CHAPTER TEN - LYSSA

 

Neither of them say anything to me as they walk back to the stairs and descend. Something has been said. Some deal has been struck. That’s all I can figure. I sit on the top step and watch them go into my stepfather’s office and close the door. Close the deal too, I suppose.

About thirty minutes later, the doors open again and my stepfather walks out. He looks up at me and smiles. “Goodbye, Lyssa. See you in ten days. The event planners will arrive and begin setting up for the wedding. Your dress is in your room. Please try it on and decide if you think it needs any alterations. Then have Mason call me and let me know.” He smiles wider, which just makes me want to puke. “You’re going to look lovely.”

Then he unlocks the front door, leaves, and locks it back up behind him.

“Well.” I sigh. “I guess that’s it.”

When I glance back at the office, Mason is standing in the doorway. Arms folded across his chest.

“So you’re in charge of me now,” I say.

“Looks that way,” he says.

I take in a deep breath and let it out. “Now what?”

He laughs a little. “Well… I’m not really sure, wild thing. What do you usually do with your days?”

“Sleep off a hangover.”

That makes him laugh louder. “OK. Well. Do you have a hangover? Do you need to sleep?”

I think about this. Since I was out drinking last night and he did drug me. But I say, “No. Not really tired anymore.”

“Well, your old man left me a boatload of cash to go shopping. You wanna go shopping?”

“Shopping?” I say.

“I didn’t bring any clothes,” he says, his voice deep and rumbling. Like he’s the one who’s tired and need a day off to sleep. “And I’m not allowed to go back to the city to get some. But there’s a mall about forty minutes away. So…” He shrugs. “How about it? Wanna blow this place?”

For a second I feel like he’s asking me to run away with him.

My body responds before I can stop it.

My heart beats faster with excitement.

But then he holds up something in his hand and says, “But you gotta wear this.”

I squint at it. “What is it?”

“It’s a tracking bracelet.” He pulls out his phone and says, “I’ve got an app now that lets me know where you are at all times.”

“Wonderful.” I sigh. The possibility of running away with him evaporates. “I don’t really give a fuck what we do.”

“Language,” he says. Same low, growly voice.

“You don’t like my fucking language?” I ask.

“Don’t,” he warns me.

“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll promise to spank me and then not fucking do it?”

Even from all the way up here I can see him raise his eyebrows. “Are you complaining about last night?”

I look down to hide my smile, then get it under control and look up again. “Not really. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“You did fucking promise.”

“Lyssa,” he snaps. “I’m not kidding about the language. Your stepfather wants you to behave. And he’s gonna pay me a lot of money and a pretty big favor to tame you into something presentable for your wedding. So if you think I’m not going to complete that job—if you think this is gonna be just ten days of flirting and fun—then you’re sadly mistaken. So stop saying ‘fuck,’ or ‘shit,’ or any other cuss word that’s not appropriate for a lady of your position and rank, and be good.”

“A lady of my position?” I scoff.

“You are the daughter of one of the world’s richest men, Lyssa. Why can’t you just be thankful and gracious about that?”

“Thankful and gracious?” I scoff again. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

He tilts his head at me. “Come here.”

“No,” I say. “If you want me, catch me.”

“No,” he says. “I’m not gonna chase you. You’re gonna chase me.”

“Really?” I laugh.

“Yeah, really. Now get down here.”

“And what if I don’t? Hmmmm? What then?”

“Then… then I leave. I leave, lock you in, and go shopping. Maybe I’ll come back tonight. Maybe I’ll come back in a week. Hell, he’s already promised to wire me my money first thing in the morning. So maybe I just walk away from you and your stepfather and say, ‘Fuck it. I’m done.’”

“Hmm,” I say. “What if I break a window and escape while you’re gone? Will my stepfather’s band of mercenaries come stop me?” I smile, because I know he was lying about that.

“No. The windows are actually shatterproof. But you can give it your best.”

“Nice try.” I laugh.

He picks a silver candlestick up off a nearby table and hurls it at the closest window. There’s a loud bang, but the window does not break.

He smiles, proud of his little display. “Like I said, your choice. But in ten seconds I’m gonna take that decision away from you and then I’m gonna leave and never come back.”

Do I want to be here alone? Not really. But I could handle it. It’s no big deal.

“Ten,” he says, counting down.

But the real question is… do I want him to leave?

And that is a firm no. Mason Macintyre might be the most interesting thing to ever happen to me. And even though he drugged me, abducted me, spanked me, and then made me squirt all over the bed, and his hand, and myself—I liked it. All of it.

So when he gets to the count of three, I stand up and walk down. He adds a zero at the end of his countdown so I’m standing in front of him just in time.

And you know what that says about him?

That he’s fair.

And that’s a nice change from most of the people I’ve been around my whole life.

“I’m on your side,” he says, fastening the tracker to my wrist.

I want to say, I know. Because I really do think he is. But then I’d start having hopes and maybe even dreams. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about being Lyssa Baylor, it’s that I’m not allowed to have my own hopes and dreams. They’re dangerous things.

So I say nothing.

