I run my thumb along the worn grain of the wood table and bite my bottom lip as guilt gnaws at my insides. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
Mac doesn’t say anything. He just comes back and slides a plate with chunks of brown, juicy meat in front of me. “Bon appétit.”
Damn him.
I've been craving meat like crazy. My stomach's practically howling. I exhale and groan, shoulders slumping. “Fine. Two hours.”
I grab a steaming hunk and stuff it into my mouth, deciding right then and there that however many fucks he can fit in two hours will be totally worth it.
God, this is delicious.
“Gimme that.” Mac pulls the plate from me as I whine in protest, then proceeds to cut the chunks into smaller bits beforepushing it back. “Don’t need you choking on anything other than my cock.”
I swallow hard.
Is that something he plans to do during our time?
I’ve never had a . . . a dick in my mouth.
Fuck me.
What did I just agree to?
“Maybe keep that comment to yourself?”
After picking back up my fork, I take another bite.
He watches me for a bit before deciding to eat his soup. “Weather sucks. You got enough supplies?”
I nod.
“And don’t let me catch you fucking some dumb whore who strolls into town again. Not like I can go buy more bullets.”
“I learned my lesson.” Only, when I look at him, I have to bite down on my lip to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside me.
His expression is hardened, jaw clenched as he attacks his soup with a vengeance. It's almost comical, the way he's practically stabbing the hot liquid in his bowl.
Never seen someone eat soup with such anger before.
It's almost as if... he's jealous?
The thought catches me off guard, and my pulse quickens ever so slightly. Is it possible? Could Mac actually be jealous? The idea sends a weird flutter through my stomach, making me rub at my suddenly hot neck.
"Thanks for saving me," I say, clearing my throat to mask the nerves creeping in. "Should've said it sooner."
Mac grunts in response, his hand dropping under the table as he stares down into his bowl of soup. There's a tension in the air, thick and heavy, as if we're both tiptoeing around something we don't quite understand.
"Won't be too grateful by the time I'm done with you," he finally mutters, his voice low and rough.
Chapter 4
Fifteen minutes later, the food is gone and I’m stuffed. Mac sure didn’t skimp on his end of the deal.
“Your two hours start now.” He sets a timer, then tosses the handcuff key over, his shotgun pointed at me. "Unlock the cuff on the chair and put it on with your hands behind your back."
“Really?”
He grabs my hair and yanks my head back, hard enough the roots feel like they’re being ripped from the skin. “Keep running that mouth and see what happens.”
