Page 54 of Until You Break

I glare at him and my stomach growls at the worst possible moment, betraying me. His smirk returns, and I swear I want to slap it off his face.

“See? Even your body knows better than to argue with me,” he says, holding out a piece of toast.

I grab the toast from his hand, biting into it aggressively, just to spite him. He laughs softly, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving me.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the casual possession in his voice makes my stomach flip in a way I don’t want to thinkabout. When I finish the toast, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it out like he’s daring me to refuse. I sigh heavily, my resistance crumbling.

“Fine,” I mutter, opening my mouth, and he slips the fruit between my lips, his fingers brushing against my skin.

“Stubborn,” he says, his voice almost gentle. “That wasn’t so hard.”

I chew silently, refusing to answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction. When he picks up another piece of fruit, I shoot him a glare. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“I know,” he says, his smirk returning. “But I like feeding you.”

“Of course, you do,” I mutter, leaning back against the headboard. “Is control your kink, or is it just a personality trait?”

He chuckles. “Aria, you’re in my bed. If you think I’m going to let you do anything without me, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

I glare at him again, but it’s half-hearted. He has a way of disarming me, of making me feel like every fight I pick is already lost.

And maybe that’s why I ask, my voice quieter now, “How long are you planning on keeping me here, Dominic?”

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “As long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes for what?” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “For me to what? Break? Give in? What do you want from me?”

He leans forward, his expression shifting, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that always sends a shiver down my spine. “For you to remember.”

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. “Remember what?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.

“You know what,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto mine. “You’ve buried it so deep you’ve convinced yourself it’s gone. But it’s not and it’s about time you face it.”

My throat tightens, and I look away, staring at the bars on the wall again. The memories are hazy, fragmented, but they’re there, just out of reach, like a puzzle I don’t know how to put together.

“You think you can force me to remember?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

“No,” he says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “But I can make you want to.”

My fists clench in the sheets, my frustration boiling over. “You’re insane.”

“I like to call it realistic,” he says with a shrug, standing up and grabbing the tray. “But I’m also right. And deep down, you know it.”

I glare at his back as he walks toward the door, his confidence infuriating and unshakable. He pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me with that maddening smirk.

“You look good in my bed, Little Sinner. Real good.”

“Go to hell,” I mutter, but the heat in my cheeks betrays the venom in my words.

“Already there, baby,” he replies, his smirk widening. “And I’m taking you with me.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving me alone in the massive room with my thoughts—and the unmistakable feeling that he’s already won.

Chapter thirty-seven

His Sinner

The dream starts likea memory, but it’s warped, too vivid in some places and blurred in others.

---