Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel by Zavarelli, A. (a book to read .txt) 📕

then.” He lifts the chair and slams it down. “Don’t make me come get you.”

I push the blanket back and get up, taking a moment to steady myself when a dizzy spell comes.

“Don’t bother with the acting. It won’t win any points from me.”

“I’m not acting, you jerk!” I tell him once the spell passes, and I walk over and take the seat, being careful not to touch him. I don’t even care that I’m naked. He’s seen all of me. And in this light, I’m sure I’m not much more than a shadow anyway. A ghost already.

“Now pick up your knife and fork and start. I have more important things to do than babysit my wife.”

“Why do you care if I eat if you hate me so much?” I ask as I pick up the fork and poke at the meat. It’s underdone. Bloody. I’m sure just like he likes it.

“Oh, I don’t,” he says so casually I have to look up at him. He meets my eyes, the flickering candles casting shadows on his skull face tattoo. “I care that the babies you carry won’t be malnourished.”

“Babies again.” I stab a piece of broccoli.

He leans down close to my ear, pushing my hair over my shoulder. “Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet?” he asks in a whisper, sliding his hand down, pushing the rosary out of the way and cupping my breast.

I shudder.

He straightens, dragging his fingernails along my breast before releasing it. I wonder if he realizes all that does is serve to arouse me. Because somehow, even now, I’m still aroused by him.

“Eat,” he says, taking my jaw in his hand and turning my face to his. “Unless you want me to force-feed you.”

I tug my face away and start to eat, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to finish the entire meal. I’m already having a hard time getting just the first few bites past my throat.

He takes my hair in his hands, feels the texture. The knots. He brings it to his nose.

“When was the last time you washed your hair?”

I shrug a shoulder.

He twists my hair around his fist and tugs my head painfully backward. “Words.”

“I don’t remember. I don’t know what day it is. I don’t even know if it’s night or day. I don’t know how long you’ve had me locked up in here.”

“Do you prefer Judge’s cellar?”

“Judge?”

“I can take you back there. With the rats.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Do you want me to take you back there?”

I give a slight shake of my head.

“Use your words, Ivy.”

“No,” I spit.

“Then watch your mouth and do as you’re told. When I come in here, you should drop to your knees eager to please me, yet what do I get? A petulant, defiant little wife who can’t even be bothered to wash herself.”

Tears are forming at the corners of my eyes, and the food in my mouth is turning sour, but he finally releases me roughly like he’s disgusted by me, and I chew and chew as my stomach turns and idiotic tears run down my cheeks. I feel so hated, so unwanted. And it hurts so much more than I ever thought him hating me could.

He leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest, death glare on me as I finish every morsel. I’m so full that I’m sure the meal will make a reappearance. When I’m finished, I turn to him.

“Did your brother give it to you?”

“What?”

“When he was here for that impromptu visit conveniently on the day of the gala.”

The poison again. I exhale, shaking my head. “Why do you ask me? You don’t believe anything I say anyway.”

I push my chair back and walk up to him, closer than he expects because he straightens to his full height, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. This close, I see his gaze roam my face, slip to my breasts, then back up to my mouth. Looking at me arouses him. He’s just as attracted to me as I am to him despite everything.

So, I steel my spine and stand a little taller.

“I don’t know why you’re hell-bent on finding me guilty when I am not. You have an enemy so hateful he is willing to poison you. To murder you. That enemy is not me. But let me ask you something, Santiago. Have you ever stood back and thought about why? Thought about how someone can inspire such emotion in another human being that they would go as far as murder? You are hated, Santiago. You. Are. Hated. How does it feel?”

Fury sparks in his eyes, darkening them, and it takes all I have not to back away.

“I’d think you’d have some sense of how that feels by now, Ivy.”

His hand closes around my throat hard, making me cry out in pain as he spins me so my back is to the wall. I’m trapped between it and him. He keeps me pinned, and I listen to the sound of the belt unbuckling, the zipper of his trousers going down, and a moment later, he bends his knees to lift me, grabbing my thighs and forcing them wide.

My legs wrap around him naturally as he impales me, his face so close I can feel his breath on me. Using the wall to balance me, he puts his hands on either side of my face and brings his mouth to mine. I lick my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he takes my lower lip between his teeth and bites just hard enough to break skin and draw blood. And I wonder if the taste of it arouses him even more because he feels thicker, fucks me harder, more frantically as my arms come to his shoulders, my breathing uneven as he draws more blood and I close my eyes because I’m going to come. I’m going to come so hard as he hate fucks me, and when I do, I cry