Instead of smiling, Lyssa’s face goes crimson and I know this is just like one of those instances in grade school where someone learns a swear word in another language and tries to make you say it.
She swallows and presses her lips together.
“Who said that to you? It wasn’t one of the guards was it?”
“No, it was Eric.”
“Ah,” she breathes with understanding. “I think maybe it’s best if you ask him the meaning, dear.”
“Okay.”
“See you in a minute.”
She couldn’t get away fast enough and now I feel like an idiot. I should have known anything that man says to me would be either something lewd or totally fucking rude. What an asshole.
I get up and run my hand over my t-shirt and shorts. These are my clothes from Monaco. I didn’t feel like wearing anything he got me. That’s something else I want to discuss with him. I don’t want him buying things for me. When people do that, they think they own you, or have rights to you.
I leave the room deciding I’m going to take the opportunity to ask the important questions. Things that will keep me going.
I make my way into the dining room and find him standing at the head of the long mahogany table. He’s talking to Lyssa in Russian, so I don’t know what they’re saying.
Of course while I look like a farm hand, he’s dressed like he’s ready to dine in a Michelin starred restaurant.
When I enter the room, he gives me a once over and my anxiety spikes under the weight of his lascivious stare.
Instantly, my stomach twists at the memory of him eating me out and me telling him I wanted him to. My damn mind was so far gone by then I couldn’t have been thinking straight. Then I practically sucked his cock.
God, if I could will the walls to swallow me whole I would. I would not be here in front of him feeling like a bird who just flew into the lion’s den.
I steel my spine, school my thoughts, and keep going forward. I will not allow him to get to me today. I will not have any form of a repeat of yesterday, and I will get through this.
Lyssa glances at me and while her face is still flushed she has that look of pride I saw previously.
She should because the meal she prepared looks truly fantastic.
There’s a roast chicken garnished with vegetables and a chunk of roast beef.
More vegetables and little side dishes cover the table. It reminds me of Christmas’ long ago when Grandmama was alive.
“This looks great,” I say first, nodding toward Lyssa.
“I’m glad you think so. I hope you enjoy it.”
“I hope she eats it,” Eric states raising his brows at me.
From his comment, I know now he’s aware I haven’t been eating much.
He turns back to Lyssa and says something to her in Russian. She then heads back into the kitchen.
“Sit,” he tells me, “Here.” He points to the seat next to him.
I was hoping to sit at the other end of the table. It’s fine though. I just have to keep my head above water. He’s just trying to exude his dominance over me.
I sit and try not to look like my ass hurts like a bitch.
He sits too, and he stares at me. “How’s that pretty little ass of yours?”
I cut him a hard glance. I don’t know how he can ask me that and in such an nonchalant way. As if spanking me was normal or what we did after.