Lilian wanted to have some dignity. Really, she did.
She meant to refuse the food—meant to hold her ground and not touch a single bite.
But her body... betrayed her. Her stomach growled pitifully, and her spirit wasn't much better off. In the end, she let Morrison lead her by the hand to the dining table like a docile kitten.
As she sat down, her mind—traitorous as ever—flashed back to earlier that day.
The way her body had bent under his, the way she'd moaned without control...
It was as if her will meant nothing, and he was the one who decided when she could live—or die—from pleasure.
And somehow, just remembering it made her cheeks flush red all over again.
Morrison noticed, of course.
He always noticed.
The corner of his lips quirked upward in a lazy, knowing smirk as he ladled out a bowl of steaming soup and handed it to her.
"Drink up," he said simply.
Just as she reached out to take the bowl, he added with maddening calm,
