Page 35 of The Southern Submission

I follow him to the kitchen that’s suited to the loft with black cabinets set against the wall and a large island separating the kitchen from the rest of the open dining and living area. Payton puts the pizza box on the island and pulls out a stool for me. I hop up and set my bag next to me, watching as he moves through the kitchen, gathering what he needs. He puts plates and linen napkins on the island, fills two glasses with a red wine that smells full-bodied as he pours, then opens the pizza box and I can’t help but laugh.

The pizza is covered in pineapple. Not just a single topping that was sprinkled onto it, but like half a pineapple was chopped up and scattered on top of the crust. It’s a wonder I can see cheese and sauce under what has to be the world record for the amount of pineapple on a single pizza.

“Are you kidding me? That’s alotof pineapple. Are there any other toppings, or was there no room because of all the pineapple?”

Payton grins like we’re sharing a joke. “Pineapple makes cum sweeter. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for extra.”

I groan. “You’re insane. Is everything about sex with you?”

“When it comes to you, maybe.” He shrugs, his smile devilish. He turns to the pizza and dishes up slices for each of us. “Now be a good girl. Eat that pizza so you get it nice and sweet for me, Princess.”

I roll my lip with my teeth and quickly look away, setting my pizza down and eyeing it dubiously while contemplating his words. They sent a tremor racing through me in anticipation. He’s in one of his boundary-pushing moods tonight, ensuring I'm on the edge of discomfort with everything he says to see where I stop him.

I just don’t think I want to stop him all that much. In fact, I want to pushhim.

Nineteen

Payton

Ainsley’s sitting cross-legged, laptop out, fingers typing away as I lounge next to her. I’m answering emails on my phone and providing details when asked as she works since finishing ourridiculous pineapple pizza, as she was sure to point out at every opportunity. She relaxed after realizing I wasn’t going to force her into some sex game during dinner, as much as I teased. She hasn’t been nearly as prickly as I expected, given the amount I’m pushing her tonight. We’re working on establishing her real boundaries, not the ones she uses to keep me out. I need to know what she actually wants, what she’s okay with, what scares her, what thrills her. Her clothes won’t even be coming off with what I have planned.

“That should do it,” she says, her fingers resting on the keyboard,eyes tracking back and forth across the page. “You can read through it to see if it meets your exacting standards.”

I chuckle at the sarcasm in her tone.

“Anything curious happen as you wrote the story?” I can’t help but ask as I take the laptop from her with a mischievous grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Your stupid handiwork was evident weeks ago when I was finishing my story on the Olympus real estate news. I had to take this dumb laptop in for service to have that piece of code removed so I wouldn’t have to deal with your annoying reminder of the favor I’m still repaying.” She glares at me, her eyebrows pinching together. “I can’t believe you fixed my code issue just to put another one on there for me to deal with. It was super inconvenient and really mature of you to create a script that scrolled 'Payton is my favorite person in the world'across my screen every time I typed your name.”

I smile wider, loving that she’s being feisty with me. “Come on, you loved it.”

I reach over and drag my knuckles under her chin, and she grabs my hand, forcing it down between us, not letting it go. Fuck, I love when she does that without even realizing it.

“I didn’t want to make your life harder. I would’ve taken it off for you if you’d asked. No charge and no favors needed.”

“Nothing is free, so even that would’ve had consequences. It’s gone now and I’m watching everything you’re doing this time.” She lets go of my hand and uses two fingers to gesture from her eyes to mine and back as she glares.

I blow her a kiss and return my attention to the screen. I scroll through her story, half tempted to add another quick script to remind her of me this week. I leave her laptop alone in the end because the story she’s written is really fucking good, and I’m more interested in reading it than messing with hercomputer.

“Ainsley, this is incredible. It reads objectively, but your voice is so strongly intertwined in the writing that it feels literary instead of simply journalistic.”

I pull my eyes away from the screen to glance her way and notice the bright spots of pink in her cheeks as she stares at me with rapt attention while worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Ah, my girl needs her praise, but she’s feeling a bit insecure having me read her work.We’ll fix that right up.

She pushes stray hair behind her ear and looks away from me, caught in a moment of unguarded vulnerability. “It’s okay. But I’ll probably need to do a few more passes to tighten the word count. This is the basis of the story I’ll shop around for publication, though.”

I put her computer on the coffee table in front of us and pull her into my lap. She makes a surprised protest. I want to kiss her fucking stupid for thinking like that so the thought falls right out of her head. I want to grind her hips against me until she comes so many times she forgets her own name, let alone that she’s insecure about her writing ability. At the same time, I want to replace those insecurities with the truth by telling her she’s incredible, she’s so fucking smart, and I love everything she’s written. Instead, I turn her face toward mine with my finger and touch my forehead to hers as I give her my most serious look.

“It’s perfect, just like you. Do whatever you need for the word count but know you’ve already written something that is exactly what it needs to be. I can say the same about you.” I pull back and give her a slow appraisal so she knows I’m appreciating her beauty. “Now that you're done with the article, let’s get you out of your head.” I stand from the couch, keeping her in my arms and relishing the quick way she grabs onto mein shock.

“Put me down or I’ll kick you in the balls,” she threatens, her feet already swinging, looking for parts of me she can make contact with. I keep her cradled in my arms and all parts of me safely out of her reach.

“Relax, Spitfire, I have longer legs, so it’s faster this way. Think of it as your princess treatment.”

I wanted an excuse to scoop her up and have her in my arms like this, protests and all. I walk into my bedroom, but I don’t throw her on the bed like I’m sure she imagined I would. Instead, I place her gently on a padded stool I put here while she was busy writing. A candle is burning on the nightstand, the room filled with the scent of peach from the Broken Wax Co. candle burning on the nightstand. “Play With Me” by Rendezvous At Two is currently playing from the Bluetooth speaker connected to a playlist I made especially for her. Perfect timing for that song as I’m about to show her how I like to play.

I’ve noticed Ainsley gets in her head and refuses to process what’s happening in the moment, spiraling and freaking out over the smallest details instead. I can connect her to her body, have her feeling more and thinking less, remove that feeling of overwhelm, and help her process by controlling what she’s experiencing physically. She’s spiraled tighter lately, as the stories about us have become more frequent, and I feel shitty that I’ve caused that. I want to make her feel good, get her out of that busy brain with something easy, and show her she can trust me. I roll my sleeves up as she fidgets on the seat. This will be how I initiate a scene with her going forward.

“Stay there,” I command, dropping my voice into Dom mode. Her eyes grow wide at the change. She stops moving, her hands gripping the edges of the stool at her hips.

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