“No,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I’m pretty sure he did this back when I was eighteen when he decorated the rest of the house. If you ask him—I don’t know why you would, but maybe you’ll have a conversation with him tomorrow and the subject comes up—but if you ask him he’ll say it’s for my daughter. Future daughter, that is.”
“Ah,” Mason says. Like, She’s lying.
Which is fine. I don’t care. Not even the point, anyway.
“But,” I say, tracing my finger over the top of the desk. “All this was mine. Back in my old room. He just brought it here.” I pull open the desk drawer and find it full of crap. I laugh a little. “See?” I ask him. “My stuff. All my old stuff is in here.”
“So,” he says, picking up a teddy bear off the dresser, then putting it down just as quick. “Anyway. I just need to get through a few more hours with you and then I’m out of here. So. Like I said, I don’t trust you.”
“Do you want the bed?” I ask. “Or the beanbag?”
He laughs uncomfortably as he looks at the pink beanbag in the far corner.
It matches the rug.
He sighs. Loudly. Like he didn’t ask for this and maybe he could just lock me up here and wait downstairs.
Oh, no, Mr. Mason Whatever-your-name-is. You’re not getting off that easy.
You kidnapped me tonight. You fucked with my life. And now… I’m gonna fuck with yours back.
“What’s wrong?” I coo, stepping towards him.
Those brilliant green eyes of his catch mine and hold.
I know he wants me. I have that effect on men. I know what he saw when I walked up the stairs naked in front of him.
I know what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m doing.
Too bad he doesn’t. Not yet.
I know how to play with a man.
When I reach him—he didn’t move—I reach up and feel the fabric of his blue button-down shirt collar, then direct my eyes up to his without tilting my head. “You’re not afraid of little bratty me, are you?”
“Look, Lyssa,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pushing my hand away. “I know what you’re doing.”
“So?” I say, swaying my shoulders a little to make him look at my tits. “Does it matter if I’m seducing you?”
“You’re not—”
“Or… are you one of those men who likes to do the seducing?”
“—seducing me.”
I smile and blink my eyes. Then walk over to the bed. It’s a high four-poster. So when I bend over and place my breasts on the mattress, my ass is up in the air. “Spank me again.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Spank me again. I know you like it. I like it too. And I’m going to be bad, so if you don’t do it, I’ll just make you do it.”
He just looks at me.
Oh, poor, poor Mason. You have no idea what you walked into, do you?
“Do I have to swear?” I ask. “To make you do it? Like last time? Hmmm? Or should I just beg you to fuck me?”
“Just… knock it off, OK? Why do you have to be so—”
“So what?” I snap. Sick of him. Sick of everything. “So defiant? So bossy? So incorrigible?”
I reach around, grab my ass with both hands, and spread my cheeks open for him.
“What the fuck?” he says.
I laugh into the bedspread, then let go of my ass, stand back up, and twirl to meet his gaze again. “God, you’re like all the rest. Weak,” I say. “Stupid,” I say. “Selfish.”
“You know what?” he says.
“What?” I coo, walking towards him again. I reach for his shirt collar, and this time, when he grabs my wrist, I fight it. Not hard, but hard enough for him to get the message that I’m not gonna let go unless he really puts some effort in to it.
“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”
I smile. He smiles.
Then I slap his face and say, “Don’t use that language in front of me.”
Two seconds later he’s spun me around, marched me over to the bed, and has me over his knee.
“You want a fucking spanking?” he asks, grabbing my hair and pulling my head up so I have to arch my back as I’m forced to look him in the face.
I don’t say anything now. Now is when the show gets interesting and I know what part I play.
He slaps my ass hard. Too hard. Much harder than he did previously. I yelp and it’s not even fake.
“You’re a dirty little slut,” he says. “No wonder your stepfather had you kidnapped. You’re not only a danger to yourself, you’re a fucking danger to society.”
He smacks me again. Even harder. “Shit!” I say.
Another smack. “Don’t you use that fucking language with me, you little whore.”
Smack!
“Ow!” I say. Because holy hell, he’s not playing. He’s really fucking hitting me.