“Julian,” I groan, and he slows his pace even more, causing me to whimper in frustration.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs, withdrawing almost all the way. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“Fuck me,” I breathe out, my hands fisting in the sheets. “Please, just make me come.”
He chuckles again, but the sound is strained, his breathing turning heavy and uneven. I feel his cock thickening further inside me, and I squeeze my inner muscles around it, willing him to move just a little faster, to give me that extra bit I need . . .
And he finally does.
Holding my hip, he picks up the pace, fucking me harder and faster. His thrusts reverberate through me, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating out from my core. My hands clutch at the sheets, my cries growing in volume as the tension inside me becomes unbearable, intolerable . . . and then I splinter into a million pieces, my body pulsing helplessly around his massive shaft. He groans, his fingers digging into my flesh as his grip on my hip tightens, and I feel him grinding against my ass, his cock jerking inside me as he finds his release.
When it’s all over, he withdraws from me and takes a step back. Shaking from the intensity of my orgasm, I collapse onto my side and turn my head to look at him.
He’s standing there with his jeans unzipped, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His gaze is filled with lingering desire as he stares at me, his eye glued to my thighs, where his seed is slowly leaking out of my opening.
I flush and glance around the room, searching for a tissue. Thankfully, there is a box on a shelf near the bed. I reach for it and use a tissue to wipe away the evidence of our joining.
Julian observes my actions silently. Then he steps back, his expression growing shuttered again as he tucks his softening cock back inside his jeans and pulls up the zipper.
Grabbing the blanket, I draw it up to cover my naked body. I feel cold and exposed all of a sudden, the heat inside me dissipating. Normally, Julian would hold me after sex, reinforcing our closeness and using tenderness to balance out the roughness. Today, however, he doesn’t seem inclined to do that.
“Is everything okay?” I ask hesitantly. “Did I do something wrong?”
He gives me a cool smile and sits down on the bed next to me. “What could you have done wrong, my pet?” Looking at me, he lifts his hand and picks up a lock of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers. Despite the playfulness of his gesture, there is a hard gleam in his eye that deepens my unease.
I experience a sudden flash of intuition. “It’s the morning-after pill, isn’t it? Are you upset because I took it?”
“Upset? Because you don’t want a child with me?” He laughs, but there is a harshness to the sound that twists my stomach into knots. “No, my pet, I’m not upset. I would make an awful father, and I know it.”
I stare at him, trying to understand why his words are making me feel guilty. He’s a killer and a sadist, a man who ruthlessly abducted me and kept me captive, and yet I feel bad—as if I inadvertently hurt him.
As if I truly did something wrong.
“Julian . . .” I don’t know what to say. I can’t lie that he would make a good father. He would see right through me. So instead I ask cautiously, “Do you want to have children?”
Then I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
He looks at me, his expression unreadable once more. “No, Nora,” he says quietly. “The last thing you and I need are children. You can have all the birth control implants you want. I won’t force you to get pregnant.”
I exhale in sharp relief. “Okay, good. So then why—”
Before I can conclude the question, Julian rises to his feet, signaling an end to our discussion. “I’ll be in the main cabin,” he says evenly. “I have some work to do. Come join me when you get dressed.”
And with that, he disappears from the room, leaving me lying in bed naked and confused.
Chapter 3
Julian
I’m in the middle of reviewing my portfolio manager’s write-up on a potential investment when Nora quietly takes her seat next to me. Unable to resist the lure of her presence, I turn to look at her, watching as she begins reading her book.
Now that I’ve had a few minutes apart from her, the irrational need to lash out and hurt her is gone. In its place is an inexplicable sadness . . . an odd and unexpected sense of loss.
I don’t understand this. I didn’t lie to Nora when I said I don’t want children. I’ve never given the subject much thought, but now that I’m considering it, I can’t even imagine being a father. What would I do with a child? It would be just one more weakness for my enemies to exploit. I have no interest in babies, nor do I know how to raise them. My parents certainly weren’t role models in that regard. I should’ve been glad that Nora doesn’t want kids, but instead, when she brought up the morning-after pill, it felt like a kick to the gut.
Like a rejection of the worst kind.
I had been trying not to think about it, but seeing her wipe my seed off her thighs brought back those unwelcome emotions, reminded me that she doesn’t want this from me.
That she’ll never want this from me.
I don’t understand why that matters. I never planned to start a family with Nora. Marriage had been a way to cement our bond, nothing more. She’s my pet . . . my obsession and my possession. She loves me because I’ve made her love me, and I want her because she’s necessary to my existence. Children are not a part of this dynamic.