However, a part of my brain is numbed to that fact as if it doesn’t exist. A part of my brain horrifies me because that idiot doesn’t think Jonathan would ever hurt me.
That part felt no threat when Jonathan walked into the room. If anything, it was something completely different that I don’t like to name.
“There. Good girl, though you’re not acting like it lately.” He slowly drops me on the sofa and I scoot to the edge, pulling the nightgown down, nearly ripping the straps.
Jonathan’s head tilts to the side, eyes devouring my chest in that purely lustful way. “I like the view.”
I stare down in horror and sure enough, in my attempt to cover my legs, I exposed my breasts and a hard rosy nipple peeks through. I let the cloth snap back into place and glare at Jonathan, who seems…slightly disappointed.
The moment ends when he points at the food.
“No.”
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
My stomach growls as if agreeing with his statement. I ignore it and the embarrassment that comes with it.
“I wasn’t joking about shoving it down your throat, Aurora. You know I can do it, so don’t make me act on it.”
“You don’t get to keep me against my will, then force me to eat as if I’m a prisoner, okay?”
“You’re not a prisoner. You get to walk out of here any second you like if you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you since last night.” His voice turns lethal with every word and I know that he’s losing his patience.
Jonathan and patience aren’t on the best of terms, even on good days, let alone on bad ones. He’s used to getting what he wants with a snap of his fingers and now that he isn’t, he’ll get more ruthless with every moment I remain silent.
But on the other hand, if I tell him about the message Alicia sent me, I’m never getting out. That’s like accusing him of murder, and someone like Jonathan won’t let anyone throw something like that around. He’ll smother it in no time.
Forget about the six-month deal. He’ll have me follow my sister as soon as he deems necessary.
“So what’s it going to be?” he asks with that sharp tone.
I stare at him, bemused.
“The food, Aurora. Are you going to eat or should we go with my plan?”
I glare at him as I grab a piece of toast. If I’m going to get out of here, I’ll need every bit of my energy, so I won’t refuse the food that’s able to give me strength.
My palm stings when I close it around the bread and I flex it a little to alleviate the pain.
Jonathan seems to notice that, too. He sits beside me, and I attempt to scoot away, but I’m already at the edge. His thigh touches mine, and I try to ignore the warmth or the woodsy scent emanating from him like it’s his second skin.
He takes the toast from between my fingers, puts butter on it like I usually do, then brings it to my mouth. I try to snatch it back, but he keeps it out of reach.
“I can eat on my own.”
“Not after you injured your palms and reopened the wounds.”
“But —”
“Stop being fucking stubborn. Open that mouth and eat.”
I purse my lips, once again feeling like a child being reprimanded. It’s the damn authoritative tone, I swear. The way he lashes it out with that firmness has always gotten to me.
Deciding to pick my battles, I slowly open and take a tentative bite of the toast to not trigger the cut on my lip. Jonathan also detects that fact since he places it back on the plate.
God. Is there anything t
his man doesn’t notice? He’s so attuned to details, it’s insane.