Chapter Fifteen #2
Fuck. I’m probably going to be in the dog house after this. Strangely enough, I’m looking forward to the ensuing fight.
One hour turns into two, as each person we approach or who we’re approached by take up a good twenty or thirty minutes.
All of them, of course, gush about Lyra—and why wouldn’t they?
She’s beautiful, smart, well-spoken, and charismatic.
I’d have thought she was completely over the Silas incident if she didn’t treat me with cold indifference every time she wasn’t putting on a show.
Looks like it’ll be the dog house, indeed. I’ll spank the anger out of her later. I might even grab my belt if Lyra’s feeling particularly testy today.
Silas stares at us throughout the evening, not even attempting to be covert.
He and Vladimir share a long conversation in the corner of the room, glancing at me and Lyra periodically.
I’m sure my little journalist notices, but she doesn’t comment.
I suspect she’s much more afraid than she’s letting on, because she’s behaving herself quite well this evening.
Perhaps talking to her about the meaning of this and explaining some things wouldn’t be the worst course of action…
but that would require trust, and I do not trust her with information.
Not before she’s pregnant, at least. After all, she’s already betrayed me by writing an expose, and she barely knew anything aside from a simple hostile takeover back then.
If she knew everything, she really could write something that would ruin my career and get us both killed.
Unless I give her a different writing project to focus on. Hm.
When the clock ticks past 10pm, I make my exit with Lyra in tow. As soon as we step into our car, the smile she’s kept pasted on her face falls, and a look of pure exhaustion overtakes her. She melts into the car seat, head lolling against the headrest, and fixes her gaze out of the window.
“You did very well.”
“Fuck you.”
Alright, then.
“I’m proud of—”
“If you finish that sentence, I swear I’ll find a way to ruin you.
” Her head swivels to face me, and her eyes meet mine.
“There is absolutely nothing to be proud of, Killian. I lied and faked my way through that evening, and I hated every single fucking second of it. Now please, don’t talk to me for the rest of the night. I need to recover.”
I work my jaw, staring at her. The genuine exhaustion straining her expression makes me uneasy, as does the fact that she hasn’t eaten, and I know she hasn’t been sleeping well.
“What do you need right now?”
“To start, some peace and quiet.”
“You’ll get that soon enough, and that’s a want. What do you need?”
“My freedom.”
“Also a want.”
“I don’t know,” she huffs. It’s adorably petulant. “Apparently all of the things I regard as needs, you regard as wants, so I guess nothing.”
Fair enough. “What would make you feel better than doesn’t involve me letting you go, divulging my secrets to you, or never speaking to you again?”
She glances at me. “A cheeseburger would be nice. If I have to eat another meal I can’t pronounce, I’ll lose it.”
“Done. What else?”
“Nothing that you’re willing to give.”
“I need you to let me in on whatever politics were going on tonight,” Lyra says later that night. She’s freshly showered, wearing only a silk bathrobe. My gaze lingers on the hint of cleavage it reveals. “No.”
“Yes,” she retorts. “You’ve dragged me back into a world that you’ve repeatedly informed me is dangerous for me to exist in, and you’re asking me to rely on your protection blindly.
I will not do that. If you really want… whatever the fuck this is,” she gestures between us, “to have even the faintest chance of working, you need to read me in.”
I let a few beats pass, as if I’m considering it. Then, I reiterate, “No. I don’t trust you not to use anything I tell you against me.”
She gives a derisive laugh. “And how would I do that without also destroying myself, Killian? You’ve made a very public spectacle of us being together.
You’ve presented us as a unit to high society.
I no longer have an anonymous way to turn on you, and if I decide to do it anyways, I’m fucking myself in the process.
If half of the danger you suggest is real, I’m probably killing myself to boot. ”
I pause to consider her. She’s not wrong, but I hadn’t expected her to draw to this conclusion so quickly.
She’s acclimating faster than I thought she would be.
And, I also need to work harder on getting her a distraction to replace this desire for information.
Taking my cock three times a day and reading isn’t enough to keep her occupied; she needs some sort of work.
I need to get Aisha on the phone again.
When I go too long without speaking, she continues. “You know, I’ve already figured some things out. I’m not stupid, Killian. I can connect enough dots to scare me, but not enough to understand.:
“Oh?” I keep my tone carefully amused. “Enlighten me. Which dots have you connected?”
She inhales a deep breath and glances away. “That Silas Black is the one who leaked the tape.” Pain flashes across her expression, and she glances at me again. Whatever she sees makes the pain double, and her shoulders hunch inward.
“Why did he have it, Killian?”
“I can’t tell you that.” I want to kiss her pain away, but I’m not sure it’ll help now.
“Of course not.” Her expression wipes blank, and I dislike that almost as much as I disliked the brief flash of agony.
“Fine. You want to keep me out of the loop? You want me to be a good little stay-at-home captive who does whatever you say, when you say? You want me to be the sex toy you’ve reduced me to? ”
I open my mouth to correct her, but she cuts me off.
“Alright, then. You can have it. You won’t talk to me, you won’t work with me, you won’t do anything but fuck me, so obviously, that’s all I’m worth to you. So, where do you want me, Killian? I’ll stop fucking fighting because it does no one any good, least of all me.”
I narrow my eyes. “What game are you playing?”
“The bed?” she queries. “The shower? The bathroom countertop? Your desk?” A short, derisive laugh escapes her. “Go ahead. Take what you want. Be the conqueror you show the world.”
“Lyra, stop.” I don’t like the direction this is heading in, or that blank look in her eyes.
“Fine.” She shrugs. “So, what do you want me to do, then? How can I act the part of your perfect captive tonight?”
“Lyra—”
“Should I bend over so you can hurt me some more for having the gall to ask questions and take an interest in my own future?”
“Enough!” I snap. She falls silent. “Cut that shit out.”
“Alright.” She goes silent, and I fucking hate it.
“Get in bed,” I growl.
She complies immediately. Her movements are swift, practiced, and mechanical. None of the lingering hesitation I so enjoy watching every time she follows an order against her wishes.
Fuck. Have I actually pushed her too far this time?
No. She’ll be fine in the morning. This is just a new iteration of the tantrum she’s been throwing since I dragged her back here, kicking and screaming.
Except she’s not fine in the morning. She complies with everything I say. Barely flinches as I spank her. Doesn’t make a single noise as I fuck her—it’s like having sex with a corpse.
I let it slide.
I also let slide her cool politeness at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My Lyra is too filled with life to stick to this ruse for long.
But the next day follows the same pattern. As does the one after that, and the one after that. Every morning, I expect her to crack. I spank her harder, fuck her harder, push her farther. But she doesn’t give me a goddamn inch.
It takes me a week to realize that I may have actually made a mistake.