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“Mine.” I’m past arguing. Past pushing him away. I just need food. Just need some sleep. Then I’ll remember why this place and this man are the worst. “I own you.”

I blink once.

“You’re learning.” James’s thumb strokes my nape, his face unreadable. “I’m proud of you.”

My orgasm hasn’t wiped out my last brain cell. He might be praising me. He’s done it before.

Doesn’t mean I’m any less of a captive.

A surviving captive.

One who, I think, has made the tiniest crack in his heart.

What terrifies me is that there’s a fissure in mine as well.

I can’t concentrate, can’t go back to being myself when he takes up so much space.

“Thank you,” I whisper from my place on the floor.

“I promised to reward you for being good.” He tucks himself in. Reaches over to where he left the food and water, dragging them over. Leaving them at his side, close. Frustration raises a scream in my throat that I won’t let out. “You were. Eventually. But…”

He leans in. His silence is deafening. Bone-chilling. I’m stuck in place, unable to do anything except watch him slide his hand down my body. Under my panties.

I gasp when he dips two fingers into my pussy. I half-expect, half-wish that he’ll make me come again. On his fingers this time.

Thankfully, he spares me from having another reason to hate myself. James pulls them out.

Then, because he can, he shows me there are more ways to humiliate me than just making me come.

He pushes them past my lips, rubbing my orgasm on my tongue.

“Taste yourself.” Back and forth they go, smearing my juices on me. “Suck.”

Arguing is useless. When I finally clamp my lips around him, I’m not sure I should argue at all. He isn’t aggressive, doesn’t shove his fingers so deep that I gag.

Whatever this is, it bathes me in warmth. I stop thinking. Stop analyzing and plotting and just suck.

“You’ll take what I give you.” He leaves my mouth empty, cupping my cheeks in his two firm hands. “Say you understand.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs against my lips. Steals my breath away by pressing his lips to mine, being harsh and demanding as he coaxes my mouth open.

His tongue swipes along mine, and he groans at his taste. At my orgasm.

Our orgasms.

“Keep your mouth open for me.” He pops the cap off the bottle and fills his mouth with water.

Nothing about him suggests that we shared a mind-numbing kiss just now.

Why do I even care how he feels about this?

Water. I should focus on the fact that I’m about to take my first drink in hours.

James grabs my chin. His thumb on my bottom lip, pulling it down. My lips parted, James spits the water from his mouth to mine.

“I’ll show you how merciful I can be when you behave.” James tips the bottle to his lips and takes another sip. Two of them.

His eyes are always on me. He doesn’t swallow.

I’m leaning closer when he does, impatient and needy. For the water. Not for him. It’s impossible to be wet from a man letting me drink by spitting water into my mouth.

He isn’t just any man, though.

He’s my owner.

I must be high. Endorphins must be swarming through my blood. Distorting my common sense.

This has to be why I dig my fingers deeper into his thighs. Tip my head even higher. Sway closer the more water laps at my tongue and goes down my throat.

I swallow it hungrily. My eyes delve deeper into his soul. I can’t squeeze them shut, can’t imagine looking anywhere else.

He’s beautiful. He’s a nightmare. And I am…

I’m…

His.

“That’s a good girl.” His voice is rough. He swipes the back of his tattooed hand over his mouth, then presses it to my lips. “Lick.”

Without hesitation, I dart my tongue out, wiping him clean. I’ll try to make sense of why I like it later. For now, I let myself want this.

“We’re not done.” The sandwich is in his hand. I’m salivating for it. For him to feed me. I’m sick, sick, sick. I’m aware of that, and yet I open my mouth, waiting for him to place the food there. “Eat.”

The bite he’s giving me is a small one. A manageable one.

He could’ve been crueler than this. Could’ve shoved the bottle down my throat. Could’ve stuffed food into my mouth and laughed as I choked on it.

He hasn’t done either.

God, the food is delicious. Heaven. In fact, I’ve never had a better peanut butter sandwich in my life. I moan around the bite. I cry as I swallow.

This goes on for several minutes. He feeds me. Tells me to chew. To swallow. Between bites, he drinks from the bottle and spits it into my mouth.

Until half of the sandwich is gone. Until I’m a moaning, writhing, sobbing mess, clinging to his thighs. “Please. More.”

No one’s had a more depraved meal than the one I’ve just had. No one.

“Enough. Move back.”

I bite the inside of my cheek when James gets up. I don’t—I won’t—show him I need him to stay. That during the time he’s been here, he’s weakened my resolve.

Being left alone with my thoughts would be torture.

After a long, charged beat, he cocks his head. “You don’t hate me.”

“I do.” Nothing about my weak voice sounds convincing. The pull between us is too powerful for me to lie. “You’re a bastard. I hate you so much.”

“You don’t.”

“I—”

His disapproval is a force.

My head bows on its own. “I don’t hate you.”

James makes a sound at the back of his throat.

“You’ll get under the covers. Immediately. That’s where you’ll sleep. That’s where you’ll wait for me. Understood?”

He seems to hate it when I hesitate. I look up to see his mouth pressing into a fine line, and then I’m off the floor. In his arms.

“I will know if you get up for anything other than using the bathroom, Ophelia.” He deposits me in the bed and pulls the duvets up to my shoulders. “I’ll know, and it’ll upset me. Greatly.”

The consequences of his anger hang in the air between us.

“I hate you,” I whisper as loud as my clogged throat allows.

“You don’t.”

Whatever.

Tomorrow, my mind will be clear.

Tomorrow, I’ll fight him.

Tomorrow, I won’t be as desperate for him.

I won’t obey anymore.

I won’t.

I. Won’t.