Jeremy walks in, and when I don’t follow, he grabs me by the nape. His big hand stretches across my skin as he flings me to his side, forcing me to fall in step beside him.
“I don’t want to go in there…” I try to negotiate as an elegant hall with baroque wallpaper materializes in front of us.
“And I didn’t want you at the initiation.” He sinks his fingers into my skin. “But we don’t always get what we want, now, do we?”
“Are you doing all of this because I was at the initiation?”
“Am I?”
The condescension behind his question makes my blood boil, but before I can reply, he stops in front of a door and pushes me inside.
I start to struggle. There’s no way in hell he’ll get me into his torture chamber without a fight.
My body freezes when he locks the door and I’m greeted with a table that’s set like in a luxurious restaurant.
Elegant wallpaper covers the walls and a huge painting with bold strokes of warm colors occupies half of the opposite wall.
Two red velvet chairs are on either side of the elegantly set table.
If I wasn’t suspicious, I’d be almost certain this was one of those restaurants with private dining rooms.
But then again, why would Jeremy bring me here for a meal?
The question must be written all over my face, because he settles on one of the sophisticated chairs and motions at the one across from him.
“Sit and then you can ask your question.”
My steps are rigid, forceful even, as I carefully slide into the seat.
“What is this place?”
“Somewhere to eat.” Jeremy grabs the menu and skims it with disturbing nonchalance.
Maybe he’s doing it on purpose, knowing full well how nervous I am.
“Why would you bring me here?”
“I only agreed to answer a question, not questions.” He motions at my untouched menu. “Pick something.”
“I don’t have an appetite.”
He stares at me from above the menu. “Why not?”
“Are you seriously asking me that after you stalked me, assaulted some random guys, and kidnapped me to God knows where? Food is the last thing on my mind under the circumstances.”
“Stalking, assaulting, and kidnapping. Three serious crimes, don’t you think?”
“Is this a joke to you?” I ask with a trembling voice.
“No, but you must believe it is, because you’re not taking my words seriously.” His gaze slides to my menu. “Pick something or I’ll do it for you and shove the food down your throat.”
My spine jerks upright and I reach for the menu. It’s for self-preservation and I’m only choosing my battles.
That’s it.
That’s all.
Names of dishes I’ve never seen before spill out in front of me in gold letters, but there are no prices listed. I’ve been to many restaurants like this, usually with my parents or grandparents, so I know that this place is either exclusive or pricey or both.
The door opens and I jerk upright in my seat when a well-groomed man with rimless glasses walks into the room.
He places some appetizers on the table and a bottle of premium-looking vodka in front of Jeremy. He takes his order and then turns to me. I pick some soup that had the fewest weird ingredients in it.
As soon as he leaves, I wish he hadn’t.
Jeremy pours some vodka into his glass and swirls it, watching me watch it with that blank edge of his.
I force myself to meet his eyes even as my nails clink together in my lap. “What do you want from me?”
“What do you think I want?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Make a guess.”
“You’re getting back at me because I went to the initiation when I wasn’t personally invited?”
“Yes and no.”
“Can you explain?”
“I can, but I won’t.”
I narrow my eyes and a slight curve tilts his lips. “Are you okay? You look a little annoyed.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Very.” His voice drops with that single word as if taunting me further.
I want to curse him to the darkest pits of hell, but I force myself to inhale deeply and stay calm.
In. Out.
It’s not worth it.
In. Out.
He’s probably doing this on purpose to get a rise out of me and I’ll not give him the satisfaction.
“Where are your annoying, self-righteous retorts?” He continues to swirl the contents of his glass. “Cat got your tongue?”
“More like an unwanted existence has rendered me speechless.”
“Careful there. Just because I’m being tolerant doesn’t mean you should test the limits.”
“And what are those?”
“Sure you want to know? You’ll have to tell me yours in return.”
I reach for the appetizer for no other reason than to ignore the situation and stop my fingers from assaulting each other.
“Not interested,” I mutter.
“But I am. So why don’t you tell me why gagging and drugging are your only limits? Does that mean you’re fine with brutal flogging, spanking, breath and knife play, but can’t handle a simple gagging? What’s the philosophy behind that?”
My fingers tremble and I nearly spill the glass of water as I bring it to my lips.
“Can you not?” My voice is breathy, distorted.
“Can I not what?”
“Talk about that.”
“That? Oh, you mean your limits in primal play? How you like to be chased and used and abused like a dirty little slut?”
“Stop it.” I jerk up from my seat.
“Sit down.” His voice is nonnegotiable but calm as he slides his attention to my chair in a silent command.
“Please stop this.”
“Sit the fuck down.”
I slowly do, my heart beating loudly behind my rib cage. This is a dangerous man with dangerous actions. If I fight for the sake of fighting, he won’t hesitate to knock me into what he believes is my place.
“Now, answer my earlier question. Why are gagging and drugging a limit?”
I purse my lips.
“We can do this the amicable way or I can torture the answer out of you. I don’t have to say which option I’d like to try out more, do I?”
This sick bastard.
This bloody sick bastard.
“I had a bad experience with them,” I say so softly, I think he doesn’t hear me.
“What type of experience?”
I glare at him. “The type I don’t want to talk about.”
“Hmm. Is that also why you developed the kink?”
“No.” I had it long before that. Maybe I’m sick, too.
“Then was it because Landon is into that sort of play?”
I gulp the contents of my mouth and the door opens again as the waiter walks in with our food.
As soon as he’s out, I stuff my face with the soup, eating so he’ll stop talking and give me space.
Jeremy, however, doesn’t touch his food, and I squirm under the weight of his unwavering attention. “Are you that desperate for his attention?”
I choke on the soup and when I look at him, he mutters, “Pathetic.”
Beneath his callous edge, I detect a worse feeling. Disgust.
He’s revolted with me to an extent I didn’t think was possible for another human being to feel.
The shame I’ve been battling with since the night he touched me resurfaces again, much stronger and more potent.
But I manage to place my spoon down and preserve my composure. “If you think I’m so pathetic, why are you wasting your time with me?”
“Why do you think?”
“Can you stop answering my questions with your own questions?”