Page 56 of Marking Mia

Pressing my thighs together, I feel the edges of the tear in the fabric. I’ve never been so reckless, so willing to be used. Something about these men makes me lose all sense of self-preservation.

My phone screen goes dark, and I catch my reflection in the black mirror, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and eyes still glassy with unshed tears. I look like a mess.

My stomach growls louder this time, which makes me wince from the pain. I know I’ll have to leave this room eventually.

A soft knock on the door makes me flinch, nearly causing me to drop my phone.

“Mia?” Jace calls. “You in there?”

I hesitate, unsure if I want company, but before I can decide, the door cracks open, and Jace peeks in.

“Hey, there you are.” He pushes the door open wider, revealing a tray balanced in one hand. “Thought you might be hungry.”

The smell hits me immediately- something savory and rich that makes my mouth water. My stomach betrays me with another loud growl, and Jace’s smile widens.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He steps into the room, kicking the door closed behind him with his foot. “You’ve been hiding out for hours.”

I don’t respond, watching warily as he approaches. He sets the tray on the bedside table. The plate is piled high with pasta in a creamy sauce, accompanied by garlic bread on the side, and what appears to be tiramisu for dessert.

“I’m not hiding,” I say defensively, even though that’s precisely what I’ve been doing. “I’m apartment hunting.”

Jace ignores this, his eyes suddenly fixed on my legs. I follow his gaze and feel my face heat as I realize the tear in my leggings is fully visible, exposing a sliver of my bare pussy. I try to press my thighs together, but Jace’s hand shoots out, resting on my knee.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I like seeing you like this.”

My breath catches in my throat. His hand is warm, gentle, but firm on my knee, and his eyes have darkened to a stormy blue.

“Oh.”

“Let me feed you,” he says, and it’s not a request. He moves the tray closer and then pats his lap. “Come here.”

I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly. “What?”

“Sit on my lap while you eat.” His smile is sweet, but there’s an edge to it. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I can feed myself,” I protest weakly, even though I’m secretly thrilled by his request.

“I know you can,” Jace says patiently. “But I want to do it for you.”

He doesn’t wait for another protest; he reaches out and grasps my waist, lifting me effortlessly and positioning me on his lap so my back is against his chest. I’m too shocked to resist, finding myself settled against his hard body, the warmth of him seeping through my clothes.

He leans against the bed frame while holding me close, and we sit on the floor.

“This is nuts.”

“There,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Isn’t that better?”

“I think so,” I whisper, not wanting to admit it. His arm circles my waist, holding me in place, and I’m acutely aware ofhow easily he can control my movements. He reaches for the fork with his free hand, rolls the pasta, and brings it to my lips.

“Open,” he commands softly.

I hesitate, but the smell is too tempting, and my hunger wins out. I part my lips, and he slides the fork in, the flavors exploding on my tongue- creamy, garlicky, with a hint of herbs.

I can’t help the small moan that escapes me.

“Good?” Jace asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He continues feeding me, bite by bite, his arm a constant pressure around my waist. With each mouthful, I relax a little more against him, the tension of the day seeping out of my muscles.

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