Chapter Thirty-Seven
Killian
When we return, Lyra goes straight to the bathroom and takes a shower—a very long shower with the bathroom door locked. When she emerges, she’s wearing a bathrobe double-tied at the waist, and a frown. Her eyes are red and inflamed; her complexion is a bit pale for my liking.
When she sees me sitting on the bed, waiting for her, panic flits through her expression. My Little Bird is flightier than ever, even though there’s a permanent tether between us growing in her stomach. Perhaps it’s because of that.
“I choose now,” I tell her.
Her brows knit. “What?”
“The deal we made, when you took the aphrodisiac.”
Her eyes flare with anger. My cock hardens at her defiance. The prospect of taming this gorgeous woman, this fiery creature, of making her mine forever is almost too exciting to bear. “You mean when you drugged me?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” I nod. “We had a deal. At some point in the future, you would come to me, and you would participate freely. You’ve been little more than a corpse this last week.
The only difference is that corpses are colder.
” I reach out a hand. “I want you to participate. Take everything I have to give you and enjoy it.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. I watch the battle play out on her face; reason versus defiance. Unlike me, Lyra is a woman of her word—she’ll keep a promise she made, even if it was under the influence of an aphrodisiac.
Perhaps she’ll only keep it because she knows I get drastic when she doesn’t give me what I want, but she’ll keep it nonetheless.
I watch as she loses to herself, and a sullen expression falls over her face. Her trembling hands move to the sash of her bathrobe and untie the double-knot. I lick my lips as she drops the robe, and her glorious, shining body is revealed.
Lyra is a siren sent to lure me to my destruction—or salvation. Her physical perfection is unmatched, but her intellect is what hooked my attention and kept it.
“Come here,” I instruct, tapping my thigh.
She walks over to me on unsteady legs, looking as though she’s walking a plank rather than coming to her future husband.
Future husband. I do love the way that sounds.
I’m planning on making my future wife come until she sees stars and forgets the unconventional start of our relationship.
“Undress me,” I request.
Lyra’s delicate throat bobs as she swallows. I want to bite it—I want to bite every part of her and mark her as mine with bruises and scrapes. I want to fucking devour her, and I’m done denying myself the pleasure.
The idea that I was once determined to release her feels preposterous. What could I have possibly been thinking when I decided that she was beneath me?
She won’t be a ball and chain around my ankle. She’ll be the one who pulls me up, just as I intend to uplift her.
My Little Bird’s hands move to my button-up.
She starts unbuttoning, one button at a time, her hands fumbling and knees trembling.
A smile touches my lips. Her reaction to me is pleasing, but the fear in her touch…
that can’t remain. I slowly brush my fingers over her thighs and settle my hands on her waist, sweeping my thumbs over her skin.
She finishes unbuttoning me hurriedly, then draws her hands away as if I’m made of lava.
I arch an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “Do I appear undressed to you?” I ask mildly.
She blows out a long breath, steeling herself, as if I’ve asked her to do an impossible task. Slowly, one item of clothing at a time, she strips me. I don’t miss the way her eyes linger on my chest and body—she may not like me, but she’s susceptible to my looks.
I’ll need to exponentially amp up my charm with her. It’ll be a tricky process, since she’s the first woman to refuse diamonds and flowers from me, but I’ll find a way. I always find a way to achieve my goals—my entire life is evidence of that.
I stand when she gets to my pants, and she recoils. “Easy,” I soothe. “I’m just making it easier for you. Undo my belt and get on the bed.”
She swallows again. Follows my instructions, then climbs onto the bed. I shuck my pants and boxers as she climbs to the head of the bed, then positions herself on her hands and knees, facing the headboard.
I chuckle. She resists even when she’s submitting.
“On your back,” I request mildly. “I want to see your face.”
“I don’t want to look at you.”
“I didn’t ask what you want. Are you looking for a painful punishment?”
