Page 19 of Blood and Lies (A Twisted Duet 1)

“Are you hungry, Miss Linscott?” Castello smiled before glancing over his shoulder to the gift box with the stale bread pieces and human finger. He turned back and shrugged. “I guess not.”

Pulling the chair closer, he took a seat beside the trolley and pulled off a silver dome from one of the plates.

I couldn’t stop myself from pushing up straight, stretching my neck as far as it would go to see what was on the plate.

Castello leaned over the dish, inhaling. “Ah, doesn’t that smell delicious? Eggs Benedict is probably the best breakfast dish in the world, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Linscott?”

He eyed me curiously, studying me like he was trying to assess my every move. I didn’t answer. I was too afraid to open my mouth since the scent of food had already completely filled the room, aggravating the hunger pains already consuming my insides.

Castello placed the napkin on his lap before he looked up at me. “It’s a shame you’re not hungry. There is so much food here.”

I watched as he started to lift the other domes one by one to see what was underneath.

“We have some bacon, sausage, fresh fruit salad, some pancakes”—he looked up at me—“which are smothered in syrup, by the way”—then lifted the last dome—“and of course, some warm, buttered toast.” He glanced at me with a cocked brow and a smug grin. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

I bared my teeth at him like a fucking animal, like I was about to go head to head with him for the tiniest morsel of food. The hunger pains intensified threefold, my stomach feeling like my throat had been cut. But I still didn’t answer him.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.”

He picked up a glass of what looked like freshly squeezed orange juice, and he brought it to his lips, allowing a stream of orange liquid to enter his mouth. My gaze zeroed in on his throat as it moved while he swallowed the juice. I imagined what it tasted like. Was it sweet with just a hint of tang? Or was it more tang with just a hint of sweet? And while he sat there drinking the juice, the air of dominance paired with sophistication surrounding him, there was a part at the back of my mind, a very dark part, that wondered what his mouth would taste like with the sweet tang still on his tongue. What would it feel like to lick traces of that orange juice from the inside of his mouth, to experience the taste through him?

My throat burned, my body ached, and my head pounded with the need to consume something, anything to get some relief from the torture. But amidst all the torment in my body, there was a heat that coiled inside my belly, and I hated it—hatedhimthe second I felt it.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, unable to hide the contempt in my voice.

He grabbed the knife and fork and sliced through the Eggs Benedict, and I watched as the egg yolk oozed out, covering the English muffin it was set on.

I groaned and immediately clutched my stomach as the pain threatened to tear me in half. This was agony at its worst, the way my body ached in its demand for food.

He placed a forkful of food into his mouth, and like the masochist I was, I watched, unable to take my eyes off his face, witnessing the delight that spread across his features as he tasted and ate the delicious-looking and -smelling food.

He swallowed. “I assumed because you didn’t eat the bread I gave you earlier that you weren’t hungry. But if you are, just say so, and I’ll happily share this buffet with you.”

The dark glint in his eyes, the way his mouth curled up in the corners, warned me it wasn’t going to be that simple. Nothing with this man seemed simple. He was a predator, a vicious hunter who had the power to entice, ensnare, only to let you meet your doom once he had you in his clutches. Yet he made me curious, wanting to know what exactly would happen if he managed to bait me, to lure me into his trap. Would I be strong enough to survive him? Or would I shatter like glass once he applied the pressure in order to force the life out of me?

He placed the knife and fork down on the plate then turned to fully face me. His dark eyebrows slanted inward, and he licked his lips.

“Go ahead, Tatum. Ask me.” He leaned forward. “Beg me, and I’ll feed you. I’ll give you every last piece of food on this table if you go on your hands and knees and beg me for it.”

That was it. That was his game.He wanted me to submit, to beg and grovel like a slave so he would give me what my body needed to survive. Just like I had suspected, this was all a power trip for him, to see me broken and battered, crawling on the floor like I was worth nothing. I couldn’t let him have that, let him have that kind of power over me. If I did, I’d be as good as dead.

With my gaze never leaving his, I shifted toward the end of the bed. I looked over at the table, stretching to get a good look at all the food. My mouth salivated, my stomach complained, and my throat burned.

Slowly, I sank to my knees in front of him, my gaze once again pinned on his. It was all there, the darkness, the need…the hunger. It was all in his eyes as he watched me kneel on the floor in submission. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For me to submit, to show him he had some twisted authority over me?

His body rippled with predatory greed as he eyed me with sexual belligerence, making me hyperaware of the control he had over me. The power he exuded, the confidence that clothed him just as perfectly as his Armani suit was toxic, my body feeling its poison as it infected me little by little.

I crawled, inching forward on my hands and knees, and he leaned down on his elbows, bringing our faces inches from one another.

“Now beg me.” His voice was low, his eyes hooded. If I didn’t know the kind of hatred this man had for me, I would have mistaken the look for desire. His body was rigid with undisguised lust, and it tainted the air around us with tension so strong, I felt its heat spread through me like wildfire.

Fighting the erotic pull that suddenly swirled in my gut, I bit into my lower lip…before I spat right into his face. Instantly, the tension shattered around us, replaced with the cold of hate and the hard edges of our mutual distaste.

He closed his eyes but didn’t move, my spit dripping off his cheek.

I got up from the floor and glared down at him. “You can take your food and go fuck yourself, Castello.”

It was probably not the wisest thing to do, to taunt and provoke my captor in such a way. But there was no way I would beg for him to feed me like a goddamn animal.

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