Page 20 of The Southern Submission

Satisfied, I keep my hands to myself and stay quiet to let her read through the entire contract while I drive the familiar route to my lakehouse on Lake Lanier. It’s about fifty miles northeast of Atlanta and one of the largest lakes in Georgia. It’s quicker for me to get there than to the coast by car, andeasier than getting the jet ready to fly somewhere farther away.

“I’ll sign it, but I want to add my own stipulations.”

I look over at Ainsley about fifteen minutes later. She's gorgeous with the sunglasses perched on her face under the pink hat I hoped she’d wear again. I was betting on that when I picked the shades out. The light pink and gold look nice against her tan and the champagne and honey strands of her hair that blow around her face in the breeze.

“I told you nothing weird was tucked in there. It’s all very standard, except the whole we’re dating for three months thing. So what kind of stipulations do you have in mind?”

“This whole situation inordinately benefits you, even if it’s repayment of a favor, which I still think is bullshit.” She glowers at me.

“You brought this on yourself by insisting on owing me the favor in the first place.” I chuckle at her annoyance at my reminder.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush before continuing. “I want you to give me a story. I need to get away from the Gazette, and the only way I’m going to do that is with higher-value topics than what our paper covers so I can prove my worth as a journalist. Let me write a profile on you and shop it around. Your name alone carries value to any heavy hitter in the business world, and a human-interest story would appeal to papers that cover soft news.”

Ah, there it is. I knew she wanted to learn about Olympus and get her piece of the pie somehow, but this is more than fair. And, frankly, I approve of her wanting to use the story to leave the fucking second-rate paper she’s at, so her reasons work for me, even if I’m not sure what she wants to write about exactly.

“There’ll be limits on what you can write about. I’m a private person and don’t like the idea of letting the world intoevery aspect of my life. Additionally, there are a lot of sensitive deals that can’t be discussed when it comes to Olympus, so I can't be an entirely open book on that, either. I’ll need to read a draft of the story before it goes to print to ensure my company and family are shown in the best light. I’ll even connect you with contacts of mine at the Wall Street Journal, Forbes, and a few others when it’s done. If that’s amenable to you, we can include it in the contract.”

“Deal,” she says quickly. When I glance over, her face is cautiously optimistic, and I like seeing the hesitant smile turning up those pretty lips. Finally, an emotion other than reserved animosity. Fuck yes, it’s worth agreeing to a story just to see that smile alone.

“Add the details to the last page before you sign.” I pull a pen out of the pocket of my blue checked button-down and hand it to her without looking over. She takes it from me, her fingers brushing over mine delicately, and I wonder if she meant to. Maybe she’s trying out the whole touching thing, too. While she’s become easier to read the more I get to know her, she still manages to surprise me. Now we’ll see if I can surprise her.

Eleven

Ainsley

Payton pulls up to the entrance of a lakefront property, hits a button to activate the gate, and then winds down a driveway that snakes along a hillside until a stunning view of Lake Lanier appears and the house finally comes into sight.

“This is your lakehouse?” I look around in awe as he parks and hops out. He rounds the small sports car to help me with the stupid door and offers a hand to climb out of the low seat. I take it, too caught up in what I’m seeing to refuse. I allow him to keep my hand in his even after the help is no longer needed. I'm getting used to touching him, and honestly, it’s not the worst. Payton has big, strong hands with long fingers that looked really good against my leg earlier and feel just as nice laced with mine now. I turn my attention back to the lakehouse.

It’s more of a mansion, which shouldn’t surprise me in the least, despite being absolutely insane. The house is a sandy-toned behemoth of modern angles and stone elements seamlessly creating a masculine design that somehow blends into the hillside and keeps it from standing out like a sore thumb against the landscape.

The hillside slopes down to the water. We’re at the top, where garages are situated around a courtyard, but I can see the house is four levels in total, each level having an outdoor terrace providing an incredible view of the lake below. One level has a covered patio with a fireplace and an outdoor dining area. Another has a bocce ball court. The lowest level features a stunning sapphire blue infinity edge pool and hot tub perched so it looks like an extension of the lake itself.

Down at the lake, there’s a long dock next to an enclosed boathouse with an outdoor slip. A white sailboat is moored in the large cove. It’s far more private than I expected. It’s a good distance to the wide mouth of the cove, where the lake properly spreads out and watercraft of all shapes and sizes go by.

“Catching flies, Muffin?” Payton asks, his finger stroking under my chin. Apparently, it’d been hanging open as I took in the wealth and decadence of his lakehouse, which is more than most people can hope to have in their hard-earned forever homes. And he’s rarely here. It makes me kind of sick, despite how beautiful it is.

“It just seems like…overkill to spend this much money on a place that you visit, what, a few days a year,” I say, my mouth turning down with the words.

“Fuck, I love when you tell me how you really feel and insult me in the process,” he says, throwing an arm around myshoulders and pulling me into his side.

It’s then I realize how much taller he is. My head barely reaches his shoulder, so I’m pressed tightly against his body, my cheek feeling all those beautiful muscles I saw in too graphic detail on our FaceTime call this morning. I push against him for distance because not only does he feel hard and amazing, he smells incredible, too. Sea salt and amber, both invigorating and warm, fresh and sultry. I want to take in greedy breaths of his scent, which makes me take big steps back from him instead.

Self-preservation is my go-to when I’m overwhelmed and wanting what I shouldn’t. That means putting distance between me and what I know will hurt me due to my penchant for wanting them. Payton is a walking red flag for everything that could easily ensnare and devastate me. Hot, rich, technologically inclined, interested in the chase, liable to have me eating out of his hand, and using me for his own gain. Yeah, that’s a big fat no for me.

I say the first hurtful thing that comes to mind, hoping to push him away. “You’re the weirdest man I‘ve ever met. Why do you like being insulted so much? Is it a kink thing? Degradation gets you off?” I cross my arms over my chest, not entirely comfortable talking about kinks with him but wanting to know if that’s his so I can avoid it going forward. The less I encourage him sexually, the better.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “I have plenty of kinks, but that’s not one of them.” He tilts his head, studying me, and I swear he can see into my head with his sharp eyes. Cold fear washes over me and snaps my spine straight. I lower my arms to my sides hesitantly. He smiles at my look of discomfort. It’s predatory and pleased.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask cautiously.

He walks up to me slowly, smile not dropping, but his blue eyes heat and I can’t look away. His hand reaches out and takes hold of my hip, pulling me forward until I’m flush against his body. His other hand tilts my chin up so I’m looking into his face.

“Is it one of yours, Princess?”

His voice has taken on a deep, commanding tone that sends goosebumps rushing across my skin. The new nickname slips into place far easier than anything he’s called me before. I shiver and press closer against him on instinct.

“Do you like being called an eager little cumslut? Get off on being a filthy cocktease who wants to choke on a mouthful of cum, but only if you deserve it? Do you want to be my beautiful little fucktoy? Will you be a bratty whore for my cock? Or is it more of a good girl who takes Daddy’s cock so well that you prefer?”

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