Including my main tormentor.
Pushing off from the sideboard, I collected a large silver tray of chicken and asparagus. Keeping my eyes down, I deliberately kept the tray high and outstretched, giving me a shield in which to pass Jethro.
Not that it helped.
His arm shot out, stopping me. I cursed the familiarity of his touch. Screamed at the horrible way my body remembered the pleasure he’d granted by the stables. I wanted nothing from him. Especially the memory of his fingers.
I glared into his eyes. Stay silent.
It was hard.
I had so much I wanted to say. So much to yell. The side of my head still throbbed from his strike; my ego still hurt from not knowing how to jerk him off the way he desired. He made me feel like a rejected little girl.
Bowing close, he whispered in my ear, “I’m enjoying watching you be so obedient, Ms. Weaver. And your silence…” He brushed my hair away from my cheek, fingertips lingering on my neck. “…is making me hard.”
I sucked in a gasp, looking to the front of his trousers despite myself. The outline of his massive cock that terrified me—more than his hands, temper, or god-awful silence—stood firm and bulging against his jeans.
He smiled. “Keep up the good work and you might get two rewards this evening.” His eyes darkened. “Because we both know you want me to finish what I started.”
My gasp turned to a growl. I couldn’t fathom how my stomach swooped even while sickness swirled. Damn my traitorous body for finding his evil beauty attractive.
Are you sure you want to seduce him just for protection? I hated the question. I hated that I didn’t have an answer.
Jerking away from his arm, I stalked toward my starting position. Standing beside Mr. Hawk, I served him first. The moment he’d taken a few morsels, I moved to leave, but he pinched my pinafore, keeping me still.
His eyes met mine and I knew, just knew, this serving round wouldn’t be my arms, neck, or hips up for a taste. This would be worse. Much worse.
“Face me, girl,” he ordered.
My teeth chattered, but I slowly did as he requested.
“Lean down.”
Closing my eyes, I obeyed.
His hot breath clouded over my chest before a wet, warm mouth latched onto my nipple. A graze of teeth, a swipe of a tongue—it all drove me to the pinnacle. The pinnacle where I knew I would burn in hell for not only permitting it, but for the tiny flutter of need that had burst into life while his son drove his finger inside me.
My head pounded as I shoved the betrayal away. I was the one who betrayed myself. I was the one not strong enough to fight Jethro. He’d won the moment I saw him and let my need for touch consume me.
Tears tickled my spine and the moment Mr. Hawk pulled way, I ran.
I didn’t get far.
Orange Tattoo, who sat next to Mr. Hawk caught me, holding me tight. “Now, now. You’re doing so well. Don’t ruin it.” His large hand splayed on my shoulder blades, jerking me to his sitting level. With a tight smile, his mouth latched onto my dry nipple.
I whimpered as his large soppy lips sucked. He took his time, swirling his tongue around the hard bud, before letting go in a loud slurp.
I stood shaking as he selected some chicken and sent me on my way.
I can’t do this.
Self-pity filled my empty stomach, and I stood frozen to the thick burgundy carpet.
“Move, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro ordered.
My body swayed to obey but everything inside rebelled. I didn’t care Mr. Hawk had eloquently described my cage with the use of diamonds and debts. I didn’t care that I had no choice but to do as I was told.
I just couldn’t do it.
My eyes flew wide as Jethro’s hands landed on my shoulders. He spun me to face him, breathing hard. “Do. It. Now.” The force of his command buckled my knees. I dropped my head.
Silently, Jethro stormed me forward, presenting me to the next man. The platter wobbled in my hands but I stood upright while a vile mouth suckled on my breast.
Once it was over, Jethro manhandled me to the next, whispering in my ear, “Make me come back and show you how to behave, and I won’t be nice. You still cling to the ideology that you’re better than us. That any moment this will be over.” His teeth nipped at my ear. “That’s torture because it’s false. It won’t happen. Accept it and be done with the past. Accept it and embrace everything we’re giving you.”
Shoving me forward, he patted my backside. “I can be nice if you give me reason to be, Ms. Weaver. Try me by behaving for the rest of the luncheon.”
I didn’t watch as he left, resuming his standing position behind his father’s chair.
I can be nice.
Bullshit he could be nice. But the sooner I obeyed, the sooner it was over.
So…I obeyed.
Mouths.
Fingers.
Tongues and teeth.
They all tasted. They all groped.
I thought the first course was hard. I’d clung to the morals of how wrong it was for so many men to treat one woman so unfairly.
This course did things to me I wished I could deny. Fat lips, thin lips, hot mouths, cool mouths. They all not only took from me but gave something in return.
A horrible realisation that my body was taking over.
My horror sank like a rock every time a man had a new taste. Slowly my stomach fluttered; my insides rebelling against the melting that occurred.
The men didn’t care countless mouths had been on my skin. They took turns between my left and right nipples, nibbling, sucking. I wished they’d bite. I willed them to hurt me—something to prove how vile they were.
But each one—old, young, trim, overweight—they all loved me. They adoringly suckled. They moaned with such deep appreciation, I struggled to remember this was by force not by choice. I felt as if I granted them a gift.
A gift they truly appreciated.
Don’t. Don’t buy into the mindfuckery.