Page 85 of Sin & Sapphire

Angelo looked down at the tray for a long moment, his shoulders slumped as if he were disappointed in me. I hated the impulse to apologize, to promise to behave myself.

My stomach growled.

He removed the bottle of water from the tray and placed it by the door before walking out.

The click of the lock echoed in my chest, and I let out a wail of frustration.

My eyes focused on the water, and I scrambled over to it, drinking it in one long gulp. It wasn’t enough, but it was enough to slake my thirst for the moment.

Crudely, I ran the back of my hand over my mouth to catch the last drops, and then dropped to the floor, leaning my back against the door and my wrists over the tops of my knees.

Fuck.

My stomach growled again, but I knew the hunger would dissipate eventually. Years of watching what I ate, of my father’s cruel comments about my weight, had taught me that I could go without eating for a long time.

Hours later, the sound of a key turning in the lock woke me up again. I’d dozed off in a corner as the adrenaline and stress of the last several hours wore off.

Angelo returned with another tray, similar to the last. My stomach growled at the scents wafting off it, and I gave up my rebellion. What was the point in starving myself? I’d never escape that way.

“Sit.”

This time, I tripped over myself to obey.

“Good girl,” he said, softly, before sitting in front of me, as he’d done before, and I fought to suppress my smile at his praise.

When he held out a fork full of chicken dripping with sauce, I opened my mouth obediently, waiting for him to feed me. The flavor exploded on my tastebuds, and I moaned.

Angelo’s eyes flashed dark, his pupils widening. Relief loosened the pressure in my chest. He still wanted me. I hadn’t ruined everything.

No.

There wasn’t anything to ruin. He was my captor, and he intended to make me his slave, a willing and brainless set of holes for him to slake his perverted need for control. And I hated him.

I swallowed, then opened my lips again. Bite by bite, Angelo fed me until I couldn’t eat anymore. I wanted to tell him I was full, but didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want him to think I was—Didn’t want him to think I was what? Disobedient? Unwilling to play his games? I pressed my lips together and refused the next bite, shaking my head.

Angelo cocked his head at me, his expression as blank as it had been since he’d walked into my cell.

I opened my mouth to tell him I was full, then snapped it closed again. I took a deep breath. I didn’t want him to go away and walk out of here thinking I was being a brat. There’d be plenty of time for that.

“I’m full,” I whispered, my eyes lowered, my stomach roiling at the thought of displeasing him. “I’m full,sir,” I corrected. Then, “Sorry, for speaking out of turn, sir.”

Angelo smiled, and the man was fucking breathtaking. He set the tray on the ground beside us and leaned forward to hold my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Such a good girl,” he said. “I’ll check in on you while you eat next time, all right? I should have, instead of forcing you to continue.”

My eyes widened at the admission. I nodded eagerly, frantically, overwhelmed with relief that I wasn’t in trouble for telling him I was full.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, instantly hating myself for being grateful for the fucking minimum, but unable to ignore my satisfaction at his words.

“Good girl,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip, and I melted for the physical contact and sign of affection. He stood up, then stroked his hand down my hair one last time. At the door, he paused. “What are the three rules, pet?”

Butterflies careened against each other in my stomach. “Perfect obedience. Speak only when spoken to. And my orgasms are—” I halted, flushing with anger and embarrassment, at being forced to recall my place at his feet. “And my orgasms are yours, sir.”

Angelo’s smile took my breath away. “Good girl,” he murmured once again, and then shut the door, leaving me to regret all the decisions in my life that had brought me to this point. Again.

Too late,I began tracking meals and days with soft scratches in the forest-green paint of the walls. I thought today was the third day, but who really knew?

Each time Angelo came to visit me, I was a little bit lonelier when he left, a little bit more grateful for his company. He’d visited twice today, and I intended to find a way to ask him if I could shower.

This time, instead of sitting beside me, he balanced the tray on my knees and sat down behind me. Brave man—what if I’d knocked it off?

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