CHAPTERTEN
Vivia
He likesit when I submit to him.
And if I’m honest with myself… really, truly honest and not lying just to make myself feel better about things… I like when I do, too.
I may not know much about relationships, but I’ve seen enough that failed that this counts for something.
I don't care how much money you have, most every woman I've ever known would choose fidelity over material possessions. Not all, but most.
I don't care how attractive you are, or how high-ranking or powerful, most women I've ever known would choose attention over things. I watched my mother’s spirit wither and die under my father’s neglect.
Don't get me wrong. She is no innocent. My mother is a selfish bitch.
It doesn't mean she's not human, though. It doesn't mean she's incapable of being hurt. I know I definitely am. I saw what it did to my mother knowing my father chose a mistress over her. Did she blame herself? I don't know. It takes a certain kind of man to cheat on a woman, regardless of how he's treated.
So when Dario tried to make it look like I lived in some sort of picture-perfect childhood because I had money and material possessions, I know he's bullshitting. He’s smarter than that.
And there's one thing I know for sure about him: he might be mean, he might value loyalty to the Rossi brotherhood, he might pretend he's not affected by being alone with me, but I know better. I watch how his nostrils flare when I obey him. I watch his Adam’s apple bob when I call him sir. He says I have a submissive streak, and I don't deny it. But he likes having control over me in more ways than one. And I won't let him forget that.
I didn't look for a means of escape when I went out with him. It's more important that I know what his weaknesses are. He's obviously stronger than I am. He obviously has more people on his side. But every person walking this Earth has a weakness if not several, and I’ll use that to my advantage.
I watched how he lit that fire, and I took note.
If he thought I was in danger, or if both of us were, he would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening, that much I know.
I tuck all these things away in my mind.
I watch him prepare salad, hot dogs, then toss a bag of chips on the table. My stomach rolls with hunger. I could probably list a hundred things I'd rather eat than a hot dog, but there's something about the way it sizzles over the open flame that makes my mouth water. I'm starving.
He turned the hot dogs over the open flame until they’re blistered and sizzling. There's a package of rolls but no condiments. We're not here for fancy meals, I know.
He puts paper plates down, opens the bag of chips, and puts two hot dogs in buns on my plate. The salad is a bagged affair, pre-washed lettuce with prepared dressing which he forks onto my plate without a word. Next, he takes a few chips. I wonder if he’ll allow me to feed myself this time. A small part of me hopes he won’t.
What's wrong with me? Why do I like the control he exercises over me? It should unnerve me, or make me feel belittled, but I can't deny the erotic vibe every time he touches me. The way he fed me earlier was nothing short of foreplay.
"Am I allowed to feed myself?" I ask, unable to hide the seductive tone of my voice. I want him to spoon-feed me. I want to ask him permission.
He takes his place next to me, piling food on his plate before he answers.
"You've been a good girl. You have permission to feed yourself."
Good girl. Those words feel like light and warmth and all things good and wholesome.
They say starvation is an excellent seasoning agent. They're not wrong. A simple fare of hot dogs and chips and salad taste like I'm dining in a five-star restaurant. I eat quickly, eager to stop the gnawing pain in my belly.
“Careful, Vivia. There's only one thing I want you to choke on and it's not a fucking hot dog.”
Ah, very classy. Still, my cheeks flush. I wish I had better control over my reactions, but before Gray I’d never been touched by a man, and something about the way Dario touches me makes me crave more. Even his lewd comments don't shock me the way they really should.
We eat in silence, both of us clearing our plates. I sigh contentedly now that my stomach is no longer aching with hunger. He pushes away from the table himself, walks over to the fire and crouches before it. I watch as he takes a long metal skewer thing and pokes the flames. He's so intent on it, I give myself a minute to look about the room. Where did he put the matches?
I don’t see them at first, but finally note the little brown package.
They are right there in his pocket. Dammit. I need those. I'll get them.
I sit as quiet as a church mouse watching him, not giving him one chance to catch me doing anything I shouldn't. Not giving him any excuse for going all commanding on me again.