Reaching across my plate, Jonas grabs a blueberry scone from a silver platter and brings it to my mouth; it probably looks romantic from the other side, like someone feeding their lover an affectionate bite, but in reality, he shoves the pastry between my lips to keep me from making another sound. I’m basically gagged at breakfast, and even when I try to tear off a piece to thwart him, he just pushes more inside. And I kind of like it. Being stuffed, helpless and unable to peep.
