Chapter Twenty
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Ily
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I WANTED TO CLOSE MY eyes.
I didn’t want to watch him unbuckle and unzip. I didn’t want to see all the other bastards leering as Henri took out his cock and forced me to blow him in front of everyone.
Only...no zipper sounded.
No command came.
I looked up and almost choked as a forkful of something rich and creamy speared into my mouth.
I tensed as Henri loomed over me in his white shirt and black slacks. His hair seemed particularly sleek and his cheeks achingly hollow. He looked as if he’d aged a decade since we’d been separated, and I had the unbearable urge to ask what happened.
Why were his eyes haunted?
Why did an aura of loss and pain drag behind him like a cape?
“Eat it,” he demanded in a thunderous baritone.
Obedience flowed through me, followed by self-preservation.
Food.
Glorious, wonderful food.
Wrapping my lips around the tines, I sucked off whatever mouthful he’d fed me and almost melted as flavours exploded on my tongue. Garlic and pepper, caramel and butter. Pea puree with something else. Something deeper and earthier. Truffles perhaps or maybe—
“Open.”
I hastily swallowed and did as he asked.
Another forkful. This one a piece of carrot covered in crunchy batter and salted to perfection.
He never looked away as I chewed, his attention locked onto my lips. “As long as there’s something inside your mouth, I can’t put what I really want in there.”
My heart lurched. My entire body sparked dangerously alive.
Bending over me, he whispered, “Watching you eat what I give you? Merde, I wasn’t prepared for the fucking rush of feeding you. I feel as if I’m—”
“Henri, there you go with the whispers again.” Victor’s snide voice sounded far too close.
I cursed him.
What was Henri about to confess? Feeding me made him feel what?
Wrenching backward, Henri stabbed his fork into another tempura-battered vegetable.
“Apologies, Victor. I merely told her how she better keep her energy levels up because I plan on using her all night.” He cocked his head with a black smile.
“After all, the money went through. I’m assuming I can keep her until dawn without sending her back to whatever stable they’re housed in? ”
Victor nodded. “That’s correct. She may sleep in your room tonight if you wish.”
“Oh, there won’t be any sleeping.” Henri chuckled.
“I can assure you of that.” A shadow flickered in his steely-grey stare.
A conniving sort of shadow that snuffed out as quickly as it’d appeared.
“In fact, I have a habit of being a bit of an insomniac. You might catch me wandering around the castle at odd hours. That won’t be a problem, will it? ”
Victor frowned. “My home is your home. Within reason.”
“Great.” Taking a sip of his drink, Henri made a show of swallowing before asking, “I overheard the other guests talking about a dungeon...?”
Victor suddenly laughed and clapped Henri on his shoulder.
“You keep on surprising me, mon ami.” He winked.
“I like it.” Looking toward the stage, he added, “Tell you what. If you’re still horny after tonight’s performance and consequent playtime, then I’ll show you the dungeons personally.
You can stay down there with Ily until the sun breaks with my blessing. ”
“Great.” Henri raised his glass. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have my own dinner to indulge in.” With a suave bow, Victor moseyed around the tables, nodded at his guests, then took his place at a table closest to the stage. The dark-haired, blue-eyed jewel immediately dropped her head and pressed herself against his knees.
I looked away.
Henri sighed.
The lights dimmed one by one—pretty fairy lights extinguishing as if someone tore off the wings of magical folk and plunged us all into darkness.
Music echoed from hidden speakers, sultry and tribal with a hint of Latin.
A giant spotlight snapped on, drenching the stage with illumination, casting Peter and Corine in a false sun.
The moment the light pinned them in place, Peter grinned and bowed as if he was a fully paid and willing actor on Broadway before spinning Corine around him.
The frilly black fabric around her waist flared out, revealing she wore no underwear.
Her matching black bra barely supported her ample chest.
Then...they began to dance.
Ethereal and beautiful, completely in tune and practiced.
I lost myself in the beauty of their motion—in the synchronicity of their steps and the mirroring gyrating of their bodies. Somehow, they whisked me away to South America where two young lovers seduced each other on the dance floor, their talent and rhythm enviable.
Was this what Peter meant as tonight’s entertainment? An Indian man who could dance salsa? Where did he learn? How did he get so good?
I gasped as he tossed Corine into the air, catching her and folding her around his torso before placing her on her feet and spinning, spinning, spinning her until her skirt vanished and the blur of her nakedness glowed under the lights.
All around the gazebo, the sounds of men tucking into their food sounded. Cutlery scraping on crockery and ice cubes clinking in glasses. Slaves kneeled beside their respective Masters, heads down, hands on knees, chests scarcely moving.
Barely any of them got fed while their Masters stuffed their gluttonous faces.
Henri didn’t move as Peter let Corine go and the dance number ended. They broke apart, breathing hard.
The urge to clap tingled in my palms.
Henri shuddered above me, almost as if shaking himself out of the same stupor I’d fallen into. With jerky motions, he gathered up some more puree and tempura before lowering the fork to where I kneeled.
Our eyes locked.
Our breathing stopped.
Prickles of power shot between us, deleting everything else until I had tunnel vision of just him. Only him.
Ever so slowly, he bent his lips to my ear. “I know we’re both acting, and I know you probably don’t give a damn about who I am apart from when I can get you out of here, but...I’m getting rather used to being honest with you, Ily.”
I blinked as he inserted the fork into my mouth.
The way his hand flexed as he fed me.
The gentleness in which he gave me something that was meant for him.
I never looked away.
I couldn’t.
The corrupted connection between us heightened to a fever pitch.
Something tethered us.
Something unseen, unwanted, and unfightable.
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.”