Page 50 of Hush Darling
“Mmp—” she moaned in distress as he tipped the glass against her mouth, forcing her to keep drinking.
“That’s it. Keep going.”
Her eyes widened, wondering if he’d poisoned the wine. She swallowed and swallowed, her stomach uneasy from her rough journey and sloshing uncomfortably. Her brows pinched as she looked up at him, fearful she might be sick.
“Swallow all of it,” he said, tipping the glass so much that a trickle spilled past her lips, down her chin, and onto her chest. “Good girl.”
Her head was fuzzy, and the room spun when he finally pulled the empty goblet away.
“You take direction well.”
Her skin remained cold, but the wine had warmed her insides.
“Now, tell me again, was Peter your lover?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve never had one.”
“Which makes you what?”
Her cheeks heated. He was going to make her say it. “A virgin.”
“A virgin,” he repeated thoughtfully, rubbing his hand along the black stubble of his defined jaw. “I think more wine.”
He swapped the empty glass for the full one, and she leaned back in the chair. “Please. I can’t drink anymore.”
“Don’t be silly.” He stood, once more cupping the back of her head and looking down at her. “Open.”
“Please—”
His hand knotted in her hair as he growled, “Open. Your. Mouth.”
Terrified of what he might do if she disobeyed him, she parted her lips. He pressed the glass to her mouth, and wine flooded her throat. Gulp after gulp, she tried to get it down, but it was too much. Choking, she sputtered and turned her face away.
He jerked her head back. “Did I say you could stop?”
“I can’t?—”
“No?” He dumped the contents over her mouth, letting the wine spill down her neck and chest. “Now, look what you’ve done.”
“I didn’t do anything!” She started to cry, but her tears earned her no mercy.
Gripping her jaw, he forced her to look up at him. “When I tell you to open your mouth, you open it. When I tell you to shut your mouth, you shut it. Is that unclear in any way?”
“No, sir.”
He released her with a thrust of his hand. “You’ve made a mess of yourself.”
She glanced down at her chest. The silk of her nightgown was soaked in red, and one of her straps had snapped, leaving her partially exposed
He refilled the goblet with wine and paced the carpet. “I’ll ask again. Was he your lover?”
“No,” she sobbed. “I told you the truth the first time!”
He gripped her by the shoulders, pinning her to the back of the chair. “Are you raising your voice at me?”
