Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
In all my years and all my sexual moments with Sam, I’d never, not once, felt a whole-body wash of tingling awareness. Never been so aware of a man’s scent and closeness. Never gone from terribly scared to outrageously aroused by something as simple as eating.
Not eating.
Being fed…
The way he slid the tines ever so carefully past my teeth. The way he bit his bottom lip as I sucked the morsel off. The way he shuddered as I began to chew.
Why?
Why this moment and this man and this act?
I could barely focus enough to swallow.
I didn’t taste what he fed me.
I couldn’t breathe without his scent.
I was entirely caught up in him.
Almost as if his thoughts chased mine, he bent even closer. “I’ve told you how dark tendencies live within me. I’ve told you I’m here on false pretences. I’ve told you things I’ve never had the guts to tell anyone, but right now…I have another confession.” Kissing my cheek, he whispered, “Feeding you is the single most erotic, empowering thing I have ever fucking done.”
I sucked in a breath.
My insides liquefied.
Gathering another morsel, he pressed the fork to my mouth, utterly transfixed as I opened and accepted his offering.
His free hand snaked around my nape, pulling me closer to his lips. “Knowing I’m giving you sustenance. That I’m keeping you alive by providing—”
“Makes you feel like a god, doesn’t it?”
With a quiet curse, Henri leaned up and smiled thinly at the man a few chairs away. A brown-haired older bastard with a tidy beard.
“Say something, Charles?” Henri cocked his head, stabbing his fork into his entrée and taking his first bite.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the way his jaw worked, his throat flexed, the way his skin glimmered.
Whatever the hell was going on between us was fire and heat and utterly unfathomable.
“Feeding them? Knowing they don’t get decadent food unless we deem them deserving?” Charles shrugged. “I find it makes me feel like a god. I’m more than just their ruler or Master. I’m the reason they will live another day.”
Henri scowled. “You mean…Victor doesn’t feed them apart from what the Masters share off their own plates?”
Charles picked up a tempura asparagus and held it out to the Mohawk-haired jewel kneeling beside him. He allowed the handsome jewel to take the food, but only once his mouth slid right down the end of the asparagus and grazed his Master’s fingers.
Sighing happily, Charles nodded. “I think they have fruits and things in their quarters, and I know Vic ensures they have the right vitamins and minerals and even goes as far as to arrange six monthly blood tests to make sure everyone is healthy, but as far as meals go…they only get what we provide.”
Gathering up another forkful, Henri twisted to feed me. “In that case. Eat.”
My stomach churned, hating that another Master had infiltrated this strange, tangled moment between us. It no longer felt sensual or raw but dirty and frankly rather misogynistic.
“I need you strong for what I plan on doing to you,” Henri clipped.
Charles laughed. “Don’t feed her too much. You don’t want her throwing up on you when you’re mid thrust.” He laughed harder. “Unless you’re into that.” Dropping his voice, he cocked his chin at the table next to us where a dark-haired man shovelled his entrée into his mouth, not sparing any for the ice-blonde jewel kneeling next to him. “Ferdinand over there? I hear he has a nasty fetish for defecation.” He narrowed his eyes at the plump, horrible man beside Ferdinand. “Oh, and Roland likes them borderline dead.”
A rumbling growl slipped from Henri. His hands balled as he trained his stare on Charles. “I know exactly what Roland likes. I’ve gotten to know him quite well over the past six months.”
“Interesting fellow, isn’t he.”
“If by interesting you mean he likes snuff films with minors?” Henri wiped his mouth. “Sure. Interesting.”
“Ah well, we all have our quirks.” Charles chuckled and fed another battered vegetable to his slave.
Henri didn’t answer him. I didn’t think he could.
Scooping up another forkful of pea puree, he practically shoved it into my mouth.
I rocked back on my heels, narrowly avoiding being stabbed in the back of the throat.
Chewing quickly, I caught the eyes of the Mohawked jewel before dropping my stare. He gave me a fleeting smile, encouraging and kind.
My heart broke all over again.
These poor people had been captured, trafficked, and forced to become pets for abusive owners. They had kennels to sleep in, collars they were shocked with, and a strict diet given by those in power.
It suddenly gave me a rush of empathy toward pets around the world. The helplessness a dog must feel chained in the rain. The hunger a cat must feel when its owners had gone away—
“Use the butt-plug!” someone yelled, cutting through the sultry Latin music.