Page 28 of Dirty Game
"You don't. Whatever your uncle told you, whatever your brother did to you, whatever you've convinced yourself you deserve—you're wrong." His face is inches from mine. "You deserve to eat without fear. To sleep without wondering who might come into your room. To exist without men discussing you like meat."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Then I'll teach you." He straightens, picks up another strawberry from the tray. "Open."
I open my mouth, and he feeds me the strawberry, his fingers brushing my lips.
This time, when juice runs down my chin, I catch it myself, but he watches the movement of my hand like it means something.
"Good girl," he says, and something low in my belly clenches at the praise.
I've never felt anything like this.
This pull, this ache, this need for him to touch me again.
When Marco's friends would leer at me, when Uncle Enzo's creditors would make suggestions, I felt nothing but disgust and fear.
But Varrick feeding me strawberries, calling me a good girl, makes me want things I don't understand.
"Finish the soup," he orders, moving back to his chair. "All of it."
I eat while he watches, hyperaware of every movement.
The way his eyes track my throat when I swallow.
The way he shifts in his chair when I lick soup from the spoon.
The way his hands clench when I unconsciously bite my lip.
"The chocolate too," he says when I finish the soup. "The one in the wrapper."
I unwrap what turns out to be a truffle, something expensive and dark.
When I bite into it, I can't suppress a small sound of pleasure.
It's the best thing I've ever tasted.
"Christ," he mutters, and when I look at him, his expression is almost pained. "You can't make sounds like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're..." He stops, runs a hand through his hair. "Just eat the chocolate."
I finish it, confused by his reaction. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No." He stands abruptly. "You did everything right. That's the problem."
He walks to the door, pauses with his hand on the knob.
"The Corsinis will spread word about tonight. About what you did to their men." He doesn't turn around. "Good. Let them all know that anyone who touches you, anyone who even speaks about you wrong, will bleed for it."
"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Why do I matter?"
He's quiet for so long, I think he won't answer.
Then, without looking back, "Because you're the first person in this penthouse who isn't here by choice, but you still found a way to be valuable. Because you look at how violent I am and don't run. Because when I feed you chocolate, you make sounds that..." He stops, takes a breath. "Because you're mine, and I don't let anyone hurt what's mine."
He leaves before I can respond, closing the door with a soft click.
