Page 21 of The Southern Submission

His thumb brushes along my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly and ghosting across the tip of my tongue, making my mouth go dry with need.

“I think you have a praise kink in there, regardless of whatever else you may want to hear.” He taps my lips and releases my chin.

His filthy words may have left my mouth dry, but my bikini bottoms are absolutely flooded and my core pulses, squeezing around nothing. I blink at him, not sure how to respond. My jaw works uselessly. Finally, I stutter out a hoarse, “W-what the f-fuck?”

That didn’t go as planned and I’m mortified and, oh my God, I’m so wet and…no, I can’t be…turned on? This is wrong on so many levels. I’veneverbeen spoken to likethatand reacted likethis. I’d slap anyone for saying those things to me. I refuse to be called names or let a man debase me, but what hesaid, or maybe it was the way he said it, had an effect on me that I can't even begin to process. He strokes his hand along my hip, his intense eyes drinking me in. I’m frozen as I stare mutely in horror at my reaction. I’m putty in his hands, shaped by the words he spoke to me, molded into whatever he wants to make me.

“I think I hit on something there, Princess,” he says quietly. “We’ll table that for a later discussion, but know we’ll talk about it again.” His eyes lower slowly from my lips, down over my hardened nipples peeking through the soft material of my shirt, across my trembling torso, and finally to where my thighs are clenched together. “Unless you want to talk about it now and maybe do something about being this tightly wound up?” His gaze travels back up the same path until he meets my eyes and I still don’t have my shit together.

I shake my head, pulling out of the possessive grip he has on me, unable to speak more than a few words. “I need…” I croak, voice breaking as my iced coffee drops to the ground at my feet from my shaking hands while I vibrate in my anxious, now sexually fueled tension.

“I know what you need.” He bends and picks up my bag from the car, tosses the strap over his shoulder, then takes my hand in his and drags me toward the house. I fight the lust-filled spell he cast on me with his filthy words and that sexy as fuck voice of his that somehow got deeper and sent me to a place in my head I didn’t know existed.

At the door, the lock automatically turns, and we walk into the house that’s as modern and gorgeous as you’d expect from the exterior. He leads me through the upper floor which I can’t fully appreciate while in my current state. We continue down several flights of stairs to the final level that opens to the pool terrace, where it appears he’s taking me. I’m dizzy from thestairs, and still, he continues to pull me along with him.

I’m slowly getting over my shock at his ease with the dirty and commanding words he spoke to me. He said that’s not his kink, but he’s obviously familiar with dishing out the degradation and had no trouble pulling out easy examples that made me feel some kind of way I’ve never experienced before.

Do I have a degradation kink? Holy shit, maybe I do. I’m all sorts of fucked up over other things. Maybe I’ve developed something there, too. I’m not about to explore that with him, though. He doesn't have to know that what he said hit a little too close to home, no matter what my reaction may have told him. I’ll have to try harder to have no reaction should he ever make a repeat of his stupid recitation of those types of phrases. They’re just words, after all, and I know better than most that words only have the power we give them.

I realize we’re on the dock when the ground shifts under my feet. Payton pulls me all the way to the end before finally letting me go and drops my bag at our feet.

“Do you want me to help you with your shirt, or have your hands stopped shaking enough to get those buttons?” he asks, nodding at me while he begins to swiftly unbutton his own.

“I’m not a child,” I snap, feeling more like myself now.

“There’s my girl,” he says, smiling. “Take off your clothes before I throw you in with everything on.”

“I’m not your girl.” I snarl, feeling stupid as I argue.

I pull my hat and sunglasses off and place them on the dock at my feet where I’ve kicked off my flip-flops. I unbutton my shirt and let it fall to the dock, then angrily work my shorts down over my hips to step out of them. I straighten up and catch Payton looking me over appreciatively. He smiles when he notices my own gaze rake over his incredible body. His dark blue swim trunks ride low on his hips, showcasing hisdecadently muscled upper body and the V that points to his muscled lower half, proving it’s just as cut.

“Like what you see in person more than through a FaceTime call?” he asks, not at all shy about the attention I’m giving him. He removes the backward baseball hat finally, releasing me from that magical spell. What is it with men and backward hats? It's fucking kryptonite.

“Shut up.” I cross my arms over my small chest, self-conscious of my body under his hot blue stare that feels like fiery hands are caressing me.

“Don’t hide. You’re beautiful, and you look incredible in that white bikini. If you ever want to revisit that friends-with-benefits situation, let me know. But for now, we need to get you even more soaked than you already are.”

“What?” I muddle my way through his layered comments that swept through several topics and sent my head spinning.

Before I can get a straight answer out of him, he tosses me over his shoulder and jumps off the dock into the lake. The water is warm but the moment is a surprise and I gasp in a mouthful of water before I kick to get away from him. I break the surface, sputtering and coughing. He comes up beside me, breathing normally. The man must be part fish.

“You’re insane!” I accuse, splashing water. He’s too close to me. I can’t relax.

“You’re not thinking about what I said and how it made you feel, though, right? I told you I know what you need. Trust me to take care of you. I can be a very good boyfriend.”

“You’re not my boyfriend and I definitely don’t trust you.” I swim away from him. He stays close with ease, not letting me put distance between us. I kick my legs wildly, not nearly as at ease in the water as he seems to be.

“You got into my car willingly enough to come to mylakehouse an hour away from Atlanta. I think that means you trust me a little bit. You signed the NDA and contract, so we’re in a relationship for the next three months. For all intents and purposes, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I don't think you’re a serial killer, but I can’t say you’re not bad in other ways. And now I’ve signed your stupid NDA, so I can’t say shit to anyone, even if you are.” My legs falter their movements at that horrifying thought and my chin dips below the waterline. I suck in a mouthful of water, then sputter it out on a cough.

Payton is there in an instant, pulling me into his arms, turning my back to his front, and wrapping a giant arm around my stomach so I no longer have to swim while he does it for the both of us with ease. I only fight a little against his insistent grip because I was getting tired. Swimming for sport isn’t really my thing. I’m more of atanning on the side of the pool and hopping in to cool offkind of swimmer.

“I’m not going to kill you, or do anything without you specifically asking me to,” he says next to my ear.

I’m carefully keeping our lower halves apart, letting my legs float out in front of me while he treads water below us, the movement rhythmic and all too easy for him. He did say he swims laps daily, so maybe this is easy.

“Let me go. I’m not going to drown,” I snap instead of addressing his comments. I push at his heavy arm around my waist and feel him tighten it more, his chest pressing into my back.

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