Just Deserts

ROWAN

"It's not a threat if I'll actually do it. Then, it becomes a promise." I cock my head with a how-do-you-like-that shrug, feeling a sudden burst of courage that comes unexpectedly.

His mouth twitches as he sets the magazine down on the table. "You've got gumption, I'll give you that."

Jeeze, thanks for the compliment.

The same man who knocked on my door appears at the table beside Gabriel, carrying a shiny tray with two silver dishes. I recognize his voice when he places Gabriel's dish down in front of him. He looks old, with thick white hair and wrinkles around his light grey eyes. He's wearing a tuxedo with a bright scarlet tie. "Here you are Master, Scallops and truffles just as you requested."

"Thank you, Johnson. What about the Lambrusco?" The usual frost melts from Gabriel's tone as he converses with his servant.

"Chilling on ice and ready to be enjoyed, Sir." Johnson nods, walking around the end of the table to serve me a dish. He gives me a friendly smile as he pulls the top away to reveal the best-looking meal I've ever seen. The scallops have been pan-seared to perfection beside a helping of parsley topped truffles. My stomach grumbles when the heavenly scents travel up my nostrils. I don't think I've ever been so hungry in my life.

"It looks fantastic as always, Johnson," Gabriel sits up elegantly as he unfolds his fancy blue napkin and readies it beside his plate. He smoothly removes his jacket, and I try not to watch as the muscles in his chest ripple when he twists to stow it on the back of his chair, but my eyes move on their own accord. Next, he unbuttons and rolls up the cuffs of his dress shirt, and my ears burn when I see how toned and tan his wrists are, noticing deep blue veins that disappear into the posh fabric.

Johnson goes with the tray as Gabriel takes his first bite, and I quickly shake myself free from the glorious site he is, hating him even more because of how attractive I still find him.

I stare ahead, unsure of what to do next. I haven't been given permission to eat, so I don't know if I should dig in or not. I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling like I have no control over anything I do, I hate that I feel the need to be told when I can eat.

Gabriel cocks his head with a thick brow, "What are you waiting for?"

And with that we begin to eat in silence, utensils going to work against the ceramic plates. The scallops taste delicious, but the truffles have a bitter after taste that leaves me feeling like I'd taken a bite out of wood. The stale smell they give off isn't any better. I finish the scallops, but after forcing two mouthfuls of truffles down my throat, I gently put my fork down, which doesn't go unnoticed by my captor.

"What? The food isn't good enough for you?"

"It's not that — "I explain. "I don't like mushrooms."

"Tough shit." He glares. "You are to eat everything on your plate at all times."

"I'm not some child you can boss around." I give it right back to him.

"Correct." He nods with a chilling smirk that attacks my skin with prickles. "you are my slave."

Slave?

Fuck no!

"I'm nobody's slave." I respond decisively. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was born with privilege and more money than I could ever need. I may not speak to the men in my family anymore or accept the dark luxuries that come along with the title of being the only daughter of the top weapon maker around, but I will not be a slave. Certainly not his. My father has slaves. My brother too.

Ever since I can remember, people have bent over backwards to please us, so I will not just accept him.

I expect to see anger burning in his stare, but he enjoys the competition in my voice, a greedy grin showing off perfect white teeth and the deep dimple in his chin. "You can fight me every step of the way, but you already know I like that shit."

A pair of double doors swing open and Johnson wheels in a cart with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket and two crystal glasses, slicing the conversation to bits, and stopping me from getting in a snarky remark. He pops the caged cork, and carbonation fizzes down the neck as he pours Gabriel a glass first.

"This is the best Italian wine there is." Gabriel speaks as he lifts the glass in his large hand and cups the stem between his long fingers, swirling it to savor the aroma as his eyelids close.

Johnson then pours me a glass with another friendly smile before excusing himself once again.

"You're twenty-one now, drink up." Gabriel winks.

I want to march over to where he sits with his pompous smirk. I want to chuck the wine in his face so that I can watch the dark liquid drip down the sharp lines of his cheek and stain his tailored shirt.

