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“Look at me,” he commanded.
My eyes were wide and a bit wild when they met his, fear thrilling through my system to make my fingers tremble. I pressed them tighter against the table, as though that would be enough to hide my terror from him.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said calmly, as though we were having a normal conversation over breakfast. As though he wasn’t completely devastating me, body and mind. “You’re trying to take back some control by not eating. How long have you been doing this?”
I pressed my lips together, holding back the admission. How had he seen me so clearly?
He ran the paper down my side, tracing the gentle curve of my hip. “You’re thin, little bird. I thought it was because you’re a dancer. But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”
I didn’t reply. My mind whirred. How did he even know that I was a dancer? How much did this monster know about me? He seemed to be looking straight into my soul, as though he knew all my secrets already.
His full lips tugged down in a slight frown, his eyes briefly shuttering as he seemed to focus inward. “I watched my mother waste away like this. I’ll be damned if I let my wife do the same.”
He pushed his hips harder against mine, and I bucked as my clit ground against the table. He let out a low hum and trailed the paper down the length of my spine, sending sparks dancing along it. My body was hypersensitive, fear and pain setting every nerve on edge.
“From now on, I’m going to make sure you eat,” he decreed, delivering a swift swat to my outer thigh.
I cried out and jerked beneath him, further stimulating my pulsing bud against the table. Shame rolled through me in a hot wave, and I closed my eyes as though that would be enough to hide the truth of my arousal from him.
He set the paper down, right in front of my face—a clear warning of what would happen if I struggled or defied him. Keeping his firm hold on my hair, he dipped his free hand between us, testing the wet heat between my legs. My inner thighs were slick with traitorous desire.
I swallowed a sob before it could escape from my chest. I would not break for him. Even after he’d bound me and humiliated me in the woods last night, I hadn’t wept. I’d retreated to a quiet place deep inside myself, allowing my mind to go numb rather than allowing him to see me shattered.
What he was doing to me was barbaric, even more sadistic than anything I could’ve imagined. When Luca had warned me of Dante’s cruelty, I’d expected him to revel in beating me. This was so much more perverse and insidious. He attacked my psyche, not content to simply harm my body.
Luca had pushed me hard when he wanted to make me obey him, but he hadn’t wanted to break me. My husband had wanted me to be happy. Dante didn’t care if I shattered in his cruel hands.
I remembered his dark words as he’d carried me out of the woods.Don’t worry. If you break, I’ll put you back together again.
I shuddered and took a breath, forcing air into my lungs to prevent them from seizing. I would not sob for him. My composed mask had been utterly shredded, but I could at least maintain some of my dignity, my sense of self.
Mercifully, he didn’t force pleasure from me. His grip on my body shifted. He released my hair and gently grasped my shoulders, guiding me upright. He sat down in my chair and settled me on his lap, his strong arms caging me on either side.
He picked up a piece of sausage between his fingers and lifted it to my lips.
My cheeks burned, and I turned my face away. How much humiliation could I endure?
“Open up, pet,” he cajoled.
I pressed my lips together. He tapped the newspaper, a subtle warning of what would happen if I resisted.
Loathing made my insides squirm, but I reluctantly parted my lips, letting him feed me. The act was mortifying; he was truly treating me like his pet as he fed me from his hand.
After a few bites, he seemed content that I would be docile for this shameful act. His other hand lifted from where it’d rested warningly on the paper to stroke my hair. I shivered asmy body tingled, hating my involuntary physical reactions to his touch. The contact was undeniably soothing in the wake of being punished, when all I wanted to feel was hatred and resentment.
He watched me intently as he fed me, his eyes penetrating so much deeper than my blank expression. I lowered my lashes so that he wouldn’t be able to see just how badly he was rattling me.
Despite my despair, I didn’t shed a single tear. I would not cry for him. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I would not break for Dante Torrio.
Chapter 15
Dante
Satisfaction was a warm buzz in my veins, a slight high from dominating my beautiful wife.
Beautiful, but too thin. I wouldn’t allow her to starve herself.
