Page 11 of Empress of Ruin
“You’re a fucking sadist,” I mutter.
“Correct. And you are my beautiful little pain slut.”
My spine snaps straight. “I’m not a slut, and I’m notyouranything.”
“Wrong on both accounts, I’m afraid. You are, and always will be,mylittle pain slut—until the day you die.”
I swallow, the weight of his words making me fold in on myself.Until the day you diemay come alotsooner than I’d hoped for.
Chapter Five
Killian
It’s a beautiful thing, Lyra’s resistance. Watching it unfold, watching her constantly fight herself and lose, is the best entertainment I’ve had since she abandoned me.
I expect her to drift off at some point in the car ride, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shifts ever so slightly when she thinks I’m not paying attention, trying to find a comfortable position.
There isn’t one. I spanked her hard, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. To call her recent actionsbrattywould be an understatement; more accurately would bebegging for punishment. She knew I’d find her, eventually, and she knew I’d punish her for having the gall to run away from me, not to mention her cute attempt at ruining my career.
The thing is, if I were a lesser man, it would’ve worked. If I didn’t have contingencies upon contingencies planned, ifI hadn’t spent the last decade racking up favors from every board member, politician, and businessman of note, her article would’ve destroyed me. The stunt she pulled put me on thin ice in The Eyes, and people I previously considered allies have begun to distance themselves.That’sthe most lasting effect of the blow she struck, and it’ll take some time to recover.
But I will recover. And she’ll be by my side, taking my hand or belt on her ass and cock in any hole I choose for the rest of her life.
When we start nearing the outer edges of the city, I turn to examine my Little Bird. She has a look that can only be described as utterly crestfallen and deeply afraid. Her vulnerability is so palpable, italmostmakes me want to pull her onto my lap and reassure her that everything will be fine.
But it’s not time for that yet. I don’t knowwhenit’ll be time for that; maybe in a few days, weeks, or months. It’s entirely dependent on her behavior. The sooner she accepts me, the sooner the time will come when our relationship evolves into one where I spoil the hell out of her, and we start happily building a family.
Well, I intend to get to work on thebuilding-a-familypart soon. She’ll get on board when she gets on board; it won’t change my timelines.
I see her shift again in my periphery, wincing. I allow a small smile to play over my lips. I went relatively easy on her this time around; it could’ve been much, much worse. But tempering my darkest impulses will do me favors in the long run.
That was my mistake last time, I suppose. I didn’t hold myself back, because I didn’t think it would ultimately matter. I didn’t take her wants, needs, or feelings into consideration as much as I should’ve. I didn’t afford them the weight they deserved, and I paid for that mistake in full. I don’t intend to repeat it.
Lyra starts twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. I resist the urge to fist it, yank her head back, and devour her mouth.All in good time. Now that I have her, I can afford to take it slow.
Her tension visibly builds as we finally get into the city, winding through the avenues and streets. Her breathing begins to speed again, and her shoulders start trembling. I don’t make any comment or attempt to console her.
I say nothing as Locke parks outside of my apartment building. Nothing as I lead her in with a hand wrapped around her arm. I’m silent as we ride the elevator up to the penthouse, pretending I don’t notice the way her trembling intensifies.
“You’re familiar with the layout?” I ask pleasantly as we step out of the elevator, and into my lair.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to orient myself.” Her words are a mumble. Her earlier blush has disappeared; now, she looks quite pale.
“Dinner’s in an hour,” I say, checking my watch. I have some work to get done before then, though I’m loathe to part from her even for a moment.
“Which guest room will be my prison?”
“It’s only a prison if you see it as such. I can take you out any time you’d like.”
“I’m never showing my face in public again.” Her tone is resigned, as if this is a fact she’s come to terms with. I know where the insecurity stems from, and it’s a silly reason to become a hermit.
“The video was up for less than a day,” I say. “Any remaining versions of it are heavily pixelated and obscured, so it’s impossible to tell who it’s about. It was also discredited as AI—”
“I don’t care about your excuses.” Now, she sounds angry. “I’m not fucking showing my face in public again.”
I examine her, searching for cracks in her position. “That might be difficult, considering we have a dinner to attend next week.”
“No.”
