Chapter Four
Lyra
Locke waits for us at the gates. He watches my approach with a blank expression, though if I’m not mistaken, I think I might detect a hint of relief.
I can’t help but wonder what Killian’s been like in my absence. He was always insufferable when we were together; how much more insufferable did he become? Was his temperament significantly worse?
Being back in Killian’s orbit is surreal. The fog of the cemetery clings to me, invading my head and hazing over my thoughts as Locke opens the back door of an SUV idling on the curb. Killian moves his hand from mine to the small of my back, and the gesture makes me jump.
Getting in the car means making a major concession. Granted, it’s preferable to getting punished in a graveyard, but… this is me accepting my fate.
I don’t want to accept my fate, but I am so fucking tired of running. Maybe I can convince Killian to kill me quickly. Or maybe, just maybe, I can get away again.
Will I even have the opportunity to get away if I get into the car? I know Killian well enough to know he won’t make it easy. But then… his fatal flaw was always underestimating me. Would he make the same mistake twice?
"Get your ass in the car." Killian’s tone is mild, but the threat is clear: or else. Get your ass in the car, or else things are about to get much, much worse for me.
“Killian…” I trail off, unsure what I can possibly say to deter him.
“Now.”
I get in the car. The seats are smooth leather, so buttery I can feel them even through my clothes. I almost forgot the level of luxury Killian surrounds himself with—it’s never anything but the best.
He follows after me, settling himself.
I scoot to the far side of the backseat, putting as much distance between us as possible. My breaths are quick, my heart rate is quicker, and I feel like I’m on the verge of passing out.
“Shall we talk first?” Killian removes his jacket and tosses it carelessly on the floor. Locke gets into the front seat, and the screen partition separating us slowly starts to rise. I fold my hands to stop them from trembling.
“I don’t have any particular wish to talk to you.” I mean for the words to come out strong, but the tremble in my voice undermines that.
“Very well.” Killian scoots into the center seat, far too close for comfort. “Over my lap.”
“Excuse me?”
“Over my lap, Lyra.” He doesn’t flinch. “Right now.”
How can he say that so casually? Where the hell does he get off, saying that to me?
“I’m not a child.”
“No, but you have been an obscenely bad girl.” He taps his thigh twice. “Now.”
I know what happens next. Killian’s a sadist, through and through. He pulls down my sweats and panties, and sets about ensuring that I won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week. If I deny him, it gets worse. If I don’t comply, it gets worse.
Killian’s cruelty is predictable. It’s routine. It is one thing that I hoped, prayed I would never have to deal with again.
“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with now. There’s no use torturing me first.” That’s just poor form.
Killian’s response is to roll his eyes. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re of no use to me dead.” His tone is so blasé, I almost believe him.
“If you don’t want your punishment to increase, I’d advise complying now,” he says casually.
He’s already going to double whatever he had planned in the cemetery. Pushing back will only get me into deeper shit.
I’m mildly surprised that he’s not forcing me, but I guess that’s part of the point, isn’t it? It’s far more humiliating to succumb by choice than it is to be forced.
My cheeks burn as I slowly move towards him, eyes lowered, jaw clenched. “Position?” My voice is flat.
“Face down, ass up,” Killian says simply. “I might be inclined towards lenience if you decide to pull down your sweatpants and panties, as well.”
He wants me to present myself to him. I swallow, and take a beat to find my composure.
Then, I follow his instructions. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and embarrassing to deliberately fold myself over him.
I brace my knees on one side of his lap, straighten, and tug down my pants and panties.
After another deep breath, I lower my elbows on the other side of him.
Face down, ass up, just as he requested.
“Very nice.” The praise is faint, but it makes me feel warm for another reason entirely.
“I was planning on twenty back at the cemetery. Our deal pushes than number up to forty."
My fingers curl into the leather as I wait for him to start, but he doesn’t.
“But your compliance shaves off ten. So we’ll settle on a nice, even thirty. Afterwards, you will apologize for your dismal behavior, and thank me for the punishment.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“Irrelevant,” he responds calmly. “Hate me or love me. It doesn’t really make a difference, now, does it?
” His hand cracks down on one side of my ass; the pain is instant and overwhelming.
I try to regulate my breathing and fail miserably.
Then, I try to regulate my heartbeat and fail even more miserably.
Another hit follows, making me flinch, and then a third.
Burning heat spreads over my ass, but it slowly begins to morph into a different sort of warmth.
My core begins to ache, imperceptible at first, but then with more intensity.
By the tenth spank, Killian’s really starting to put his strength into the slaps, but I’m shifting uncomfortably.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” he asks conversationally.
