Page 51 of Massimo

Jerome comes in, carrying a tray of food and two carafes—one is stainless steel, with what I'm assuming is coffee; the other is filled withwater and lemons. The food is similar to last night, featuring several options from each food category.

My stomach rumbles. I want it all.

Massimo reaches for the water carafe, pouring me some. "Would you also like herbal tea?"

"It's not coffee?" I twist to look at him. "Don't you drink coffee or espresso?"

"I do, but caffeine will be slowly reintroduced to your system."

"But that doesn't mean you can't have caffeine."

He smiles, bringing the glass to my lips. "Drink, princess." I'm thirsty and want to guzzle it, but he pulls it back. "Not too much at once, so you don't dilute your electrolytes."

"Are you a doctor or a mafia Don?"

He runs his knuckle down my cheek. "I've been researching." His eyes flicker between mine. "Trying to repair the damage I've done."

He did do damage, but it's not all on him.

I turn away because I can't handle his expression. He's letting me see his emotions and they're…too much.

They're fake. A lie.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and squirm to get out of his hold. He holds me in place, though, nuzzling my neck, and my heart stalls.

"I'd like to keep you here, to feed you. To take care of you. Will you let me?" he asks in his deep voice, which damages both my defenses and my insides.

And he asked; he didn't command. He's putting the control in my hands. A man who I instinctively know values control, and he's giving it to me.

Damn him.

My resistance basically puddles into a pool between my legs.

I close my eyes, feeling my panties starting to wet; him taking care of me does wicked, unholy things to me.

Maybe it's because I've gone so many years being at the mercy of my father, and no one cared or comforted me since I was ten years old. Or maybe it's because I foolishly want to believe Massimo.

Either way, I cave.

Opening my eyes, I nod.

"Good girl," he murmurs against my cheek.

Heat blooms within me, and my skin flushes. My eyes dart around the room, mortified that Jerome might walk in and witness what can only be described as intimacy—but it's just Massimo and me in the room.

"What do you want to start with?" Massimo asks.

"The scrambled eggs." They have sauteed spinach, mushrooms, and peppers, and my stomach grumbles.

Instead of dishing some up onto a plate, Massimo grabs the serving dish and a fork. He scoops some up, and then brings it to my mouth.

My heart pounds, not just from the arousal and attraction, but because my hard-learned lesson of waiting to be commanded to eat is triggering my panic.

The food being held to my mouth could be considered a command, but still, my breaths are shallow, panicked pants.

"You eat what and when you want, princess." It's like Massimo can see the war that wages in me. "Your father has no control over you. Not here. Noteveragain." His dark brown eyes, so fathomless I want to drown in them, are steady on mine. "You're the one in control, Nova."

When I finally open my mouth, he slips the fork inside and somehow hums and groans all at once.

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