32. Thirty-two
Thirty-two
Ainsley
W alking into Payton’s home knowing I’ll be staying here for an extended period feels like the edge of a slippery slope into a situation that’s far too familiar and scary. Archer conveniently created a reason for me to live with him and I was stuck, completely dependent. When the world fell out from under me, I didn’t have anywhere to go and no one to ask for help.
I follow Payton into his room and watch as he puts my bag into his closet. “Wait, I’m staying in here with you?” I ask, a note of accusation in my tone I can’t help, given where my thoughts have strayed.
He turns around slowly and gives me a dark look that promises punishment for my insolence. He’s in Daddy mode, and my knees weaken as butterflies gather in my stomach just from that look. He walks toward me slowly, unbuckling his belt as my breath catches in my chest with anticipation. Hell fucking yes. I need him to put me in my place and wipe every thought right out of my head with his particular brand of dominance.
“If you think you’re going to be in my house and I’ll be okay with you anywhere but in my bed, I think we’re going to have to discipline that idea out of you right fucking now. Once you get it through your head this is where you belong, I’ll put you on your knees and show you what you’d be missing if you chose to sleep elsewhere.”
A spark of rebellion lights in me, knowing it’s safe to push him because his punishment for doing so would be even better. I set my feet and cross my arms, fully ready to be a brat, as he likes to call me.
“How dare you assume I want to share a bed with you? I need my own space. I need my autonomy and not to be stuck with you all the fucking time. Needing a place to stay doesn't mean it needs to be in here, you presumptive prick. I have half a mi—”
He grips my chin and kisses me, stopping my tirade that’s getting us both worked up. It’s bruising and allows no argument as his tongue demands entry to my mouth, and I welcome him in. His taste is pure heaven, making me moan with need as I kiss him back. I want to devour him and show him I’m just as capable of putting him on his knees as he is at making mine weak.
I twine my arms around his back, dragging my nails down his skin as he gathers me to his body. He groans and nips at my lips as he pulls away, peppering my skin with soft kisses he trails along my jaw. He licks along my neck and bites at the sensitive spot where it meets my shoulder, sucking until my knees give out and he’s holding me up. I’ll have a mark from that, and the thought thrills me for some stupid reason. He’s claiming me, telling anyone who sees it that I’m his. Not just to kiss and fuck, but to take care of, which seems to be of even more importance to him.
“Take off my belt, you naughty little slut. I need to remind you how good it feels to let go and be with me.”
I eagerly drop my hands to his hips and work his belt free, holding it out for him and presenting my wrists with a smirk when he takes it. He’s finally going to turn my brain off again, let me come undone under his hand, and feel safe to fall apart, knowing he’s guiding me through every floaty moment of unthinking bliss. It’s a welcome relief after a day of stress, making me jittery with excitement for the scene that will take my mind away from my stupid situation. This is addiction in its purest form, my attachment. I need a hit of what Payton can provide.
He takes the belt and stands back, observing me impatiently rocking from one foot to the other. “Strip.”
His one-word command sends bolts of desire streaking through me. I’m already barefoot, having kicked off my pink rain boots at the front door. I unfasten my skirt and push it down my legs, letting it pool on the floor around my feet before I start working on the buttons of my blouse. My damn fingers shake with anticipation, the simple task taking twice as long. I finally work the buttons free and let it fall at my feet, leaving me standing in my bra and panties, which don’t match, but Payton doesn’t seem to mind as he takes me in. I reach behind my back and unfasten my hot pink lace bra, the straps sliding down my arms, nipples peaking in the cool air that caresses my skin. I hook my fingers in the straps of the simple black thong and slowly work it down my thighs, his chest rising and falling faster with each piece of discarded clothing.
I step out of my pile of clothing. I want so badly to step out of my life the way I did my clothing. To discard the stress of losing everything I own and my living situation in a matter of hours like I tossed my rain boots at the door. I need Payton to show me what he’s been saying all along—that he can take care of me when I need him to, without taking advantage of me. “I’m ready for you, Daddy.” My voice quivers with need and vulnerability.
Payton walks around me, sliding the end of his leather belt against my skin and making goosebumps rise in the wake he creates. “Bend over and put your forearms on the dresser,” he commands.
I turn to his long dresser with the large mirror hanging above it. Taking a tentative step toward it, I bend and place my arms on the top. It forces me to look directly at the mirror, and I watch as he comes up behind me, still holding the belt. He stands so close I can feel every ridge and hard muscle mold to my body as he leans over me. He inhales deeply, blowing out a breath as he moves along my spine. I’m nearly jumping with need, held in place by his weight. He drags the belt up my side, letting the tail touch my heated skin. I expect him to put it around my wrists like cuffs again, but he loops it around my neck and tightens it so the excess runs down my back to his hand. He stands back and groans when he looks at the image of us reflected in the mirror.
