Chapter 11. Florian
I didn't actually believe Knox would come. Rich men say things they don't mean all the time; that's practically the definition of being rich. They can afford that.
But he texted me again: “Wait for me at Pavlov Hall’s parking lot.”
Then a sleek black Audi pulled up to the curb twenty minutes later, and I nearly swallowed my tongue.
The window rolled down, revealing Knox's face, impassive and perfect, those dark eyes pinning me to the spot.
He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just looked at me and said, "Get in," in that voice that bypassed my brain and hooked directly into my spine.
I stood frozen for a moment, my backpack clutched to my chest. Students streamed around me, casting curious glances at the luxury car at the curb. Knox waited, not repeating himself, just watching me with that steady gaze. He knew I would come, like a little puppy comes to his owner.
My legs moved before my brain caught up, carrying me to the passenger side. The door opened with a soft click, revealing a leather interior. I slid in, my shabby jeans and hoodie looking even more pathetic against the pristine interior.
Knox didn't speak as he pulled away from the curb, his hands sure on the wheel, his profile sharp.
I snuck glances at him, searching for the changes since I'd last seen him: none.
He was exactly the same, perfectly composed in his suit, not a hair out of place, while I had been falling apart for a week.
"How did you know where to find me?" I finally asked, my voice small.
Knox's mouth curved in a slight smile. "It’s not like it’s a secret. You post about it all over your social media."
A shiver ran down my spine. He'd researched me. This information should have terrified me, should have sent red flags waving frantically in my brain. Instead, it sent a different kind of heat curling through my belly. He'd paid attention.
God, I was sounding like one of those victims.
"That's... kind of stalkerish," I said, but there was no conviction in my voice.
"Is it?" Knox asked mildly, turning onto a tree-lined street that led away from campus. "Or is it due diligence before allowing someone into my home? Into my bed? Or haven’t you researched me?"
I had no answer for that. We drove in silence for a few more minutes, the tension in the car thickening until I could barely breathe. Finally, Knox spoke again.
"I owe you an apology," he said, his voice steady. "I should have checked in with you this week. I assumed you needed space after our... intense night. I thought giving you time to process would be respectful, and that you’d reach out first. I didn’t want to pressure you.
I worried I might have crossed a line. I see now that was a miscalculation. "
I blinked, stunned. This wasn't what I'd expected. An apology? From him?
"However," he continued, his tone shifting subtly, hardening at the edges, "the way you spoke to me on the phone was unacceptable. You were disrespectful. Accusatory. Out of control."
My cheeks burned with shame. He was right. I'd been a complete mess.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, staring down at my hands. "I didn't mean to… I shouldn't have…"
"Look at me when you apologize," Knox commanded. I jerked my head up, meeting his gaze as he glanced away from the road.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said, the title slipping out.
His nostrils flared slightly again, just like last time. "Better," he said. "But not enough."
Knox turned off the main road, navigating through a neighborhood of towering oaks and manicured lawns, houses set far back from the street behind privacy hedges.
This was his world, not mine. He pulled onto a secluded side street, a cul-de-sac with no houses facing it, only tall stone walls protecting the estates behind them.
He parked, the engine purring to silence.
"What do you think happens to bratty boys who throw tantrums on the phone?" Knox asked, his voice like stone.
My heart rate doubled, my palms suddenly slick with sweat. "They get a spanking," I whispered.
"That's right. And I think you've been begging for this punishment all week, haven't you? Is that why you called me? To push me? To see if I'd come back and put you in your place?"
I couldn't lie, not with those dark eyes seeing straight through me. "Yes," I admitted. "I needed... I needed..."
"I know what you need. And I'll give you what you deserve." Knox's eyes darkened. "Wait."
He got out of the car, his shoes crunching on the gravel as he circled to my door. He pulled it open and without a word, he took my wrist and guided me out, then opened the back door. The leather creaked as he sat down.
"Over my lap. Now."
He closed the door. I crawled across him, my heartbeat thundering in my ears as I felt the solid strength of his thighs beneath me.
"Pants down," he ordered.
