Page 46 of Silenced

I have a name, at least.

Step one in humanizing him is complete.

My throat feels tight as I swallow the pancake and manage that feat without choking.

Onto step two—understanding the trouble I’m in.

Slowly, I inhale.

I can do this.

Calmly, I exhale.

“Did Harvey owe you money?” I ask. “Is that why I’m here?”

He doesn’t reply to that, just studies my lips before he presses a piece of egg to them. I accept it, wishing like hell that I wasn’t so hungry; otherwise, I’d spit it in his face.

While I’m busy chewing, he’s studying me, and it’s difficult to adjust to his very avid attention.

I’ve never been comfortable naked, especially after Harvey would accuse me of being the reason why he couldn’t get it up—because I was fat, because I needed to diet, because I didn’t look like a pornstar…

Always my fault, never his.

Nikolai, however, doesn’t appear to be disgusted by my shape.

His eyes are heavy-lidded with want.

I swallow the egg and, after that, eat everything he places on my tongue until the dish is empty. Then comes fruit. Apple, crisp and fresh. Orange, tart and sweet. Fig, chewy and flavorful. Pomegranate, bitter and juicy.

At least this is confirmation that my unwanted host won’t starve me.

When I’m done, and he still hasn’t answered me, that’s when he taps my bottom lip with his finger. “Now, a reward for eating every bite.”

My brows lift. “You’re letting me go?”

His hand drops, lower, lower, then his fingers are riffling through the soft hair at the apex of my thighs.

Eyes widening, I jerk higher onto my knees when I understand his intention, but his other hand clamps onto the softness of my ass to hold me in place.

Expecting him to drag down his zipper, I find myself stunned when, instead, his fingers remain on course and they aim between my legs.

Before he can touch methere, my hand slides around his wrist, nails digging into him as I rasp, “What are you doing?”

I can hear my pulse in my ears. Only, it isn’t because I’m scared. Fear should be at the center of this interaction, but it isn’t.

“Well?” I demand huskily.

I know he can’t hear me, but our fingers are too busy for signing and I figure the claws in his forearm kind of give the game away…

His gaze is back to being heavy-lidded, the amber-like irises primed with a heat that I swear I can feel deep in my core.

Fuck, how he looks at me—I could get used to that.

Having never experienced it before in my life, having never been looked upon as if I’m the most beautiful woman alive, it’s shockingly heady stuff. Too shocking. Too heady.

Because apparently, it’s turned me into a lunatic asthatis the moment when I confirm my insanity—I move his hand.

I don’t know why I do it—

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