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chuckling to himself, before he leaves without looking back.
    I almost miss him this time, while I picture the shape of his mouth when he speaks and the fullness of his crotch when he watches me from his chair.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 8
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
    Around an hour later, I imagine the golden afternoon sun crumbling beyond the horizon.
    I have to imagine it because I can’t see through the blood-red curtains.
    Bored and frustrated, I’m glad when Bryce returns with a stunning silver tray. “Dinner is served. Hope you like steak.”
    I’m not as hungry as I should have been considering how little I had for breakfast and how I completely missed lunch, but the steak smells delicious.
    “Sure, I eat steak when I can afford to.”
    His mouth twitches.
    I think he might smile, but no such luck.
    He sets the tray down on the bed, between my legs.
    My mind goes wild as he unties my hands and pulls me up into a sitting position.
    Can I escape?
    Should I try?
    I enjoy the blood coursing through my arms and shake them out, rotating my shoulders.
    “Ah...” I groan in pleasure. “Feels so good to move them.”
    “You will eat as much as you can and drink at least half a glass of water,” he says, sitting back in his green leather armchair. “Can’t have you dehydrating or passing out now, can we?”
    “Guess not. I might bump my head on the way down and...oh no, wait, I’m in the perfect position to pass out.”
    He huffs at my insolence, which makes me smile inwardly.
    I am a rebel...kind of.
    “Eat,” Bryce orders leaning forward on his elbows, his legs spread and elegant hands dangling loose between his knees.
    I pick up my fork and stab at one of many small chunks of steak.
    It’s too bloody for my usual taste, but I don’t see the point in complaining.
    One thing intrigues me, though. “Did you cut this up for me?”
    “Some women stuff their mouths and don’t adequately chew each morsel. They eat like pigs and complain of stomachache. Thought I’d do us both a favor by cutting it into bite-size pieces. Problem?”
    “No.” I try not to smile imagining him in the kitchen, preferably wearing only an apron. “So it’s not because you don’t trust me to handle a knife?”
    Eyebrows pinching, he sniggers while walking to the window. “Feisty too, aren’t you? You could cause enough harm with a fork.”
    “Feisty?” I bite my lip. “I think I like being called feisty.”
    When he opens the curtains an inch or two, I find that I imagined the sky correctly.
    Blasts of golden streaks run throughout the darkening sky, and the golden globe is almost out of sight.
    “Shame you hid the beautiful view from me.”
    With his back facing me, he says, “I offered you privacy by closing them, but if you wish, I can leave them open.”
    “I have privacy? I thought you were paying for mine?” He glares at me and grinds his jaw, but I carry on. “Besides, no one can see through the window, can they?”
    “Fine.” He threw the curtains wide open, allowing the golden hue of the dying sun to flood the room.
    “Much better.” At least I’m connected to the world outside again, instead of being tied up in darkness, mostly alone.
    Bryce sits on the edge of the bed, stabs a lump of steak with the fork, and eats it. “It’s not poisoned.” He continues to chew. “It’s good. Eat.”
    The way he devours the pinkish meat makes my mouth water.
    His intoxicating aroma fills my lungs, and I breathe him in and gulp on a gush of saliva. No matter how peculiar, how unlike me he is, he makes me yearn.
    “Hungry, huh?” He takes the fork, stabs another piece, and holds the steak to my mouth. “Eat.”
    Wrapping my mouth around the end of the fork, I take it and chew. It’s tender and juicy, more so than usual.
    Perhaps because it’s not as well done as I would cook it.
    Bryce studies me: how my lips chew and how my throat swallows.
    And he licks his lips when I lick