by Huss, JA
“A lady of my position?” I scoff.
“You are the daughter of one of the world’s richest men, Lyssa. Why can’t you just be thankful and gracious about that?”
“Thankful and gracious?” I scoff again. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
He tilts his head at me. “Come here.”
“No,” I say. “If you want me, catch me.”
“No,” he says. “I’m not gonna chase you. You’re gonna chase me.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Yeah, really. Now get down here.”
“And what if I don’t? Hmmmm? What then?”
“Then… then I leave. I leave, lock you in, and go shopping. Maybe I’ll come back tonight. Maybe I’ll come back in a week. Hell, he’s already promised to wire me my money first thing in the morning. So maybe I just walk away from you and your stepfather and say, ‘Fuck it. I’m done.’”
“Hmm,” I say. “What if I break a window and escape while you’re gone? Will my stepfather’s band of mercenaries come stop me?” I smile, because I know he was lying about that.
“No. The windows are actually shatterproof. But you can give it your best.”
“Nice try.” I laugh.
He picks a silver candlestick up off a nearby table and hurls it at the closest window. There’s a loud bang, but the window does not break.
He smiles, proud of his little display. “Like I said, your choice. But in ten seconds I’m gonna take that decision away from you and then I’m gonna leave and never come back.”
Do I want to be here alone? Not really. But I could handle it. It’s no big deal.
“Ten,” he says, counting down.
But the real question is… do I want him to leave?
And that is a firm no. Mason Macintyre might be the most interesting thing to ever happen to me. And even though he drugged me, abducted me, spanked me, and then made me squirt all over the bed, and his hand, and myself—I liked it. All of it.
So when he gets to the count of three, I stand up and walk down. He adds a zero at the end of his countdown so I’m standing in front of him just in time.
And you know what that says about him?
That he’s fair.
And that’s a nice change from most of the people I’ve been around my whole life.
“I’m on your side,” he says, fastening the tracker to my wrist.
I want to say, I know. Because I really do think he is. But then I’d start having hopes and maybe even dreams. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about being Lyssa Baylor, it’s that I’m not allowed to have my own hopes and dreams. They’re dangerous things.
So I say nothing.
His hand reaches for my face and I flinch away on instinct.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
My heart begins to beat faster when I look up into his green eyes. But I close them when he brushes the back of his knuckles down my cheek.
“If we’re gonna do this,” he says, “you need to trust me, OK?”
I shake my head no. Eyes still closed. Because trust is a dangerous thing too. “I don’t even know what we’re doing,” I say.
“We’re taming you, Lyssa Baylor. The people who love you want me to banish that wild thing inside you.”
I open my eyes and look at him. Sigh. Long and loud. I wish it were a sigh of relief, but it’s not. It’s resignation. The devil you know or some shit like that. It might even be surrender.
“OK?” he says, gently swiping a piece of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. “I like you without makeup,” he says. “You’re very pretty. You don’t even need it.” Then his fingers drop down to my breast, the tips feeling the soft cotton eyelet lace. “And I like this look too.”
“What look?” I huff. “Six-year-old girl look?”
He smiles. “It’s just simple and pretty, that’s all.”
That’s what he sees? Because that’s not what I see.
“OK,” he says. “OK. I think we’re on the same page now. So I would like you to walk over to the piano, bend over, lift up your dress, and then place your elbows on the keys.”
“What?” I say, looking over at the grand piano in the sunroom just off the foyer.
“I think you heard me,” he says. “And I don’t like to repeat myself.”
“But why? I did what you asked.”
“No,” he says. So calm. So gentle. “You pushed my buttons, Lyssa. So you do have to be punished for that. I can’t let anything slip, you understand, right? They don’t call you Wild Thing for nothing. So please, do as I asked.”
I try not to blush but I don’t succeed. So I turn away before he can see that. Because the thought of Mason Macintyre spanking me again gets me hot all over, not just in my face.
When I get myself under control, I turn back to him. He’s not smiling. Not frowning. In fact, there’s almost no emotion at all on his face.
Well, no, that’s not true. There is something there. I just can’t put my finger on it.
“OK?” he asks.
I want to say it’s kindness. Or no. That’s probably too strong of a word. Thoughtfulness, maybe. Or consideration. Which is a nice change from the emotion I typically get from my stepfather. Which is—
“Hello?” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to him.
I swallow hard then nod my head. A few seconds later I’m in the sunroom bending over the piano. I reach behind me and lift up my dress.
“Lyssa,” Mason says. “No underwear?”
“What?” I say. “I never wear underwear. What’s the big deal?”
“That’s fine,” he says. “If you’re wearing pants. But a lady always wears underwear in a dress. Don’t do it again.”
“I don’t even own underwear.”
“I’ll get you some when we go shopping. Now elbows, please.”
