Page 87 of Emperor of Corruption
I nod with a whine.
“Good. You’ve suffered enough for me;come,Lyra.” He captures my lips, swallowing my moan as I fall apart, feeling raw and vulnerable as pleasure overwhelms me, flooding my senses with a fuzzy sensation.
Killian, however, is nowhere near done. He picks me up, keeping his cock inside me, and manages an impressive maneuver that ends up with me on the bed and him impaling me. He flattens my back to the bed, plants his hands beside me, and stares deeply into my eyes as he fucks in and out of me like his life depends on it.
I clutch his shoulders, wincing, moaning, and crying out for dear life.
“Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had,” Killian says under his breath. “Belonging to my best good girl.” He gathers my wrists and pins them above my head. I close my eyes and whimper, the praise washing my body with a wave of warmth.
“You love being praised,” he chuckles, though the words are strained. “And you love being my good little slut.”
The only response I can manage is another, louder moan.God, this man will be the death of me. I can feel it.
“Can you come for me one more time?” he takes my earlobe beneath his lips and nips at it, startling me. “I want another one out of you.”
My body aches and my ass burns. Every one of his thrusts grinds my raw cheeks into the sheets, igniting a new wave of deliciously cruel pain. If he keeps going like this, I won’t be able to stop myself from orgasming again. I’m hovering on the perfect edge of pain and pleasure, and it’s driving me out of my mind.
“Come,” Killian says, releasing my hands to pinch and twist my nipple painfully. “Come for me right now like a good girl—yes, that’s it,” he cuts off with a hiss as my pussy convulses around him once more.
He surges forward inside of me once, twice, and then buries himself deep with a roar. My body goes limp, as if all the strength has been siphoned out of me. Killian presses a kiss to my lips, rolling his hips one more time, then withdraws. He stands from the bed and walks into the en-suite bathroom, while I roll to my side to give my ass a reprieve, eyelids drooping. I don’t know how Killian expects me to go out after that scene.
He comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later. “I have a meeting to get to,” he says, frowning down at his phone. “Stay in tonight. Order room service. A courier will be along shortly with clothes—try them on and pick which ones you like. The rest will be returned.”
I nod silently, too tired to argue.
Killian sweeps a gaze over my body one more time, mutters a curse under his breath, and leaves the room, shaking his head. I let my eyes close all the way, resolving to refocus on my tasks tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hunger rouses me from sleep later that night, so I emerge from the bedroom, only to pause when I see racks upon racks of clothes awaiting me. There are so many garments, they nearly fill up the spacious living room.
It looks like Killian spent a goddamnfortuneon me instead of letting me bring my perfectly serviceable suitcase with me. I’m not sure why he’d go through the effort—he’s made it abundantly clear that I’m not here as his date, but rather a member of his team. Atemporarymember who will soon be departing. Someone not worth a fortune in designer clothes.
A glance to the coffee table shows that the clothes aren’t the only thing he bought; there’s also enough makeup to please the pickiest beauty influencers, and shower products from labels I’ve never even heard of. I blink slowly, stunned at the display of wealth.
Black velvet boxes sit on a rolling cart by the door and catch my eye; I pointedly ignore them. Killian’s gifted me jewelry before, and I didn’t take it. I’ll choose a few outfits because I don’t think it’d be appropriate to go out in public wearing only a hotel robe, but that’s the extent of what I’ll take from him. I don’t need to be spoiled, and I don’t like feeling like a kept woman. What I have with Killian isn’tromance, it’s an arrangement. His version of wooing me is holding me down and forcing his cock inside me—not flowers and chocolates.
I ring up room service, ordering myself a steak and salad, and then sift through the clothing options, shaking my head with derision. It takes me well over an hour to settle on a few outfit choices because there’s far too much to try on. When I’m done, I hang my chosen garments in the bedroom closet, gorge myself on a delicious fillet, and crawl back into bed.
I awaken an indeterminate amount of time later, when the mattress dips beside me. My eyes blink open, and I meet Killian’s gaze. His chest is bare, and his arms look disturbingly comfortable. I don’t know why, but I have the urge to cuddle up to him like a needy young pet.
“Are you cold?” Killian asks, drawing the blanket over both of us.
I left the window open so it is quite chilly, but… “I prefer sleeping cold,” I murmur tiredly.
“Then we’re a good match,” Killian says, gracing me with a smile. He curls an arm around my waist and pulls me into him. My head lands on his pec, and my legs tangle with his. He curls his strong body around my soft one, pressing a few consecutive kisses to my temple. “I missed you.” The admission is softly spoken and has an undertone of derision, as if he’s upset with himself for getting sentimental and having the capacity to yearn for someone.
“Don’t be silly,” I whisper in response. “I’m just an ant.”
“You’remyant.” He sighs, fluttering the fine hair around my temple. “Sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
Thebusy daystarts promptly at sunrise, when I awaken to Killian’s head between my legs, and his tongue plunging into me like I’m his favorite breakfast. He puts me on my hands and knees as he fucks me, massaging my sore ass and whispering words of praise and degradation.
I’m lax after the morning sex, but I wake up after a cup of coffee and some plain yoghurt. Killian and I set out for the day once I’ve showered to wash off the scents of cum and sex. I put on a pretty, navy-blue wrap dress with a sash at the waist and a slightly flaring skirt, while Killian dresses in a dark blue suit, deliberately matching his tie with my dress.
I don’t know what, if anything, the gesture means, but I don’t bother looking into it. I only have one week left with him. One week to endure—and enjoy—the things he does to my body… and one week to nail him down.
I want this to be over—trulyover when we return to the states. I don’t want to live my life in fear that he’ll release the sex tape, which was taken without my consent in the first place. I want to move on and focus on my career, and maybe hire a therapist to help me work through the insanity of the last few months.
