by Huss, JA
Yes. My stepfather is a fucking asshole. Because this isn’t about me. This is about him. He’s forcing me to marry his business partner’s son. Dickerson Worthington the Third. Can you believe there are three fucking Dickersons running around this country?
I refuse to marry a man named Dickerson. I don’t care if my stepfather’s partnership depends on it. How does that even make sense, anyway? How could me marrying Dickerson the Third fix his business? It makes no sense. And who names a baby boy Dickerson anyway? It’s like his parents said, “I think we’d like our son to grow up to be a dick.”
Because Dickerson is a dick. And he’s got a small one too. He pulled it out on me once in summer camp and… Oh, God, I want to vomit just thinking about his shriveled-up little pecker.
I pound on the window again. “Please!” I beg. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“Shut up,” he growls. “Or I’ll spank that ass of yours again.”
Oh. That’s why it stings. I remember now. He slapped me and I was so stunned I just kinda looked at him with my mouth open.
But I wasn’t stunned that it hurt. Though it did. He smacked me hard.
I was stunned because it kinda got me hot for a second. I don’t know why I like the thought of shit like that. The spanking, I mean. I just do. Especially when it’s all real… and angry… and sexy.
You’re so stupid, Lyssa. Certifiably sick.
“You don’t understand,” I say again. But it’s a weak, small mumble and I don’t even think he hears me.
I slump back down onto the mattress and cover back up, my eyelids too heavy to cooperate with my big plans of talking my way out of this little kidnap adventure. I fall asleep to the rocking motion of the van. Aware that my life is over. My freedom is being taken away. And in two weeks I will have to marry Dickerson. I will have to let him kiss me, and dance with me, all in front of people.
And I’ll have to smile through the whole miserable experience.
Then the real humiliation starts. Because I will be locked in a bedroom with him and forced to consummate the vows.
So. Gross.
No, this can’t be happening. I won’t do it.
I say that over, and over, and over again in my head. As if summoning courage and determination is enough to put a stop sign out in front of my billionaire stepfather’s best-laid plans and turn this shit show around.
But it’s not enough. It’s never been enough. He has done worse than this to me, but I’ve been free. For two whole years, I’ve managed to slip away. I had the apartment and… the money. Though I knew what that money was.
His bribe.
I didn’t spend it, of course. Not on me. But he doesn’t know that and now he’s coming to collect what he paid for.
I foolishly thought this freedom would last forever. I let down my guard and allowed myself to believe my life was my own and now…
But… I won’t do it. I won’t. I will find a way out of this arrangement he’s made for me if it’s the last thing I do. I will not marry that pervert. I will not give him my body. They’ll have to hold me down and tie me to the bed before I submit to that.
When I wake up I realize it’s because the van has stopped.
I have a raging headache and my eyes feel like someone rubbed sandpaper over them while I slept. And my body aches. My arms are stiff, my back has a kink in it, and I’m cold.
The driver’s door opens, then slams shut. Shoes crunch on a gravel driveway and my worst fear comes true.
I know where we’re at.
The mansion my stepfather bought me when I turned eighteen. The very mansion where the wedding will be held in two weeks. I should’ve known this. I should’ve seen this coming. I knew my stepfather was dead serious about forcing this marriage. He told me. Yelled it at me the last time I found him waiting in the lobby of my building. He dragged me into the elevator and yelled, so loud and angry, the veins were sticking out of his neck. I stood and let him. Just let him berate me, all the while wishing he’d have a stroke.
Which is horrible, but he’s horrible. No decent stepfather would make their only daughter marry a man like Dickerson. He’s… they’re both… awful, awful people.
And he threatened me that day. Threatened to ‘beat the brat right out of me,’ as he put it. Complained about how I used him for money, and all I cared about was clubbing, and drinking, and friends. He’s never had a single nice thing to say to me. Ever. Not since my mother married him when I was six.
Not even the day she died. He told me I looked like a drugged-up slut at the funeral.
I didn’t used to care that he hated me. Why should I? I was the light of my mother’s life and she let me know that every moment I was home from boarding school. And yes, I did get everything I wanted, but I was not a bad girl. I didn’t hurt people. Not with words, not with actions, not with violence. I got straight A’s, I excelled in all the school clubs, I even ran charity events with my mother every summer when I was home.
And OK, yeah. I mostly did that so I didn’t have to see my stepfather or be subjected to his house rules while I was on break, but it was nice to spend that time with my mom and I don’t regret it.
I was the perfectly poised little rich girl any time we were in public and people could see me.
And I used to have real friends. Before my stepfather ripped me out of my boarding school when I was fifteen and made me come home and go to school with the sons and daughters of all his horrible friends.
Like Dickerson. Gross.
Then… everything changed. Me, mostly. But it wasn’t my fault.
And then my mother passed away two years ago and suddenly I was no one’s light. I was just… Wild Thing.
That’s what he called me.
Wild thing.
Like I’m an animal.
Fuck him.
When he ambushed me on Thursday I got lucky. He couldn’t drag me out of the lobby, not without me making a scene. So he grabbed my arm tight and told me to get in the elevator and once we got upstairs we would wait until his people came to take me away in the middle of the night.
