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What a shame.

I return to my throne, a growing feeling of pride surging through me.

“We should pray, no?”

Miles quirks a look at me, but doesn’t object.

“Blessed be this food today. Gods, protect the broken from wickedness and serve your justice to the sinful. Amen.”

Miles peers over his steepled hands, his forehead creased near the center. Yet, he doesn’t say anything about the nontraditional prayer. A few minutes pass between us. An eerie quiet while we challenge the other to speak first.

Holding my head high, I decide to take a power move and set the tone for what’s to come. I raise my hand, prompting Miles to start eating. I spoon my soup slowly, never taking my eyes off of him.

“Do you want to know a new fact I learned today?”

Miles grunts, not taking his attention away from his food, his gluttony taking over primal instincts.

I take another spoonful of soup, savoring the way the heated food warms my soul from the inside out.

“It’s surprisingly easy to hide medication in tea. Apparently, that’s the old way they’d administer tinctures, before we had modern medicine and all that,” I say, keeping the tone of my voice even and steady.

Miles pauses mid-bite. His eyes dart to me with a burning anger. He drops the spoon into his bowl, soup splashing up and over the sides onto the table. Droplets of red marring the perfectly white covering. Eyeing the kettle, Miles tries reachingfor it, but his arms are heavy, barely moving above the surface of the table.

His panic is delicious, eyes wide as he puts together all the small pieces of the puzzle I laid out for him.

“What did you…” he slurs. His eyelids become heavy. One eye blinking, the other in a fight to keep open.

Dabbing the corners of my mouth, careful not to smudge my red lipstick, I rise from my seat. Stalking towards Miles, I allow the years of betrayal and disrespect flow through me. Anger bubbles to the surface like a rabid feline. Nails play over the tablecloth, red daggers ready to draw blood.

He tries to stand before I reach him, but it’s useless. I tap him with a single finger, and he slumps back into the chair, barely coherent.

I yank the chair, lurking him backwards to allow space for me. Kneeling between his legs, I tap my nails up and down his thighs. His breathing slows as the drug takes hold. His gaze is hollow when I stare up at him, saliva beginning to form at the corners of his mouth from the lack of bodily control.

Through hooded eyes, I smile up at him. A deadly siren ready to feast.

“I’m doing exactly what you deserve.”

11

The bedroom curtains slide close with a satisfying metallic clink, descending the room into darkness. The only light that illuminates is from the various candles I have placed around the room, creating an ominous glow, casting shadows over the heap of a man at the center of the room.

Miles is tied up on the bed, belly down over a pile of pillows. His ass is propped up, hanging on the end of the bed frame. And let me tell you, it was a struggle to get him into that position. I underestimated how heavy an unconscious body would be. It’s basically a limp, two-hundred-pound noodle.

It took me about twenty minutes to maneuver him from the dining room to the bedroom. I had to crawl onto the opposite side of the bed and drag his almost dead ass onto the mattress. Also, I may or may not have bopped his head off the floor a few times, but who’s counting?

Once I had him into place, I removed every piece of clothing down to his naked flesh. I wrestled each limb and left nothing behind, not even a thin layer of underwear to protect his manhood.

Since the drug dosage was a complete crap shoot of a guess, I used my spare time collecting all the items I needed to make this night truly special. I lined them up, one by one, sorted by size and purpose of use. Seemingly normal objects and toys I’ve specifically chosen to do my delicious bidding, providing Miles with a taste of his own medicine.

Distracted by the leather belt I’m trying to attach to my waist that refuses to clasp correctly, a noise stirs from the bed.

As if it was divine intervention itself, the clasps finally snap into place, securing the belt snugly to my hips. The cool leather creates a slight tension on my slip dress, causing it to ride down my breasts ever so slightly.

I busy myself with grabbing my first item from the lineup along with a pair of black, rubber gloves. They snap into place like a second skin. A protective barrier from the carnage I’m about to perform.

Muffled moans echo behind me.

“Well, well, look who’s finally awake.”