I smack my elbows down on the keys with a musical bang and hang my head. Anticipating his hand on my ass as my pussy begins to throb.
He walks up behind me, his fingertips brushing gently along the curve of my ass, and then I hear the sound of his belt buckle.
Oh, God. He’s gonna fuck me into compliance. This whole deal is starting to look up. I bite my lip to stop the smile. Getting stuck in this house with Mason Macintyre might be the best thing ever.
But then he pulls his belt through the loop of his pants and snaps it.
I look over my shoulder and he’s got a wild gleam in his eyes now, that maybe-kindness and calmness gone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He hits me with the belt.
Hard.
So hard I scream and turn around.
He shakes his head.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“How many times did you say fuck when you were at the top of the stairs?”
“What?”
“Five, Lyssa. It was five. So you have four more beatings coming.”
“Beatings?” I say, shocked. “You’re going to beat me into submission?”
“That’s right.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl. “You’re not hitting me with that belt ever again.” My voice is shaky and I hate that. But I can’t stop it. My body is alive with adrenaline.
“Turn around. You’re up to five again.”
“No,” I say. “No.”
He starts putting his belt on again. Notices my confused face. “I do need your permission to punish you. You do have a choice here. But I also have a choice. And if you don’t want to play by my rules then I’m leaving and not coming back. Ever. I don’t need this, Lyssa. My mother is in Sweden dying of cancer. That’s why I needed this money. I’d much rather be there with her than here with an ungrateful bratty princess who only thinks in the moment and has no regard for consequences. So decide. Because I’ve got better places to go, better things to do, and better people to be with.”
“What?” I say, trying to unpack all those words he just threw at me.
“I’m go
nna count down from three this time. Three. Two.”
I spin around and bend over. Lift my dress up and plunk my elbows down on the keys. “Fine,” I yell. “I choose you.”
Because… because his mother is dying. And he’s handsome. And he talks to me like I’m a real person and no one has ever done that with me.
Smack. “Ow!” I scream, tears in my eyes.
Smack. I start sobbing from the sting. There has to be a welt on my ass.
Smack. I lean my head down on the keys.
Smack. I make fists with my hands and start coughing from the pain.
Smack. My legs are shaking. I think the welts are actually bleeding.
He puts his arms around me and picks me up like a small child. Walks me through the foyer and into the great room. Then sets me on my feet, sits down on the couch, and says, “Lie over my knee.”
“No more,” I beg. It hurts so bad I can barely think.
“Please don’t make me repeat that, Lyssa.”
I don’t know what to do. I want to punch him for hurting me. But I don’t want him to leave. And if I strike back he will. I know he will.
What should I do?
CHAPTER ELEVEN - MASON
“But—” she begins to protest.
“But what?” I ask her. I will not repeat my request. I will not. But if she’s got something to say I’ll listen to her.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Do you trust me?”
She shakes her head. Then sucks in a breath, expecting me to react to that.
“That’s fine,” I say. “I didn’t earn it yet. So that’s fine. But I told you. I’m on your side.”
She exhales. “So…”
“Do you remember what I just asked you to do?”
“Yes,” she mumbles.
“Good. Then do it.” She looks at my hands. Then back up to my eyes. “Or don’t. But I’ve already told you what happens if you make this hard for me. I’m on your side, Lyssa. I promise.”
She kneels on the couch, turns her body, then lies over my legs and buries her face into the cushion.
I lift up her dress, exposing the welts on her ass, and then drag my fingertips over the back of her thigh. Just like I did last night.
She sighs, but her body is still, and rigid, and untrusting.
When I get to the little dent on her knee, I twirl little circles there. Then drag my fingertips all the way down her calf and tickle the sole of her foot.
That’s how I wanted to do it last night, but couldn’t.
“Does it feel good?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmmm,” she mumbles.
“Yeah, I like doing this too. So just relax, Lyssa. Your slate is clean now. We’re starting fresh. No more spankings unless you disobey me again.”
She’s still stiff. Unable to believe me.
That’s not a good sign. I wouldn’t call myself a dom or anything. I’m not really into this BDSM shit. I know just enough to have fun every once in a while. I’ve never actually tried to train someone to submit. It was always just a quick game. Little bondage, little spanking, then I come and forget about it.
But that’s not what this is now.
I could probably fuck her up worse than she is if I make the wrong move. But if I’m careful with her, if I’m fair with her, if I can earn her trust and then not blow it by going back on my word… well, I think we’ll be OK.
I don’t really know what her stepfather expects me to do. When we were in the office just before he left I questioned him about that directive to break her.
Break her.
I don’t want to break her.
He stammered and stuttered and then changed the wording to tame her. Calm her down. Make her sensible. But he still meant break her.
Break her of this wild thing living inside her mind. Make her want to be married.
So OK. I take that to mean he wants her to be polite. And respectful to others. And realize her self-worth. Which, come on, wasn’t that his job? Didn’t he teach her those things? He’s her fucking stepfather.
