Chapter 012 Cillian
I’m wearing a path in the marble hallway while strangers haul in tables and flowers for the charity New Year’s Eve party I completely forgot about. Edith informed me this morning that the original venue burned down and no other place was available last-minute. I offered the estate weeks ago—back when my biggest problem was boredom, not a ten-year-old ward and a nanny who’s currently missing.
All of this is Lyra’s fault. The chaos, the distraction, the fact that I’m pacing like some anxious husband instead of working. I’m adding every damn minute of this aggravation to the list of things she’s going to answer for when she gets back.
A low rumble rolls up the driveway. I stop dead and stare out the tall front window. There’s her battered blue truck, kicking up gravel like it owns the place. Relief slams into me so hard it’s almost embarrassing, chased immediately by pure fury.
“She’s here, sir,” Niles murmurs, materializing at my elbow.
“I have eyes,” I snap, already yanking the front door open.
Lyra hops out of the cab, yoga pants clinging to her legs, oversized hoodie swallowing the rest of her. The faded college logo across the chest looks ancient. My brain short-circuits.
“Cillian?” She freezes on the stone path when she sees me filling the doorway. “You’re home early.”
“Whose sweatshirt is that?” The question rips out before I can stop it.
She glances down at herself like she’s only just noticing what she’s wearing. “Um, one of my brothers’, I think? You said I didn’t have to wear the uniform today, and I just grabbed—”
“You thought you could wear another man’s clothes and I wouldn’t care?” I step forward, voice low enough the florist hauling lilies past us doesn’t catch it. “You thought wrong.”
“But it’s not—”
“Were you running?” The words taste bitter. “Trying to leave?”
Her mouth actually drops open. “No! I just—”
“You left.” I cut her off, aware of every set of eyes pretending not to watch. “Go to the bedroom. Take that off. Wait for me.”
She swallows, cheeks pink. “Yes, sir.”
As she slips past, I swear she sticks her tongue out at Niles. He pretends not to notice.
“Shall I move her vehicle, sir?” Niles asks, eyeing the truck like it’s contagious.
“Garage. Keys on my desk this time.”
He nods and heads off.
I detour past the music room. Elara and her French tutor are still at it—conjugating verbs or whatever ten-year-olds do—so I leave them alone and take the stairs two at a time.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind me. I turn the lock.
Lyra’s perched on the edge of the bed, hoodie gone, wearing a plain T-shirt and leggings. She stands the second she sees me.
“Want to explain why you disappeared today?” I loosen my tie, yank it free.
“I didn’t disappear. I went to the pharmacy. I needed a prescription refill and some nail polish for Elara.”
“I don’t give a damn where you went. You didn’t tell me.” I shrug out of my jacket, let it hit the floor. “I waited. I worried you weren’t coming back.”
Her brow furrows. “Of course I came back.”
“Strip.”
She blinks. “Right now? People are downstairs—”
“Exactly. You should’ve thought of that before you left.” I roll my sleeves up slowly. “You’ll take your punishment like a good girl.”
Heat flares in her eyes. She peels off the leggings and panties in one motion, then the T-shirt and bra. When she’s bare, I just look. Every soft curve, every inch I’ve already decided is mine.
“On the bed. Ass up.”
She crawls onto the mattress, lowers her chest, lifts her hips. Perfect.
I kneel behind her, drag my tongue through her folds once—just to taste how ready she already is. Sweet and wet. I hum against her skin, then straighten.
“This is because I care,” I say, rubbing slow circles over one cheek. “And because you will never leave again without asking me first.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers.
My hand comes down sharp. The crack echoes. She gasps, a sound that’s half shock, half pleasure.
I spank the same spot twice more, then switch sides. Pink blooms under my palm, handprints rising on her pale skin. Each smack spreads her knees a little wider, like her body’s begging without words.
“You won’t leave me again, will you, Lyra?” I trace down the seam of her ass, slide two fingers deep inside her soaked heat.
“Cillian!” she cries, pushing back.
“You’ll be my good girl.” I pump slowly, curling just right. “Take care of me the way I need.”
“Please—”
I pull my fingers free, unzip. My cock is aching, swollen, already leaking at the tip. I grip her hips hard enough to leave new marks.
Then I spot it on the nightstand: five bottles of nail polish lined up like innocent soldiers next to a neat pink pack of birth control pills.
Everything in me goes still. Then hot.
“You’re not taking those.” I line myself up, nudge the head against her entrance. She’s dripping down her thighs. “You’re not doing anything to stop my seed from taking root.”
I drive into her in one long thrust, burying every inch while she cries out my name.