“You look fucking amazing with my belt around your throat. I can see you wearing a collar for me all the time, showing the world you’re mine in every way. My cockwhore. My bratty baby girl. My princess. My everything.” His cock presses into my ass insistently. He really likes this idea. It thrills me in a way I never expected when I first met this annoying man in a café and ended up owing him a stupid favor by accident.
“Collar me if you want that so badly,” I taunt, knowing full well the implications of what I’m saying. I did the research for my degradation kink.
Being collared means commitment. It symbolizes a relationship between a dominant and a submissive. It’s far more than the fake relationship we’ve engaged in. It goes beyond the play or the sex. It's a physical representation of the very obsessive, very real attachment I’ve developed due to being with someone as compelling and charismatic as Payton, reinforced by the care, attention, and devotion he’s given me. He’s made me feel safe in a way I never expected.
Payton’s eyes dart to mine in the mirror and he pulls back on the belt, forcing me up until my back’s against his chest. I gasp as the belt constricts and he lets it loosen. His arms come around my body, banding me nearly as tightly.
“You want to be mine?” he asks, voice low and serious, our eyes locked in the mirror.
I swallow against the leather around my throat, but it’s dry for another reason altogether, my heart hammering in my chest with the vulnerable thought I need to say. “Only if you’re all mine.”
He drops his face into my hair, his shuddering exhale ruffling the strands of gold that float around my shoulders. He’s expelling a tension I wasn't aware he was under and surrendering a weight I didn’t know he was carrying. When he looks up, a new man faces me, unmasked and even more stunning than the one I’m already obsessed with.
“I’ve been yours since the moment I stopped you from throwing your laptop on the ground. I needed to know you, to have you in my life in whatever capacity you’d have me. I wanted to get past your walls and attitude to see who was behind the vicious words. I knew you were exactly what I wanted— needed —and nothing else would do. Knowing you want this, too, is the best fucking thing to ever happen to me.”
Butterflies burst into flight, warmth spreading within me at his words. “It’s not all fake?” My voice is quiet, tentative, worried there’s still a part of this he wants to stay for show, only to prove to Harlowe that he’s fine alone, despite his pretty words.
“It’s never been fake to me, baby. I’ve always wanted you. Having an excuse to get to know you was convenient and thank fuck for that. I don’t know if I could’ve gotten past those walls without the extra time and reasons for you to give me a chance.”
Tears prick at my eyes, knowing how persistent he’s been, how much time he’s spent trying to make me smile and gently pry away my defenses to get to know me inside this prickly shell. He’s seen the worst and still wanted me. He knows my darkest secrets, endured my most horrible treatment, and was never deterred. Instead, he was patient, understanding, kind, calm, caring, and resilient. He’s everything I needed, whether I knew it or not. He even managed to show me a new side of myself, allowing me to feel safe in my vulnerability and give up control to explore it.
“It’s not fake to me anymore,” I admit. He smiles gently, like he already knew that and was just waiting for me to catch up. “But there’s something you should know about me before you commit to this.” I swallow a lump in my throat that feels like it’s stuck on the belt that’s still wrapped around my neck.
“You’re not going to scare me away, Princess, no matter what you say,” he assures me, tugging gently on the end of the belt. “You can tell me anything you want or need. I’ll be able to handle it. ”
I close my eyes tightly and find the courage to lay myself bare to him. He’s already seen so much. If this is the thing that breaks us and sends him running, I need to know.
“I struggle with attachment issues. I’m the worst sort of clingy and obsessive and catch feelings when I shouldn’t, to an unhealthy degree. Everything’s a million times worse once sex is introduced to the equation. I need you to know now because that’s already happening and I’m sorry if that’s not what you’re looking for, despite what you’re saying. I can’t help it, and I know it’s a lot, especially so soon, to know that the person you’ve been fake dating is falling in love with you like a psycho,” I ramble, my hands gripping the edge of the dresser and my eyes dropping to where his fingers are splayed across my stomach.
“Eyes on me, Princess,” he says, yanking on the belt sharply, halting my tumble of words and self-loathing over my issues . “You better fucking be falling in love with me because I need you on the same page. I can’t be the only one stupidly in love here. When I fuck you like a dirty whore, I want to be able to tell you I love you and know you love me back. When I collar you, I want you to know it’s out of love and respect and my own submission to you that I do it. When I smile and annoy the shit out of you, I want you wildly in love with me even when you say you hate it.”
“I love all of that,” I admit quietly, my eyes finally leaving his in the mirror as I turn in his arms. “And I love you. I’ll let you do all that and even take care of me. You’ve loved me consistently, despite everything I did to make you hate me. You’ve shown me you’re unfailing and true to your word when others were all talk. I trust you.”
He scoops me up and plants me on the dresser, his mouth landing on mine in a bruising kiss that’s filled with longing and passion. He kisses me savagely, imprinting his taste on my mouth, stealing my breath, and making me wild for him. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him close, hating that he’s still clothed while I’ve been naked and vulnerable this whole exchange. When he finally pulls his mouth from mine, his pupils are blown wide, turning his blue eyes nearly black, wearing a feral expression I know will only lead to very good things for me.
