17. Seventeen
Seventeen
Ainsley
T he bar, Dionysus, is close to Olympus International Tower, so I’m not surprised Payton would come here. It’s blessedly cool when I walk in. The walls are exposed brick, brass fixtures gleaming against black accents, with sconces casting warm light all around as I take in the room while looking for Payton.
I feel his presence and turn, finding him leaning against a booth across from me. His large, powerful body perfectly relaxed, hands in the pockets of his immaculately tailored navy suit pants highlighting his thick thighs, muscled forearms showing below the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp white shirt, setting off his tan skin in stark contrast. My gaze travels up his body, making it to his strong jaw, faint dimples popping in his cheeks from his indulgent smile as he drinks me in and knows he affects me in turn. Finally, I meet his stupid ocean-deep eyes that drown me and I can’t look away. I need to be a better swimmer to spend time around Payton Olsen.
His head tips, beckoning me to the booth behind him where a man with cool blond hair and ice-blue eyes lounges, and my feet are moving before I realize I’ve decided for myself. Traitors . I hesitate for a moment when I reach him, not sure what version I’ll be getting tonight after several days of not hearing from him. Will he be the constantly joking, can’t-stop-smiling fool I met in a silly café, or will he be the Dom I’ve only heard about? I look up despite wearing heels that usually help give me a bit of height to my short stature.
“Go with it,” he whispers in my ear as he bends down to pull me in close and molds our bodies together into a tight hug.
It feels lush and indecent, despite being a fully clothed embrace in public. One of his hands slides down my back, resting just above my ass. The other comes up to my neck and presses me close longer than friendly, ensuring we establish this is more than casual. My arms naturally reach up to his shoulders, fingers threading into the soft hair at the nape of his neck like they’re meant to be there, eliciting a quiet groan from him that sends a tremor through me in return. I sigh and relax in his arms, feeling restored just from this small bit of touch that I must have been craving.
I look up at his face in silent question while it’s so close to mine. Is he going to kiss me, right here like this? My lips part, and I breathe raggedly against the hold he has on me, my eyes dipping between his eyes and mouth. I don’t have to pretend very hard to enjoy this.
“I missed you, Muffin,” he says with a gentle brush of his lips against mine in answer before running his nose along my cheek to my ear.
“I’m sure you did.” My words come out quick and uncertain, still wanting to put up walls despite how good it feels to fit this well in his arms.
I shiver involuntarily in his hold, my body responding to him dropping kisses along my jaw and pressing closer. He tightens his grip when he feels my reaction and I get a sick thrill that we somehow keep doing this to each other. My eyes widen as he pulls out the pen that’s securing the bun at the back of my head, causing my hair to untwist and fall down my back in a heavy cascade.
“That’s some fucking hot-for-teacher shit, Ainsley. Don’t wear your hair like that around me again unless you want me fantasizing about roleplaying a classroom scene with you, or better yet, setting up that scene for you,” he says, voice gravelly and low against my ear. “Especially not in an outfit like that. Fucking hell, woman. Are you trying to kill me?”
He runs a hand over my ass in my tight pencil skirt and looks down as he finally lets me go, but not before I feel the effect I’ve had on him pressed tightly against me. I’m not the only one reacting to this embrace and he really likes my outfit.
This is a perfectly professional blouse that doesn't show any cleavage and a pencil skirt that hits just above my knees. It’s business casual and fine for the office. I look back at him as he struggles to compose himself, smiling in triumph to see him lose a bit of the control he always seems to have over every situation.
I reach up and pat his cheek with satisfaction. “You’re cracked. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing or using a pen to hold up my hair when it’s hot as balls out and I don’t have a hair tie.”
He catches my wrist and lowers it to my side, raising dark brows at my sassy attitude. “Don’t mistake me, Princess. There’s nothing wrong with it. I just like it a little too much to stay in a public place if that’s how you’re going to respond when I mention it. Now sit down before I march you out of here and show you what I really think.”