So I could “get the help I needed”.
He said I was ruining his reputation, and his business, and his life.
What about my life? He’s the one who ruined that.
And me too.
He ruined me.
No, Lyssa. I chastise myself for falling back into that old belief. I’ve worked hard on my issues. So I drink a little too much? And I party hard. And go dancing. He made me this girl, didn’t he?
Yes, my inner voice soothes.
It’s all his fault I’m wild.
But when we got off the elevator on my floor there were housekeepers in the hallway. And I knew… if I did not make a scene—the biggest scene I’ve ever made in my entire life—if I did not become the personification of Wild Thing, then everything would go back to the way it was.
And I would not allow that to happen.
My freedom was too important.
So I did. And I won that day.
But I’m not going to win this one.
The back door to the van opens and Mason the Princess Hunter stands there, backlit by the lights at the front of the mansion.
“Get out,” he says.
I’m still under the covers. My body hidden from him. But if I get out it won’t be.
“I don’t have clothes,” I mumble, my throat so dry, my voice cracks.
“Whose fault is that?” he asks.
“You ripped my dress off, you fucking asshole.”
He smiles. It’s the same smile as last night, but how I ever thought it was charming, I’ll never know. Because I see it for what it is now. Evil. He is evil. “You ran,” he says.
“Yeah, because you fucking drugged my drink and were about to stuff me into this van.” I hiss out that whole sentence.
“You know what?” he says, pointing his finger at me. “I don’t like your filthy fucking mouth.”
&n
bsp; I practically guffaw. “You don’t like my filthy fucking mouth?”
“No,” he says. “I think it’s disgusting. And if you were my daughter I’d slap your ass every time those words flew out.”
“Ever hear of leading by example?” I snarl.
“Get out.”
“I don’t have clothes. I’m not gonna give you the pleasure of seeing me naked again.”
He smiles, and once again, it’s evil. “You wanna play that game, princess? Because I’ll play.”
And then he reaches under my covers, grabs my ankle, and pulls me out of the van.
CHAPTER FIVE - MASON
She slides to the edge of the van. I grab her shoulders, spin her around so she’s face down, and push down between her shoulder blades so her perfect ass is up in the air.
And then I swat her.
Hard.
She bucks her back and squeals. “You motherfucker!”
I slap her again. So hard, my hand is stinging.
“You wanna be a little wild thing?” I ask her. “I’ll show you what that gets you when I’m in charge.” I smack her one more time. And this makes her whimper. “Had enough?” I ask, breathing heavy. “Because I can go all day.”
“You’re a dick!”
One last time. I make it count.
“Ow!” she screams. “You—”
“Stop fighting, Lyssa. For once in your life, just do as you’re told. Because you can’t win. You can scream all you want, there’s nothing around here for miles. You can’t even run because you don’t have clothes.”
She starts breathing funny. Like maybe she’s crying. So I figure that last one did the trick. I grab her arm and pull her up, then spin her around.
For a second she almost tries to cover herself. But instead, she tilts up her chin, squares her shoulders, and looks me in the eyes. Daring me to find her sexy.
Which I do. There’s no way to deny that. But her attitude. Oh, fuck that. I do not put up with girls like Lyssa.
She has tears in her eyes, but she’s not crying. Those are tears of anger.
I know the difference.
“Gonna behave now?” I ask.
She tips her chin up even higher. Looking down her nose at me. She’s got that haughty princess act down, that’s for sure. No one’s gonna knock her down a peg. Especially a guy like me.
That look says I’m not worthy of her anger. I’m not even worthy of her contempt.
And honestly, I don’t really give a fuck. She’s not my problem anymore. All I gotta do is take her inside, lock her up, and wait for her stepfather to show up with some asshole he hired to give his stepdaughter the attitude adjustment she so very badly needs.
“Good,” I say, taking her silence as submission. “Come with me.”
I hold her arm tight. Probably too tight. But she did try to run. Twice. So I’m not taking any chances. It’s four in the morning, I’ve been driving for hours, and I’m not in the mood to go chasing her across that wide-open lawn in the front of the house. She probably wouldn’t make it to the woods, but you never know with this girl.
Just thinking about hunting her down in those dark woods pisses me off and it hasn’t even happened.
Not gonna, either. Because I grip her so hard, she whimpers.
“You’re going to bruise me,” she protests as I drag her up the impressive front stairs to the mansion.
“You mean like you bruised my jaw?” I ask.
“You kidnapped me! What did you expect?”
I shake her a little and say, “Just be quiet,” as I punch in the security code for the house and swing the door open wide.
She resists, but I pull her through the door, then close it, and lock it up tight. “You know this house?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she growls.
“Good. Then you know the security system it has. Every window is locked. Every door is locked. If you break a window and try to get out, this system won’t call the police, Lyssa. It calls in a whole team of guys like me who will not simply spank your ass and demand respect. They will hunt you down, shoot you with tranquilizers, and then tie you up in your bedroom. So think very carefully before you make yet another bad decision in your life. Because it will get ugly.”