My words are as effective as expected. Lyra flips over to her back and glues her gaze to the ceiling, but there’s a hitch in her breath.
“How many times have I fucked you this last week?” I ask, putting a knee on the bed.
Lyra’s brows draw together, and her nose wrinkles in an adorable, heart-warming gesture. “Eight times?”
“Fourteen,” I correct. “Since the night of the gala. Would you happen to remember how many times you’ve orgasmed?”
Her frown deepens. “Enough,” she says hesitantly.
“None,” I reply. “I’ve been in a bit of a hurry, slipping in a quick fuck here and there, but you’ve been holding out on me.” I slide a hand up her ankle. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
She shrinks into herself, eyes widening. I wonder if she senses where I’m going with this.
She starts to turn over again prematurely, assuming that I’m going to spank her for her resistance. I squeeze her ankle and shake my head.
“No pain tonight,” I tell her. “Not unless you go out of your way to earn it.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll extract what you owe me.” I tilt my head to the side as I consider her, nudging her legs apart and settling between them. “How many times do you usually orgasm when I take you?”
Her gaze starts to fill up with delicious panic. “Once.”
“Liar,” I breathe. “Two or three times. More, when I have enough time.” I let a smile curve my lips. “Can you sense where I’m going with this?”
“I can’t.” Her words are a whimper.
“You owe me twenty-eight,” I warn her. “We’re both going to be in for a very long night.
” I cup her pussy, pleased to find a small trickle of arousal slicking her folds.
I use it to rub over her clit, preparing her.
“I’ve never engaged in this type of play before.
Orgasm-torture. I have a couple of acquaintances who swear it’s the best way to tame brats, but a belting seems to be markedly effective on you.
However, I’m more than willing to give this a shot. ”
“I haven’t been—”
“You have,” I interrupt her, still managing to hold onto my calm.
“You have, and you know it. Do you want to know one of my favorite parts of being inside you, Little Bird?” I push down on her clit, watching as her lips form a little O-shape and her perky breasts rise up with her gasp.
I take the offering her body’s giving me, sucking a nipple deep into my mouth and biting down on it.
She moans, and I slide three fingers inside her.
“I love feeling you come,” I tell her, lifting my head.
“Watching your eyes go hazy. Feeling your pussy squeeze me so tightly I think you might break off my cock.” I indulge myself by sucking her other nipple, biting down until she’s crying out and I’m just shy of drawing blood.
“You’ve denied me that. But that’s alright—we have all night and morning to make up for it. ”
“Killian.” She desperately grabs for my hands, shaking her head. I tilt my head to the side as I watch her. She rarely gets so worked up over pain-based punishments these days. Maybe there really is something to messing with a woman’s pleasure, on occasion. “Killian, please—”
“Shh,” I hush her. “Don’t waste your breath arguing.
” I lightly grip her wrists and reach down the bed to grab my discarded tie.
She starts to struggle in earnest when I start wrapping it around her wrists, but her fight is easy enough to overcome.
In no time, her wrists are firmly attached to the headboard.
I am much bigger, much stronger, and much more determined than Lyra—and I think that knowledge subconsciously turns her on. She won’t say it aloud; I doubt she’s even realized it herself, but her reactions when I manhandle her are clear.
I wrap a hand around her throat and pin her to the bed. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
I feel her throat move as she swallows, staring up at me with fear-filled eyes. “I don’t want—”
“I thought I’d already clarified I don’t care what you want—not right now.” I lean forward, putting us nose-to-nose. “You’ve been avoiding me all week.”
“You’ve been gone—”
“Not the times when I buried my cock inside you. Not when you pushed my hands away from your clit and buried your face in the mattress, fucking ignoring me.” I let some of the indignation I’ve felt seep through my tone.
“You researched another man and got upset over the way I reacted to it. Then, upon finding out you’re pregnant with our child, you hid it from me and scheduled an abortion. ”
Lyra shrinks back, genuinely cowed now, understanding the magnitude of her fuck-ups. I may be good at controlling myself and withholding my emotions when need be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t experience them, and it certainly doesn’t spare enemies my wrath.
