I cried out and jerked beneath him, further stimulating my pulsing bud against the table. Shame rolled through me in a hot wave, and I closed my eyes as though that would be enough to hide the truth of my arousal from him.

He set the paper down, right in front of my face—a clear warning of what would happen if I struggled or defied him. Keeping his firm hold on my hair, he dipped his free hand between us, testing the wet heat between my legs. My inner thighs were slick with traitorous desire.

I swallowed a sob before it could escape from my chest. I would not break for him. Even after he’d bound me and humiliated me in the woods last night, I hadn’t wept. I’d retreated to a quiet place deep inside myself, allowing my mind to go numb rather than allowing him to see me shattered.

What he was doing to me was barbaric, even more sadistic than anything I could’ve imagined. When Luca had warned me of Dante’s cruelty, I’d expected him to revel in beating me. This was so much more perverse and insidious. He attacked my psyche, not content to simply harm my body.

Luca had pushed me hard when he wanted to make me obey him, but he hadn’t wanted to break me. My husband had wanted me to be happy. Dante didn’t care if I shattered in his cruel hands.

I remembered his dark words as he’d carried me out of the woods. Don’t worry. If you break, I’ll put you back together again.

I shuddered and took a breath, forcing air into my lungs to prevent them from seizing. I would not sob for him. My composed mask had been utterly shredded, but I could at least maintain some of my dignity, my sense of self.

Mercifully, he didn’t force pleasure from me. His grip on my body shifted. He released my hair and gently grasped my shoulders, guiding me upright. He sat down in my chair and settled me on his lap, his strong arms caging me on either side.

He picked up a piece of sausage between his fingers and lifted it to my lips.

My cheeks burned, and I turned my face away. How much humiliation could I endure?

“Open up, pet,” he cajoled.

I pressed my lips together. He tapped the newspaper, a subtle warning of what would happen if I resisted.

Loathing made my insides squirm, but I reluctantly parted my lips, letting him feed me. The act was mortifying; he was truly treating me like his pet as he fed me from his hand.