Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Marcus,” he growls, “is a fucking eejit who wouldn't know perfection if it was sitting in his lap. Which you're not anymore, because you're here with me, and I will feed you properly every goddamn day if that's what it takes.”
He picks up the fork again, his movements controlled despite the anger I can feel vibrating through him. “Now eat. All of it. Including the toast.”
“I can feed myself—”
“You had your chance.” Another bite, this one bigger. “You chose to starve yourself for a man who doesn't deserve you. So now I'll feed you, and you don’t have to eat more than you want to, as long as you’re not starving yourself.”
I should fight this. I should be screaming and clawing and doing everything in my power to get away from him.
But his arm is solid and warm around my waist, the food tastes incredible, and there's something about the way he's holding me—not roughly, but firmly, like I'm precious and breakable and he won't let me hurt myself.
“Why do you care?” I whisper.
He goes still behind me. The fork pauses halfway to my lips.
“Because you're mine now,” he finally says, his rough voice barely above a murmur. “And I protect what's mine. That includes you. Now open, lass. Are you still hungry?”
I nod reluctantly and open my mouth. I am hungry. He feeds me another bite, then another, patient and relentless, until every scrap of food is gone and I'm full in a way I haven't been in months.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against my hair, and I hate that the praise makes me shiver. “See? That wasn't so hard, was it?”
I'm trembling in his lap, overwhelmed and confused and terrified by how safe I feel here, caged in the arms of a man who kidnapped me.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but it comes out weaker than before.
“I know, lass.” His thumb traces small circles on my hip through my pajamas. “You can hate me all you want. But you're going to eat, even if I have to feed you, and you're going to stop thinking you need to be smaller to be worth something. Understood?”
I don't answer. I can't. Something’s caught in my throat, and I’m not sure why.
He shifts me in his lap, turning me slightly so he can see my face. His silver eyes search mine, and whatever he sees there makes his expression soften just a fraction.
“We'll work on it,” he says quietly. “But I mean what I said, Bianca. You're perfect the way you are. And anyone who made you think otherwise is a fucking fool.”
“No,” I protest, my eyes watering. He won't take this from me. It's my fucking identity. If I'm not trying to hate myself into a smaller size, who even am I?
“I'm plump enough,” I whisper.
“Say that again,” he says quietly. Dangerously quiet.
“I said… I'm plump enough.” I swallow hard.
“Christ,” he says in a low curse. “If I hear you say one more self-deprecating thing about yourself, Bianca, I swear to Christ…” He cuts himself off, then pauses, his voice husky with a hint of warning in it. “You ought to be spanked for that.”
The words hit me. Heat floods my face, and something low in my stomach tightens in a way that has no business happening right now. Not with him. Not here.
“You said you wouldn't hurt me,” I whisper.
His expression softens just a bit, but his tone stays firm. “I'm not going to hurt you. But I will protect you from this bollocks, even if that means putting you over my knee and reminding you of what you're worth.”
I can't breathe. I can't think.
Who does he think he is, just intruding into my deepest, darkest secrets?
I can't do anything but stare up at this massive, dangerous man who looks at me like I'm something precious.
Turning me to face him, he holds my chin in his hand. “Listen to me, Bianca. You are fucking gorgeous. Do you hear me? Gorgeous in a way that makes men stupid.”
My breath hitches.
He continues. “I've watched you walk down streets, and I’ve seen men trip over their own feet trying to get a second fucking look. I've seen the way they stare at you in that coffee shop. The way they lean in closer when you take your hat off. The way they'd do anything just for a moment of your attention. But you don't notice, do you? No. Too busy staring at that fucking Crowning prick. Too busy thinking you're anything but perfect.”
He leans in closer, and I'm trapped between him and the chair… between fear and something I don't want to name.
“Your curves.” His gaze drops for a second, then snaps back to my eyes. “The way your jeans hug your hips. The way you fill out a jumper. The way you move through the world, like you don't know how beautiful you are.”