly in the back seat of a car like that,” he whispers in my ear as we pass a classic Studebaker on display in the middle of the museum. “Should we try it before more kids crowd inside?”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Are you trying to get arrested today?” I hiss as I drag him away from the car when he looks a little too serious about his suggestion. “That’s certainly one way to make headlines.”
He laughs. “Harlowe’s asking how serious we are and if I need her help finding a girlfriend I can be serious with, even after all the stories in the Haute List about us.
I need to up my grand gesture game and make sure something a bit more outrageous runs so she knows the rumors are true and I’m completely crazy about you. ”
My face heats when he says that, even though I know he means it all for show.
I shake my head at him in warning. “We should be out in Atlanta if you want the Haute List to be running stories about us. We shouldn’t be spending so much time alone.
No one is going to recognize us here in South Georgia on a barrier island doing tourist stuff. ”
He turns, wearing a sardonic smile, and taps me on the nose.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Muffin. We’ve had at least five people take photos of us since we stepped onto the island this morning.
” His smile drops as he pulls me into his side when we exit the museum and he grows uncharacteristically serious.
“I didn’t even notice.” I'm shocked to hear this. I look around, expecting to see paparazzi stalking us now, or at least some tourists with cell phones pointing our way that I’ll be able to see for myself, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“I’m used to it since I see it more than you’re used to, even though you’ve had a taste of that sort of fame now that you’re with me.
People think they have a right to take pictures of me and my family and write shit about us and our personal lives.
We never asked for that. We run a business that happens to do well; we’re not celebrities.
Well, Harlowe’s a celebrity, and she knows how to handle that, but the rest of us are far more private and never asked for that life. ”
I feel a prick of guilt, being lumped in with the journalists and people who’ve written about his family.
“You’re all public figures. It comes with the territory,” I say, sounding defensive.
“You’re incredibly fascinating. Not many people find the kind of success and wealth your family has.
It makes a compelling story, and that’s good journalism to write what will sell papers.
Your business deals and the things that happen at your level make waves that affect the world and markets at large.
Of course it’s going to make the news, and so will you. ”