chapter 13

The private room was mine alone—soundproofed walls, dim amber lighting, a wide bed draped in black silk, restraints tucked discreetly in the headboard, every toy, tool arranged exactly where I liked them. No interruptions. No rules but the ones I set.

Amanda had taught me most of what I knew here: how to command, how to make a woman melt into complete submission, how to stay superior in every way that mattered. She’d molded me into this version of myself, and I’d always been grateful.

But Payton… Payton was different.

Even in the photos—even married, grieving, broken—she looked untouched. Innocent. Like her husband had been the only man to ever lay hands on her.

Something primal twisted inside me at the thought. I wanted to ruin that innocence slowly, carefully. I wanted to fuck her hard enough to make her forget her own name, yet gentle enough that she’d beg for more instead of running. I remembered her in the rain that day, tears mixing with water, body trembling—not from cold, but from something deeper. For the first time in years, I’d felt something crack open in my chest. Not lust alone. Something possessive. Something almost tender.

I needed to understand it. I needed to have her. All of her.

Amanda shoved me backward onto the bed, climbing on top with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how to unravel me. Her mouth crashed into mine—hot, demanding—then trailed down my neck, teeth grazing skin. She yanked my shirt open, buttons scattering, and unbuckled my belt with practiced fingers. In seconds she had my wrists looped through the soft leather cuffs above my head, securing them tight.

She kissed and sucked her way down my chest, tongue flicking over one nipple, then the other, hard enough to make me hiss. My trousers and boxers hit the floor.

Naked now, I lay there, cock already straining toward her.

She wrapped her lips around me without warning—warm, wet, perfect. One hand stroked the base in slow, firm pulls while her mouth worked the rest, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. The whiskey still buzzed through my veins, making everything sharper, heavier.

“Ahh… fuck.”

My head spun. Too much drink. Too much want.

She released me with a wet pop, crawled up my body, and wrapped her fingers lightly around my throat.

“Do you like it, my boy?” she purred.

I looked up at her—and saw Payton instead. Those wide mint-green eyes, that small trembling mouth, the fragile beauty of her crying in the rain.

I jerked against the restraints, snapped the buckle free with a hard yank, and grabbed Amanda’s hips.

“I want to fuck you, Payton.”

She laughed—low, amused.

In one motion I rolled us over, pinning her beneath me.

“You think I’m funny?”

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes glittering. “Do I need to be punished?”

“On your stomach.”

She obeyed instantly, ass arched, waiting.

I brought my hand down—gentle at first, a warm sting.

“Will you be a good girl, Payton?”

“Yes, Daddy. Spank me harder.”

The next slap cracked louder. She gasped, body jolting.

“Ahh—”

Fuck. I needed her. Not Amanda. Her.

I flipped her onto her back again, kissed her with raw hunger—teeth clashing, tongue claiming. She’d been living rent-free in my head for weeks, this woman I barely knew, and it was driving me insane. No one had ever done this to me. No one had ever gotten under my skin like this.

God, I must be losing my mind.

With a rough tug I stripped the last of her clothes away. Her body lay bare—curves I knew by heart, skin flushed. I took one nipple between my lips, sucking hard while my fingers rolled the other, pinching just enough to make her arch. My hand slid lower, found her already soaked, slick heat coating my fingers.

I couldn’t wait.

I stroked myself once, twice—then lined up and thrust in hard, burying myself to the hilt.

She cried out, nails digging into my shoulders.

I didn’t stop. I fucked her fast, deep, relentless—each stroke slamming home like I could drive Payton’s face out of my mind by sheer force. But it only made the image sharper. Her imagined moans blended with Amanda’s real ones, her imagined body writhing beneath me.

I pressed down, chest to chest, kissed her again—savage, consuming—while my hips snapped forward harder. My mouth moved to her throat, sucking, biting, marking.

Her screams, her moans—they were music. Everything I’d ever wanted to hear. Everything I wanted to hear from her.

I drove deeper, faster, chasing the edge, chasing release, chasing the ghost of a woman who wasn’t even here.

And when I finally came—hard, blinding, spilling inside with a guttural groan—it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Not until it was Payton under me.

Not until she was mine.

A few hours later I woke with a skull full of lead and cotton. The room still smelled of sex, and expensive whiskey. I rolled my head to the side—Amanda was sprawled beside me, sheets tangled around her hips, one arm thrown over her eyes like she was blocking out the world.

Jesus. I must’ve blacked out harder than I realized. Last night I’d been convinced I was buried inside Payton—her soft cries, her trembling thighs, the way she’d look up at me with those wide green eyes. Instead it had been Amanda the whole time. My obsession was bleeding into reality now. Dangerous.

I dragged myself out of bed, head throbbing with every step, and shut the bathroom door behind me. The shower came on hot, steam filling the marble space almost instantly. I stood under the spray until the fog in my brain started to lift, water pounding against my shoulders like it could wash away the ache that had nothing to do with the hangover.

It was time to stop fantasizing. Time to act. Get Payton under me—once, twice, however many times it took—and maybe this insane hunger would finally burn itself out. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, I needed to know.

I wrapped a towel low around my waist and stepped back into the bedroom. Amanda was already awake, sitting up against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles, watching me with that slow, knowing smile she always wore after a night like last night.

“You’re up,” I said, dropping onto the edge of the mattress.

She laughed—rich, unapologetic. “Last night you were so drunk you kept calling me Payton. Begging ‘Payton’ to come for you. It was adorable. And a little pathetic.”

“Stop.”

“You really want her that bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, Amanda.” No point in lying to her. She’d always seen straight through me.

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she’d already solved. Then she slid closer, hands settling on my shoulders, thumbs digging in with firm, practiced circles.

“What’s the state of her marriage right now?” she asked, voice low.

“They just lost their baby. Three months old. And it's not going well for both of them”

“Mmm. So they’re probably tearing each other apart. Blaming themselves, blaming each other. Grief like that—it’s a wedge. Easy to widen.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Exactly.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Her fingers kept working my shoulders, soothing and possessive at once. “You remember my girl Elizabeth?”

“That Elizabeth?”

“The very same. The one who used to crawl across the floor for you back in the day. She’d still do anything if it meant getting another night with you. Promise her what she wants—fuck her senseless once or twice—and she’ll keep the husband distracted. Occupied. While you move in on the wife.”

I turned to look at her fully, eyebrows raised. A slow grin spread across my face.

“Damn. That’s… perfect. Keep Richard tied up with Elizabeth, and Payton’s left alone. Vulnerable. Mine.”

Amanda’s lips curved. “Told you I’d always take care of my boy.”

I caught her wrists, pulled her down onto the bed beneath me in one smooth motion. She laughed again—soft this time, almost fond.

“But promise me something first,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper. “When you’re done playing house with little miss tragedy, I’m still your number one. Me. No one else.”