Chapter Twenty-Two
Lyra
Ibreeze through work on Monday and Tuesday, at a speed I’ve never before experienced.
It seems like the more stressed I am and the less I sleep, the more my productivity speeds up, as if checking off as many tasks on my endless to-do list is enough to fill the void that’s starting to form in my soul.
I can recognize the obvious; spending time with Killian is eating away at me. The constant fear of what he’ll do to me the next time he sees me, the state of sheer survival, is enough to drive any person mad.
I implemented the edits he suggested, and I think they made the manuscript better.
I shouldn’t care about his opinion—in fact, I should do the opposite of everything he suggests—but part of me does.
Maybe it’s because he’s ten years older than me and vastly more successful.
Maybe it’s because part of me, a part I thought died long ago, wants to please him and receive his praise.
Whatever the case, I’m jittery as I enter his building.
I notice that Locke—his tatted guard dog—isn’t on duty right now, which raises a couple alarm bells in my mind. Killian’s secretary, however, greets me with the typical haughty sneer I’ve come to expect from him.
“Mr. King’s in a meeting,” he says.
I nod. “I can wait.”
“No, you can’t. He said to send you right in when you arrive before he got on the meeting. It should be wrapping up soon.”
Killian’s inviting me into his office during a meeting? He’s not worried that I might overhear something to use against him?
No, of course he isn’t. He has a sex tape of me. That’s enough to assuage any worries he might have of me running my mouth.
If my work on the exposé I’m drafting continues going well, that won’t be much longer. At the end of my time with Killian, I’ll be able to threaten him into either destroying the video, or hold him in a mutually-assured-destruction situation.
There are a lot of variables—first, that he doesn’t discover what I’m doing until I’m ready. Second, that I actually manage to get enough dirt on him.
So far, all I have are some questionable tax returns and sketchy investments, but that’s not enough to hold over his head. I have to keep digging.
I raise my hand to knock on Killian’s door; his secretary cuts me off. “No!” he snaps. “Go right in. Don’t interrupt. Be as quiet as a mouse.” He releases a mean laugh. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you, considering—”
“If you say something about the disparity between mine and Killian’s wealth or social status, I’m going to shove a pen up your ass so you actually have a reason to be so fucking stiff,” I hiss.
My vigor surprises both the secretary and myself. I’m not one to make threats—joking or otherwise—and I certainly don’t do so while on the job. That’s a good way to trip face-first into a lawsuit.
Fuck, I need to get a hold of myself. I need to get some sleep and calm myself down… but I don’t think that’ll happen until my time with Killian is officially up, and I’m finally in the clear.
I don’t wait for the secretary’s response before quietly opening the door to Killian’s office and slipping inside.
Killian’s seated at his desk, his phone in front of him and put on speakerphone, listening as several people over the line drone on about profits and margins. He flicks a glance up at me and crooks his finger, indicating for me to come closer.
“I don’t want excuses,” he cuts in, sounding bored. “I want to understand why, while utilizing your services, my investments dropped by ten fucking percent.”
Ten percent of my investments dropping would be pretty frustrating, but that would only be tens of thousands. I imagine Killian’s portfolio dropping by ten percent could and would cost him millions.
I drop my bag in the seat across his desk, heart speeding up as I slowly close the distance between us, rounding the table.
As soon as I’m within arm’s reach, Killian’s hand shoots out, circling my wrist. He leverages his hold on me to yank me into his lap.
I stifle a scream, but can’t mask my flinch.
It’s hard to know what to expect from him—pain or pleasure. He’s mercurial and difficult to predict.
His arms immediately band around me, and without wasting any time, he starts unbuttoning my blouse. His fingers are deft and capable, and I press my nails into my palms to try to ground myself as he pushes my shirt off my shoulders, leaving me in only a bra.
Whoever’s on the other end of the line drones on about market fluctuation while Killian stands me up, turns me to face him, and unbuttons and unzips my slacks.
There’s no wining, dining, or pretense today.
He’s not even bothering to pretend that this is an interview.
I’m here solely for his pleasure, to be his plaything.
He presses a kiss to my hip bone while he draws down my pants, and I recoil, ass crashing against the table. It rattles the desk so much that a cup of pens tips over, and the person talking on the phone pauses.
