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“What was in it?”
“Kale, cucumber, ginger, celery, lemon, and apple.”
“And that’s all you have till lunch?”
I nod.
“I’ve only ever seen you eat salad at school.”
“Mom, had the school prep a special lunch for me.”
“Which was a salad?”
“Yes.”
“And dinner?”
“We ate out most nights,” I say.
“So you ate whatever was prepared?”
“No, she told everyone I had food allergies and that I was a vegetarian. They’d prepare something different for me,” I admit, hating every word that’s coming out of my mouth.
“What did she say you were allergic to?”
“Nuts, dairy, wheat, I’m not sure what else.”
“From what you just told me you’re only eating about a thousand calories a day,” he says, angrily.
“900,” I say with a nod.
“Fuck,” he hisses, jumping off his stool and pulling angrily at his hair as he paces the length of the kitchen. “She was literally starving you,” he mutters.
“No, that’s not her starving me,” I scoff.
“What?” he hisses, stopping and spinning to face me, his chest heaving.
Shaking my head I clamp my lips together, not willing to confess everything else she did.
“Okay, I’m gonna fix this,” he announces, striding back toward me and scooping me off the stool. Throwing me over his shoulder he marches us back to the bedroom and dumps me onto the bed. “Don’t move,” he orders, spinning around and disappearing out of the door a moment later.
Bewildered, I tug the hem of his t-shirt down, shuffling up the bed to rest against the pillows. When he enters the room a moment later, his arms laden down with stuff, I feel my brow furrow in confusion.
“Carson, what’s going on?”
Dropping what he’s holding onto the top of the dresser, he turns toward me his eyes sparkling with delight. “We’re going to have breakfast,” he announces.
“I’m really not—”
“I promise you’re going to like it,” he interrupts, crawling up the bed, parting my legs as he settles into the gap between them.
His lips find mine and he kisses me playfully, nipping at my lower lip, then sucking it into his mouth as he teases me. “Let’s get rid of this shirt,” he says, peeling the fabric up my body and pulling it free of my head before he flings it to the side.
His gaze rakes over my naked body, heat flashing through his eyes before he presses a soft kiss to the small swell of my breast. “You’re beautiful, Priss, every fucking inch of you.”
Jumping off the bed, he steps over to the dresser, and I watch as he peruses whatever he has up there before grabbing some stuff and turning back to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. There’s a bowl, overflowing with bottles, jars, and food clutched to his chest.
“What are you doing? What’s in the bowl?” I ask, pushing myself further up the bed and pulling my knees up to my chest, like they can somehow shield me from him and whatever he has in mind.
