11. Eleven
Eleven
Ainsley
P ayton 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.
I pull my hat and sunglasses off and place them on the dock at my feet where I’ve kicked off my flip-flops. I unbutton my shirt and let it fall to the dock, then angrily work my shorts down over my hips to step out of them. I straighten up and catch Payton looking me over appreciatively. He smiles when he notices my own gaze rake over his incredible body. His dark blue swim trunks ride low on his hips, showcasing his decadently muscled upper body and the V that points to his muscled lower half, proving it’s just as cut.
“Like what you see in person more than through a FaceTime call?” he asks, not at all shy about the attention I’m giving him. He removes the backward baseball hat finally, releasing me from that magical spell. What is it with men and backward hats? It's fucking kryptonite.
“Shut up.” I cross my arms over my small chest, self-conscious of my body under his hot blue stare that feels like fiery hands are caressing me.
“Don’t hide. You’re beautiful, and you look incredible in that white bikini. If you ever want to revisit that friends-with-benefits situation, let me know. But for now, we need to get you even more soaked than you already are.”
“What?” I muddle my way through his layered comments that swept through several topics and sent my head spinning.
Before I can get a straight answer out of him, he tosses me over his shoulder and jumps off the dock into the lake. The water is warm but the moment is a surprise and I gasp in a mouthful of water before I kick to get away from him. I break the surface, sputtering and coughing. He comes up beside me, breathing normally. The man must be part fish.
“You’re insane!” I accuse, splashing water. He’s too close to me. I can’t relax.
“You’re not thinking about what I said and how it made you feel, though, right? I told you I know what you need. Trust me to take care of you. I can be a very good boyfriend.”
“You’re not my boyfriend and I definitely don’t trust you.” I swim away from him. He stays close with ease, not letting me put distance between us. I kick my legs wildly, not nearly as at ease in the water as he seems to be.
“You got into my car willingly enough to come to my lakehouse an hour away from Atlanta. I think that means you trust me a little bit. You signed the NDA and contract, so we’re in a relationship for the next three months. For all intents and purposes, I’m your boyfriend.”
“I don't think you’re a serial killer, but I can’t say you’re not bad in other ways. And now I’ve signed your stupid NDA, so I can’t say shit to anyone, even if you are.” My legs falter their movements at that horrifying thought and my chin dips below the waterline. I suck in a mouthful of water, then sputter it out on a cough.
Payton is there in an instant, pulling me into his arms, turning my back to his front, and wrapping a giant arm around my stomach so I no longer have to swim while he does it for the both of us with ease. I only fight a little against his insistent grip because I was getting tired. Swimming for sport isn’t really my thing. I’m more of a tanning on the side of the pool and hopping in to cool off kind of swimmer.
“I’m not going to kill you, or do anything without you specifically asking me to,” he says next to my ear.
I’m carefully keeping our lower halves apart, letting my legs float out in front of me while he treads water below us, the movement rhythmic and all too easy for him. He did say he swims laps daily, so maybe this is easy.
“Let me go. I’m not going to drown,” I snap instead of addressing his comments. I push at his heavy arm around my waist and feel him tighten it more, his chest pressing into my back.
“I don't trust your stamina. It looked like you were getting tired. I can do this for days. You’re so little it’s nothing.”
I scoff. “I know how to swim. I’m a grown woman.”
“You sure are,” he growls against my wet hair and I shake my head at him for being impossible .
“Don’t you dare do anything…” I begin, not sure what I’m threatening.
“Anything what, exactly?” he challenges. “Anything that makes you feel something more than you want to?”
“No,” I snap, pushing at his arm again with more force, but it just causes my legs to drop, our bodies aligning, and I feel him. His body is hard everywhere—chest against my shoulders, abs against my back, and finally, my ass presses directly into what I was trying to avoid, and oh my God, of course he’s hard there, too. And big.
I stop fighting and go rigid, which forces me tight to him. I want the water to swallow me now that I know what he feels like against me. I wish I never let him talk to me in the first place, never let the intrigue of knowing him lure me in at all. I bite my lip to keep the pitiful sound of failure from falling from my throat, sounding an awful lot like a moan. Because I want to feel even more of him now.
“Your heart is beating so fast. Are you excited or scared?” His words are soft against my ear, while his arm is tight where he still holds me against him.
“I’m angry.” We both know I’m lying by the breathiness of the words.
He easily turns me in his arms so we’re facing each other, and I’m blessedly released from his body. He lets me swim on my own again.
“Why do you want to hate me so much?” It’s a rare serious moment where he’s not smiling or poking fun at me. He seems to truly want to know.
I look away from the openness that wants to slip under my defenses again, to get in and see me . It makes me want to lash out, and my sharp tongue fights the battle for me where my body fails .
“I hate men like you on principle. You’re a bored, rich man who’s decided I’m some sort of game because it’s fun to conquer everything that presents a challenge to you. I’m not a game and I don’t want to be conquered.”
The words spill out with certainty and venom. It hides the very real sting of having lived through it before and gained the experience. I hope. It might sound bitter and jaded, which is also fine. As long as it doesn’t sound needy.
“I don’t think of you as a game and I’m not trying to conquer you, Ainsley. I just want to be your boyfriend,” he says, sincerity in his eyes when I meet them.
“ Fake boyfriend . And if only I believed that. Every conversation with you leaves me with whiplash and debating if I should be running for the hills. You don’t take no for an answer. You slip sex into every word you say. You touch me like you have a right to. You look at me like you want to fuck me. You act on some misguided instinct that I need you to save me. You have to stop this! You, Payton Olsen, have a God complex, and I’m not having it.”
His lips turn up at the corners as he listens to me. “And you, Ainsley Montgomery, are lying to yourself. You deny yourself the truth of what you need because you’re afraid to want it. You wear hostility and anger because you feel vulnerable with softer emotions that leave you exposed. You don't want to admit you need connection because somewhere along the line, you were hurt, and that fucker never paid for his mistakes. You don't even want to be playful or explore a friendship with me because it puts you too close to wanting something you refuse yourself. But sure, I’ll respect your boundaries if you really want them.”
And just like that, Payton Olsen has stripped me bare and knows half my secrets already.