Page 21 of Venomous Desires

He took a deep breath and then, without taking his distant gaze off the unfocused point, he ordered.

“Feed me.”

My brain promptly blue-screened. “...Excuse me?”

Swallowing whatever dignity I still possessed, I moved toward the cart and lifted the silver lid. The rich aroma nearly made my knees buckle. Steak, buttery potatoes, roasted vegetables...

God.

I plated the food, then glanced at him. Taking a slow breath, I picked up the knife and fork.Twenty thousand dollars.

I’d survived worse things than feeding an arrogant billionaire. Barely. Cutting off a small piece of steak, I lifted the fork toward him. My hand shook.

He remained perfectly still, head resting against the sofa, eyes unfocused on the ceiling as if waiting for me to figure it out.

I hovered the fork awkwardly in front of his mouth, “Sir?”

Was I supposed to make airplane noises too?

I cleared my throat. His jaw ticked as he tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in a way that made my pulse stutter. For a second, I thought he was about to glare at me—then his expression shifted. A slow, almost dangerous smile curled at his mouth instead.

He leaned in, and I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. Before I could steady myself, his hand closed around my wrist and guided the fork toward him. The controlled strength in his grip sent an unsteady shiver through me, like I’d just lost more balance than I cared to admit.

His lips wrapped around the fork, and he pulled away with slowness, suddenly making everything so hot.

I ignored the way my skin tingled and forced myself to focus.

But the heat in my cheeks betrayed me; whether from embarrassment or the ghost of his touch, I couldn’t tell.

I turned back to the plate, slicing the steak into small pieces that felt unnecessarily difficult with how much my hands were shaking. Frustration prickled under my skin.

Eventually, I set the knife and fork down, dragging my clammy palms over my jeans to steady myself before I picked them up again.

I took a steadying breath and lifted the fork toward him, cleared my throat, and his hand closed around my wrist again.

To make it less awkward, I decided to cut the deafening silence.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what do you do, Mr. Romanovski?”

The last time I’d looked him up, the internet had offered nothing but dry fragments—nothing that actually told me who he was.Not that I was curious.

He took his time with the bite, chewing slowly. I watched as his tongue brushed over his lips afterward. I cut another piece of steak, swallowing.

“I kill.”

I choked on air, coughing violently.

“Relax, Ms. Rosewood. It’s a joke, not a dick.” A low, rough chuckle followed. “You don’t have to take it hard.”

I breathed out. “What do you do, then?”

The smile never reaching them, he tilted his head back. “I make problems disappear.Permanently.” I cut the steak into larger pieces, now shivering altogether.

“That’s...menacing,” I muttered unconsciously, but before I could realise what I had just said, he was already humming.

His voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “I’d call it necessary.”

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I licked my lips with ashake of my head. “And who decides that?” I poked the steak with the fork and again moved it to his mouth. He grabbed my wrist once again, guiding to his mouth.