I smirk as I brush past him and slide into the booth, his hand smoothing over my ass before he follows closely behind me. I eye the other man in the booth warily before turning back to Payton for the introduction.
“Ainsley, this is Luca DaSilva, the SVP of operations at Olympus International. Luca, this is Ainsley Montgomery, my gorgeous girlfriend,” Payton supplies the introductions for us.
He officially claimed me . My heart races at the thought of people knowing for real now about our fake relationship.
“Nice to meet you,” I offer.
Luca nods and looks away without comment.
“Is he always that friendly?” I ask Payton without bothering to lower my voice.
“Don’t mind him. He’s an asshole on a good day. It’s not you,” Payton says at the same volume. Clearly, we’re not hurting Luca’s feelings by talking about him like this.
A flash of red hair catches my eye and I turn toward the door, just as Della takes a few steps into the bar. “My friend just arrived.” I wave and catch her attention, thankful for a buffer to this awkwardness.
She sees me and wiggles her fingers before heading to our booth wearing a green silk tank dress. She’s dressed more appropriately for this classy bar than me in work clothes, no matter what Payton thinks of my outfit. I need more details about his clothing preferences because this isn’t even sexy and if that’s a trigger, we’re going to have problems.
“Hi,” she says, sliding in on the other side of Luca, whose icy demeanor warmed a fraction at her addition. He was giving me a thorough once-over with those cold eyes as if he didn’t care much for me. I thought maybe I was invading boys’ night or something, but seeing his reception of Della, it appears he wasn’t pleased with being the third wheel.
“Hey, Dells, thanks for coming,” I say. “Payton, Luca, this is Della Byrnes, my best friend.” I provide the introductions this time, but I’m not as loose with the titles as Payton was.
Della raises her eyebrows at me suggestively as if saying we’ll talk about all this later, regardless of my lack of titles. I’ve given her the barest details about our dates, and I mentioned the kinky stuff Payton is into that I learned more about on our date at Rare. She threw herself on the couch in a fit of despair that I found a man who’s willing to spank me in private and treat me like a princess in public before she could.
She says hello to Payton with a knowing grin before she turns her attention to Luca.
Luca grasps Della’s hand and kisses it, giving her a smile he held back earlier, causing me to snicker. Payton catches on and slips his arm around my hip, pulling me against his side, where I fit perfectly. I try not to appear too awkward since this is supposed to be a two-way thing, and it’s not a bad spot to be, tucked into Payton’s warm body with his big arm around me. I try out leaning into his chest like I want to be there, and it’s not awful, either.
I feel him chuckle against me. I poke his thigh under the table. He squeezes my hip in response, then begins to draw lazy circles that have his long fingers brushing across my thigh and the outer part of my ass. I keep my hand on his thigh for good measure because damn, it's thick and muscular and two can play this game. I flex my fingers against his thigh and he presses his leg closer to mine, giving me more access to anywhere I want to explore, it seems. Goddamn, this man is shameless. I keep my hand safely on top of his thigh and stay away from the monster I know is lurking between his legs.
“Burns? Fitting with your hair,” Luca says. He speaks loud enough for us to hear across the large booth.
“Luca, intrusive thoughts stay in your head, please,” Payton admonishes with a laugh.
I tilt my head as I look up at Payton’s profile from my position tucked into his side. The casual way he said it seems like it’s a regular occurrence for them, with Payton having to remind Luca of this fact, so maybe Luca lacks a social filter and they’re quite close outside of their working relationship. It wouldn’t surprise me that Luca needs a reminder to be nice with how cold his reception was when I arrived. I definitely didn’t get the warm fuzzies from him.
“Byrnes with a Y, not a U, but you are playing with fire,” Della says, leaning into the humor and giving him a wink. Della loves that joke and obviously likes the vibe Luca is giving off if she’s willing to be this playful off the bat.
I smile and shake my head, leaving her to it. She’s more than capable of handling herself with a new guy she finds attractive, and the way she’s looking at Luca, she does. Maybe he’ll be the kind of guy she’s looking for who’ll treat her like a queen in public and spank her in private.
