by Huss, JA
I smile. She is much calmer now than she was a few minutes ago. So I continue to rub my hand all over her ass. Enjoying the feel of her soft skin. My palm does small circles over the underside of her ass, then my fingertips just barely graze down the back of her thigh to the dent behind her knee.
“Oh, God,” she moans.
“Do you like that?” I ask.
“I thought you were gonna save me.”
“What?”
“Spank me, I mean.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I said that. I meant spank me.”
“I’m trying to get you calm. I think it’s working."
“Why?” she asks. “Why bother getting me calm when you’re just gonna wind me up again?”
Because I fucking feel like it.
That’s what I want to say, and it’s the truth. But it feels a little selfish and unnecessary for her first real moment of submission. So I put a little more thought into it.
“Why calm you down if I’m just gonna wind you up? Well, I think the dynamic between pain and pleasure is interesting and it intrigues me. Also…” This thought just occurs to me, right this second. “I think it’s been a long time since you were calm. I think it’s probably a bit of a relief. So I’m doing you a favor.”
She sucks in another breath of air, holds it for a moment, then lets it out.
I think she lets out a lot of things with that breath. Stress, for sure. Because I feel her body relax in my lap. Her breathing evens out, and her head tilts to the side. One cheek facing me, eye closed, mouth closed. Like she might fall asleep.
She could probably use some sleep. It’s been a wild night and things are only going to get worse for her soon. So I decide not to spank her, but reward her for giving in, instead.
I drag the backs of my fingertips up and down the back of her thigh. Sometimes stopping when I get to her knee, sometimes continuing down her calf as far as I can reach.
If she were truly lying across my lap her legs would be up on the mattress and then I could caress her calf and tickle the soles of her feet.
I smile and think, Yeah, I’m gonna do that next time.
But then I realize there’s not going to be a next time. This is it.
I don’t want to reposition her though. She’s content, and quiet, and maybe even asleep.
My hand sweeps up her leg, grabs one cheek of her ass, and then I slip the underside of my hand down between her legs. All four fingers playing with her pussy while my thumb caresses small circles around her asshole.
“Oh,” she moans softly. Eyes still closed.
I smile, but don’t say anything. I truly do not want to disturb her. Her falling asleep while I make her come is the ideal outcome here.
Two of my fingers find her clit. The other two slip inside her pussy.
She is very wet. Wet enough that they slip in and out without much resistance.
I lean forward, place my lips on her ass cheek, and then kiss it.
She moans sleepily.
Damn. She might be being a little too good.
Or maybe I’m just being too soft.
Oh, well. Let her remember me as that one guy who slowed her down and made stillness feel amazing.
Her legs begin to tremble and when I look down I realize she’s been standing on her tiptoes this whole time. Straining to maintain position.
“Lyssa,” I say.
“Hmmm?” she mumbles.
“Climb on to the bed, lie face down, and spread your legs. I’ll give you what you want and then you’re gonna go to sleep and forget about this day. Understand me?”
She takes a deep breath, lifts her head up—her disheveled hair falling over her face—and nods as she climbs off me and crawls across the bed.
She collapses onto the covers, grabs the pillow with both hands, and then points her toes and opens her legs.
Which makes me hold in a laugh, but not a smile.
So dramatic, little baby princess.
I stand up, crawl across the bed, both my hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide as I lean down to lick her.
“Oh, God,” she says.
Oh, God is right. I’m so fucking hard, I can’t stand this cup anymore. I reach inside my boxer briefs, pull the cup out, then push my pants and underwear down until my cock is free.
When I look back at Lyssa, she’s staring at me.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “This is not for you, sweet baby. This is just for me.”
She closes her eyes, shaking her head. But obviously too tired to care.
I stretch my legs out on her bed, my face deep between her legs—licking and swirling my tongue around her clit—while I pull and tug on my fat, stiff cock. Fisting it hard.
The pussy licking is good for her. But not enough. I can’t come until she does, and I really want to come, so I need a way to get her off quick.
I sit up on my knees, still jerking myself with one hand while the other one slips back into position. Two fingers on her clit, two inside her pussy, and my thumb on her asshole.
I push my thumb inside—just a little—and make her moan. I wonder if she’s ever had anal? God, I’d like to be first, if she hasn’t.
Jesus, Mason. You’re leaving in like three hours and you’ll never see this girl again.
Right. I keep forgetting that for some reason.
Her knees come up, spreading her pussy open for me a little more. “Please,” she says. “Put it inside me.”
“You don’t need my cock, baby princess. Just enjoy my fingers.”
“No, it’s not enough.”
“Oh, I think it is.”
“Mason—”
Holy hell. Hearing her say my name kinda turns me on. “Roll over on your stomach,” I say.
She maneuvers her legs so I don’t have to change position, then turns over—eyes locked on mine—and lifts up her knees as she opens her legs wide.
I take a peek at her pussy. All wet with her juices. And decide how to make her come.
“Scoot over a little,” I say, crawling up the side of her body. This ridiculous canopy bed is twin-sized, so we barely fit. My body alone barely fits, so it’s a good thing she’s tiny and I’m lying on my side.
