Page 34 of The Southern Submission

I’m extra annoyed because, with every post about us on the Haute List, I get more vile texts from unknown numbers—Archer’s doing—which has me on edge more than ever. I can’t win. Fulfilling my part of the bargain with Payton means lots of public outings with him and inevitably having my photo and name slapped alongside his in gossip blogs, which makes Archer attack me harder. He’s even sending copies of the Haute List photos, and more that I haven’t seen, with his demeaning messages. His cyberstalking is getting worse and it’s making me uneasy that he's escalating. I'm just glad he's in New York and I don't have to worry about running into him here in Atlanta.

I sling my work bag over my shoulder, turning to look at Payton. He, of course, looks incredible in charcoal pinstripe slacks that hug his thighs perfectly, his white button-down so crisp it doesn’t look like he spent a full workday in it already. His dark hair is slightly mused like he’s been raking his hands through it, but otherwise, he’s perfect. It pisses me off.

“Let’s go, asshole. I want to finish my story and get back home.” I push him out of the way and pull the door closed to lock it.

“That’s it, Spitfire, get pushy and mean. I want to play. Get the fuck over here and let me get a taste of my gorgeous little whore.” He grabs my hips and pulls me back into his body, my hands still on the keys in the door.

I melt into his body at his commanding words, feeling him all along my backside, his lips at my ear, thumbs massaging my sides. It takes a moment to realize I’ve arched my back and pressed my ass into him. Apparently, I like having him absurdly close behind me like this. His lips and tongue are traveling along my neck, sending shivers through my body as I roll my head to give him more access. I don't complain when one of his hands splays across my belly, pulling me tighter in a possessive movement that makes me whimper. When my stomach lets out a loud grumble, he finally pulls away with a chuckle.

“Sounds like I need to feed you. But thanks for feeding me, first. You’re a fucking delicious snack.” He bends and licks along my neck as I bat at his face, belatedly realizing I should discourage him when we’re alone.

“Hands to yourself, weirdo. Save it for an audience.”

My words are steady, but my heart’s racing. I liked feeling him against me and being in his arms far too much. I need to get it together and remember this is temporary. It’s for show. All fake and not something I need to confuse with the real thing, no matter how good it feels. Besides, I shouldn’t even want this, regardless of what my inner slutty koala seems to think.

“I’ve missed you, Muffin. I want to eat you up. Now let’sfucking go.” He straightens and grabs my hand, pulling me out to his Range Rover.

He drives us to a popular pizza restaurant that The Atlanta Haute List has reported his family frequents. When he parks and rounds the car to my door, I balk at the hand he offers.

“I thought we were just picking up pizza to-go, why am I getting out of the car?” Now my heart’s racing for a completely different reason. If I get photographed looking likethis, I’ll be absolutely mortified.

“We are picking up a pizza, but we have to go in and it might take a bit. I ordered it when I got to your apartment. So we’ll wait inside where it’s cooler. Besides, it’s another chance to show you off.”

“Payton,” I start, venom lacing my tone. “I look like absolute garbage. I don’t want to beshown offlooking like this.” I indicate the state of my appearance. I wouldn’t have gone to the lengths I did to discourage him had I known we’d be seen togetherin public. This is so fucked up.

“You look incredible. Perfect for a pizza run. Now get your ass out of the car or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and walk you into the restaurant in a way that’s sure to get more attention than you think you will like this.”

“You’re impossible,” I grumble, stepping out of the SUV, and waving off his offer of help. He grabs my hand and laces our fingers together anyway.

Payton walks right up to the host stand and lets them know we’re picking up a pizza. The girl leaves to check on our order, only to let us know we have another ten minutes to wait, just like Payton predicted. I’m miserable.

The restaurant is packed. The tables are full and so is the lobby, couples and families waiting to be seated milling about. Payton leads me to the bar and finds one spot open. He sitsand pulls me into his lap as I squirm and protest.

“Don’t fight it. This is the only spot and I want you to relax. Either you sit on my lap now like a good girl, or you get your ass spanked raw when I get you back to my place. Your choice, Princess.”

I freeze, turning to see if he’s joking. He smiles that sinfully sexy smile. He’s been in a completely different mood tonight, more commanding, dominant, playful but with an edge that’s been missing from his usual lighthearted teasing and innuendo. He’s in his Dom persona, I realize belatedly. Fuck me, it's sexy. He told me he wanted toplay.I just hadn’t realized it would be the kinky variety. A shiver runs through me at the thought of exploring some of myinterestswith him. I kind of want to see what those spankings Della loves are all about, but I don’t want it as a punishment for this. I work to relax my body, knowing people are watching, seeing the unusual sight of two people occupying a spot meant for one in a classy pizza restaurant. I lean into the protection his body provides.

“I don't like public displays of affection,” I mutter. “This is weird for me.”

“Good thing we’re in public and you know your role,” he replies, his voice smooth and low. He kisses my hair and wraps his arms around my middle, holding me close and looking like, for all intents and purposes, we’re a happy couple who can't get enough of each other and relish the idea of sharing a chair in a busy restaurant.

The relief I feel when our pizza is brought to us is immeasurable.

Payton’s loft is incredible. It’s industrial without feeling empty and soulless. The walls are cement and exposed red brick, some areas walled off, but the majority of the space is open and airy. I’m cataloging everything, from the expansive views of downtown Atlanta through the huge windows, to the two-story fireplace. I immediately gravitate to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that flank the fireplace, pulling out a book and noticing it’s been read. It’s a coding book because Payton’s a nerd and reads these types of things, of course. The next one I pull out is by a popular mystery writer, and it’s also been read, given the tiny tear in the dust jacket. I scan the shelves and see a variety of topics and different states of wear. I turn, finding him watching me, a small smile playing over his lips as he leans against the wall, his arms crossed.

“You've read all these books?”

He pushes off the wall and walks over with an unhurried grace until he’s standing in front of me. He places his hands on my shoulders and spins me back around before pulling me into his body, his arms crossing around my shoulders. My hands naturally gravitate to his forearms where they rest across my chest, holding on to the flexing muscles as he rests his chin on top of my head.

It feels comfortable to be held like this. Familiar. It’s practiced and easy. I stay silent instead of giving in to the instinct to immediately push him away and say something vile. It might be the first time I accept his touch and physical intimacy without argument or wanting to be prickly. He’s getting under my skin. Warping my armor and igniting the part of me that craves this attention and wants nothing more than to be the object of his desire.

Fake, I remind myself as I swallow audibly.

“Most of the books. A few were gifts that didn’t reallyinterest me or I haven’t gotten around to reading yet. If I’m not working, I’m probably reading.”

I tip my head back and look up as he peers down into my face. “I can't even make fun of you for being a voracious reader. If I had a house with all this space, I'd fill countless shelves with books, too.” The admission is quiet, honest, and raw. Payton seems to know what it took for me to say it and knows it’s a rare compliment freely given. He smiles indulgently.

“If you were mine, I’d build you a library and buy every book you could ever want,” he says, kissing my forehead before letting me go and walking back to where he set the pizza. He’s nonchalant as fuck like he didn’t just say something completely insane and far too real for this fake scenario we’ve gotten ourselves into. “Make yourself comfortable. We have pizza to eat.”

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