Page 19 of Royal Deception
“Oh, good,” I say, a half-laugh escaping me. “Another endless stream of praise from my boss. God. I can’t win. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, it’s never good enough for you. Never right. You’ll always find something I missed, something I fucked up.”
His lips curl into a sneer. “You want me to lie to you? Pat you on the head and tell you you’re doing a great job when you keep screwing up?”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Oh, please. Go ahead, list all my failures, Rory. I know you want to.”
His eyes darken. “You lost the shipment in Brooklyn. You miscalculated the number of men we needed for the Donovan job. You let O’Malley’s rat slip through our fingers. And now this?—”
“You son of a bitch.” The words rip from me before I can stop them, and something inside me snaps. The little bubble, the fragile thing I’ve been holding in, shatters completely. I step closer, shoving a finger into his chest. “If I’m so fucking pathetic, if I’m so goddamn useless, then why did you sleep with me?”
Rory freezes.
I see it—the flicker of something in his expression, the briefest moment of hesitation before his mask slams back into place.
I press on, voice rising, anger clawing its way free. “If I’m so weak, such a fucking disappointment, why would you ever debase yourself like that? Huh? Why?”
His breath hitches, just slightly, but I don’t give him a chance to recover.
“Tell me, Rory,” I demand, voice shaking now, but not with fear. With rage. With something raw and festering and done. “Why was I good enough for that, but not good enough for this?”
Silence stretches between us, thick, suffocating.
Something ugly cracks inside, confirming all my worst fears. “Do it,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Just fucking punish me and get it over with. If I’m really so fucking awful, you might as well.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Rory mutters.
A humorless laugh pushes past my throat. “At this point, I’m sure that you’re just dying to bend me over your knee and spank me for my incompetence, aren’t you?” I don’t even know what I’m saying, just that I’m angry enough to no longer care.
Rory reels back as though I’ve struck him, but he doesn’t look away. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and unreadable, but there’s something there—a flicker of something dangerous, something I can’t name. It sparks to life between us, simmering beneath the surface, daring me to reach for it.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and for the first time, I see hesitation. Rory Brannagan, speechless. I should savor the moment, should use it to my advantage. But I don’t. Because his silence isn’t just shock. It’s something else. Something that makes the air between us heavy and charged.
“Do you really want that?” His voice is quiet, rough, a low growl that sends a shiver racing down my spine. “You want me to punish you, Clary?”
The space between us shifts. The air thickens, heat curling around me, settling low in my belly. My breath hitches, and suddenly, I can’t move. It’s like gravity is pulling me toward him, unseen and irresistible.
I should be pissed. I should be shoving him away, spitting fire, throwing sharp words like daggers. But my skin tingles, my pulse quickens, and a slow, deep ache blooms inside me.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound is the unsteady rise and fall of my breathing.
Then I force myself to scoff, shaking my head as if I can break whatever spell has wrapped itself around us. “You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, but the words lack their previous bite.
Rory takes a slow, deliberate step closer. “That wasn’t an answer.”
My mouth goes dry.
I should shut this down. I should walk away, call him an arrogant bastard, and leave in a huff.
So why don’t I?
I swallow hard, knowing the answer. Some part of me does want this. I want to surrender to him, to let him draw me close, to feel the heat of his touch as he bends me over his knee—exposed, raw, vulnerable—giving in to the control he wields so effortlessly.
And the worst part? The thought doesn’t scare me.
It excites me.
But I’m not ready to give in yet. I could push, crack this tension wide open. But some part of me is scared to try. I put on my best mask of nonchalance and curl my lip, a slow smirk spreading across my face.
“Yeah, right,” I say, my fingers trembling even as I force myself to pretend that I don’t care. “Please. You’d never do something like that. Punishing me would mean admitting you’re not always in control.”