Her hand reaches for my cock but I brush it away, then flick her nipple with my fingers and say, “Don’t touch me without permission.”
She huffs, but stays silent. On her knees, ass in the air.
“You just be still and enjoy it, OK?”
“I thought you were punishing me? Doesn’t sound like punishment.”
“Well…” She's right. I’m totally off script here. “Enjoy it anyway.”
I begin slowly. Rubbing all four fingers around in a circle over her clit. She begins to breathe heavy. Panting like a wild animal. And when I pick up speed—rubbing those circles faster, then faster, then even faster—her knees come up and squeeze together, like I’m overwhelming her.
“Oh… I can’t… shit… Mason… My God…”
It really fucking turns me on.
And her too. Because when I stick two fingers back inside her pussy and begin to pump in and out so hard her whole body is jerking with the momentum, she squirts her delicious juice all over my hand. It leaks down between her ass cheeks and all over her pretty princess bedspread.
I pull my hand away, get up on my knees, and fist my throbbing cock several times, and then shoot my come all over her tits. Moaning and groaning with relief. She reaches for my cock, her body still convulsing from her climax, and I’m so distracted by how good this all feels, I don’t brush it away.
She pumps out the rest of my come. Her small hand barely fitting around my shaft.
I close my eyes until I’m finished. She leans forward, swipes the tip of her tongue around my head, then puts me inside her mouth.
Oh. Fuck.
No, no, no. We’re done here. What I did was wrong on so many levels. Every fucking minute I’ve been with this girl has been wrong. The drugging, the fight in the al
ley, the van ride, the house, the bedroom, and now this.
I’m one fucked-up dude.
I push her head back, then get up off the bed, tuck my dick away, and walk downstairs.
If she were really mine I would stay. I want to tell her that so she doesn’t think I left for the wrong reasons. She’s so messed up, what I just did tonight could make her worse and I suddenly feel bad for walking out.
I could go up there and try to explain myself. Turn it into something lighter. Like… I’d hold her all night and make her feel safe but that goddamned bed isn’t big enough for two grownups. It was made for a single little princess.
She might even laugh. It could even make her relax a little and fall asleep. Knowing that I’m not as bad as I seem.
Because I’m really not. I’m not this guy at all, actually. I just… need that fucking money her stepfather promised me. It’s really important that I get it. And I’m sorry she’s the way I get that done, but…
Fuck it.
I don’t go back up there. I don’t tell her any of that.
After cleaning up in the bathroom I pull a chair into the hallway at the bottom of her stairs, and listen for the sound of tires on the gravel driveway outside that will announce the arrival of her stepfather and the end of my time with Lyssa Baylor.
CHAPTER EIGHT - LYSSA
I wake up to the sound of a luxury car door closing outside. “Fuck,” I grumble. “He’s here.”
But then I remember what happened last night. Well, most of it. The ride in the van is still pretty hazy.
Mason though. He’s not hazy at all.
God. Why did we have to meet like this? He’s not what I expected. And yeah, it’s fucked up on so many Stockholm syndrome levels that I’m thinking about him like this, but I don’t care.
I just have a feeling about him.
If we had met somewhere else, if we had met on a different night and under different circumstances, I would like him. He’s rough and controlling, but not in a bad way. Not the way I’ve experienced it with men before.
And yes, I do realize that I was drugged, kidnapped, stripped naked, spanked, and maybe a little bit humiliated—but… it wasn’t personal.
It wasn’t me making him do that stuff. It was my stepfather. But I get this feeling that’s not really why he’s here, either. He’s not the typical man my stepfather employs. A memory of him talking to my stepfather on the phone last night in the van flashes though my head.
I told you my terms. I’ll be there in three hours and you had better be waiting. I’m a bounty hunter, not a goddamned babysitter.
He gave my stepfather an order.
Who does that?
This guy Mason, apparently.
I reach down between my legs and find the sheets still damp, then realize I nodded off right after he left my room. Didn’t even bother to clean myself up. So there’s dried come all over my breasts.
I force myself up, jump in the shower, and clean myself up. I will be presentable for the next phase of my stepfather’s plan. I need to get out of here. I need to be rational, and sane, and think clearly or…
I don’t want to think about that.
There are clothes in my closet because of course there are. I choose a white cotton eyelet dress that makes me look like a six-year-old going to a garden party and not a twenty-five-year-old being sentenced to confinement before my forced wedding to stupid Dickerson.
They are already talking downstairs in the office when I descend the left side of the grand staircase barefoot.
I stop at the bottom and listen to the conversation, safely hidden from sight.
“No,” Mason says. He sounds angry. I take a few steps closer, trying to figure out why. “I told you. Wire transfer only.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” my stepfather says. “I can’t do it right now.”
“You better be able to fucking do it. I kidnapped your daughter outside a club. I put myself at risk and still delivered the goods.”
Goods. I huff. Thanks a lot, Mason whoever-you-are. It’s every girl’s dream to be referred to as goods. Still, he’s the only chance I have. I showed him the bedroom and planted all the right seeds in his head. Now… what will he do with that information?
“So you’re gonna hold up your end, Mr. Baylor.”