“Everything okay?” they ask.
“Did I tell you to pause?” Killian responds to them, glaring up at me in warning. He presses his lips to my hip again, slowly and deliberately, testing to make sure I’ll stay in place. My lips thin and my eyes squeeze shut, but I manage to keep still this time around.
I understand the message he’s trying to get across; the more I struggle, the harder he pushes to get what he wants. Right now, he wants me still and pliant, accepting whatever it is he plans to dole out today.
I can’t give him pliancy, but I can force myself to be still.
Endure, endure, endure.
My panties are dragged down to my ankles along with my pants. Killian lifts one of my feet, tugging off the fabric, and then the other. He pauses to swirl his tongue around my anklebone. A thrill of sensation shoots up my leg and zings through my clit.
When he wants to be, I’m sure he’s capable of being an extremely generous lover. I imagine there are plenty of lovestruck girls chasing after him, begging for another taste.
I’m just not one of those women. My introduction to Killian came in the form of realizing he’s a menace, hearing him threaten my life and livelihood, and then having him force me to suck his cock before spanking me like a child.
There is no world in which my attraction to him could outweigh my common sense.
Once the only item of clothing remaining on my body is my bra, Killian pulls me back down onto his lap. He drapes my knees over his thighs, spreading my legs wide.
“Run through last month's quarterly earnings with me,” Killian says. One of his hands boldly cups my pussy, shocking a gasp from me, while the other reaches forward and moves his computer mouse, lighting up the screen.
His fingers drag through my slit slowly, up and down, patiently strumming my clit while he goes over earnings, losses, and taxes with whoever’s on the phone. His multitasking abilities really are phenomenal; he has no problem reading, playing with me, and talking, all at the same time.
He pinches my clit and tugs; a small cry escapes my lips. Killian’s hand leaves his mouth and wraps around my throat, squeezing in reminder. He’s under the impression that all of my noises belong to him.
And they do, at least for the next several weeks. Beyond that, I’ll need to struggle through finding a way to reclaim my body, my sexuality, and my agency.
The mere thought of everything I’ll need to do to press through the damage Killian’s actively inflicting is depressing. The heat of arousal disperses from my core, and my body sulks.
Killian notices the change. His teeth sink into my neck painfully, his hand squeezes my throat to cut off my scream, and two fingers slide into me, curling to tickle my G-spot. I writhe and squirm, clawing at his hand, trying to close my legs.
His fingers slide out of me and his hand cracks down on my pussy. Hard, heavy, painful. “If I have to tie your legs open, I’m going to become mean,” he whispers in my ear.
The voice speaking through the phone pauses, then continues on. I’ve lost any ability to follow the conversation and mentally file away notes. Maybe that’s why Killian’s comfortable having me here; he intended to scramble my brains and clear my mind of all thought.
I force my legs to fall open, and he rewards me with a kiss on my neck and his fingers sliding back inside me.
His thumb moves to rest on my clit, pressing down but not giving it the friction I’m starting to crave.
I squirm restlessly, and his hand loosens just enough to let me breathe—albeit with resistance.
Killian’s erection grows against my ass, pressing against me like a red-hot poker, warning me of what’s to come.
My jaw tightens, but as soon as trepidation begins dampening my arousal, Killian’s thumb starts rubbing circles over my clit, and I nearly crawl out of my skin.
I feel an orgasm start to creep up on me, tightening the muscles in my body and making liquid heat pour out of my pussy.
Killian continues fingering me expertly, while talking casually like he doesn’t have a care in the world. My pleasure begins to crest, taking me to the height of an orgasm, and that’s when Killian pulls away.
A whine would leave my lips if I could breathe properly. Then, I nearly scream as his hand cracks down on my pussy, spanking me three times in rapid succession.
My orgasm dies, swallowed by sharp pain. Killian’s fingers, wet with my arousal, reach into my bra cup and painfully twist my nipple. My head falls back to his chest as agony contorts my features. A few tears leak from my eyes. A rumble of approval emanates from deep inside him.
I think this is his favorite part; hurting me while pleasuring me. Making me suffer through pain to get off.
I want no part in any of this, but I’m under no illusions about having a choice. He wants to hurt me, so he’ll hurt me. He wants to finger me, so he’ll finger me. I don’t have a say in the matter.