Page 86 of Emperor of Corruption
I know it’s inevitable that he’ll hurt me soon, but he’s not hurting me now, so I let myself enjoy the moment and sink into it. I go pliant as Killian shampoos and conditions my hair, then carefully washes my body with such reverence, it makes me feel like a precious possession rather than a sex toy.
Precious possessions don’t get pushed around and forced into deals,I remind myself. I’m meant to just beenduringKillian’s treatment, notenjoyingit.
“You’re such a good girl for me when you want to be,” Killian says. He turns me around, giving me an excellent view of his muscles as he soaps up his body. I’ve learned that Killian spends an hour every morning and night working out—before he starts his work day and after he ends it. His looks aren’t luck or genetics; everything he does is meticulously planned and intentional. He keeps himself in peak form not only because it makes him irresistible to masses of women, butalso because it lends him some protection in case enemies ever come for him. It wasn’t long ago when he explained to me that each bit of muscle is an extra inch of padding between a bullet or blade and his vital organs.
He sweeps me up into his arms. I squeal, stomach dropping, and nausea momentarily overwhelming me.Must be the jetlag.I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to ground and prepare myself for whatever Killian will do next. Thankfully, the nausea recedes after just a few moments.
Killian sets me on the sink and picks up a towel so soft it feels like a cloud, carefully wiping down my body and drying my hair with it. I sigh, reveling in this moment of tenderness, which I know is bound to come to an end.
“I need clothes,” I murmur when Killian lifts me up again. His muscles flex and dance as he carries me into the bedroom and sets me on the bed.
“Not for this, you don’t.” He flips me over so abruptly it makes the nausea return, then takes a seat on the bed and pulls me over his lap.
I dig my nails into his knees, equal parts excitement and dread dispersing the nausea. My body feels achy, already priming and readying itself for what comes next. Killian spanks me whenever he fucks me, and he never takes it easy on me. If I’ve really pissed him off or done something he considers to be bratty, he uses the belt instead of his hand—that’s when the pain wars with the pleasure rather than aiding it.
There’s no belt today. His hand starts cracking down on my ass cheeks slowly and methodically, warming me up before strengthening the hits. When my quiet whimpers turn into loud yelps and I start struggling, Killian fists my hair to hold me in place, scissoring his legs over mine.
“You love it when I do this, don’t you?” he asks, though the words come out mocking. Shame creeps up on me, making me shrink into myself.
“No,” I say.
“Liar,” he counters. He starts spanking me again,muchharder. Hard enough that my yelps turn into loud, pained cries, and I start writhing in earnest. My ass burns, aches, and stings, and if he keeps going, I’m not going to be able to sit comfortably for the rest of the day—maybe not tomorrow, either.
Killian gathers my wrists in his hands and forcefully pins them to the small of my back. “You lie,” he says. “To me and to yourself. You lie to conform with the petty morals and expectations of society—expectations which are as fluid as the waves in the ocean.”
“I’m not!” I snap. “I’mnotlying! Youforce me—ahh!” I cut off with a shriek when he begins spanking the spot where my ass meets my thighs. Tears start streaming down my cheeks in a steady flow—the spanking isn’t foreplay anymore. Itreallyhurts, to the point where any pleasure is disappearing. “Stop!” I screech. “Please!”
“Not until you admit it.” Killian doesn’t slow down or soften the force of his blows; if anything, he spanks me even harder. Sobs rattle my chest. I feel hypersensitive everywhere, like somebody’s rubbed down my skin with a cheese grater. “Admit it,” Killian hisses. “You like that I take the control away from you. Youlovenot having a choice. And you love—”spank, “—the,”harder spank, “—pain!”
I shake my head, burying my face in the sheets. Killian will break before I do. He will. He has to—
But he doesn’t. He keeps going, hitting me harder and harder, until any semblance of pride escapes me. Until I’m scraped down to my raw, vulnerable core, and the humiliation that washes over me is beyond painful. It’s agonizing.
I’m stripped bare down to my soul, which is when I finally screech, “I love it!”
Killian stops instantly. He waits, silently and impatiently, squeezing my hands. “Elaborate.”
“I love it.” The admission is torn out of me on a sob. “You’re right. I love not having a choice. I love that I don’t get to say no.” Shame lights me up from the inside out, making my soul shrivel. “I love the pain, the pleasure, and your dominance. I crave it.”
Tears and snot stain my cheeks. My ass burns, and my pride is demolished. I feel like a circus animal to be stared at through the bars of a cruel cage, not a person.
It hurts me—not just my body, but my soul.
Killian gradually releases my hands, easing up the pressure. I remain in place, too scandalized to even look at him, but he’s not kind enough to give me a choice. He lifts me up, arranges me so I’m straddling his lap, and cups my cheeks. “Ride me.”
I look anywhere but at his eyes. “Please don’t make me.”
“Sweet Lyra.” He nips my neck. “You just admitted that you love it when I make you.”
I did. And, in true Killian fashion, he doesn’t give me a choice. He lifts me by the waist, aligns his cock to my entrance, andslamsme down onto his length with such force I yelp.The burn and stretch is intense—there’salwaysa stretch with him, no matter how many times I take his cock—but it’s nowhere near as bad as the pain setting my ass on fire.
It hurts so much it feelsamazing. I’m already hovering on the edge of an orgasm, pleasure slowly simmering its way through my veins, making me feel lightheaded.
“Look at me,” Killian requests quietly. When I shake my head, he repeats harshly, “Look at me.”
My eyes snap open, and our gazes collide. The whole world narrows down to a single point; his alarmingly green eyes staring into my own. He slides a hand up my back, into my hair, and pulls my head towards his. His lips claim mine in a kiss that’s confusingly gentle compared to the vigorous force of his thrusts. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and dances along mine. He fucks me like he hates me, but he kisses me like he feels something else altogether.
“I can feel your pussy fluttering around my cock,” he whispers, pulling back. He kisses a path from my jaw to my ear, and suckles on the lobe playfully. “You want to come, don’t you?”