My cheeks heat, thinking about Payton’s descriptions of a spanking and how he’d make me forget the sting but I’d have the marks to remember him by. Okay, more than my cheeks are heating and my hand has slid the length of Payton’s thigh and back.
I squirm, rubbing my thighs together. Payton’s hand stills against my hip, his fingers gripping my thigh tighter like he knows exactly where my thoughts have traveled somehow. He isn’t even putting sex into the conversation tonight and that’s where my thoughts are straying anyway. Is it me? Am I the problem? Did he break me that easily and now that’s what I’ll think of anytime I’m with him? He’s fucking with my head without even trying. Damn, I need a drink, and fast.
There’s an espresso martini already on the table along with a tumbler of amber liquor over ice in front of Payton. I grab the martini. I’ve never tried one, but I like coffee, and the drink sounds like something I would like in theory. I take a tentative sip and make a face. No, I definitely don’t like it. How can both espresso and alcohol fail me like that?
“This is disgusting.” I push the glass his way. “Vodka soda with lime.” I give him my actual drink order. “Oh my God, I need the taste of that out of my mouth immediately.”
He laughs, handing me his glass. “Have my bourbon while you wait.”
I take a small sip. The fire of the bourbon burns the espresso martini out of my mouth in phases as Payton signals for a server, who hurries over. He orders my new drink, and Della asks for a gin and tonic. The server leaves and I take another sip of Payton's drink, knowing his lips have been along the same spot.
“You could have given me your actual drink order when I told you where to meet me.”
I hand his glass back and he swirls the bourbon around, making the ice tinkle gently. I raise my eyebrows at him incredulously.
“You didn’t give me the opportunity. You’re quite overbearing and hardly patient enough to allow me the chance to tell you what I actually want when it comes to anything.”
“You’re usually so vocal and opinionated, I figured you’d tell me either way.” He laughs.
He takes a sip of his drink right over the spot my gloss left a lip print, licking the rim of the glass suggestively before he sets the tumbler on the table in front of him. A hint of pink transferred to his lips. I reach up and smooth my thumb along his bottom lip to remove the gloss, and he presses a kiss to the pad of my thumb before I can pull my hand away. I look at him in surprise, not sure if he’s just an overly affectionate man, or if this is all for show for our friends. He did say he’s very hands-on and that’s been true each time I’ve been around him, so is this just Payton, or is it fake?
“How was your week, Muffin?” he asks with a soft expression as he observes my confusion.
The server returns with our new drinks. I gratefully take the vodka soda and squeeze the lime into the bubbly liquid to avoid thinking too hard about what’s real and what’s not.
“Fine. And stop calling me that.” I look over at him as I bite the straw in my drink contemplatively. I set the glass down. “You haven’t messaged me in a few days.” I don't want to ask him why; that feels so needy. I want him to willingly tell me why without having to pry it out of him.
“Work is demanding. I’ve had to focus on that this week.” He runs a long finger along the rim of his tumbler, my eyes tracking the movement.
“Ah, the workaholic excuse,” I say with less of my usual venom. I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I’m trying to play up the fake dating thing, toning down my typical attitude, while not alerting Della to any changes in my behavior. It’s harder than I expected.
Della’s not even paying any attention. She’s deep in conversation with Luca, her body turned toward him, gin and tonic in hand and a smile on her face. Well, fine, I guess I don’t have to worry about her. I look back at Payton just as he adds a second finger to the rim of his glass and stretches them off the edge, then pulls them back, almost like he’s finger-fucking it, and it makes me shiver. I can’t take my eyes off his fingers, the slow, methodical movements hypnotizing.
“I was thinking about you, even if I wasn’t talking to you.” His words are a quiet rumble, combined with the movement of his fingers, and the sea salt and amber smell of him so close to me sends goosebumps rising along the exposed skin of my arms. I drag my eyes away from his obscene fingers to his face and catch the way he’s watching me, taking in everything, seeing my reaction, and using it against me.
“You were thinking of me?” I cringe, realizing I said the words out loud, sounding needy. Stupid question, Ainsley. Fuck.
