Chapter Thirty-Three
After Killian’s fallen asleep that night, I sneak into the living room with my laptop in hand.
I can’t do any serious digging on this device, but I can look up surface-level things.
They’ll raise alarms if Killian sees them, sure, but it’ll be nothing out of the ordinary for a journalist’s background.
To cover my tracks, I start out by searching up the Prime Minister’s wife, and then Carter Black. After scrolling through meaningless articles for a while, I finally move onto Silas Cornell.
His image online is polished and pristine; there are no articles regarding his misdeeds, which means he pays someone well to keep him looking clean and sparkly.
I’m just scanning an article on his charitable pursuits when I hear footsteps behind me, announcing Killian’s presence.
I close out my tab and turn to face him, doing my best to look innocent.
“Late night research?” Killian queries, a strange note of flatness in his voice. There’s a charge of fury in the air, though, telling me that he glimpsed what I was looking at, and he’s pissed about it.
Why?
“In your words, you can’t blame a tiger for its stripes, or a wolf for its teeth.”
“You’re not a wolf.” Killian fists my hair painfully, wrenching my head back. I cry out, startled and frightened, reaching back to clutch his wrist. “You’re an ant.” He stands me up, maneuvering me to face him.
Why is he so upset? I was only doing a little light research—what is his fucking problem?
“Already looking up your next prospect?” Killian questions drily. “You know you’ll be done with me soon, so you’re looking for your next mark.”
“What?” I squeak. Holy fuck, is he acting like this because he’s jealous? “Killian, I don’t—”
“Shut up,” he hisses. “You are mine, Lyra. Once I’m done with you, there will be little left for others to covet. You will not look in my circles for another patron—”
“You’re acting insane!” I squeal, genuine fear clawing its way up my throat.
“Insane?” he repeats with a chuckle. He blinks a few times, shaking his head. “Maybe I am. Maybe you’re making me that way.” His jaw tightens. “Apologize.”
“For what?”
“For researching another man while you’re supposed to be in my bed, waiting to take my cock.”
“Killian, you know that’s not what I’m doing. I’m researching him for my job. I have no interest in staying in your circles any longer than absolutely necessary. I can’t wait to get away from this world—”
“Can’t wait, hmm?” he asks.
Fuck, that was the wrong thing to say. Something about me looking up Silas is making Killian crazy, and threatening to leave will only provoke him more.
Bad move, Lyra.
“Can’t fucking wait?” he repeats, his words a haunting whisper.
“Killian—”
He leans down and crushes his lips to mine.
He hoists me up in his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. My stomach drops like it did yesterday in the shower, and nausea rises.
I try to pull my mouth away from his, to breathe, but he doesn’t let me.
He turns, strides a few steps forward, and drops me on my feet.
Pain radiates up my legs, but he has no mercy—he folds me over the arm of the couch and wrenches up my nightgown.
I bite my bottom lip and brace for what comes next. Pain. I expect it, I’m almost ready for it, so when I feel Killian’s cock nudging my entrance, I startle.
“Wait—”
“No.” He thrusts inside me with overwhelming force. I whimper in pain—I’m not wet or ready for him, but right now, he doesn’t seem to care. He fucks me like he can’t stand me, and the cruelty of each pump hurts more than my body. It scrapes over the raw edges of my soul.
Somewhere between the sex, travel, and force, part of me has grown to care about Killian.
Maybe not about him, but certainly about his opinion—courtesy of him reading the first full-length novel I ever wrote.
The way he’s treating me right now is tearing right through that care and leaving a gaping hole in my chest. I dig my nails into the couch cushion, squeeze my eyes shut, and endure.
One more week. Less than one more week, and I’m done. He’s just in a jealous rage—he’ll settle. Endure, Lyra.
Endure, endure, endure.
Killian takes his time with me, but he doesn’t put any emphasis on my pleasure. He just keeps thrusting, not seeming satisfied, and not offering me the words of praise he usually does—which hurts even more.
After what feels like an eternity, he finally comes. He withdraws, leaving me with shaky legs and an aching chest. I push myself up slowly, grimacing at the feeling of his cum leaking out of me. Killian takes my shoulders and spins me around.
“No more looking up other men.” His words aren’t a question, they’re an order.
I nod my head slowly. “I’m not interested in Silas. I was just researching him because I know he’s your competitor,” I whisper.