I shove her. Hard. Probably harder than I need to. But I want her to understand that I’m not fucking around. I need her to behave for just a few hours so I can collect my payment and get the fuck on my way. Forget I ever met this girl or her miserable stepfather.
I flick on the light and find her standing in the middle of the opulent foyer, her back to me.
And damn, I really did spank her hard. One ass cheek has a bright red handprint on it.
She takes a deep breath.
Lets it out.
But doesn’t turn around.
I take a moment to study her backside, that urge inside from earlier resurfacing. Because she is stunningly beautiful, even from this view.
Then I picture her pussy in the van, her legs spread open wide, her bouncing breasts, and begin to get hard again.
I need to take this fucking cup off. I can’t believe I drove three hours wearing that stupid thing.
But good thing you had it, Mason. Otherwise this night might’ve gone a little different. You might not be here right now. And as much as I hate to admit it, I took this job for a reason. A very urgent reason and I need that payment from her stepfather. I have big plans, all of which depend on seeing this through.
She looks over her shoulder at me. Frowning. Almost pouting.
“Not gonna work,” I say, shaking my head. “You can pout those plump lips all you want. Not gonna work on me.”
She huffs and turns to face me. Unashamed of her naked body. Maybe even quite proud of it. “I’m not pouting at you. In case you didn’t notice, I’m having a personal crisis right now. This isn’t about you.”
I toss the keys to the van on a nearby table. She can’t get out of the house, so there’s no reason to worry about the keys. “In case you didn’t already figure it out,” I say, “everything I do is about me, Lyssa. So I won’t be joining your pity party.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Good. You weren’t invited.”
“Go put some clothes on.”
“I don’t live here,” she snaps. “This might be my house, but I have no intention of ever living here. So there are no clothes. I guess you should have thought of that before you ripped my dress right off my body.”
I laugh. “You always go out clubbing wearing no panties and no bra, Lyssa? Is that the image you like to project?”
“That’s none of your business,” she says.
“You wanted to fuck me in the alley,” I say.
“No,” she says. “You wanted to fuck me.”
“Sweetheart,” I say, laughing a little. “I can fuck anyone I want. And believe me, you’re just another little girl pretending to be a woman. I wouldn’t waste my time with you. So you can stand there naked all you want, it’s not gonna help your situation. So go. Find. Some clothes.”
“I just told you—”
“They’re in the goddamned bedroom,” I say. “Your stepfather put them there.”
She licks her lips and smiles. “Well, maybe you can point me to said bedroom? Because as I’ve already explained, I don’t live here.”
Well. She’s got game. I’ll give her that. Trying to get me up in her bedroom.
“No,” she says, even though I didn’t say anything. “I’m not trying to get you up in my bedroom. I just really have no idea where it might be.”
I look up at the second floor. There are actually two staircases in the foyer. Both of them snake down from either side of the large, wide space.
Wings, I decide. This place has wings. Pretentious much?
But what did I expect? Her stepfather has the kind of money most people can’t even comprehend. He owns half of the office buildings in downtown, more properties in the upper north side than I can count and some government official even let
this asshole put his name on a park.
“Up there,” I say, nodding to the second floor.
She tosses her head, making her wildly disheveled hair cover half of her face. “Do you have any idea how many bedrooms this house has?”
I don’t even try to guess. A house this size makes no sense to me.
“Twenty-one,” she says, answering her own question.
I laugh out loud. “Why the fuck do you need twenty-one bedrooms? You running an orphanage or something?”
She makes a face. “I didn’t buy this house, Mason.” She crosses her arms, maybe starting to become aware of her nakedness. Or maybe she’s just cold. “My stepfather thought he could use it to bribe me to marry his business partner’s son. And when it didn’t work, he hired you to bring me here and force me to marry him.”
“Poor you,” I say, thinking she’s probably cold. Because I can still see one nipple and it’s bunched up and hard.
“Yeah,” she says, sadness in her voice. “Poor me.”
Then she turns, chooses the staircase on the left, and begins to walk up.
I follow her. Because even though I know the security system is top-notch, there’s no telling what she’ll do.
Besides, I want to look at that handprint on her ass a little more.
It’s pretty fucking nice. And if I thought I could get away with it, I’d snap a picture and jerk off to it later. I’d make sure to snap that pic as she was lifting her leg too. Because each time she does that, I get a little rear-view glimpse of her shaved pussy.
“Nice view, isn’t it?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.
I shrug. “Hey,” I say, refusing to be ashamed for being caught in the act. “You’re the one who wants to show it off. Don’t blame me for looking.”
The thing is… I do kinda want to fuck her. I think any man in my present situation would be thinking the same thing. Lyssa Baylor is way out of my league. Not in the one-night stand sense. I could get her to one-night-stand me for sure.
But anything more than that and yeah. She’s just one of those girls who ignores anyone who doesn’t fit neatly into her little delusional bubble.
She stops at the top and looks both ways down the hallway. “Eenie, meany, miney, moe.” Then she goes right, even though ‘moe’ landed on left.