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The plate was returned to me, small portions of each edible thing organized in a strategic arrangement of his choosing. He smiled when I placed it before me.
Self-conscious, knowing just why he looked at me that way, I said, “Males eat first at the academy. Aren't you going to get some for yourself?”
Voice husky, he urged me to begin. “This is for you. I won’t eat until you’re done.”
The general’s fixated stare had altered overnight. What had once been lifeless and deranged was now obsessive andpleased.
This pleased him.
Which made me very uneasy.
Sit, eat, and be stared at, or run around and be caught and potentially fucked on the floor while he held me down. It was a simple choice. Picking up my fork, I looked over my plate.
There was no rhyme or reason to my first selection. Tines stabbing into something red and shiny, I brought it to my mouth and shoved it in.
Coppery and velvet once chewed, the raw gacdsoo liver was quite nice. So nice it felt as if my hearts picked up speed as I swallowed it down. But it wasn’t my hearts making that pounding—it was my chest, rumbling out my delight without permission.
Who knew food could be this good?
More was quickly added to my plate once the male saw my reaction. Bloody and fragrant, I ate it with enthusiasm. Every last bite.
The soft liver only made me realize how ravenous I truly was. Another sampling awaited, orange in color but flat in flavor. I swallowed the nutrition but did not go back for more. Not when there were other things to try and the distraction of interesting flavors beckoning my attention.
Out of the various dishes, there was only one I absolutely hated, gagging as I worked to swallow it.
I heard him chuckle. “No pickled venna flower in the future.”
My tongue was bitter and my mouth overly salty. “Why would anyone eat that on purpose?”
“Try this. It will clear your pallet.” A spoonful of something dark and slick landed on my almost empty plate. “It’s sweet and fragrant.”
A brown paste with little flecks of deep-red flattened into a puddle before me. It didn’t look appetizing, it didn’t smell of anything familiar, and I would not have wanted it at all if not for the horrible taste in my mouth.
But on my tongue… it was sinful.
Where my pulses had seized into silence at one taste of the pickled flowers, I was now rumbling in pure joy as I rolled exquisite flavor over my palate. Eyes closed, savoring, I enjoyed it to such an extreme that I forgot just who sat across from me.
Which had been a stupid mistake on my part.
Lashes lifting once I swallowed, I saw a male hardly in control of himself. Vibrating, fists white on the table, he gazed as if starved.
Shit.
That hungry stare, his flush, was unsafe on every level.
Voice jagged gravel, he swore, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that right now.” Ramrod-tense, I calculated just how far I might make it if I flipped the table and made a break for the door. “But I feel like if I run, youwillhurt me.”
“Don’t. Run.” He wasn’t entreating me to stay near; he was warning me he could not stop himself from what would follow.
He said he wouldn’t rape me. I had to make that clear. “You don’t have my permission.”
Shuddering, as if imagining fulfilling dark cravings at that moment, he held back a pained groan. “I want you… to know that you can trust me. I want you to know how much I yearn to please you. How long I’ve waited to talk to you. Watching you eat my food—making those beautiful noises—has given me great pleasure.”
Pleasure? He looked positively tormented.
And I was beginning to feel sick again.