“I don’t care.” Killian doesn’t flinch, and his glare doesn’t waver. “No more looking up other men. Not until I’m done with you.”
He doesn’t say when he’ll be done with me. The nausea returns.
I nod silently.
Killian turns and disappears into the bedroom. I collapse on the couch, drained, frightened, and so, so tired.
I’ll wait until I get back to the city. Finish the exposé. And then put Killian King firmly in my rearview mirror.
I desperately want to shower and scrub the remnants of Killian’s touch from me, but I’d need to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom, and I don’t want to be anywhere near Killian right now.
So, I use a few tissues to clean up the cum running down my leg, curl up on the couch in a fetal position, and try my best to fall asleep.
When I wake up, it’s morning, and Killian is hovering over me. He doesn’t look happy to see me—quite the opposite, he looks pissed.
“You didn’t come to bed last night.”
I blink sleepily and sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Can we get different hotel rooms, please? I don’t think we’re suited to cohabitation.”
His jaw tightens. “No,” he bites out. “We’re suited just fine. There’s a bed for a reason; you shouldn’t be using the couch.”
“I didn’t want to provoke you more,” I say quietly. Killian doesn’t seem infuriated like he was last night, but he’s not content, either.
Last night might’ve been horrible, but it served as a good reminder for me.
Even in my resistance, it’s easy to get caught up in Killian’s charm, and in all the things he offers me—namely, luxurious travel, food, clothing, orgasms, and most importantly, the feedback on my novel, no matter how much it can hurt.
I’ve been caught up enough that I’ve forgotten there’s a beast hiding behind his pretty face—a beast that will fold me over and truly hurt me if I piss him off.
“Then you should’ve come back to bed.” Killian takes a step back. “Shower. Get dressed. I have several meetings today, and we fly out tomorrow.”
Fly out? “I still haven’t gotten a travel itinerary.”
“You don’t need one. Do what I tell you and behave.”
I nod quietly. One more week—just one more week, and this’ll be done. I’ll be away from here. I won’t need to deal with Killian’s insane mood swings or his bullshit ever again, and I certainly won’t need to deal with his jealousy-fueled rages.
I pad my way into the bathroom and switch on the shower. As soon as I step in and squirt shampoo into my hand, a wave of nausea overwhelms me—terrible nausea. The flowery, luxurious smell of the shampoo is suddenly too much. Did I catch a stomach bug?
I barely make it out of the shower and to the toilet in time to throw up. Only bile and water come out, since I haven’t yet eaten this morning, and it burns. I cough, stomach cramping, and fall to my ass near the toilet.
Could this trip possibly get any worse?
Yes, I realize momentarily, when Killian strides into the bathroom. His brows furrow as he looks from me, to the toilet, to the still running shower.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I clear my throat, grimacing, and flush the toilet. “I think I caught a bug.”
Concern flashes through his eyes. It’d be endearing if he hadn’t lost his mind over nothing last night. He strides up to me and squats down, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead.
“You’re not feverish,” he says with a frown. “Are you usually queasy after travel?”
“I used to be when I was a kid.”
He tilts his head to the side. “How are you feeling now?”
I take a beat to consider that.
Surprisingly… “Fine. I think my stomach just rebelled for a moment—I’m okay now.”
Killian nods slowly. “Do you want to stay in the hotel for the day?”
I rise to my feet, slightly unsteady, waiting for more nausea to assail me and bring me back down to my knees. It doesn’t happen—I feel perfectly fine.
“I think I’m okay,” I say slowly. “I just needed to get that out of my system.”
Killian meets my gaze through the mirror. I wash my hands, looking down at them to avoid his stare.
“Alright,” he replies. “Take a shower. If you’re not feeling up to going out, say so. I won’t be upset.”
I wouldn’t care even if you were upset. I need to keep observing Killian with people—I need to find something to pin on him, and I can’t miss this glowing opportunity to dig.
I manage a weak smile. “Okay.”
Unfortunately, there’s very little to observe throughout the day.
Killian does plenty of things—more ribbon cuttings, meeting with local business owners he supports, touring various shelters—but none of them offer me insight into who he really is.
They only show me how he presents himself to the world; the mask that he wears in front of the general population.
He takes a private dinner meeting with a few of his associates, sending me back to the hotel room early. I enjoy the time to myself, eating my fill of dinner before curling up. When he gets back, it’s the dead of night, but he has no problem waking me up to fuck me.