“Or what?” my stepfather challenges. I creep a few steps closer, getting a look at them through the French doors that lead into the office.
“I don’t make threats,” Mason says. His shirt is untucked and his hair is mussed up and sexy from all our various interactions last night.
“Oh, Lyssa,” my stepfather says, spying me spying on them. “There you are.” He smiles at me. “You look well.” Then he tilts his head. “Are you well?”
I take a few more steps, see another man standing in the office—someone I don’t know but who looks a lot like an accountant, if I had to make an assumption—and enter the office so I can be closer to Mason one last time before he leaves.
“I’m fine,” I say, letting out a long breath with the words.
“Good,” my stepfather says. “This is Mr. Lanrey,” he says, pointing to the accountant.
“So?” I say. Fully aware that was rude, but not caring. Because Mr. Lanrey is looking at me with disgust. Or maybe contempt. Or possibly true revulsion.
“He’s your tutor,” my stepfather explains. Saying the words slowly like I’m challenged in the area of understanding the English language.
I am instantly a million more times irritated than I was two seconds ago. “Tutor for what?” I snap. “Does getting married to Dickerson Worthington require some kind of entrance exam? Because if so, I think I’ll fail on purpose.”
My stepfather scowls at me. “Why do you always act this way?”
“Why do you always act this way?” I snarl back. “You hired someone to drug me. Kidnap me. Drag me here, even though I didn’t want to come, and you knew I didn’t want to come.”
“You’re marrying that boy. You’ve known that for over a year now. You accepted his ring. You are not calling this off.”
“Or what?” I challenge him the way he just did Mason.
“You know what,” he responds. Then he turns to the accountant and says, “Take her somewhere. Anywhere. Just get her out of my sight.”
Lanrey comes towards me, reaching for my arm. But I take a step back and say, in the calmest voice I can muster—because everything depends on being calm right now—“Do not. Touch me.”
“Miss Baylor,” Lanrey says. He’s tall, and kinda skinny. He could be a waiter at a fancy restaurant, maybe. He’s kinda dressed like that. “Please,” he says, folding his hands at his waist and leaning forward a little, as if in a bow. “Take me on a tour of the home so I can get acclimated.”
“Tour of the home?” I ask, raising one eyebrow at my stepfather.
“He’ll be staying here with you until the wedding. I’ve hired him to change you from an unruly, wild brat into a compliant, obedient wife.”
“Is that so?” I ask, continuing to raise that one eyebrow.
I don’t even bother looking at Mason for help. He’s clearly had enough and my dreamy feelings about him have suddenly faded. He’s got one foot out the door, as they say. Whatever disagreement he’s having with my stepfather over money will be sorted and then he’ll be satisfied and leave. He’ll forget all about me.
And why should I care? For real, why? He’s just another stranger in a long line of people my stepfather has brought in and out of my life since I was six.
Just another employee who sees something and decides not to say something because of my last name.
“And,” I add, picking back up with the conversation I’m having with my asshole stepfather, “what if I don’t want to be a compliant, obedient wife? What then? Is there an option B hiding behind door number two?”
“No,” my stepfather says, turning to look down at his open briefcase on the office desk. Like the matter is now closed.
But is the matter closed?
I think not.
So I turn and smile at the waiter who might be an accountant. “I’d be delighted to show you around, Mr. Lanrey.”
Then I do a little curtsey.
Lanrey blushes, chuckles, then looks at my stepfather. Like maybe my good-girl manners just got him hard and now he’s not quite sure what to do.
“Go ahead,” my stepfather says. “I have business with Mr. Macintyre.”
Macintyre. Holy shit. The hot kidnapper’s name is Mason Macintyre.
It’s quite nice. Quite sexy too. It’s like his parents asked themselves, What name could we possibly give our new boy child that will make him irresistible to every woman ever?
Whew. That was it. Good choice, Mr. and Mrs. Macintyre.
The only way to make this guy hotter is to put him on a fire truck decked out in fireman gear.
I wonder what his job title is?
Princess hunter?
That almost makes me laugh.
“Lyssa?” my stepfather says.
“What?”
“Stop daydreaming. Mr. Lanrey is waiting for you.”
Right. Him.
OK, Lyssa. Let’s do this.
I take a deep breath, walk over to Mr. Lanrey—who is waiting just outside the office door—place both hands on his shoulders, grip his suit coat tight, and knee him in the balls.
“Ugggghhhhhhhhhh!” Lanrey moans. “Oh, my fuuuuuuuuck! My fuuucccccckkk-kkiiiingg GOD!”
It’s a really terrible moan too. Like… not one becoming of a gentleman who dresses like an accountant-slash-waiter and is hired to turn wild princesses into demure ladies.
My stepfather comes storming through the office, pushes me away from Lanrey so hard, I fall to the floor and hit my head, and then starts making excuses for me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She’s… you see why we need you. She’s just so wild and out of control, and—”
I stop listening because Mason is picking me up off the floor. “You OK?” he asks.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to get a handle on the adrenaline flooding through my body, but that makes me start to shake.
I let out that breath and say, “I’m fine,” as I brush his hand off my arm.