Two days passed. Two days of edging, of teasing, of sleeping in Caleb’s bed while he held her but did not take her.
Elena was going mad.
She was living in a state of constant, low-grade arousal. Every time Caleb looked at her, every time his hand brushed hers, she felt a jolt of electricity. But he remained stoic, distant, controlling. He was punishing her for her deception, and he was enjoying every second of it.
On the third morning, Elena decided to rebel. She refused to eat.
She sat at the long table in the dining hall, pushing her plate of eggs and toast away. Caleb sat at the head of the table, reading a newspaper. He didn't look up.
"Eat," he said calmly.
"I'm not hungry," she snapped.
"You will waste away," he said, turning a page. "And I prefer my women with some flesh on t
