Page 118 of Enthrall Climax
“Here.” A piece of meat skewered on a fork was pressed to my lips.
I shook my head, refusing it from Chastain.
“If I offer you food…” he scolded.
The room had fallen silent and all eyes were upon us. Opening my mouth, I accepted the morsel and my mouth watered at the salty deliciousness. He offered me another chunk of meat from his plate. This was Chastain’s revenge for what Cameron had done all those years ago. I was the pawn in a game that was as deranged as this awful place.
Holding Chastain’s gaze, I begged him not to do this and he reached out and played with a strand of my hair.
I was so close to biting him.
A tall glass of wine was offered to me and I accepted it—needing something to drown my shame and sorrow. The crisp white wine I gulped tasted like chardonnay.
From the way the men deferred to Chastain, he had to carry all the authority, so I remained quiet and didn’t complain. I tried to remain invisible as much as possible. Chastain was the man keeping me safe at least for a while.
After dinner, he carried me upstairs in his arms, and the scent of food and voices faded behind us. He kicked open a door and lay me on a sumptuous four-poster bed.
He settled in beside me and rested his head in his palm. “You didn’t eat enough,” he said softly.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
He shook his head as though reluctant to discuss it.
“Your submissive?”
His smile revealed a fond memory. “She was everything to me.”
“Why aren’t you still together?”
He hesitated, but then said, “She left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re similar. She was very sweet. Very caring.”
“Tell me about her?”
He rolled onto his back and reached for the TV remote, flicking through the channels.
I closed my eyes and dozed off.
When I woke it was to the sound of the door opening—Chastain was carrying in a tray. “I brought you something.”
I slid off the bed and padded out to the bathroom. When I came back he’d rested the tray on a corner table.
“Beef Bourguignon.” He pulled a chair out for me.
I joined him at the table and ate.
“Have some bread.” He pointed to it. “Dip it in the sauce.”
“Did you really chop off someone’s finger?”
“That’s hardly dinner conversation.”
