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.
Even my inner voice turned slightly breathless, a lot confused, and edging toward acceptance.
I grew lightheaded as I trudged from man to man. I didn’t make eye contact with any of them. I became listless. Numb. Apart from a tiny spark tugging on the invisible cord from my nipple to my core. I wished it wasn’t so. I craved to remain unaffected.
But slowly they turned me from intellectual businesswoman to trembling plaything.
Slowly, I grew wet.
Sharp teeth dragged my attention through the blackness that’d become my soul, back to reality.
I looked into the eyes of Daniel.
The mellow trance I’d been lulled into snapped like a rubber band. I no longer found any acceptance or lusty appeal, only hollow rage.
“It’s not much fun licking a woman when she isn’t paying attention,” he sneered.
My heartbeat flew terrorised around my chest. My nipple throbbed from where he’d bitten me.
Licking his lips, he added, “You taste good, Weaver, but I’m looking forward to the next course.”
My heart promptly shot itself and splattered against the floor.
The next course.
No. No. No. No.
“Here. You earned this.” Shoving another piece of parchment my way, I forced back my tears.
Moving awkwardly, I placed the empty tray on the sideboard, then returned to Daniel’s side. My skin broke out in goosebumps being so close, but he dangled the parchment like a present I desperately wanted.
Taking it, I couldn’t hide my shakes this time. My aloofness and spirit were gone, replaced by a brittle shaking leaf.
A leaf that was turned on and damp.
Upon reflection of his crimes, Percy Weaver hereby submits to this esquire’s ruling and moves to action the latest degree formulated in this very chamber by Bennett Hawk. The death warrant upon the heads of the Weaver House will be eradicated and burned upon signature of this newly drafted document. Terms forthcoming…
That was it?
Tears spurted from my eyes. I’d let countless men suck on my breasts for no more than a tease?
How could they?
How could I?
How could I allow my body to react to their foul ministrations? I hated myself. I hated that I couldn’t hide my weakness or the stupid hormones I’d spent my whole life ignoring.
My knees wobbled and I almost folded like an accordion to the floor.
“You pass out and you won’t like what you find when you awake,” Jethro said. His voice cut through my grief.
Anger battled away my tears, nursing a new warmth inside. A warmth born of rage rather than flimsy passion. This burned hotter; it licked with orange flames, abolishing my hunger and weakness.
I was fed by anger. I smouldered with hate. I became stronger because of it. It gave me power to continue, but also stole my safety of acceptance. I hissed and scalded with liveliness. I couldn’t switch off.
“The next course, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro commanded from his position at the head of the table. Balling my hands, I threw away the parchment and stalked to the sideboard.
Dessert.
I knew what would happen.
I can’t do this.