“Of course. You think we’d discover a new side of you that wants to play with me and I’d let you go back to denying yourself? No way.”
My eyes snap up, brows drawing together. “What was with you pulling the pen out of my hair and talking about role-playing?” I ask quietly, twisting the ends of my hair where it rests over my shoulder.
“Mmmm, that was giving in to a temptation that was a bit too strong and you nailing one of my favorites a little too well.”
“Your favorites ?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. I look up, which is hard when I’m pressed so close to his side. I scoot away to see his face better. “What do you mean?”
He makes a face as I shift, reaching over to scoop up my legs and drape them over his knees so I’m half in his lap and facing him. He keeps his arm around my back, all but cradling me in this position, seeming pleased. I roll my eyes at him, but I don’t move away. I don’t think I’d get very far with how he’s holding me .
“Let’s just say if you’d shown up wearing glasses, we’d have ditched our friends and had some choice words on our way out of here that you likely wouldn’t have approved of.”
“You have a glasses fetish?” I ask, confused. “How do you make it through the day when so many people wear them?”
He takes a sip of bourbon. “It’s more specific than that. Sure you want to hear this?” His voice is low so only I can hear. He sets his tumbler down and places his hand on my bare leg, pressing his fingers under the edge of my skirt above my knee. I’m thankful it’s on the longer side, even if it’s higher up my thighs now.
“Well, now I do. I need to know what you’re talking about, exactly. Call it research so I can avoid an awkward situation in the future, given I do wear glasses on occasion.”
“Fuck me,” he curses softly. “I didn’t need to know that, and now…let’s say I have a very vivid imagination and it’s running wild.” He traces his thumb along the inside of my thigh and damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s touching me somewhere far more intimate.
“Okay, but that’s not explaining the glasses or the favorites comments.”
“You’re not going to like it. It's all about sex, and your propriety is too easily offended. I don't think you actually want to hear it, so I’ll be a good boyfriend on this one.” He looks away from me at that, his eyes straying to his glass of bourbon like he wants to finish what’s left but doesn’t want to remove his hand from my leg to take a sip.
I bristle, hating that he’s using this against me. He’s baiting me and it’s working a little too well. Now I need to know. “Damn you, Payton, that’s not fair. I'm perfectly capable of deciding what I can handle,” I hiss, sliding my eyes across the booth to Della and Luca, who are leaning toward each other, having their own quiet exchange that’s not nearly as contentious as ours. “Explain yourself and stop dodging the subject.”
He gives in to his urge to drink his bourbon, takes the last gulp of the amber liquid, sets his tumbler down, and gives me a measured look before he finally shakes his head. “Fine, but I warned you. Drink that.” He nods at my vodka soda.
“You’re so annoying,” I complain, picking up my glass and waving him on.
“You know that for whatever else, I’m a nerd first and foremost. I have a hot teacher and sexy librarian fetish. I love the glasses, bun, tight skirt, white top. Especially with that stern look you do so well.” He indicates my outfit with a flick of his hand. “You walked in like you stepped right out of my dreams. The first thing I thought of was you scolding me until I pulled your hair down, wrapped it around my fist, pushed your skirt up, and fucked you over the table.”
I choke on my vodka soda, liquid spraying over the table as I cough in surprise. What. The. Fuck. I unwittingly walked into that just like I walked in looking like Payton’s wet dreams, one of his fetishes , just by wearing business attire and being lazy with my hair. Had I left work later and been driving after dark, I may have been wearing my glasses, and then I’d have completed the look. And he’d have wanted me to scold him , which I do regularly with how mean I am to him.
I’ve been feeding into his fetish without knowing it just by existing . I’m in so much trouble with him. I can't even use my normal armor to fight him because he likes when I’m mean. I catch Della’s eyes across the table as she checks in. I wheeze and sputter as Payton pats my back. I shake my head and roll my eyes, signaling I’m fine, even if I don’t look it. She bites her lip to keep from laughing at my look of discomfort.
