by Huss, JA
Figures. Wild thing, right? Rebel to the end. God forbid she do anything by direction.
She saunters down the hallway, swaying her hips—probably for my benefit—then grabs the first door handle and swings it open.
“Nope,” she says. “Not that one.”
“How do you know? You didn’t even go in.”
“I know,” she says. “But feel free. Check the closet. I’ll bet you your jacket there’s no clothes in there.”
I study her for a second. Trying to decide if I should hand over my jacket or make her play the game. Clearly her nakedness is starting to have an effect. She can play tough girl all she wants but you can only be butt naked in front of a strange man for so long before it starts to bother you.
“All you had to do was ask for the jacket, Lyssa. I’d have given it to you.”
She shrugs. “This is more entertaining.”
“Well, that’s not the word I’d use. But whatever. If I was putting this whole insane plan together, I’d choose the first bedroom. So I’ve got a pretty good feeling you’ll lose the bet.”
“OK.” She smiles. It might even be a genuine smile. Kinda sweet, actually. “Then go check. I’ll wait here.”
I walk in, flip on the light. It’s a nice bedroom. What you’d typically find in a house like this. Professionally decorated in neutral colors. Large, king-sized bed. En suite bathroom.
I pull the closet doors open, find a walk-in. Empty. Then turn back to Lyssa.
She’s leaning against the open door, hand out for my jacket. “Told you.”
I take off the jacket and give it to her.
She doesn’t put it on.
I laugh. “You’re too much, you know that?”
I follow her down the hallway to the next door. She throws it open, and says, “Nope. Not this one either.”
I walk in, flip on the light. See another version of the last bedroom. Take a deep breath as I walk over to the closet and open it up.
Empty.
I turn back to her. She says, “I think I should get your shirt for this one.”
“Ha,” I say. “Good one.” Then push past her, go to the next door, throw it open, turn on the light, and wait for her decision.
“Nope.”
“How do you know that?”
She frowns. Then shrugs. Her tits bouncing a little as she does that. “I just do, that’s all.”
“So which one is yours? I’m not in the mood to open all twenty-one bedrooms. Don’t you want to put something on and just… go to sleep?”
“I sleep naked,” she says. “Always have. So it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Jesus,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. “You tire me out, you know that?”
She says nothing.
“You know which room it is, don’t you?”
“I have an idea.”
“So go there.”
She looks down the hallway. Studies it for a moment. Then looks down the other one. The only difference between these two hallways, from what I can tell, is that there’s a large double door at the end of the one we’re not standing in. And this one has no double door at the end.
If I had to guess, I’d peg that as the master.
God, she’s really distracting. Because I could’ve avoided all this bedroom hide-and-seek if I had just been more aware of my surroundings.
She heads that direction, stops in front of the double doors, and turns back to me. “It’s not what you think.”
“What?” I say, squinting at her. “What are you talking about?”
She grabs the handles of both doors, swings them open, and she’s right.
It’s not what I think. Because it’s a staircase.
“Where’s this go?” I ask.
“To the tower,” she says. “Where else does an evil stepfather keep his little corporate princess?”
“What the fuck?” I say, kinda laughing as I step through to go up and look.
But she puts a hand out and says, “I don’t think so, Mason. I’m going up alone. Thank you for the escort. I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you, but I’m afraid it wasn’t.” She looks over her shoulder at the staircase, Sighs. Then turns back. “But I’m sure you’ll be paid handsomely for your troubles.”
And then she throws my jacket at me and walks up the stairs to her tower.
Flashing her pussy at me with each step.
CHAPTER SIX - LYSSA
He doesn’t follow me immediately. It takes him a second to pull himself together.
But he does follow me. There was no chance he wouldn’t.
I saw the way he looked at me. I knew what he’s thinking. The same thing they all think. Lyssa is a little prize. A little princess prize to be had. Stolen, kept, owned.
That’s all anyone ever sees these days.
So he can tell himself anything he wants. He can pretend I’m not a woman, just a little girl. And that’s fine.
It’s just not true and the only person who needs to know this fact is me. That’s all. Never forget, Lyssa. Never forget that you’re not what they think and the only opinion about you that matters is yours.
I reach the top first, his boots thudding on the hardwood stairs behind me.
“I don’t trust you,” he says. Like this is the reason he followed me up. I roll my eyes.
“Nor should you,” I say, turning to face him as he reaches the top step and takes in my bedroom. “I wouldn’t trust me either. If you think I’m just gonna go to sleep, and wake up, and magically turn back into some sweet, innocent, polite little girl—well, think again.”
“What the fuck is this?” he asks.
“My room,” I say. “You don’t like it?”
“Yeah, well…” He laughs. “Did he decorate this room when you were six? Because…”
I look at it from his own fresh perspective. Make no mistake, it looks the same to me after all these years too. But I try to see it from the perspective of a grown man who doesn’t have a thing for little girls.
