King picks up my spoon and feeds me a bite of soup before taking a bite of his own. The first one isn’t so bad. The soup’s not even that hot after the ride here and the commotion since arriving, so it doesn’t come close to burning my mouth. Still, King takes another scoop from my bowl and blows on it, like I really am a fucking child, and he has to cool off my food because I’m too dumb to know how to eat. I glare at him as he brings it to my lips. This time, I don’t open my mouth.
“Open wide,” he says, his voice a quiet taunt.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I snap. I start to rise, but King’s hand shoots out and clamps around the back of my neck. His grip is firm, just short of painful. Hard enough to let me know the pain he could cause if he wanted.
I still in his grip, and he strokes the side of my neck with his thumb. “I appreciate your obedience,” he says. “Now open your mouth like a good girl.”
A funny little shiver wraps itself around my spine, and I open my lips. This time, when he guides the spoon inside, I find myself holding my breath. His gaze moves from my lips to my eyes when I close my mouth around the spoon. I try not to move my mouth too much as he slides the spoon out, his eyes following its path back to the bowl.
Then he sits back and takes a bit of his own soup. I find myself chewing self-consciously, wondering what’s going on in that mind of his. He’s so quiet. What’s he thinking? Is he disgusted by the way I acted?
Thinking about it, I’m disgusted with myself. I threw a tantrum like a child, and for what? To prove a point? It’s not like I actually expected the delivery guy to whisk me away to a better life. I live in a fucking penthouse. Even if he’d taken me to Bianca’s, I couldn’t have stayed. I didn’t have a plan. I just didn’t want King to win.
He finishes chewing and picks up my spoon again, raising it to his lips to blow on it. I stare at his mouth, his lips full but masculine, all lines instead of curves. He brings the spoon to my lips, and I meet his gaze. It’s strangely, horribly intimate.
When he goes back to his own food, I try not to squirm with anticipation of the next bite. Is this doing strange things to him, too? Did he already know what it would do to me? If this really is a fetish of his, that means he’s done it before with other girls. Were they weirdly, erotically charged by the way it made them feel so completely vulnerable, and helpless, and almost violated?
I’m thrilled when it’s my turn to have another bite. A little twinge of excitement runs through me and lands between my thighs. I find myself staring at my husband’s lips as they curl to blow on the soup, wondering what they’d feel like against—
No.
I cannot allow myself these thoughts. I let myself go with him once, but I was drunk and my defenses were down. That won’t happen again.
And he’s feeding me soup, for fuck’s sake. It’s not even a sexy food. It’s not like he’s feeding me chocolate covered strawberries. It’s a punishment, treating me like a child, not something that’s meant to turn me on.
He obviously doesn’t think it’s sexy. He doesn’t look turned on at all. He watches my lips with burning intensity each time, but then he just goes back to his food like it was nothing.
He brings to spoon to my lips, and all I can think about is how clumsy and helpless I feel when a drop of broth escapes the corner of my mouth. I try to catch it with my tongue, and King’s eyes light on the movement. My heart stutters in my chest, and I hide my tongue inside my mouth, feeling suddenly ashamed, like I made a lewd gesture. I pull my lips in, pressing them together as the drop slides down my chin and dribbles off.
King picks up a napkin and gently wipes my chin, his fingers lingering, his eyes drinking me in. Then, slowly, his gaze moves to where the drop landed, right on one of my breasts. Still holding the napkin, he reaches out and dabs gently against the spot. I hold my breath, not daring to let my chest rise against his touch. When his gaze rises to meet mine, I don’t know if I’m relieved or terrified to see the desire in my own eyes reflected back in his.
“King?” I whisper, my throat tight, a delicious, sick feeling swimming in my belly and sinking lower, settling into a dull throb between my thighs. “Feed me more?”
“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a haughty smile.
But it’s a smile of approval.
Much to my annoyance, a swell of pride threatens to rise inside me. I like that I pleased him. Worse, I want to do it again. I want his approval, his appreciation, that smile that says I did something he likes.
“I spoke,” I say quietly when he gets a bite for himself. “Are you going to punish me?”
“You’re doing so well,carina mia,” he says, reaching out to stroke my hair behind my ear. “I don’t think you’ll need it. You’ll do better next time, won’t you?”
I tuck my hands under my thighs and try to get myself under control. Everything is going wrong inside me. My body is on fire and cold at the same time, like I’ve had a fever that’s finally breaking. My heart is beating erratically as I watch him reach for my spoon. I notice for the first time how long and fine his fingers are, strong and masculine but beautiful, too. How did I miss that when I put on his ring?
And why do I care?
My emotions are as haywire as my body. I’m grossly aroused by his feeding me, treating me like something less than him, an invalid, almost less than human. It’s offensive.
And it’s shameful that I’m taking it like an obedient little lapdog, and even more shameful that some part of me enjoys it, even craves more.
I’m ashamed that I have to squeeze my knees together as I accept his next offering, my lips caressing the porcelain spoon as they wrap around it. I find myself hoping he’ll notice how full my lips are, how pink they are without lipstick. That he’ll notice the flush in my cheeks when his knuckles brush my skin, the curl of my lashes as I look up at him through their fringe.
I find myself wondering what the punishment would have been. And most humiliating of all, I find myself disappointed that I won’t find out.
eleven
King