“I said you wouldn’ t like it,” Payton says, capturing my attention again. I glare at him in rebuke.
“No shit. I didn't think you were going to say you wanted to fuck me. I just thought you were going to talk about sex in general. It’s different.”
“It’s a general fetish. You just happened to embody it tonight looking like you do. It’s distracting.” He looks away and picks up his tumbler, only to see it’s empty before setting it back down.
“I would’ve gone home to change if you hadn’t insisted I meet you here. We could’ve avoided this awkwardness.”
“Noted,” he says quietly. “But for the record, I really fucking like it on you, Ainsley.”
I laugh, and it surprises us both, which has him looking over at me with a perturbed expression that’s more suited to me.
“It’s funny that you're surly and not smiling for once. Knowing I’m making you uncomfortable just by showing up like this is actually pretty great. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more it makes me laugh. Hold on,” I say, giggling and turning away from him, rummaging through my purse while Payton glares.
“You’re awfully happy about my discomfort. I’m trying to be noble and keep you comfortable, and you're rubbing it in. I don't have to be nice about this. I can go back to pushing your boundaries.”
I find what I’m looking for, turning back and smiling wickedly, enjoying the idea of torturing him a bit more. I’m wearing tortoiseshell glasses that perfectly frame my face and bring out the green and amber in my eyes. His eyes turn into blue fire as his smile disappears.
“I wear glasses when I drive at night, so I keep them in my purse. I think they’re cute.”
“You’re cruel.” He reaches out and strokes my hair over my shoulder, clearing a space for his hand to rest against my throat, thumb stroking up to my jaw like he can’t stop himself.
“You’re not shit and you don’t deserve to touch me.” My voice is a low purr as I brush his hand off my neck. “You definitely don’t get to fuck me and you’re lucky I’m sitting here with you, letting you buy me drinks. Now clean up this mess,” I say in my meanest tone, indicating the drink I spit all over the table.
His lips part and his eyes burn as they stay locked on my face, and I know I have him under some kind of spell that he gave me the power to wield. I laugh again and pull off my glasses, return them to the case, and throw them back in my purse for safekeeping. When I turn back, Payton’s there, a little too close, and I jump in surprise. His hand slips into my hair at the back of my neck and I still instantly, a feisty kitten picked up by the scruff and gone docile, my eyes trained on his fiery blue gaze that sears me to my soul.
Oh, shit.
His voice is a quiet, commanding promise when he speaks just for me to hear. “You think you can be a brat and get away with playing with me and not get it right back, my pretty little fucktoy? If we were anywhere else, I’d bend you over my knee and spank your ass raw before I fucked it and filled my beautiful cumslut up. You can dress any way you want and still be Daddy’s little whore, begging for my cock to fill your every hole. Don't think you have the upper hand because I give you insight into one little fetish of mine, Princess. I know what you need, and you’re just getting a taste of what that means. Now be a good girl so we can both enjoy our night and not get too wound up or regret anything else.”
He squeezes my neck and pulls me closer to him so his lips brush over mine once and he places a kiss at the corner of my mouth before he pulls back. I moan quietly under the pressure of his fingers, the words he spoke causing wetness between my thighs. I realize my hands are latched onto his shirt, pulling him closer to me as I turn my face up to his. He’s looking at me curiously as the sound vibrates from me and my eyelids flutter. He slowly lets me go, his hand brushing down the sweep of my back and over the curve of my hip. I keep holding his shirt until his hand is on the booth between us and I finally let go, my hands flying back to my lap. I can’t believe I was holding him so tightly.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say on a shaky exhale.
His smile is seductive and pleased. “Too late for that, Princess. You just showed me you can play exactly how I want you to. You gave me a delicious little taste. Now I’ll eat you up.”
My stomach drops. I showed far more than I should have, and he’s all too capable and willing to use it against me. I condemned myself to whatever sentence Payton plans to dole out. I can’t deny that it stokes my attraction and the magnetic pull he has on me.
I want to touch him and have his hands all over me. I’d let him do anything he wants to me, and he can never know.