But when I feed him another grape and the juice accidentally bursts between his lips, he looks at me as I grab a napkin andgently dab his chin clean.
Our eyes meet. For a breathless millisecond, I could swear I see something glimmer in his eyes that isn’t anger, or calculation,or desire.
It’s new.
It’s raw.
It’s dangerous.
And it’s quickly shuttered behind his boss mask the moment I spot it.
“If you weren’t our generous host, I’d call you selfish,” chuckles one of the other men at the table. He seems decent enough, butI’m quickly learning to never trust appearances when it comes to Demyen’s friends. “Keeping such a beautiful woman all toyourself. And obedient, too.”
That last comment lands right when I’m feeding Demyen a chocolate-covered almond. My fingers still. Sud
