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A chair is already set up for me, complete with dangling handcuffs. He’s probably been watching me since I left town.

He pushes the barrel into my back, nudging me forward. “Sit.”

My heart thunders in my chest, the chair pulling me in like a damn magnet, and I don't get why I'm like this around him. It's weird how my body seems to have a mind of its own around Mac.

Just like last time. While Mac is the first guy I’ve ever had sex with, the moment he told me to come, I started spurting instantly.

Pushing the memory away, especially when it ignites a fire in my veins that causes my dick to get hard, I focus on the spread laid out. Soup, bread, some green stuff . . . It’s all screaming my name.

Talk about making me feel guilty. He’s the one who saved my ass and now, he even cooked for me.

“Mac, about yesterday—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

As he secures the handcuff around my wrist, a surge of electricity courses through me at the mere touch of his fingers, heat licking over my skin. When I look up, our eyes lock, and there's this . . . ache, this pull that I can't quite explain, but damn, it's there, and it's strong.

Without even meaning to, I let out a little squeak.

Mac just shakes his head and walks to the other side of the table where he sets the shotgun aside before dropping into his chair and crossing his arms. "This time’s gonna cost you more."

“What do you mean? I thought it was like last time. Food for . . . you know.”

“You stupid fuck. Ya nearly got killed, cost me five bullets, and are about to eat my food.”

“How much more?”

My stomach growls, the aroma from whatever he cooked invading my nose.

“Two hours.”

“No way.”

What the fuck can even take that long?

The last time we had sex it only took fifteen minutes.

Mac’s rough, wild almost, and even that quick, he’d made my entire body light up from my toes to my scalp. My balls clenched so hard when I came. And the way my asshole spasmed around him, making my knees weak . . . I’ve never had an orgasm like that before.

While I still can’t fathom what we’re supposed to do—what he’s going to do—for two whole hours, not so sure I’m ready to find out how I’ll respond, how I might embarrass myself.

My palms start to sweat.

Uh, uh.

I yank at the cuff, staring at the older man.

He’s maybe twice my age and bigger than me in height and mass. And even though his thick black hair has a bit of gray on the sides, he’s stupid fast. Learned that the hard way. No chance I’m grabbing the food and outrunning him.

“Let me go.”

“Not happening.”

I jerk at the cuffs again. “Mac, let me go!”

“Weren’t you just yellin’ outside how if I shoot you, then I wouldn’t get to fuck you?”

I roll my eyes. “Doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Or that I want to do it for two hours.”

It’s all bullshit.

Well, mostly.

The idea of that much time, of being his—belonging to him—makes my mouth feel like the damn desert, and my thighs clench together.

The corner of his eye twitches and he stands, taking his shotgun with him to the counter without another word. “Nah, just want some dumb bitch to ride your cock.”

Great, now I feel like a jerk.

I run my thumb along the worn grain of the wood table and bite my bottom lip as guilt gnaws at my insides. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

Mac doesn’t say anything. He just comes back and slides a plate with chunks of brown, juicy meat in front of me. “Bon appétit.”

Damn him.

I've been craving meat like crazy. My stomach's practically howling. I exhale and groan, shoulders slumping. “Fine. Two hours.”

I grab a steaming hunk and stuff it into my mouth, deciding right then and there that however many fucks he can fit in two hours will be totally worth it.

God, this is delicious.

“Gimme that.”

Mac pulls the plate from me as I whine in protest, then proceeds to cut the chunks into smaller bits before pushing it back. “Don’t need you choking on anything other than my cock.”

I swallow hard.

Is that something he plans to do during our time?

I’ve never had a . . . a dick in my mouth.

Fuck me.

What did I just agree to?

“Maybe keep that comment to yourself?”

After picking back up my fork, I take another bite.

He watches me for a bit before deciding to eat his soup. “Weather sucks. You got enough supplies?”

I nod.

“And don’t let me catch you fucking some dumb whore who strolls into town again. Not like I can go buy more bullets.”

“I learned my lesson.”

Only, when I look at him, I have to bite down on my lip to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside me.

His expression is hardened, jaw clenched as he attacks his soup with a vengeance. It's almost comical, the way he's practically stabbing the hot liquid in his bowl.

Never seen someone eat soup with such anger before.

It's almost as if... he's jealous?

The thought catches me off guard, and my pulse quickens ever so slightly. Is it possible? Could Mac actually be jealous? The idea sends a weird flutter through my stomach, making me rub at my suddenly hot neck.

"Thanks for saving me," I say, clearing my throat to mask the nerves creeping in. "Should've said it sooner."

Mac grunts in response, his hand dropping under the table as he stares down into his bowl of soup. There's a tension in the air, thick and heavy, as if we're both tiptoeing around something we don't quite understand.

"Won't be too grateful by the time I'm done with you," he finally mutters, his voice low and rough.