I shudder, the fork clinking on the plate as a thousand sparks hit me in the womb.

His movements come to a halt as he speaks in a raspy voice against my skin, “What did I say?”

I quickly pick up the fork, feeling like a kid learning how to eat as I roll the spaghetti on the tines.

The assault on my nipple turns me delirious. My core is slick and pulsing, close to the detonation point I reached last night, but not exactly.

“These are quite sensitive, aren’t they?” He slides his tongue back and forth on the rosy peak. “Does it hurt?”

I’m munching slowly so I don’t choke on the food, but I manage a nod.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

I nod again, not even sure why I’m doing it.

“But it’s not enough. You want more.”

I stare at him with a wildness that beats under my skin like an animal’s. Does he have telepathic powers?

Jonathan releases my nipple and slides his hand down my stomach over my dishevelled, barely buttoned blouse.

I suck in a fractured breath, but I make sure to take another bite of food. This is so fucked up, but I have no will to stop it.

I’m caught, hook, line and sinker. Instead of fighting and dying soon, I opt to enjoy one last swim.

Jonathan reaches into my skirt and underneath my underwear. His long, masculine fingers leave scorching hot trails on my bare skin as he circles my clit.

“Mmm. You’re wet.” His appreciative tone makes me close my eyes in pure bliss.

I’ve never, ever, tried to be wet for someone before. I recognised my numbness and rolled with it. If anything, I thrived in it. This is the first time I’m glad I am.

Am I a masochist or something?

Jonathan pinches my nipple and swollen clit at the same time.

There’s no warning this time. No danger alarm or even the contracting of my stomach. Heat drags me into its burning clutches. I scream and explode all over his hand as if it was always meant to be.

This fall is like bungee jumping without a rope, yet it feels like the jump of a lifetime. One I’ll never return from.

Oh, God.

I’m still catching my breath, trying and failing to regulate it when Jonathan releases my throat and motions at the plate. It’s empty. Just like my insides.

The bastard manipulated me into eating it all.

“Good girl.” He smirks, then pushes me off him so I’m sitting on the chair, stands, and leaves.

I remain there, my clothes rumpled, my core pulsing, and my nipples aching.

And yet, all I want is more.

I’m so screwed.

19

Aurora

Did I say I could survive six months in Jonathan’s company?

It’s only been two weeks and I’m already at my wits’ end.

Every day, I’ve gone back to the house, shaking in anticipation of what he’ll do next. What buttons he’ll push. What ludicrous demands he’ll make.

Every dinner and breakfast, Jonathan sits me on his lap and makes me eat my entire plate.

It’s not even about the food anymore.

The way he touches me so unapologetically, or spanks my arse when I defy him, has become a habit. Worse, it’s become something I look forward to.

I shouldn’t.

Jonathan isn’t the type of man I can get lost in or even allow close.

However, the moment he yanks me down on his lap, I don’t even protest anymore.

It’s become the most natural place to be.

After every session of fingering, torturing my nipples, and holding my throat hostage, Jonathan leaves me in the dining room alone with my scattered thoughts and my shaking limbs.

Sometimes, he’ll fetch me from my room when I’m late for breakfast, or lay me on the bed and spank me for giving him the attitude he hates so much.

Other times, he’ll send me emails — no texts, because in his words, those are juvenile. The last exchanges were between last night and this morning.

From: Jonathan King

To: Aurora Harper

Subject: I’ll be Late but Don’t You Dare Sleep

Lie on your bed, face down, and don’t put any clothes on.

From: Jonathan King

To: Aurora Harper

Subject: Second Reminder to Not Fall Asleep

You better be on your fucking stomach when I walk in, or that arse will pay the price.

I did fall asleep, more out of defiance than actually being tired, and my arse did pay the price before he wrenched a dizzying orgasm out of me that knocked me out for real.

Today, I woke up late because of how exhausted I felt.

From: Jonathan King

To: Aurora Harper

Subject: Your Morning Will Take a Turn for The Worse in Exactly Sixty Seconds.

Every minute you’re late for breakfast is extra punishment. In case you want to sit at all today, come down. Now.

I went down, ten minutes late, and true to his word, I’m sitting sideways to not put pressure on my arse.

In no time, I’ve grown attached to his emails and the orders in them. The way he demands my attention and confiscates it as if it’s always been his for the taking.

It doesn’t help that I hear his commanding voice when reading them. Jonathan’s authority is one of the few things I’ll freely admit is attractive.

There’s something about a man who takes what he wants with powerful self-assurance. I’ve always known I had a tendency to connect with dangerous men, but this is the worst possible scenario to practise that.

Other than the email exchanges and the power games, it’s almost like we’re living completely separate lives. Jonathan never invites me to his room or spends the night in mine.

And I’m thankful for that. After all the sexual stimulation and the explosive orgasms he coerces out of me, I need some time alone to come down from the high and the guilt trip I always find myself drowning in.

The shame of enjoying his touch when I shouldn’t, and the reality of what Jonathan actually is always slams into me afterwards.

So to make myself forget about that, I’ve been sneaking into Alicia’s room whenever he’s not here — and behind Margot’s back. She’s as stand-offish as her tyrant master. The butler, Tom, doesn’t speak either. Seriously. If I hadn’t heard him ask Margot about something once, I would’ve suspected he was a mute.

There’s also Harris, who joins Jonathan in his office or sometimes interrupts our breakfasts with a snobbish expression smearing on his face. He’s the man in smart glasses who came with Jonathan to our office that first day. His bland eyes have the same disregard for humans as his CEO.

I swear the tyrant handpicks those who orbit his haughty arse so that they’re an extension of him.

Anyway, my snooping in Alicia’s room hasn’t been useful. I can’t bring myself to continue reading those books either. I just…can’t.

The moment I open them, I get dark flashbacks filled with vacant eyes and duct tape. There’s a reason I don’t read thrillers and keep to chick lit. I spent a long time slamming Pandora’s box shut, and I can’t willingly open it again.

Not that Jonathan would leave evidence behind. Next up, I need to go into that locked room, which I assume is his office.