I blink, not processing his words at first. Is he… is he going to interrogate me while he’s doing this?
When I don’t respond, another, much sharper and more painful hit follows, right over my sit-spot. “I asked you a question, little bird.”
He’s asking me questions now? When my thoughts are a scrambled, fragmented mess? He said—
Wait, no. He never mentioned that it was either talking before the spanking or after. He just offered before. I guess the alternative option was during. Yet another calculated move on his part—how am I supposed to think my answers through when I’m a puddle of pain and slowly building warmth?
I’m not. That’s the point.
“I—” I cut off when he spanks me again, jerking.
“Answer me,” he requests simply.
“Don’t know,” I rush out, wincing at the next hit. How many has he done by now? I can’t think.
“Hmm. I’m not sure you’re being entirely truthful. Not just with me, but with yourself.” Another hit. I arch and gasp. Okay, the spanking’s really becoming painful right about now.
“Where were you?” he questions.
“W-what?” I gasp.
“For the last five months. Where were you?”
“I—don’t,” I cut off to hiss as he hits me again, “I don’t think I can… hold this… conversation—ah!” an intense spank makes me bury my face in the cushion. “Right now.”
“Mm. Well, I’m happy to keep spanking you until your tongue loosens.”
No, no, no. I can’t take much more. Killian’s hitting me so hard, it’s almost as bad as the bite of his belt, and I know things will only get worse from here.
“We have about five left to go. I suggest you start talking. You will answer before we’ve finished.”
“M-Mexico.” The word comes out on a moan. Fuck, think, Lyra. THINK! “P-Portugal.” The word escapes my lips as a sob. Tears are already freely running down my cheeks. I don’t know if it’s the pain, or the building heat between my legs, or being forced to speak while enduring this.
I do know that it’ll be a while before I can sit comfortably.
“And?” Killian asks, still in that calm, unaffected tone.
“Greece,” I moan. “Moving between—” I cut off with a hiss as he delivers a particularly hard slap. “Cities and towns,” I finish, releasing another sob.
“I see.” Killian delivers a truly vicious smack that makes me scream, and rests his hands on my ass. “That’s thirty,” he says softly. “Spread your legs.”
“Please don’t make me.” My voice is meek and soft, almost unrecognizable.
He slaps again, then begins rubbing away the sting. I slowly inch my legs apart. I know this dance; I resist, Killian hurts me more. My best bet to minimize damage is to follow his instructions to a T.
“Wider.”
I comply, burying my tears in the seats.
“Little Bird,” Killian says softly, almost reverently. “Fuck. Do you have any idea how wet you are?”
I could venture a guess, but I don’t want to.
“You’re leaving a wet spot on my pants,” he murmurs. Two fingers land over my folds. I’m already so sensitive, I can’t trap the moan that tears from my lips. My god, I don’t know how to bear this. He spanked me until I cried, and I got aroused by it.
He glides his fingers over my center, back and forward, his movement leisurely and unhurried—as if he has all the time in the world. I bite my lip to muffle my moan.
“I really have missed you, you know,” he says, the words unusually quiet. “Have you missed me?”
“No.” I was too busy fearing for my life to miss him.
“I’m not sure I believe you.” He circles my clit, his touch gentle enough to hint at pleasure without really delivering it. “But we can get to that later.”
My hips shift forward of their own accord, and my entire body heats with the humiliation. I didn’t mean to push into his hand—really, I didn’t. I guess this is an old, conditioned response of anticipating—yearning for—pleasure on the heels of pain.
“That’s enough.” Killian removes his hand, leaving me wanting and needing.
“W-what?” I squeak.
He chuckles. “I said, that’s enough. You took your punishment very nicely, but I’m quite far from issuing a reward.
” He removes me from his lap in a cold, clinical fashion, setting me on my side of the car and scooting all the way back to his.
I hiss at the contact of my burning ass with the seat, but when I shift to find a comfortable position, Killian stops me with a cold, sharp look.
“No,” he says succinctly. “The drive is approximately four hours.” He checks his watch. “Without traffic, that is. For the remainder of it, you will stay in place, and suffer through the discomfort.”
“You’re a fucking sadist,” I mutter.
“Correct. And you are my beautiful little pain slut.”
My spine snaps straight. “I’m not a slut, and I’m not your anything.”
“Wrong on both accounts, I’m afraid. You are, and always will be, my little pain slut—until the day you die.”
I swallow, the weight of his words making me fold in on myself. Until the day you die may come a lot sooner than I’d hoped for.