Chapter 62 #2
“Don’t!” Oakley darts in front of me, and Kyan stops. He stops and stares, heaving in breath after breath. There’s hurt in his eyes. He looks at Oakley, and his voice comes out devoid of emotion. “Do you…think I’m going to hurt her?”
Oakley stays blocking me.
I see the emotions cycle in Kyan’s eyes, then his lip curls, and he motions at the phone in my hand.
“I don’t hurt women. If you really knew me, you’d know that.
Now, kindly tell Holland to give me the phone and sit the fuck down, or guide her down.
I need a drink, and I don’t need her popping up and trying to brain me ‘cause she thinks I’m a psycho.
” He closes his eyes and shakes his head the tiniest bit, like he’s trying to shake a thought loose.
Oakley glances back at me, and I realize that I need to sit down. I need to relinquish some of the control. Kyan isn’t trying to be an asshole; he’s…scared of me.
“She doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Oakley defends weakly.
The realization sinks in that Kyan is actually afraid.
Of me. That thought seems so ridiculous, I just stand there for a second.
Then I remember the power dynamics that come from being a therapist. How people automatically assign you a position of authority over them because you’re a behavior specialist. Kyan must feel I have some power over him ‘cause some part of him thinks he’s crazy.
So, I toss the phone on the couch nearest to Kyan and sit down.
And only then do I see a slight shift in the way Kyan’s holding his shoulders.
He goes to the kitchen, and it’s then that I realize that there is no alcohol left.
I’ve scoured the kitchen in the last few days. Hell, I’ve needed a drink too.
“Fuck.” Kyan must realize the same thing, and runs his hands through his hair. I can’t help but notice his muscles as he does so, and the detail is so shocking. What the hell am I doing ogling this man?
Frustrated, Kyan stalks back around the couch, pulling the coffee table out to straddle it, then looks up at us. He steeples his fingers, gaze solely on me. “You can’t pull one over on me. I’m not stupid.”
He’s afraid that I’m exploiting his weaknesses. Which, I kind of am. I have mixed emotions about it, and I’m struggling to pin one down to pull a clinical therapy version of me out. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”
Kyan snorts. “How long?”
“How long what?”
“Have you…thought that I’m crazy?”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I say, and it’s the truth. “I think you’re traumatized.”
“Same thing, huh?” Kyan glances at the kitchen, swears under his breath, and starts rocking. He must need the alcohol. Without it, it’s too hard to mask the pain of the other alters.
That makes a twinge of empathy pull at my chest. “Not the same thing,” I say.
“Sure.”
Kyan is clearly aggravated and is continuing to rock, shaking his head every few seconds and staring at nothing. It’s too much. It’s too much information at the wrong time. This is exactly why I told Oakley not to tell him.
I can feel the anger rising in my chest. Why did he have to tell him? What good could he possibly have thought this could have done? Kyan was the one alter who was willing to help, and now Oakley has made an enemy out of him. Now our chances of dying have increased exponentially.
“You enjoy the control, don’t you?” Kyan’s voice startles me, and I realize that his attention is still hooked on me.
I suck in a breath, heart racing. I want to lie to him. Want to keep control by throwing him off my scent. But, I don’t. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m trying to hurt you.”
His look doesn’t change. He’s evaluating me. The silence stretches on, and I sit there, holding my ground. I refuse to be ashamed of trying to take control of a shitty situation. Of trying to survive.
Finally, Kyan smirks. “You made me feel it, so it’s your turn to feel it too. Then you can decide how you want to apologize to me.” Before I can process that, he turns to Oakley. “Put her over your knee.”
Put me over his knee? I’m shocked at the abrupt change in conversation, but Kyan looks serious. He cocks his head at Oakley.
“I…”
“What? You had your cock in her hand, but this is too much?” Kyan asks. He shakes his head quickly, like he’s trying to dislodge a thought. Or maybe like he’s trying to hold front.
I turn to Oakley. I know clinically I need to rebuild rapport with Kyan from the ground up.
And that means giving him a sense of control.
That doesn’t mean I want to. It’s also something I’d never do in a therapy relationship.
Power isn’t supposed to extend over me, the therapist. I’m supposed to have boundaries.
What boundaries can you have when someone has you captive on their murder island?
The thought makes tears form in my eyes. I’ve survived this long by taking control, and now it looks like I’m going to have to keep surviving by giving up control.
