Page 57 of The Southern Submission

“We can probably come back for our dishes and things that can be cleaned. Our furniture is toast. Hey, Payton,” she says, seeing me holding Ainsley in the hallway. She can’t muster a smile, stress evident on her face as well.

Luca will likely be taking care of Della after work. I learned he spent the weekend with her after they met at the bar when Ainsley and I went to the coast. Now he’s mentioning her frequently and seeming a bit attached himself, unusual for the cold almost-sociopath. He’s not even divulging the details of their sex life the way he normally would, which leads me to think he’s gone over her.

I can relate.

Fucking Ainsley is a religious experience. She’s a drug I became addicted to with one hit. There’s no other way to explain it. Coming inside her changed my brain chemistry. I was a different man after that first time, and now everything I am is rewritten to her code. I wanted to keep her in my bed, learning her body and giving her all the pleasure possible, but the point of heading to the coast together was to show her the work myfoundation, the Trident Trust, does for sea turtles. We almost didn’t make it out of bed that night to track the nesting sites. It took all I had not to pull her into the dunes and have my way with her again in the dark.

Once I had her back in bed, I kept her there, coming on my face, my hands, and my cock until she was begging me to stop. But we both knew the only words she could use to make me stop would be to call out red, and she never did, so she finally passed out from pleasure. I got to clean her up, put her in one of my old MIT shirts, feed her, and read aloud from the smutty romance book she brought while she lay in my lap and I played with her hair until she was sufficiently recovered to be fucked again. We repeated the whole thing until we had to fly back to Atlanta.

She was even a total trooper at my Fourth of July party, handling my family admirably. She slipped into host mode alongside me, complementing everything I normally do so beautifully. The best part is watching the change in her from a reluctant partner in my schemes, not wanting to be touched and rebuffing every attempt to get to know her, to thriving under my attention and care. She’s warming to having someone she can depend on.

Ainsley shifts in my arms and I’m jostled out of the rosy memory of when everything changed for us and brought back to the dreary reality in front of me.

“I guess there’s nothing else we can do. The building manager said it could take a few weeks for everything to dry out and the work to be completed. We have rooms at the extended stay hotel they’ve arranged for displaced tenants. It’s not fancy, but I don’t need much. I’ll head over there now and see what I need to replace immediately.”

“Like fuck you are,” I growl, an unfamiliar feeling rising inme. It’s protectiveness morphing into possessiveness. “That’s not safe enough for you. You can both stay with me. I have plenty of room at my loft.”

“That’s nice and all, big man, but I’d rather not be a part of your sex-fest, as hot as it sounds, so I’ll respectfully pass and let you two play kinky house,” Della says, a mischievous smile curving her lips.

“Della!” Ainsley hisses, her cheeks growing pink as she steps out of my arms in embarrassment. “I’ll never tell you anything ever again.”

“What? I liked hearing you were having your back blown out by your billionaire boyfriend on the regular and he was kinky as fuck. Sir, carry on with that shit. She needs to have a safe space to not be so uptight and rigidly in control of herself. It’s good for her.”

I laugh darkly and shake my head slowly. I hadn’t expected Ainsley to divulge that much, but I also hadn’t expected her to stay completely silent about what we’re getting up to.

“Sounds like my little brat’s been running her mouth and needs to learn what’s acceptable to talk about and what isn’t when it comes to our playtime. What do you think, Della? Should I cuff her to the bed and strap a vibrator to her clit, only to turn it off just before she comes and edge her for hours? Or should I put nipple clamps on her and attach them to a chain so I can lead her around on her hands and knees like my good little pet until she learns her lesson?”

Della and Ainsley stare at me with wide, surprised eyes. Della clears her throat and seems to recover quicker. “Edge her until she’s begging. Make her squirm.” She turns to Ainsley and pats her on the shoulder. “You lucky fucking bitch. I’m so glad I love you and you introduced me to my own kinky king, so I’m not at all jealous. Speaking of, Ihave my own safe place. Luca’s letting me stay with him, but thank you.” She directs the last bit at me, confirming my suspicion. He normally wouldn’t even think to offer his home to anyone in need, so he must be completely into her.

“I’m glad you do. Now let’s get you ladies something to eat. What would make today better?”

Ainsley and Della look at each other, sharing a conspiratorial smile before saying in unison, “Mama P’s.”

They introduced me to their favorite hole-in-the-wall, family-owned restaurant in the neighborhood near our planned sports arena and entertainment district that they claim has the best Southern comfort food. It turns out, a flooded apartment and losing nearly all your worldly belongings is made somewhat better by Southern soul food. Atlanta staples like chicken and waffles, mac and cheese, shrimp and grits, and biscuits with honey, along with lots of sweet tea for Della and icy Coke for Ainsley seemed to do the trick. I can’t complain after trying it for myself.

Thirty-two

Ainsley

Walking into Payton’s home knowing I’ll be staying here for an extended period feels like the edge of a slippery slope into a situation that’s far too familiar and scary. Archer conveniently created a reason for me to live with him and I was stuck, completely dependent. When the world fell out from under me, I didn’t have anywhere to go and no one to ask for help.

I follow Payton into his room and watch as he puts my bag into his closet. “Wait, I’m staying in here with you?” I ask, a note of accusation in my tone I can’t help, given where my thoughts have strayed.

He turns around slowly and gives me a dark look that promises punishment for my insolence. He’s in Daddymode, and my knees weaken as butterflies gather in my stomach just from that look. He walks toward me slowly, unbuckling his belt as my breath catches in my chest with anticipation. Hell fucking yes. I need him to put me in my place and wipe every thought right out of my head with his particular brand of dominance.

“If you think you’re going to be in my house and I’ll be okay with you anywhere but in my bed, I think we’re going to have to discipline that idea out of you right fucking now. Once you get it through your head this is where you belong, I’ll put you on your knees and show you what you’d be missing if you chose to sleep elsewhere.”

A spark of rebellion lights in me, knowing it’s safe to push him because his punishment for doing so would be even better. I set my feet and cross my arms, fully ready to be a brat, as he likes to call me.

“How dare you assume I want to share a bed with you? I need my own space. I need my autonomy and not to be stuck with you all the fucking time. Needing a place to stay doesn't mean it needs to be in here, you presumptive prick. I have half a mi—”

He grips my chin and kisses me, stopping my tirade that’s getting us both worked up. It’s bruising and allows no argument as his tongue demands entry to my mouth, and I welcome him in. His taste is pure heaven, making me moan with need as I kiss him back. I want to devour him and show him I’m just as capable of putting him on his knees as he is at making mine weak.

I twine my arms around his back, dragging my nails down his skin as he gathers me to his body. He groans and nips at my lips as he pulls away, peppering my skin with soft kisses he trails along my jaw. He licks along my neck and bites at thesensitive spot where it meets my shoulder, sucking until my knees give out and he’s holding me up. I’ll have a mark from that, and the thought thrills me for some stupid reason. He’s claiming me, telling anyone who sees it that I’m his. Not just to kiss and fuck, but to take care of, which seems to be of even more importance to him.

“Take off my belt, you naughty little slut. I need to remind you how good it feels to let go and be with me.”

I eagerly drop my hands to his hips and work his belt free, holding it out for him and presenting my wrists with a smirk when he takes it. He’s finally going to turn my brain off again, let me come undone under his hand, and feel safe to fall apart, knowing he’s guiding me through every floaty moment of unthinking bliss. It’s a welcome relief after a day of stress, making me jittery with excitement for the scene that will take my mind away from my stupid situation. This is addiction in its purest form, my attachment. I need a hit of what Payton can provide.

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