The hilt of the kitchen knife felt slippery in his palm. Sweating. A hint of a tremor as he adjusted the hold, because just the idea of someone on the other side of that fucking door hurting her had made his heart race.

“I’m sorry,” he said, placing the knife onto the coffee table before he lifted his hands into the air. The door was locked, she was safe, but she still looked afraid. Of him. “I only had it because—”

“You thought someone would come here to hurt me?”

“I just want you safe.”

“Jesus…” she muttered, before she turned away and started rifling through the large plastic bag. “Would you come get your monstrous breakfast?”

“Sure.” Leaving the knife, he walked over and helped her sort through the containers. “I don’t see a dining table. Where do you want to sit?”

“Normally I eat at the bar, but I can turn on the TV if you want.”

“You have a TV? Where?” Leaning back to look at the walls, he was confused until she laughed softly.

“It’s hidden.” Lianna was smiling to herself as she gathered the silverware, snagging some paper towels from a roll on the countertop. A few trips back and forth from the kitchen, and they were finally both settled on the couch, the array of food laid out in front of them. She’d collected a set of remotes, and one of them made the section of wall between the two paintings drop away, drawing down blackout blinds over the windows behind them.

“That’s fancy,” he commented, smiling over at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” The television clicked on, and sound came from all around them, a commercial about a sale at some store. “Just please tell me most of this food is yours.”

“I got you an omelet.” Nudging the container towards her, he plucked the English muffin from another and set it beside the omelet. “And a whole wheat muffin.”

“I can’t eat all of this,” she whined, and he grinned as he passed over the little plastic bowl of fruit.

“Hush, angel. You’ve got fruit too.”

“What the fuck? No one eats this much before noon.” Lianna stared at the little omelet and sides like it was a feast, and he grumbled as he pulled the rest of the containers towards his side of the table.

“People don’t usually drink bourbon before noon either. Just eat or I’ll have to make you eat.” Snagging his fork and knife, he started in on the eggs first before they could cool.

“I thought you weren’t going to force me.”

David swallowed the mouthful of eggs, reaching for the bourbon to wash it down before he answered as steadily as he could. “I said I wouldn’t force you into bed with me, I never said I wouldn’t force you to take care of yourself. Now eat before we have to find out what else I can force down your throat.”

Her jaw clenched, and the twinge of guilt he felt should have made him apologize, but he didn’t take it back, didn’t even move until she dug her fork into the omelet and pushed a bite between her lips. “Happy?” she asked as soon as she swallowed.

“I’ll be happy when you finish your breakfast, angel.”

“Asshole,” she muttered, but he just shrugged and continued eating. Watching the commercials until the news came on. First up was a report on some bullshit in Washington, D.C., which was a whole other clusterfuck he didn’t want to think about. They had too much drama in their own lives to worry about the country.

Then it changed stories, and the words Mercier Systems floated over the surround sound and they both froze. A picture of her father appeared on the screen, and both of their hands went for the remote on the table. He let her take it, and she switched the channel.

“Movie?”

“Sure,” he answered, and a moment later she was scrolling through another screen before he recognized several that he’d enjoyed. When she chose John Wick, he felt the grin in his cheeks. “You like this one?”

“I watch it a lot.” Lianna popped another bite of omelet into her mouth before she looked at him and swallowed. “I can pick another one if—”

“Are you kidding? I love this movie.” He gestured towards her food. “Keep eating.”

“Stop bossing me around,” she muttered, but picked up one of the buttered pieces of English muffin.

They ate in silence for a while, but just as John Wick started slaughtering people in his house she sat back against the couch with her glass of bourbon, half of her food left untouched in the containers. “You’re not done.”

“I am. You keep eating.”

That urge to grab her resurfaced, and his grip on the fork tightened. “Take a break then, but I expect you to finish eating. You’re not wasting away.”

She huffed under her breath, taking a sip. “It’s more than you fed me,” she muttered.

His fork clattered against the coffee table as he let go of it, and his fist was in her hair before he’d thought about it, leaning over her on the couch with his other hand lightly circling her throat. Those crystal blue eyes were wide, but there was still so much ferocity in them, so much strength. It made him smile like a monster baring teeth as he stroked the column of her neck with his thumb, the dull twinge of pain in his back somewhere in the background. “Do you want me to admit that I mistreated you, angel?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Okay, I was cruel. I was an asshole. I hurt you. I kept you like a prisoner, because that’s what I wanted you to be.” His fingers tightened around her throat, and the flash of panic in her face made blood surge to his cock. “But I did feed you. You weren’t this thin the day I planned to let you go. You did this to yourself, and as long as you have me here, as long as you want me around, you need to know I’m not going to put up with you starving yourself. Understand?”

“Fine.” The word came out strained, higher-pitch, and he leaned down and took her mouth because he could, because in that moment she was his. Her hands were in her lap, fingers clenched around her glass to keep it steady, and she hadn’t even tried to push him away. She tasted like bourbon and butter and warmth, and with a groan he tightened his fist in her hair to angle her back further.

It was the moment that she nipped his lip and moaned into the kiss that he knew he was done. Lost. Completely caught by the woman under his hands. She could destroy him if she wanted to, and now he was sure he would let her. No matter the consequences.

Shifting his hand to her jaw, he held her head in place until he could feel her body shifting, her soft sounds echoing back his own need as the kiss turned into a war of nipping teeth, greedy tongues, and swollen lips.

Not now. She needs food.

With more effort than he wanted to admit, he pulled himself back, keeping his hand in her hair to hold her still. Lianna whined, her hips lifting, the glass of bourbon dangerously tilted at her side and threatening to ruin her couch. The erection tenting his boxers didn’t give a fuck about her couch, and neither did he really, but he did want her to eat. Needed her healthy. Whole. “Eat your fucking breakfast.”

“Fuck me,” she demanded in return and he chuckled.

“Not unless you eat, angel.”

With that, he released her, leaving her panting as he tried to gain enough motor control to pick up his fork and pretend to be interested in eating. The first bite he put in his mouth might as well have been cardboard, because he couldn’t taste it no matter how long he chewed. Still, he kept his eyes glued to the screen. Watching the movie like it was the most interesting thing in the world, even though all he wanted was to push Lianna to the couch and tear those fucking jeans off her legs and— and nothing.

If she didn’t eat, didn’t take care of herself, none of it would matter.

“You’re a tease.” The grumble as she stabbed at her omelet again made him laugh, glancing sideways at her to see if she was serious, and the lack of a smile on her lips had him grinning.

“Why don’t you finish your breakfast so you have the strength for me to fuck you like I want to?” He winked when she turned her head towards him.

“You were easier to deal with when I was in the cell.”

“So were you,” he answered, but this time he kept his eyes on the screen, and smiled to himself when he heard her digging into more of the food.