“I love you, Ainsley Montgomery, but right now you’re my perfect little cumslut that needs to be treated like my fucktoy. Turn around, bend over, and let me spank that insane ass before I fuck it.”
I hop down from the dresser and turn, bending over again as commanded. I’m already vibrating in anticipation and need, dripping wet, the slickness coating my thighs. I look over when he opens a drawer and pulls out a black leather paddle from a collection of toys. Another toy with soft leather strips hanging off a handle catches my eye. I point at it before he closes the drawer.
“What’s that one?”
Payton pulls the toy out by the handle and shows me the long leather pieces hanging off of it. “This is a flogger. It’s best used on backs, or at least it’s better on your ass when you’re lying down instead of standing because the falls”—he drags the leather pieces along my skin before he continues—“can wrap around your thighs or hips and hurt too much rather than feel good. Paddles and crops are better for this position.” He tosses the flogger back in the drawer and closes it.
Satisfied with his explanation, I resume my position and wait for whatever comes next. “Is this going to hurt?” I ask hesitantly because I don’t want him to stop if he thinks I’m not down for this. I just want to know what to expect .
“There’ll be some pain. If it’s too much, you know what to say to make it stop. Use your words like a good girl and you’ll be fine,” he tells me, his voice low and sexy as he drags the paddle up the backs of my bare legs. “But remember, Princess. You’re getting your ass marked because you wanted to sleep in a bed that wasn’t mine. This is a punishment. I’m reminding you that you’re mine and I won’t have you spending another night without me.”
He pulls the paddle off my legs and I feel the swish of air before it connects with my ass, making me jump and hiss out a pained breath.
“That fucking stings!”
“Tell me whose bed you’re sleeping in from now on.”
I’m mad as hell, my ass cheeks still burning, and my nerve endings are on fire. He’s not in control of what I do. “I’ll sleep wherever the hell I want,” I sass. “You have other—” Before I can finish the sentence, the paddle connects with my ass again and I jump, letting out a breath so I don’t cry out. Fuck, that’s way worse than his hand. I rise up on my toes and shake, fighting the lingering pain.
“I want you to tell me where you’re sleeping,” he repeats, and without waiting for my answer, he paddles me again. I let out a pained cry and wiggle, trying to get away from the hold he has on the belt that keeps me in place.
“Your bed,” I breathe, voice thick with tears I’m desperately trying to hold back.
“And why are you sleeping in my bed?” he asks patiently like he’s not holding a leather paddle ready to swing against my burning ass.
“Because you’re a possessive asshole who wants me there,” I spit out, already knowing I’m going to regret it. The swish of the paddle swinging through the air and the smack of it connecting with my skin are familiar enough that I tense and muffle the initial yelp and moan I make when the sting sets in. Tears track down my face and drop onto my arms. I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I can’t look at him. I regret my sass and know I’m bringing this on myself. I can’t help it.
“Use your words, Princess,” he says quietly, smoothing his palm over my ass. “You know what to say that’ll make this stop.”
“Yellow,” I say quietly, dropping my face onto my arms and feeling my shoulders shake with sobs that have nothing to do with the sting of the paddle that has already faded. “Red,” I cry out, ready for this all to stop, overwhelmed by so many feelings and emotions I’m instantly overstimulated.
Payton drops the paddle at our feet and removes the belt from my neck before he picks me up and carries me to the bed. He gently lays me down on my stomach and opens a drawer on the nightstand. I continue to sob as he smooths a salve on my raw ass. He removes his shirt and pants, crawls onto the bed, and pulls me on top of him in only his boxer briefs. He runs his hands up and down my back soothingly, kissing my hair and murmuring for me to let it out.
“I’m proud of you for using your safe words, Princess. I know it’s hard to ask for help or end a scene because of something hard. You’re brave and strong, and I’m so fucking impressed with you. You’re such a good girl.”
I bury my face in his neck and my sobs start to abate. I love hearing his praise, especially when he calls me a good girl. But his words are tinged with double meaning. He’s not just talking about this scene like my tears aren’t just about the pain from the paddling.
“I’m sorry I’m a mess,” I say, wiping at my face. I’ve probably gotten snot and tears all over his neck and chest. I’m so pathetic.
“No apologizing for a natural reaction. You experienced a traumatic event today. Instead of stuffing it down and repressing everything, you need to process your emotions and grieve what you’ve lost. Feeling physical pain can ground your emotions in reality and help you deal with what you may not fully understand yet. Let the tears out and know that using your safe words stopped the imminent pain and allowed you to have control of the scene when you didn’t have control of the situation you experienced earlier. Processing what happened to you today through a scene is healthy.”
“I didn’t realize it would come out like that. I was looking forward to a spanking, thinking it would be like last time and I’d get off on your lap. I just wanted to have an orgasm and turn off my brain,” I admit, a bit of a whine to my tone.
Payton’s chest rumbles under my ear as he chuckles. “Don't worry, Princess. You’re going to come plenty of times once we make sure you get what you need right now."