“Holli?” Oakley is looking at me with those conflicted eyes. Like he needs me to make the decision for him.
So I do. “Are you scared? Just do it.”
Oakley’s gaze hardens, but I don’t miss the flash of lust before he swallows it down. Oakley loves being told what to do just about as much as Wyatt does. He thrives in letting go of control just as much as it terrifies me.
Something that Kyan clearly knows.
But I won’t let him see weakness. So I lean over Oakley’s lap, laying my torso on him. I feel his hands lightly tap my back, like he doesn’t know where to touch me.
“Spank her.” The command comes from Kyan, who’s shaking his head more now.
“What?” Oakley gasps.
“You heard me. Punish her.”
“I can’t…” He’s trembling under me.
“Hit me, Oakley, I’m not a fragile flower.” The anger is giving me a semblance of control, despite everything. It’s holding me together.
Then his hand comes down on my ass, not hard. Just enough to make a slight smacking sound.
Kyan huffs. “This is a punishment, mousey, it’s supposed to hurt.”
“I can’t—”
“Do it,” I say, teeth gritted.
So he does. This time, the pain sparks up my spine, and the smack echoes in the room.
“Good boy,” Kyan’s voice is deeper. “Again.”
Oakley does, smacking my ass so it jiggles. I bury my face in the couch, knowing that I’m on full display for both of them. Knowing, in this moment, that I have no control. And yet the pain grounds me and also sends involuntary pleasure straight to my clit.
“Pull her pants down.”
That makes me dart up and almost off Oakley’s lap, but then big hands are there, holding me down. Kyan’s voice is deeper, more purry. “Easy there. Wouldn’t want you getting up before you’re done.”
“Ky, this is…”
“You think this isn’t making her wet? Why do you think she’s hiding from us?”
That makes me turn my face to glare at Kyan. He just smirks without looking at me. “I want to see your handprint on her ass. I want it to bruise.”
“This counts as hurting,” Oakley says.
Kyan turns to me now, mocking. “Oh, but I’m not trying to hurt you.” He’s parroting what I told him. “Holland can end this anytime by just apologizing.”
The thought makes me rage, and I sputter, “Apologize for what? For not giving a diagnosis when I wasn’t asked for it? You’re not even my client!”
“Shhhh, but remember, I could be if I paid in orgasms.” The smile he gives me isn’t nice.
“I’m sorry,” Oakley says. I’m sure he’s talking to me, but Kyan answers.
“Sorry,” I say in the most mocking voice I can. Partly because I want to avoid Kyan looking at my bare ass, and partly because, despite everything…my body is uncomfortably hot.
“Oh, are you?” He crouches down to my level, jutting out his bottom lip. “Say it again, to my face.”
Those dark eyes look into mine like he’s reading all my secrets. Like he can see just how aroused I am, even though I’m not supposed to be. He sees it, and he mocks it. “Do you like this, Holland?” Suddenly, his hand is there, massaging the spot that Oakley hit over my pants.
“My name is Holli,” I grit.
That gets him to smile more, and he asks slower, “Do you like this, Holli?”
His touch sends tingles through me as it brushes my sensitive skin. I close my eyes so he can’t see the reaction he’s getting, only to realize that the reaction is enough and open them again.
“Good.” He grins. “Now say it for real.”
“What am I apologizing for?” I ask in exasperation. Kyan is serious, getting so close his nose almost touches mine. “For taking away my choice.”
A mixture of true sorrow hits me at the same time as anger. He took away my choice first. He brought me here.
But then I remember that it wasn’t Kyan at all who brought me here. If anyone, it was Wyatt. And despite the fact that they share the same body, I can’t hold one accountable for the other.
So, quietly, I say, “I’m sorry.”
The apology hangs there in the silence for a second. Kyan nods once and stands.
“You have a lot of shit to undo, and I can’t promise it’ll all be my fault.” Then, he’s gone, stalking down the hallway.
For a second, I sit there, then I feel Oakley’s hard on through his pants and push myself up.
“Holli, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” I stand. I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling.
It’s empathy and shame and anger at the fucking injustice of it all.
And just plain helplessness. I can’t fix this.
I can’t make it better. Kyan’s system is complex, and there’s nothing I can do in one session or even twenty to make this better right now.
I need space. I need air.
“I shouldn't have told him. I just thought—”
I hold up a hand. I can’t deal with this gracefully right now. So I stalk to the front door, rip it open, walk into the outside air, and slam the door shut.