I forced myself to meet his gaze. A mistake.
His eyes were just like the sea outside… violent, endless, and swallowing. Aa depth that shouldn’t exist, a darkness that knew no bottom. The kind of eyes that made you forget to breathe, that stripped you bare without ever laying a hand.
And then his gaze dipped, just for a second, lingering at my ankle. At the thin band of metal locked around it.
The smirk that curved his lips sent ice through my veins. He was amused. Of course he was. He enjoyed this. My misery. My helplessness and the way I squirmed beneath his scrutiny.
I clenched my jaw, heat flooding my face. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something at him. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, carve it off if I had to. But I knew better.
I was here.
Standing in front of him. And that meant only one thing.
I was going to trade my body for the answers only he had.
And the worst part? He knew it.
The silence between us became thicker with passing seconds. My heartbeat pounded against my ribs, loud enough that I was sure he could hear it. He still hadn’t spoken, still hadn’t moved. Just watching.
I hated that look in his eyes, the way it stripped me bare, peeled me apart, exposed every inch of my hesitation. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Smirking to himself, he moved like he had all the time in the world. One step, then another, until he was close enough that I had to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. My breath caught in my throat as he lifted his hand, his cruel fingers brushing a loosestrand of my hair. The touch was deceptively light. But then he tugged, enough to tilt my chin.
“Scared, Dolcezza?” he rumbled lowly.
I clenched my fists. “No.”
Liar.
His smirk deepened as his thumb slowly traced my lower lip, staying there for a second too long before he let go. He stepped back just enough to stretch out an arm and point to the couch near the windows.
“Sit.”
The word dropped like a command. I hesitated, shifting on my feet. His expression didn’t change, but something in the air did. The temperature. The intensity of his presence. It pressed down on me, making my skin prickle.
“Unless,” he drawled, “you were thinking of running?”
My throat dried up. The way he said it… so casually, like the idea of me running amused him. Like he wanted me to try. Like he was already picturing exactly what he’d do when he caught me.
He took another step closer.
“You run, and I’ll make sure you can’t fucking walk for a week.” His voice dropped lower. “And not in the way that’ll make you beg for more.”
My stomach flipped. And I moved before I could think, practically stumbling onto the couch.
He chuckled before sinking onto the opposite side. Unlike me… who was sitting with legs pressed tightly and hands curled into the fabric of the dress, he spread out, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, one ankle resting over his knee.
I didn’t know what to do now.
Should I eat? Wait for him to tell me to eat? Serve him?
I swallowed hard, staring at the untouched dishes between us. My fingers twitched with hesitancy.
“Go on, Dolcezza.” His voice was velvet and steel. “Eat.”
I picked up a fork, my hand shaking slightly as I lifted the lid off one of the plates. The scent of something warm and rich filled the air. My stomach grumbled, part with nausea and part with hunger.
I took a decent portion on one plate and took a small bite. All while he watched me. That made me cautious and insecure.