White four-poster bed with a frilly canopy. Matching white dressing table with an oval mirror and a padded stool. Matching white nightstands. Fuzzy, pink rug covering the dark, hardwood floor. A little dining set that I’d pay money to see this Mason asshole sitting at, sipping tea. And a crystal chandelier hanging over the center of the tiny table.
“No,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I’m pretty sure he did this back when I was eighteen when he decorated the rest of the house. If you ask him—I don’t know why you would, but maybe you’ll have a conversation with him tomorrow and the subject comes up—but if you ask him he’ll say it’s for my daughter. Future daughter, that is.”
“Ah,” Mason says. Like, She’s lying.
Which is fine. I don’t care. Not even the point, anyway.
“But,” I say, tracing my finger over the top of the desk. “All this was mine. Back in my old room. He just brought it here.” I pull open the desk drawer and find it full of crap. I laugh a little. “See?” I ask him. “My stuff. All my old stuff is in here.”
“So,” he says, picking up a teddy bear off the dresser, then putting it down just as quick. “Anyway. I just need to get through a few more hours with you and then I’m out of here. So. Like I said, I don’t trust you.”
“Do you want the bed?” I ask. “Or the beanbag?”
He laughs uncomfortably as he looks at the pink beanbag in the far corner.
It matches the rug.
He sighs. Loudly. Like he didn’t ask for this and maybe he could just lock me up here and wait downstairs.
Oh, no, Mr. Mason Whatever-your-name-is. You’re not getting off that easy.
You kidnapped me tonight. You fucked with my life. And now… I’m gonna fuck with yours back.
“What’s wrong?” I coo, stepping towards him.
Those brilliant green eyes of his catch mine and hold.
I know he wants me. I have that effect on men. I know what he saw when I walked up the stairs
naked in front of him.
I know what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m doing.
Too bad he doesn’t. Not yet.
I know how to play with a man.
When I reach him—he didn’t move—I reach up and feel the fabric of his blue button-down shirt collar, then direct my eyes up to his without tilting my head. “You’re not afraid of little bratty me, are you?”
“Look, Lyssa,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pushing my hand away. “I know what you’re doing.”
“So?” I say, swaying my shoulders a little to make him look at my tits. “Does it matter if I’m seducing you?”
“You’re not—”
“Or… are you one of those men who likes to do the seducing?”
“—seducing me.”
I smile and blink my eyes. Then walk over to the bed. It’s a high four-poster. So when I bend over and place my breasts on the mattress, my ass is up in the air. “Spank me again.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Spank me again. I know you like it. I like it too. And I’m going to be bad, so if you don’t do it, I’ll just make you do it.”
He just looks at me.
Oh, poor, poor Mason. You have no idea what you walked into, do you?
“Do I have to swear?” I ask. “To make you do it? Like last time? Hmmm? Or should I just beg you to fuck me?”
“Just… knock it off, OK? Why do you have to be so—”
“So what?” I snap. Sick of him. Sick of everything. “So defiant? So bossy? So incorrigible?”
I reach around, grab my ass with both hands, and spread my cheeks open for him.
“What the fuck?” he says.
I laugh into the bedspread, then let go of my ass, stand back up, and twirl to meet his gaze again. “God, you’re like all the rest. Weak,” I say. “Stupid,” I say. “Selfish.”
“You know what?” he says.
“What?” I coo, walking towards him again. I reach for his shirt collar, and this time, when he grabs my wrist, I fight it. Not hard, but hard enough for him to get the message that I’m not gonna let go unless he really puts some effort in to it.
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
I smile. He smiles.
Then I slap his face and say, “Don’t use that language in front of me.”
Two seconds later he’s spun me around, marched me over to the bed, and has me over his knee.
“You want a fucking spanking?” he asks, grabbing my hair and pulling my head up so I have to arch my back as I’m forced to look him in the face.
I don’t say anything now. Now is when the show gets interesting and I know what part I play.
He slaps my ass hard. Too hard. Much harder than he did previously. I yelp and it’s not even fake.
“You’re a dirty little slut,” he says. “No wonder your stepfather had you kidnapped. You’re not only a danger to yourself, you’re a fucking danger to society.”
He smacks me again. Even harder. “Shit!” I say.
Another smack. “Don’t you use that fucking language with me, you little whore.”
Smack!
“Ow!” I say. Because holy hell, he’s not playing. He’s really fucking hitting me.
Smack!
I struggle this time. Trying to squirm my way off him.
“Not so fun anymore, is it, Lyssa?”
“Stop it!” I say.
“What? I’m not playing by your rules? Honey, I don’t know where you got the impression that I’m anything other than a man who breaks the rules, but that was a mistake.”
And then his fingers slip between my legs and begin caressing my pussy.
I moan a little. My ass is still hot and stinging from his spankings.
His other hand comes down hard on the other cheek. The one he hasn’t been hitting, so it’s a fresh burst of pain.
“Stop it!” I yell.
He grabs my hair, pulls me off his lap, shoves me down on my knees in front of him, and says, “Make me.”