Lyra is not my enemy—she never will be, since I’ll soon be giving her my last name. But she so enjoys playing the part of a brat who needs to be put in her place.
I have no problem accommodating her wishes.
“Do you think I want to get rid of a cluster of cells that’ll soon grow into a human?
” she hisses, finding her fire even now, when she knows I’m about to make her regret every mistake she’s made in full.
“You think I wanted to live the rest of my life bathing in guilt over the decision I had to make? I don’t.
But the thought of carrying your baby, who was conceived under dubious circumstances at best, is even more abhorrent.
I’m barely in my mid-twenties. I have my entire life ahead of me.
I’m ambitious and career-driven, and I’m not financially stable enough to accommodate a baby.
And I’m not ready to dedicate my life to a child, let alone your child! ”
My fingers on her throat tighten, preventing her from speaking. Anger lights me up from the inside out.
The issues she’s bringing up make sense, logically. But logic isn’t fueling me right now—emotions are fueling me. An experience I haven’t had so viscerally since I was a child, since before I decided to become the ice-cold bastard that could take over the world.
“Cease. Speaking,” I growl. “We’ll go over your concerns in the morning. Tonight, you have a debt to pay.” I lean closer to her. “And I am going to extract every drop of it.”
Lyra
My entire body is aching. My pussy is sore and stinging, my clit is so sensitive even the bedsheets rubbing against it set off mini-orgasms, and I’m completely spent.
That doesn’t stop Killian. He’s relentless in his ambitious task; making me orgasm twenty-eight times.
I didn’t know I was capable of orgasming more than once before I met him, and tonight, new limits have been set.
In fact, Killian is in the painful process of teaching me that there are no limits.
I clutch the bedsheets, whimpering pitifully as I come again.
I don’t know how many times I’ve come—I lost the ability to keep count hours ago.
My mind melted somewhere between Killian declaring that I was keeping his child and setting about the task of destroying my pussy so thoroughly I'm reasonably certain it’s broken.
His stamina is endless. I’ve always been impressed with his ability to go round after round without tiring, when he has enough time, but tonight is a whole new story.
Any time he needs to give his cock a break, he dives down with his fingers or tongue.
He’s not wearing a condom, yet the lewd act of eating both of our releases doesn’t seem to put him off.
“There, there, Lyra,” Killian wraps his hand around my neck, lifting my lax body from the bed and plastering my back to his chest, “we’re over halfway there.”
The only response I can manage is a sob. I’m completely destroyed, and we’re only halfway there? I can’t take any more. I really, truly can’t, yet my opinion on the matter doesn’t seem to interest Killian in the slightest.
“You’re so limp,” he observes as my head lolls on his chest. “I could do anything to you right now, couldn’t I? You’re too tired to stop me, to even ask me to stop.” He chuckles, amused. “My personal little ragdoll. My favorite toy.”
A frail moan shudders out of me as his fingers find my clit, circling it. My body jerks weakly, and my pussy clenches down on Killian’s cock. He releases a groan through what sound like gritted teeth.
“Seventeen,” he whispers in my ear. “Just over ten to go.”
Dawn’s breaking across the sky by the time I hit twenty-eight.
I’ve almost completely lost my voice, and my heart is racing so fast, I’m surprised I haven’t had a heart-attack.
My mind’s a muddled mess, with my only thought being gratitude for the night being over…
emphasized by the tiniest touch of emptiness.
After nearly twelve straight hours of having Killian filling me, it feels wrong to be so empty. If I had any strength remaining, I’d berate myself for my idiocy.
“I knew you could do it,” Killian whispers in my ear, sounding exhausted, as well. “Good girl.”
I fall asleep to the feeling of him pressing kisses to my head and gathering me in his arms, wrapping me in his suffocating warmth, and obsession masquerading as protection.