With trembling fingers, I undid my jeans, shoving them down to my thighs along with my boxers.
It was kind of hard to do that, as I was lying on top of him, and he didn’t help me.
He wanted to see me struggling to offer myself to him.
The cool air of the car's interior raised goosebumps on my exposed skin.
I felt vulnerable, ridiculous, half-naked in a luxury car in broad daylight. What if someone walked by? What if…
The first slap landed with a crack. I yelped, more from surprise than pain. The second followed immediately, harder, on the opposite cheek. Knox's hand was large, covering half my ass with each strike, the heat building rapidly as he established a rhythm.
"You don't get to speak to me that way," he said, punctuating each word with a stinging slap. "You don't get to accuse me. You don't get to make demands and to be a rude little boy, throwing a tantrum to get attention."
The pain built, blossoming across my skin in waves of fire. I buried my face in the leather seat, biting my lip to keep from crying out as Knox's hand fell again and again, methodically covering every inch of my backside with punishing strokes.
"If you need something from me," Knox continued, not slowing down, "you ask respectfully. If you're struggling, you tell me clearly. You do not throw a tantrum. Do you understand, young man?"
Tears pricked at my eyes, not just from the pain, but from the truth in his words. I had been childish. Desperate. And he was here anyway, giving me exactly what I needed: structure, discipline, consequences.
“Y-yes, D-Daddy,” I struggled to say, as he continued to chastise my ass. He didn't stop, and I didn't want him to.
The slaps came fast, relentless. My cheeks burned, each impact layering on top of the last until I couldn't distinguish individual strikes, just a constant, roiling tide of pain.
It radiated, settling in my thighs, pooling in my gut, buzzing through my limbs.
My ass felt like it was swelling, until it was the only thing I could think about.
I tried to choke down the noises that wanted to escape, but after a dozen, then two dozen, they broke free anyway.
Little whimpers, then moans, then open sobs.
I was crying, hot tears tumbling down my face, soaking into the crook of my arm where I'd buried my head.
I was too exposed, too raw, too pathetically grateful for the attention, the punishment, the proof that I hadn't been forgotten.
At last, the blows slowed. Knox's hand lingered on my skin, rubbing slow circles over the scorched flesh. The touch was gentle, but the aftershocks of the spanking left me shivering, every nerve ending alight.
"You will not disrespect me again," Knox said, his voice low but without malice. "If you ever need me, you tell me. If you are struggling, you reach out. You had my number, hadn't you? You knew you could have texted. Are we clear?"
I nodded, mouthing a wordless, broken "Yes, Daddy," into the seat.
He stroked my hair, the gentle touch almost undoing me. "Color?"
"Green," I sniffled, hating and loving how small I sounded.
"Good boy," Knox rumbled, and just like that, the humiliation melted into pride. I was a good boy for him.
He kept me sprawled over his knees for a long moment after, his palm still moving in gentle, possessive circles over my burning skin.
Then, he shifted me upright and hauled me into his lap, so I was facing him, straddling his legs.
The movement was seamless, as if he’d done this a hundred times, as if I was weightless.
With one hand, he cupped the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the sweat-damp hair there, and with the other, he wiped the tears from my cheeks.
He inspected me, his gaze roaming over my face, searching for hesitation.
I’d never been looked at like that, not even by my own parents, and certainly not by anyone who wanted me.
I tried to look away, embarrassed, but he caught my chin and held my eyes with his.
“You’re safe,” he told me, voice so low I could feel it vibrate in my chest. “You’re with me. And I'm never letting you go again. Please forgive me.”
The words made something inside me collapse. I nodded, not trusting my own voice, my eyes now full of tears. He kissed my temple, my cheekbone, the corner of my mouth. His lips were cool. I shivered.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy,” he murmured. “You took your punishment so well.”
That was when the tears came again, but this time I didn’t feel embarrassed. I let him rock me gently, stroking my hair and back, and I let myself believe, for once, that I could be wanted and held. He kissed my temple, his breath warm against my skin.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips against my temple. “I’ve got you now, little one.”
And for the first time in a week, I could breathe.