Page 37 of Claimed By the Sinful Dragon
Fine. I’d eaten worse food than this before. Probably.
“As you wish, Lord Rook,” I said sweetly, but I knew there was nothing sweet lurking in my eyes as I carved a slice of what had once been a sausage. I put it in my mouth and immediately had to resist the urge to gag. I was wrong. I hadn’t eaten food worse than this before. Ever. It tasted of burnt…everything. Burnt meat, burnt oil, burnt something else I couldn’t even place, and sure as hell hadn’t put in the pan. Maybe it was thepan itself. I glared at Rook as I forced myself to chew, and his eyes didn’t leave mine for even a heartbeat as I swallowed.
“More,” he demanded.
“It’s your turn,” I said.
“More,” he repeated, and I stabbed at a rasher of bacon, only for it to shatter into half a dozen pieces. I was pretty sure bacon wasn’t meant to shatter. Rook’s stare was unrelenting, so I scooped the pieces up onto my fork, and shoved them in my mouth, this time swallowing without chewing. There was less burnt taste that way…except the jagged shards clawed at my throat. I choked, grabbing for my water and gulping a large mouthful. At least I hadn’t ruinedthat.
I chanced another look at Rook in case he planned to let me off the hook, but clearly he was too much of a sadist for that. His jaw twitched, and I didn’t wait for him to order me to continue before I scooped some of the black rubbery mess that had once been an egg onto my fork and into my mouth, almost gagging again as I forced it down. Because I wasn’t going to let Rook win. He’d taken enough from me, and I wasn’t about to ask his forgiveness for something he’d brought on himself. I’d die first.
It was the slowest, most painfully unpleasant meal I’d ever eaten, made a hundred times worse by Rook’s glare that never left me for even a second, but I choked the whole lot down, because fuck him.
Then I picked up the plate and licked it. Rook’s eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth together. Point to me.
“Aren’t you eating, Lord Rook?” I asked innocently. His eyes glittered coldly.
“Clear the plates,” he said.
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut again. Right, because like any kind of victory I had meant a damn thing. He could still order me around, make my life hell, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Not even ruin his food, unless I wanted another meal like that. Message received.
His phone rang and he switched his attention to the device as he answered, apparently no longer interested in me. I wasn’t sure whether to be pissed or relieved.
“Yes?” he growled into the device. His eyes flicked to me briefly and then the door in what was clearly a dismissal, because gods forbid he actually try using his words to ask for privacy. But then, since when did Rookaskfor anything? He just demanded, and took. Asshole.
I grabbed the plates and stalked from the room, acutely aware of his eyes boring into my back the whole time.
When I reached the kitchen, I dumped them on the counter and leaned over the sink, rinsing out my mouth, which did absolutely nothing to clear the vile taste. I was pretty sure I was going to be tasting that in my sleep. And smelling it, too. I reached over and shoved the window open, but I had a feeling that stench was going to be lingering a while.
With a sigh, I set about cleaning up the chaos I’d left down here, starting with scraping his plate into the waste disposal. I peered into the pans I’d left on the hob, wondering if I could chuck any more of them without him noticing.
Deciding evenhewould probably notice if I eventually ran out of pans, or the pile reached a window, I relented and chucked them into the sink, and set about scrubbing, cursing Lord High-and-Mighty Asshole under my breath the entire time. I’d charred the pans badly enough that I’d run out of insultsbefore I was even a quarter way through getting them clean, grown bored of inventing new ones by the time I was halfway, and started to seriously regret my decisions not long after that. I was pretty sure my hands were going to be cramping in my damned sleep tonight. Stupid asshole dragon.
I turned abruptly at the sound of footsteps, then glowered when I saw Rook in the doorway. Not that I should have been surprised: who else was I expecting to be walking round the completely isolated mansion other than the asshole who’d dragged me here?
“I have to leave,” he said curtly. My heart squeezed—what the fuck, heart?—but I forced myself to shrug.
“So?”
“So,” he snapped, stalking into the kitchen, “I don’t expect any more tantrums, or whatever the fuck this was—” he gestured sharply to the remaining pile of dishes in the sink, “—when I get back.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, ignoring the flicker of panic in my throat, the need to avoid conflict that made it hard to keep from ducking my head, and settling for turning my eyes on the dishes. “I’m just a shit cook, you know that.”
He caught my chin and forced my eyes back to his. “What Iknowis that I won’t see another tantrum like that.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm, “unless you wish to be punished.”
His voice dropped an octave on the last word, and my stomach went into freefall, right the way down to meet myovaries, which were doing some sort of tap dance. Fuck’s sake, body. Men threatening you shouldnotturn you on.
It never had before.
“Do you wish to be punished, little mouse?” he murmured.
“I’m not a mouse,” I ground out.
“No.” His lips curved coldly. “Mice know how to bite.”