"I don't want any." I decline, sliding the glass away.

"I don't give a shit what you want. I said drink it." His top lip tics as he grips his own glass tighter, eyes growing darker with the demand.

"Why, so you can take advantage of me when I'm drunk?"

He carefully adjusts his shirt and then leans over the table. With eyes as gold as a thousand suns, he sneers, "I told you, Rowan, I don't need to booze you up. I don't want to fuck you while you're passed out. What fun would that be for me?"

"You probably already did something when you drugged me." I mutter without thinking.

"Rowan, my cock is eight inches, and thick — If I'd been inside you, you'd be feeling the ache between your legs right now." He shakes his head slowly, saying each word with purpose. My neck tickles from the certainty in his tranquil tone, but my mouth stays closed. He enjoys making me feel uncomfortable. He isn't afraid of anything. And that makes me scared of everything.

What am I supposed to say to that?

"Do you ache between your thighs?" He raises an eyebrow to wait for my response, his filthy words seeping through my skin to zap me in my bones, aligning me upright in my chair.

He wants to see me squirm. He likes to watch me struggle with what to say, and I do struggle. He makes me speechless every time we talk because I'm not used to men speaking to me the way he does. I'm not used to men cussing at me, or a man who boldly announces what turns him on. I'm used to weak men that are easily ran off by the domineering men in my family. I'm used to guys that are terrified to put a hand on me — let alone fuck me without the fear of my father hunting them down. It's a surprise that I managed to lose my Virginity in the first place with how many boyfriends my brother Vincent ran off in high school.

My hands subconsciously wander to my lap, looking for a sign of assault. There is a dull twinge in my groin now, but I know it's not because I was raped.

I'd never felt betrayed by my body before, but I can feel moisture gather in my panties in response to the vulgar threat in the air. My body is aching because it wants to feel every nerve and vein of his threatened eight-inch cock.

Eight inches.

I know how men like to exaggerate their sizes, but something in his severe stare makes me believe he's got every inch he claims to have. And the realization makes my stomach tighten at the enticing thought.

What would eight inches feel like?

Would it really be that different from the only penis I'd ever had inside me?

I should not be thinking about Gabriel's cock!

"No." I reply, voice soft and small, hoping I can keep the lust out of my voice.

"Because I didn't fuck you...yet"

"I would rather die than be your sex slave." I grit my teeth, my hands curling into fists on the table, willing away the pang in my groin.

"You wanted me the other night." His eyes brighten up with the memory that now makes me sick to my stomach. To think that I ever wanted to kiss him makes my gut twist with bile. "Or are you going to deny that fact now?"

"That was before I knew who you were!" I bite back furiously, pissed off that he'd thrown my drunken stupor back in my face just to make his point.

Yes, I thought he was the sexiest man I'd ever met when I crashed into him in Cabo. Yes, my whole body tingled when his hand darted inside my hair to pull me close. Yes, I swooned when he kissed me. Yes, I would have slept with him if I'd had just one more drink that night.

But that all seems like a distant memory now.

"Who am I exactly, Rowan?" He cocks an eyebrow, swiping a hand across the air to make me continue.

"You're a rapist."

His flat lips curve into a proud smirk. "I've never raped anybody."

"Like I believe anything you say. You're a crook, your word doesn't mean anything to me."

"I may be a criminal, but if I say something, I damn well mean it. I have never raped anyone before." He repeats, his jaw gritting because he's offended that I dare question him, as though the promise of a criminal should automatically be believed, "My word is my bond."

"For a guy who claims he's not a rapist, you sure as hell threaten me all the time." I say back. I don't believe that he hasn't forced himself on a woman before — not that I believe he's had to either because even though I may hate to admit it, he is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. I thought it in Mexico, and I still think it now, against my will.

"There's a simple reason for that. I do plan on raping you, Rowan." He confesses like it's nothing to him, with blazing eyes and a firm jaw. "You're going to be my first and my only."