Chapter Four #2
Killian’s features sharpen. His eyes fixate on me, glimmering with indignance. At my suggestion that he’s a rapist? Is he really so deluded that he can’t see what he’s just done to me? I pegged Killian as someone who’s self-aware, even though he lies to the world, but maybe I was wrong.
“I already told you, I’ve never forced a woman… before now.” He cocks his head to the side, examining me. “You don’t believe me.”
“Why would I?”
“Because I don’t lie without reason or motivation. You’ve seen who I am now, so why would I lie?”
“To prevent me from searching out everyone you’ve done this to and encouraging them to file a class action lawsuit against you for sexual abuse?”
Killian’s eyes narrow. “Do you really still think that you’ll be able to publish any sort of negative article about me without repercussions? Do you think my associates in the newspapers would ever let that article see the light of day?” he scoffs. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I thought you weren’t this disgustingly cruel,” I retort, wiping the cum and spit from my lips and the tears from under my eyes. “I suppose we were both wrong.”
“I’m never wrong.” Killian leans forward, tucking his cock away. I think that means he’s done with me, at least sexually. Maybe he’ll let me go home now, where I can lick my wounds, cry over the traumatic events of tonight, and then start planning. “Come here.”
“I want to go home.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want. Come here.”
I snap. His entitlement, greed, cruelty—everything about him sets me over the edge. “I gave you what you wanted!” I shout. “Let me go the fuck home!”
He appears bored with my outburst. He gazes at me impassively for several moments, then asks, “Are you done?”
“Yes, I’m done here. You got what you wanted. You’ve cowed me with your mighty powers of ignoring consent. Let me go.”
He seems to actually consider it for a few moments, then shakes his head. “Not yet. Come here, Lyra, or this is going to get a lot worse for you. Keep struggling against me, and I’ll be ready for round two in no time.”
“You’re sick.”
He nods. “Probably, yes. But with how wealthy I am, sickness is usually referred to as eccentricity.”
His wealth is disgusting. The fact that it enables him to do things like this without repercussion infuriates me.
“I’ll ask one more time before resorting to drastic measures. Come here, Lyra.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. The sooner I comply, the sooner I can get out of here—I hope.
I sit up once again and shuffle closer to him. Killian’s eyes brighten at seeing me in the subservient, demeaning position; mascara streaking down my cheeks, mostly naked, a complete mess.
He leans forward, reaching for me. My breath catches when he slides one hand into my hair, and plants the other on my waist. When his roaming hand begins to slide lower, I jerk, panic making me tremble.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking a suspicion.”
His hand dives into my panties. I jerk again, which makes him tighten his hold on my hair until I hiss. Once again, tears swim in my eyes. Violating my mouth is one thing, but when his fingers run through my folds, my nausea returns with a vengeance.
“Just a touch wet,” he murmurs, brows raising.
I jerk again, harder; he gives my hair such a vicious yank it makes me cry out.
“Behave,” he warns me. “It wasn’t the blowjob that made you wet—you nearly threw up and made a mess of things.
” He squints at me, contemplating. “It was the pain,” he decides.
“No,” I snap. “I’m not wet—”
His next movements are so quick, I hardly realize what’s happening until it’s too late.
My stomach flips and sinks as Killian lifts me from the ground and drapes me over his lap.
As soon as I regain a sliver of my bearings from the abrupt shift, I try to lunge away from him, but he fists my hair in one hand and covers my legs with one of his own, trapping me.
“Behave,” he repeats. “I’m testing a theory.” He says it as if I’m a science experiment he wants to dissect, when all I want is to get the hell out of here. But my only option to do so is to submit.
Struggling only excites him. Denying him makes him go to extremes. My only option is to lie here like a goddamn rag doll and endure.
So that’s what I do… until his hand cracks down on my ass in a stinging, resounding slap that echoes through the room.
Then, I jerk and try to leap away from him instinctively, but it’s futile.
He yanks my hair again, reminding me once more that fighting only makes him resort to pain even though he’s already delivering me pain.
Is there no end to his brutality? To his sadism?
“Stay,” he warns me. “This won’t take long.
” He spanks me again, even harder, and then again on my other ass cheek.
Back and forth he goes, slapping until my entire ass burns.
I try to bite my lip, to keep my noises and tears to myself, but it’s impossible.
He’s setting my skin on fire, and eventually, I cry out.
When he keeps going and slaps my sit spot multiple times in succession, I scream.
That’s when he stops. He traces his finger over my burning ass, releasing a low rumble of approval.
I’m well and truly cowed now. I understand there is nothing I can do to stand up to him, not right now, and that knowledge causes a deep, depressing ache of dejection in my soul. I’m powerless against him.
His hand slides beneath the hem of my panties. He nudges my legs apart, and I let him, shutting my eyes and trying to muffle my tears. When his fingers dip through my folds again, I can’t withhold a sob.
“It is pain,” he murmurs. “Hmm. Interesting.”
As abruptly as he subdued me, he releases me. His leg disappears from over mine, and his hand leaves my hair, but his fingers in my panties travel up to my clit.
“If you ask very nicely, I might let you come for taking that spanking so beautifully,” he says.
I do the only rational thing I can think of; I throw myself off of him. My body collides hard with the floor, jarring me, but the pain barely registers. I don’t ask for permission before searching out my clothes. I pull on my dress with trembling hands.
Killian watches me stand, shame and self-hatred staining my entire face red, and observes me as I pull on my dress. I can only get the zipper halfway up, but I’m not going to ask him for help.
I am never going to be in a room with this psychopath again.
Then, Killian parts his lips, and asks the most ludicrous question he possibly could. “Dinner?”
I don’t credit his insanity with a response. I walk to the door on shaky legs, ass burning, half expecting him to come after me, but he doesn’t. He must not have expected me to reply, because he lets me leave… but I feel his gaze on me long after I manage to escape.