Chapter 5
Julian
As soon we enter the bedroom, Nora excuses herself to freshen up.
She disappears into the bathroom, and I undress, enjoying the freedom of having both arms unencumbered by a cast. My left shoulder still aches during exercise, but I’m regaining my strength and range of motion. Even the loss of my eye doesn’t bother me that much; the headaches and eye strain are lessening by the day, and I’ve learned to compensate for the blind spot to my left by turning my head more frequently.
All in all, I’m pretty much back to normal—but I can’t say the same about Nora.
Every time I wake up to her screams, every time she starts hyperventilating out of nowhere, a toxic mixture of rage and guilt blankets my chest. I’ve never been prone to dwelling on the past, but I can’t help wishing that I could somehow rewind the clock, undo the unintended consequences of my fucked-up choices.
That I could have Nora—my Nora—back.
She slips out of the bathroom a few minutes later, already showered and wearing a white fleece robe. Her smooth skin is glowing from the hot water, and her long, dark hair is piled haphazardly on top of her head, exposing her slender neck.
A neck that’s beginning to look far too delicate, almost frail from her weight loss.
“Come here, baby,” I murmur, patting the bed next to me. I had contemplated punishing her for her outburst at dinner, but all I want to do now is hold her. Well, fuck her and hold her, but the fucking can wait.
She walks toward me, and I reach for her as soon as she’s within arm’s length. She feels disturbingly light as I tug her down to my lap, the shadows under her eyes betraying her exhaustion.
She’s completely worn out, and I don’t know what to do. The therapist I brought to the estate three weeks ago appears to be useless, and Nora refuses to take the anti-anxiety meds the doctor prescribed for her. I could force her, of course, but I distrust those pills myself. The last thing I want is to get Nora hooked on them.
The only thing that seems to help her—temporarily, at least—is an emotional release achieved through sexual pain. It’s something she requires now, something she begs for nearly every night.
My pet has become as addicted to receiving pain as I am to giving it—and that development both pleases and devastates me.
“You barely ate again,” I say softly, settling her more comfortably on my knees. Reaching up, I free her hair from the clip holding it up, and watch the dark mass spill down her back in a thick, glossy stream. “Why, baby? Is there something wrong with Ana’s cooking?”
“What? No—” she begins saying, but then she corrects herself. “Well, maybe. I just didn’t like the soup today. It was too rich.”
“I’ll ask Ana not to make it in the future, then.” I distinctly remember Nora eating the soup and loving it before, but I decide against reminding her of that. I don’t care what she eats, as long as she stays healthy.
“Just please don’t tell her that I complained.” Nora’s gaze fills with worry. “I wouldn’t want her to be offended.”
“Of course.” A smile tugs at my lips. “I’ll take your secret to the grave, I promise.”
An answering smile appears on her face, lighting up her features, and I feel much of the lingering tension between us dissipating. “Thank you,” she whispers, staring at me. Then, placing one small hand on my shoulder and another on the back of my neck, she closes her eyes and presses her soft lips to mine.
I inhale sharply, my body tightening with instant lust. Her breath is sweet and minty, her slight weight warm in my arms. I can feel her slender fingers on my skin, smell her delicate scent, and my spine prickles with growing hunger, my cock hardening against the curve of her ass.
This time, though, the hunger doesn’t come with the need to hurt her. Instead, it’s tinged with tenderness. The darker impulses are there, but they’re overshadowed by my stark awareness of her fragility. Tonight, more than ever, I want to protect her, heal her from the wounds she should’ve never sustained. I want to be her hero, her savior.
For just one night, I want to be the husband of her dreams.
Closing my eyes, I focus on her taste, on the way her breathing changes as I deepen the kiss. The way her head falls back and her body melts against mine, her fingernails gently scratching at my scalp as her hand slides into my hair. She’s my world, my everything, and I want her so much I ache with it.
She’s still bundled in her fleecy robe, the material soft on my bare thighs and cock. As good as it feels, however, I know her naked flesh will feel even better, so I grasp the tie at her waist, pulling on it. At the same time, I lift my head and open my eyes to look at her.
As the tie unravels, her robe parts, exposing a V of smooth, tan skin. I can see the inside curves of her breasts and the taut flatness of her belly, but her nipples and lower body are still covered, as if by design.
It’s an erotic visual, made even more sensual by the way she’s breathing, her ribcage moving up and down in a fast, panting rhythm. Her lips are reddened from the kiss, and her skin is softly flushed.
My little pet is turned on.
As if sensing my gaze on her, she opens her eyes, her long lashes sweeping up. We look at each other, and the aching need inside me grows. It’s a feeling that’s somehow different from the lust surging through my body, a complex want that’s layered on top of my usual obsessive craving.
A yearning that terrifies me with its intensity.