"I—what?"
"The dress." His fingers found the thin straps at my shoulders. "Off."
My heart hammered as I reached down and pulled the silk up and over my head, letting it fall to join my coat. Now I stood in just my black lace bra, panties, and heels, fully exposed in the afternoon light streaming through those massive windows. He picked up my dress and coat, pressed them to his nose, and inhaled. His eyes closed as he continued to breathe in my scent. When he’d had his fill, he disappeared with them, and returned empty handed.
"Perfect." Dez walked a slow circle around me, his gaze memorizing every inch. "This is how you'll eat lunch. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." The title came out automatically, and I saw his eyes warm with approval.
"Mmm…" He nodded, reassuring me. He moved to one of the dining chairs, sturdy with glossy arms and a high back, and positioned it away from the table. "For you…"
I obeyed, the leather cool against my bare skin. Dez knelt in front of me, and the sight of this powerful man on his knees made my breath catch. But he wasn't submitting. Even kneeling, he radiated control.
"Arms behind your back," he commanded. "Wrists together."
I complied, feeling the vulnerable position immediately as my back arched, breasts pushed forward, completely at his mercy. He produced black silk rope from somewhere hidden, and began binding my wrists with practiced efficiency. The rope was soft but firm, each loop and knot sealing my fate.
"Too tight?" he asked, his fingers checking the circulation.
"No, sir."
"Good." He moved to my ankles next, securing each one to a chair leg with the same careful attention. When he finished, Iwas completely immobilized with my wrists bound behind me, ankles spread and tied, unable to do anything except sit there and let him do whatever he wanted. The position should have terrified me. Instead, I felt myself getting wet.
"Color?" he asked, standing and moving to check his work.
"Green," I whispered.
"Louder."
"Green, sir."
"Perfect." He brushed his knuckles across my cheek in a gesture that was surprisingly tender. "Now, let's see about feeding you."
He moved to the table and uncovered the dishes. The scents hit me immediately—garlic, herbs, something rich and savory that made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.
Dez smiled. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
"Good, because right now, nothing pleases me more than feeding you." He filled a plate with what looked like pasta in a cream sauce with chicken, roasted vegetables, fresh bread. Returned to stand in front of me with the plate in one hand and a fork in the other. "Open."
I parted my lips, and he guided a forkful of pasta into my mouth.
The flavors exploded on my tongue. Rich, creamy, perfectly seasoned. I hadn't realized how hungry I actually was until that first bite.
"Good?" he asked.
I nodded, chewing.
"Swallow first, then answer."
I swallowed. "Yes, sir. It's delicious."
"Good." He loaded another forkful. "I had my chef prepare it this morning. I wanted to make sure you were properly taken care of. Fed before fucked. Nourished before drained. All aroundhappy." He winked at me, and his sinister grin gave way to his playful side.
Something about that statement, the care implied, wrapped in wickedness, made my chest tighten. He fed me slowly. Each bite was carefully portioned, given only when he decided I was ready for it. Between bites, he'd trace the fork along my lower lip, or brush a thumb across my jaw, or simply watch me with those intense gray eyes that seemed to observe everything.
"You're beautiful when you chew," he said conversationally, offering me more pasta. "Did you know that? The way your throat works when you swallow. The little sound you make when something tastes especially good."