I’m breathing heavy. My tits heaving up and down with each panting breath. I stare up at him. Those green eyes and that hard jaw.
And then I reach for his belt.
Never taking my eyes off him as I unbuckle it, pop the button, pull the zipper down, and reach inside to find…
“What the fuck is this?” I laugh. Because he’s wearing a fucking cup. Jesus. My stepfather really did tell him what to expect.
“Good thing I had that on earlier,” he says, grinning like a boy.
I just smirk at him. “Well, you gonna take it off? Or what? I can’t give you a blow job while you’re wearing a cup.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re not gonna blow me. That’s a privilege you didn’t earn yet.”
“Is that so?” I laugh. But hey. Point to Mason for that little comeback. Well done.
“Lyssa,” he says, staring me dead in the eyes. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but whatever it is, that’s not the one I’m gonna win tonight.”
I huff some air. Whatever.
So I just sit back on my butt, even though he’s still got a firm grip on my hair and I have to bend my neck down to do that, and place both my hands on my thighs. “Tell me what to do then.”
“No,” he says. “You’re fucking crazy. And I’m not. I’m not gonna get mixed up with you.”
“Oh?” I laugh, tossing my head back so far, he either has to pull my hair really hard or let go. He lets go. “I’m crazy? I’m the crazy one here? Why don’t you retrace your steps yesterday, Mr. Psycho. Play back all the decisions you made and how you ended up here, in my bedroom, with me naked and on my knees in front of your unzipped pants, and then… then we can talk about who’s crazy.”
He stands up and starts to walk away.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing on to his leg. He stops, but doesn’t turn to look at me. “Just… touch me then. The way you just were.”
He looks over his shoulder at me and says, in a very deep, low growly voice, “How was I just touching you?”
Oh, I get it. He wants me to dirty-talk him. Or maybe talk him into this?
I do admit, he’s got some real self-control in his arsenal. Not many men would be able to resist my invitation. Curiosity bubbles up inside me like the fizzy inside a bottle of champagne. And then, like the cork that has to pop, it explodes into action.
“Bend me over your knee again and stick your fingers in my pussy,” I whisper, my eyes locked with his. They are very beautiful eyes. Green, but the outer edge of his irises are dark. Almost black. And the green isn’t all the same color, either. It’s lighter right up against the dark ring, leaning a little towards yellow. Which makes him look a little surreal. I wait a beat and then whisper, “Please.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re drawing me into some bratty-little-rich-girl plot. Some seriously fucked-up plot and I’m not gonna fall for it.”
“You’re going to be gone in a few hours,” I say. “What do you care? You know you want to or you wouldn’t have done it.” I spin around on the rug and open my legs for him.
“You really are a little fucking slut.”
I slip my fingers between my legs and begin to rub myself. Caressing my pussy the way he was just a minute ago. Then I close my eyes and hope for the best.
He hesitates. I start counting. And when I get to three, he’s sitting on the bed again.
“Lie over my knee,” he says.
I swallow hard and force myself not to smile as I stand up and place myself over his legs.
CHAPTER SEVEN - MASON
I hold my breath as she places her perfect, plump ass over my knee. Her elbows are propped up on the mattress, her head bowed into her hands like she’s praying. Her feet are still on the floor, so she’s kind of half in and half out of my lap, but I’m not going to get picky here.
Lyssa Baylor is lying across my lap, begging me to spank her.
That held breath comes out with a smile.
Probably neither. Probably this is just due to the fact that I’m hard, wearing a cup, and there’s no way I can fuck this girl. Not tonight, not ever.
I’d really like to. Like… really like to.
But no. I won’t. I’m gonna spank her until she comes then go down to a bathroom, spank my own monkey, get her out of my head, and be ready to get the fuck out of here when her stepfather shows up.
My hand hovers over the bright pink handprints emblazoned on her ass cheeks. I need a picture before I leave. That will be my reward for not fucking her.
I place my hand on her ass, rubbing it back and forth across the smooth creamy skin. She wiggles it a little bit, trying to entice me.
I want to tell her that’s not how this will work. That I have more self-control than any man she’s ever met in her baby princess life. I have had my patience tested in ways she can’t even imagine. And I will not touch her without thinking things through first.
She wiggles again. Anticipating the smack that never comes.
“Little baby princess,” I say.
She kinda looks over her shoulder at me. Bites her lip. “What?” she whispers.
“If you wiggle your ass one more time, trying to turn me on without my permission, I will walk out and never touch you again. I will lock you up here, pay no attention to you at all, and then leave without saying goodbye.”
She glares at me. “You would do that, wouldn’t you?”
“Try me,” I say. “And find out.”
She looks away, shifting her feet a little. Then she looks back and says, “I wasn’t wiggling. It’s just… this is a weird position to be in and I’m uncomfortable.”
“Aww,“ I say, petting her ass, rubbing my palm across her skin in small soft circles. “Is the little princess uncomfortable? Poor thing.”
She sucks in a breath of air, bites her lip again, then exhales as she bows her head back down into her hands on the mattress.