Page 22 of Knox's Boy

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.