Chapter 73 On Your Knees
[Nyx]
The drive to the hospital was tense and silent. I rolled down the window and leaned out, letting the cold mountain air hit my face, my back deliberately turned to him.
Lysander's hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in that hard line that meant he was holding back words. Probably a lot of them.
"Get back inside." His voice cut through the wind. "It's dangerous."
I ignored him, leaning further out.
"Nyx." Sharper now. "What are you, a dog? Get back in the car."
His hand shot out, grabbing my jacket and hauling me back into my seat with one firm pull.
I twisted and bit down on his hand—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make a point.
He didn't even flinch. Just kept his hand there, steady, until I released him.
"You know what?" I turned to face him fully, anger still simmering in my chest. "If you're proven innocent by the footage, fine. But if I find even a hint that you welcomed her attention—if there's any evidence you were unfaithful—I'm sending that video straight to my father and filing for divorce."
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
"And what if the footage proves I did nothing wrong?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "What then, Nyx?"
"Then..." I faltered, not expecting the question.
"What do I get?" He turned to look at me briefly, amber eyes flashing. "You throw accusations at me, threaten divorce, question my integrity—and if you're wrong? What exactly do you owe me for that?"
Heat flooded my face again, but this time with something other than anger. "I... that's not—"
"No, I want an answer." His voice was hard. "You get to make demands. Threaten consequences. So what do I get if you're wrong? What's fair, Nyx?"
My throat went dry. "What do you want?"
The SUV slowed slightly as he glanced at me again, and this time there was something dark and hungry in his expression.
"I want you on your knees," he said quietly, his voice dropping lower. "With my cock in your throat. Deep."
The words hung in the air between us, explicit and unmistakable.
Heat flooded my face—my entire body. "You—"
"You heard me." His eyes were back on the road, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel. "If that footage proves I did nothing wrong—if it shows I rejected her and protected you while you were unconscious—then I want you to show me exactly how sorry you are."
My pulse hammered in my throat. "That's..."
"Not fair?" He pulled into the hospital parking lot, his movements controlled but charged with barely restrained intensity. "You get to threaten me with divorce, question my loyalty, accuse me of betraying you. But I don't get anything when you're wrong?"
He parked the SUV and turned to face me fully, one hand reaching out to cup my jaw. His thumb traced my lower lip, the touch deliberate, possessive.
"So here's the deal," he said, his voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "We go in there. You watch the footage. And when—not if, when—it proves I'm innocent, you're going to get on your knees for me. You're going to take me in that pretty mouth of yours, and you're going to show me exactly how sorry you are for not trusting me."
His thumb pressed against my lip, and I felt my breath catch.
"And you're going to take all of me, Nyx. Every inch. Until I'm satisfied that you understand what it means to accuse me of something I didn't do."
My heart was racing, heat pooling low in my belly despite—or maybe because of—the explicit demand.
"And if you're guilty?" I managed, though my voice came out breathless.
"Then you can file for divorce and I won't fight it." His eyes locked on mine, amber gone almost black. "But we both know what that footage is going to show. Don't we?"
I did. Deep down, I knew. But admitting it meant admitting I'd be on my knees for him within the hour.
"Fine," I said, lifting my chin even as my cheeks burned. "Deal."
His smile was predatory, satisfied. "Good. Let's go."
[Twenty minutes later - Hospital Security Office]
The guard on duty pulled up the footage, his fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. One glance at Lysander's frozen expression made him work faster.
"Here," Lysander said, pointing at the timestamp. "Yesterday, 2:45 PM. Room 407."
The screen flickered to life.
At first, it just showed my hospital room—me lying unconscious in the bed, hooked up to monitors. The bathroom door was closed, the sound of running water audible through the speakers.
Nothing unusual.
Then the room door opened.
Selene Blackwood entered.
But her behavior was... wrong.
She didn't move like someone visiting a patient. She glanced around quickly—checking the bathroom door, confirming it was still closed, listening to make sure the water was still running.
Then she moved toward my bed.
Purposefully. Deliberately.
My hands gripped the edge of the security desk as I watched her approach my unconscious form. Something cold settled in my stomach.
Her hand reached into her jacket pocket—
And pulled out a syringe.
Small. Medical-grade. Clear liquid inside.