What he really wants me to do is parent her.
Which is weird because I’m doing it with sex. She’s motivated by it. That’s really all I know about her. If I knew what else motivated her, I’d try that.
Maybe.
I stop playing tickle with her feet and drag my fingers back up to her thigh. She clenches her ass cheeks together when I do that. Which tells me she likes it and it’s probably turning her on.
It’s wrong. I know that. I don’t really have a name for what I’m doing, I just know it’s wrong. I might just be some dumb bounty hunter. Some guy who takes jobs that involve kidnapping rebellious corporate princesses. But it’s almost an honest living. My mother taught me right from wrong. I don't kill people, for fuck’s sake. Up until this job, everyone I’ve hunted down was a criminal who jumped bail.
Legitimate, all of them
But this one… isn’t. She’s not a kid, for one thing. Her stepfather has no real right to make her endure this. But I have to do what I have to do to give my mother another chance at life.
I trace one of the bright-red welts on her ass. This makes her hiss in pain. But I don’t do anything other than that. Just trace the outline so that she knows I know what I did to her.
My other hand drops to her hair and I pull it away from her face so I can see her cheek. I really did mean it when I said she didn’t need makeup. She’s very young and very pretty. She opens one eye to look at me and I smile at her.
She doesn’t smile back.
“You OK?” I ask.
She shakes her head no.
“You wanna talk about it?”
She shakes her head no again.
“Do you want me to make you feel better?”
She bites her lip and then nods yes.
My fingers trace a line between her legs and then push their way past the skin of her pressed-together thighs until I find her pussy.
She’s not wet so I go slow.
“Like that?” I ask her. “Because you can tell me no if you don’t want me to.”
She nods yes, then closes her eyes.
I continue playing with her. Pushing one finger in and out of her pussy until she begins to get wet.
One deep breath in, then out, and her body relaxes a little.
Something is wrong with this girl. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.
I’ve had my share of wild ones. And they are all a little fucked up. So that’s not so unusual. But she’s… damaged. Maybe badly damaged. The way her voice shook when she told me not to hit her with the belt. That was real fear.
It bothers me because she’s gone to a lot of trouble to cultivate this wild thing persona. She likes it. She likes being unpredictable and tough. But it’s an act, isn’t it?
“Should I make you come, Lyssa?” I ask.
Because I now know she uses sex to deflect. And she’s faced enough truth today to earn her default defense mechanism.
“Yes,” she mumbles.
“OK,” I say. But I just continue what I’m doing. Slowly pushing my finger in and out. She earned it. She earned a nice, long, quiet morning of undivided attention.
When she’s so wet my finger slides in and out with ease, I drag that wetness down her leg again. Stopping to make little designs in the dent behind her knee.
Then I place all my fingertips on the back of her leg and brush back and forth, back and forth, softly across her upper thigh.
She wiggles a little and I smile.
“Got something to say?” I ask.
“More,” she mumbles.
I could make her tell me more what, but that would defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to do. Which is relax her. And reward her too. She didn’t want those spankings. No one really wants to be hit with a belt. She just knew that if she wanted me to stay, she had to pay for her disobedience.
So she chose me, didn’t she? Over herself.
Her stepfather was w
rong. She’s not selfish. At least she wasn’t in this instance. Selfish means self-preservation. Choosing me was something different.
Choosing me meant opening herself up to something new. Something she was probably afraid of. But she did it.
“I’m proud of you,” I say.
“Why?” she mumbles. “Because I gave in?”
“Did you give in?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not asking what I think. I’m asking what you think.”
“A little,” she admits.
“Do you know why you did that?” I ask.
“Why?” she says, lifting head up a little to see me.
“No, I’m asking you. Why did you do that? Why did you give in?”
She lowers her head and stays quiet for a few seconds. Then says, “Because I wanted you to stay.”
“You don’t even know me.”
She shrugs. “I like you.”
“Why?”
She sighs. Loudly. “Because you… you tell the truth.”
“It’s not that hard,” I say.
“For most people it is.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Do you think I’ll hit you again?”
She opens her eyes. Thinks about this as she looks at me. “Yes. If I don’t do as I’m told, you will.”
I nod. “So if I do spank you again, it’s because you wanted me to. Understand?”
She nods and closes her eyes again.
“Wild Thing,” I say, then chuckle a little. “I think I like you.”
And then she smiles.
I do like her. She’s kinda easy to like today. Last night, not so much. She did knee me in the balls, punch me in the face—twice—and make me chase her.
Which was kinda fun.
But I don’t want to chase her. I don’t want her to chase me, either. I don’t want to threaten to leave in order to get her to comply. That’s not how you build trust.
“Can you turn over?” I ask her. She opens her eyes to look at me. “Or does it hurt too much?”