His hand reaches for my face and I flinch away on instinct.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

My heart begins to beat faster when I look up into his green eyes. But I close them when he brushes the back of his knuckles down my cheek.

“If we’re gonna do this,” he says, “you need to trust me, OK?”

I shake my head no. Eyes still closed. Because trust is a dangerous thing too. “I don’t even know what we’re doing,” I say.

“We’re taming you, Lyssa Baylor. The people who love you want me to banish that wild thing inside you.”

I open my eyes and look at him. Sigh. Long and loud. I wish it were a sigh of relief, but it’s not. It’s resignation. The devil you know or some shit like that. It might even be surrender.

“OK?” he says, gently swiping a piece of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. “I like you without makeup,” he says. “You’re very pretty. You don’t even need it.” Then his fingers drop down to my breast, the tips feeling the soft cotton eyelet lace. “And I like this look too.”

“What look?” I huff. “Six-year-old girl look?”

He smiles. “It’s just simple and pretty, that’s all.”

That’s what he sees? Because that’s not what I see.

“OK,” he says. “OK. I think we’re on the same page now. So I would like you to walk over to the piano, bend over, lift up your dress, and then place your elbows on the keys.”

“What?” I say, looking over at the grand piano in the sunroom just off the foyer.

“I think you heard me,” he says. “And I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“But why? I did what you asked.”

“No,” he says. So calm. So gentle. “You pushed my buttons, Lyssa. So you do have to be punished for that. I can’t let anything slip, you understand, right? They don’t call you Wild Thing for nothing. So please, do as I asked.”

I try not to blush but I don’t succeed. So I turn away before he can see that. Because the thought of Mason Macintyre spanking me again gets me hot all over, not just in my face.

When I get myself under control, I turn back to him. He’s not smiling. Not frowning. In fact, there’s almost no emotion at all on his face.

Well, no, that’s not true. There is something there. I just can’t put my finger on it.

“OK?” he asks.

I want to say it’s kindness. Or no. That’s probably too strong of a word. Thoughtfulness, maybe. Or consideration. Which is a nice change from the emotion I typically get from my stepfather. Which is—

“Hello?” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to him.

I swallow hard then nod my head. A few seconds later I’m in the sunroom bending over the piano. I reach behind me and lift up my dress.

“Lyssa,” Mason says. “No underwear?”

“What?” I say. “I never wear underwear. What’s the big deal?”

“That’s fine,” he says. “If you’re wearing pants. But a lady always wears underwear in a dress. Don’t do it again.”

“I don’t even own underwear.”

“I’ll get you some when we go shopping. Now elbows, please.”

I smack my elbows down on the keys with a musical bang and hang my head. Anticipating his hand on my ass as my pussy begins to throb.

He walks up behind me, his fingertips brushing gently along the curve of my ass, and then I hear the sound of his belt buckle.

Oh, God. He’s gonna fuck me into compliance. This whole deal is starting to look up. I bite my lip to stop the smile. Getting stuck in this house with Mason Macintyre might be the best thing ever.

But then he pulls his belt through the loop of his pants and snaps it.

I look over my shoulder and he’s got a wild gleam in his eyes now, that maybe-kindness and calmness gone.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He hits me with the belt.

Hard.

So hard I scream and turn around.

He shakes his head.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“How many times did you say fuck when you were at the top of the stairs?”

“What?”

“Five, Lyssa. It was five. So you have four more beatings coming.”

“Beatings?” I say, shocked. “You’re going to beat me into submission?”

“That’s right.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl. “You’re not hitting me with that belt ever again.” My voice is shaky and I hate that. But I can’t stop it. My body is alive with adrenaline.

“Turn around. You’re up to five again.”

“No,” I say. “No.”

He starts putting his belt on again. Notices my confused face. “I do need your permission to punish you. You do have a choice here. But I also have a choice. And if you don’t want to play by my rules then I’m leaving and not coming back. Ever. I don’t need this, Lyssa. My mother is in Sweden dying of cancer. That’s why I needed this money. I’d much rather be there with her than here with an ungrateful bratty princess who only thinks in the moment and has no regard for consequences. So decide. Because I’ve got better places to go, better things to do, and better people to be with.”

“What?” I say, trying to unpack all those words he just threw at me.

“I’m gonna count down from three this time. Three. Two.”

I spin around and bend over. Lift my dress up and plunk my elbows down on the keys. “Fine,” I yell. “I choose you.”

Because… because his mother is dying. And he’s handsome. And he talks to me like I’m a real person and no one has ever done that with me.

Smack. “Ow!” I scream, tears in my eyes.

Smack. I start sobbing from the sting. There has to be a welt on my ass.

Smack. I lean my head down on the keys.

Smack. I make fists with my hands and start coughing from the pain.

Smack. My legs are shaking. I think the welts are actually bleeding.

He puts his arms around me and picks me up like a small child. Walks me through the foyer and into the great room. Then sets me on my feet, sits down on the couch, and says, “Lie over my knee.”

“No more,” I beg. It hurts so bad I can barely think.

“Please don’t make me repeat that, Lyssa.”

I don’t know what to do. I want to punch him for hurting me. But I don’t want him to leave. And if I strike back he will. I know he will.

What should I do?