Only then does she turn around—and jump up with a startled gasp.
“Peter.” She presses her hand to her chest, as if her heart is in danger of bursting out. “I didn’t see you there.” Her voice is breathless, even as she makes a visible attempt to compose herself. “What are you—”
“I brought you lunch.” I step into the room, holding the plate. “I figured you must be hungry.” My tone is cool, unlike the fire raging in my blood. Just seeing her like this, still dressed in my overly large clothes, makes me want to pin her against the wall and fuck her so hard we’d both end up raw and bleeding.
Cautiously, she takes the plate from me and steps back, as if sensing the violence simmering within me. As she does so, she nervously bites her lower lip, and I picture myself doing the same, tearing the tender pink flesh with my teeth as I claim that soft mouth, tasting her, consuming her until I satisfy the lust scorching me alive.
“You’re not eating?” she asks warily, putting the plate on the dresser, and I shake my head, my eyes tracking her every move. I’m probably scaring her with the intensity of my stare, but I can’t help it. I feel like a predator on edge, the hunger inside me so savage and dark it barely resembles something as basic as a sexual urge. It’s more of a compulsive need to possess her, to bend her to my will and make her mine so completely she’d never think of looking for things to aid in her escape.
“I ate already,” I answer, and though my voice is slightly rough, it doesn’t reflect even a fraction of what I’m feeling. Rationally, I know that Ilya is right, that I have to give Sara time to adjust and accept her new life with me, but everything inside me demands that I grab her and make her admit she needs me… that despite everything, she loves me too.
I push the thought away, but not before it fills me with agonizing longing. Because that’s what it comes down to, what I want from her the most. Beyond the frustration of unfulfilled lust, beyond the sting of her rejection, it’s that acute, irrational craving that tears me up inside and prods at the monster within me.
I want Sara to love me, and I don’t know how to make that happen.
“Okay. Um, thanks.” Her gaze flicks from me to the plate and then back to my face. “I’ll just bring it down when I finish then, right?”
That’s my cue to leave, but fuck that. She’s uncomfortable with me after what happened in the bathtub, and all of a sudden, I’m glad about that. Some sadistic part of me wants her to squirm, to wonder if I’m going to finally cross that line and claim her over her feigned objections.
“It’s all right.” My tone is exaggeratedly pleasant as I walk over to the bed in the middle of the room and sit down on the edge, crossing my legs at the ankles. “I can wait.”
Sara blinks, then appears to take herself in hand. “Really? You’re just going to sit there? Don’t you have something better to do, like torturing some innocents?”
“That’s on the schedule for later in the afternoon.” I give her a sharp smile. “For now, it’s just you.”
Her face tightens, but she reaches for the plate and picks up the sandwich. Biting into it, she chews and swallows way too quickly, then tears off another large chunk with her straight white teeth.
“Don’t choke,” I advise lightly when she further accelerates her pace on the third bite. “We don’t have a doctor on hand, you know. Well, except for you, but that wouldn’t help much if you’re the one turning purple.”
Sara’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t slow down. She demolishes the rest of the sandwich at the same furious pace, then picks up the empty plate and thrusts it toward me. “Here. I’m done.”
“Good. Now bring it here.” I pat the bed next to me.
Her jaw clenches; then an unexpectedly sweet smile curves her lips. “Oh, you want this plate over there?”
Her eyes telegraph her intent half a second before her arm swings back, and I duck as the plate hits the wall directly behind me, shattering into a thousand pieces. Shards of ceramic rain onto the bed around me, mixing with crumbs of bread.
As if realizing what she’s done, Sara inches to the left, toward the door, her eyes locked on me with the same wary expression she wore after she slapped me. I forgave her then, because I knew she was shocked and overwhelmed, but I’m not going to put up with this any longer.
If Sara wants to make me into a villain, I’m happy to oblige.