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Grabbing another piece, he swirls lines of juice over my stomach, licking it clean before eating the fruit again.
A part of me hates the sight of the food, but a bigger part of me wants to taste what he’s tasting to experience this with him. When he lifts the next piece to his lips, I grab his hand, diverting the melon to my mouth and taking a tiny bite.
“Hey, that’s mine.” He laughs, snatching the fruit away and pushing it into his mouth. “Now stop moving, I’m enjoying myself.”
Smiling, I lean my head back against the pillows and let him play. Every now and then he coats my lips with the chocolate, kissing it off me and filling my mouth with the sweet, creamy taste. He doesn’t push me to eat, but he smiles when I pull his hands to my mouth, nibbling at the fruit and licking the juice from his fingers.
“Last one,” he says, twirling the strawberry stalk between his fingers. “What shall I do with this one?”
Grabbing it from him, I smile, holding it up teasingly. “I think I should get to play with this one.”
“Your wish is my command,” he says, with a playful arch of his eyebrow as he grabs me and rolls us until he’s lying on the bed and I’m straddling him. Putting his arms behind his head, he winks at me. “I’m more than ready to be your breakfast dish.”
Suddenly unsure, I falter, but he grabs the strawberry from my hand and bites the tip off. “Better hurry up or I’ll make you my plate again.”
Smiling, I rub the strawberry against his lips, leaning down and licking them clean as I draw patterns of juice across his chest, following it with my tongue and loving the sweet, salty taste of his skin. “Mmm,” I hum against his lips, kissing him again, before lifting the berry to my mouth and taking a tentative bite.
When everything you eat is weighed, measured, and approved, food becomes something to endure. When noncompliance results in punishment, food is just something to tolerate, laced with pain and awful memories. It’s easy to ignore the hunger, to push it down with all the other things I know are wrong, but I did anyway.
I got so good at following the rules that until Hawthorn fed me pancakes and bacon the other week, I’d almost forgotten what real food tasted like. Angry and fueled by righteous anger, I’d gorged on ice cream and cocktails at the hotel, but in penance, I’ve barely eaten since. I’m still frantically trying to atone for a woman who regularly starved me for days on end, just to teach me that men never want fat women, no matter how rich they are.
My gaze rakes over Hawthorn’s beautiful body beneath me, tracing the lines of his lean muscles and toned abs with my eyes. Licking strawberry juice from his skin isn’t a trial to be withstood, it’s not something to be endured, in fact, everything about his body is all pleasure.
Instead of rubbing the strawberry over him, I take another bite, dropping the stem to the bowl, and then just lick a line from his abs all the way up until I find his lips. “You taste good,” I whisper. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me down to lie on his sticky chest. “Maybe we should just eat everything off each other’s bodies from now on.”
“I think it might get a bit messy, but I’m not against it,” I whisper.
Laughing, he switches our positions again until I’m beneath him and his hard dick is pressing against my sex.
“I want you,” I whisper, lifting my hips off the bed to rub my pussy against his sweatpants-covered dick.
“What, you want this?” he taunts, grinding himself into me.
“Yes,” I breathe, lifting my leg and curling it around his back. “Please.”
His laugh against my ear is full of warmth. “You want my dick in you, fucking that tight cunt until you’re screaming my name?”
“Yes,” I gasp, squirming beneath him, seeking the friction I need.
“I want you too, Princess. I always want you. But what did I tell you earlier?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t get my dick again until you really believe that I want you for more than just your pussy,” he growls, scooping me off the bed in an effortless movement and taking us both into the bathroom.
“What?” I cry indignantly as he lowers me to the floor, reaching over to flip on the shower. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” he replies stone-faced. “You’re not my fuck buddy or my booty call or a one-night stand. You’re mine, Penelope, and until you really understand that, I’m not going to fuck you. Because having you, having you submit to me, having you give your body to me, it fucking matters. It’s more than just sex to me, and I thought it was to you too.”
My mouth falls open and I gawp at him. “I…” Words form in my mouth to tell him that I know it’s more than sex, that I feel the same way too. But I don’t say them because I don’t want to lie to him and because I don’t know if I really believe that he actually wants me.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m going to show you that this is more, and I’ll keep showing you until you believe it. I’m falling for you, Penelope Rhodes, in spite of all this other bullshit, in spite of your parents, in spite of me and you. You’re mine, you gave yourself to me, but you don’t seem to realize that I’m yours too.”
25
HAWTHORN
