Page 54 of Vicious

He smiles and takes one of the small dumplings from the tray, raising it up between our lips. “Then maybe it should be the reverse.” He eats the dumpling and pats his thigh again. “Sit down, Ah-May, and feed me. Like one of those old Roman emperors. What was his name? Nero or Caligula?”

Drake snorts. “I’m pretty sure they were both fucking insane, Chase.” He pauses, then smirks. “So yeah, either one fits.”

I don’t want to sit in Chase’s lap and feed him anything, but it feels slightly less dehumanizing than him feeding me. I pick up another of the dumplings and shove it against his mouth.

Chase snorts and parts his lips for me. I try to pull my hand away as soon as I’ve dropped the dumpling in his mouth, but he reaches up to hold it in place. I watch in horror as his tongue darts out and he licks my fingers.

“That’s disgusting,” I hiss, hovering over his lap without sitting down. It feels like it would be too awkward with the plug and tail in my ass, and I’m not willing to put myself through that.

I can still feel Drake’s eyes on me, and it makes me shift uncomfortably. I would never want to be alone with him. He’d do far, far worse than Chase does to me.

Or would he?

Again, I find myself thinking Chase is a better person than he actually is.

I glance over to Hunter, who is still hand-feeding Stef and petting her. She’s looking up at him with adoring eyes, and my lip curls in disgust.

Whatever is going on there, I want nothing like that either.

Chase suddenly grabs my hips and forces me down. The tail catches underneath my thighs, and the plug moves inside of me, pressing inward. It makes me gasp, and I squirm and try to sit up. I can’t, though; Chase has a firm enough grasp on me to where it’s going to bruise.

More. It’s going to bruise more.

“Keep going,” Chase says to me. Then he looks over at Drake. “Did you have a chance to look at the documents I sent you, by the way?”

“Yeah,” Drake says, taking a sip from his drink. “It’s a lot of bullshit and not a whole lot to work with, but I’ll have a counteroffer on the table by Monday.”

Their conversation drifts into something about their work, and I zone out, trying not to think about the plug inside of me or the way I can feel the panties of the outfit getting wet as Chase grasps me so hard on my already-bruised skin.

I find myself staring at Stef, who meets my gaze only briefly. I’m surprised to find that she’s looking at me much the same way I’m looking at her: with distaste. I bristle because she has no right to think about me like I’m the one in the wrong for having an attitude when these men are literally buying and selling women while they conduct their daily lives.

How can she be okay with this? How can she be so accommodating? I don’t understand it at all.

I’m surprised when Chase’s hold on me loosens. I’d stopped feeding him at some point, and he’s looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

He shakes his head. “I think we’re ready for dinner now.” He glances at Hunter. “Is Stef going to help serve the food, Hunter?”

I don’t really need the help, but I’m not going to turn it down.

Stef looks up at Hunter for the answer, not offering her own opinion. He meets her gaze, and after a few seconds nods. “Yes. So long as your cat can behave herself.”

Chase looks over at me. “Well? Are you going to be a bitch to Stef?”

“Why would I?” I ask, making a face at Chase. “I’m not going to make things harder for her. She’s not even here because she wants to be.”

Chase finally lets me up, and I head toward the kitchen without waiting for a response.

I hear murmuring behind me, then movement as Stef follows me.

I don’t try to hear what the men are saying; I don’t particularly care. But as I start to grab one of the pots to bring it out to the dining room, Stef says, “I am, though.”

I blink at her, not following. “What?”

The handles of the pot are warm, and I head into the dining room. She grabs another serving dish, and it isn’t until we’ve both set them down in the center of the table that she says, “I’m here because I want to be.”

Her voice is a touch defiant—and a little breathless, too, like she’s run a marathon.

I snort. “Yeah. That’s what he wants you to think. Didn’t he buy you, too?” I retort rudely. Right. I’m supposed to be nice to her. “Sorry,” I say. “I just didn’t think…”

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