Keep Me

by Anna Zaires

  I lick her until her orgasm is fully over, then I move up over her again, supporting myself with my right elbow. Using my left hand, I grasp her jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes look unfocused, clouded with the aftermath of pleasure, and I lower my head, claiming her mouth with a deep, thorough kiss. I know she can taste herself on my lips, and the thought excites me, causing my pulse to spike. At the same time, her arms fold around my neck, embracing me, and I feel her breasts pushing against my chest, her nipples like hard little pebbles.

  Holy fuck. I have to have her. Now.

  My self-control fraying, I continue kissing her as I use my knees to spread open her thighs. Pressing the head of my cock against her opening, I slide my left hand into her hair to cradle the back of her skull.

  Then I begin to push into her body.

  She’s small inside too, her pussy tighter than any I’ve known before. I can feel her wet flesh gradually engulfing me, stretching for me, and my spine tingles, my balls drawing up against my body. I’m not even fully inside her yet, and I’m about to explode from the mind-numbing pleasure. Slow, I harshly remind myself. Go slow.

  She tears her mouth away from mine, her breath coming in soft little pants against my ear. “I want you,” she whispers, her legs coming up to clasp my hips. The movement brings me deeper into her, making me groan in desperate need. “Please, Julian . . .”

  Her words destroy whatever shreds of restraint I still possess. To hell with going slow. A low growl vibrates deep within my chest, and my hand fists in her hair as I begin to thrust into her, savagely, relentlessly. She cries out, and her arms tighten around my neck, her body eagerly welcoming my ruthless assault.

  My mind explodes with sensations, with overwhelming ecstasy. This, right here, is what I want, what I need. Why I will never let her go. Our bodies strain together on the bed, wet sheets tangling around our limbs as I lose myself in her, in the sounds and smells of hot, no-holds-barred sex. Nora is like liquid fire in my arms, her slim body arching against me, her legs twining around my thighs. Each thrust brings me deeper into her until I feel like we’re fusing together, melding into one another.

  She reaches her peak first, her pussy squeezing me even tighter. I hear her strangled cry as she bites my shoulder in the throes of her orgasm, and then I’m there, shuddering over her as my seed shoots out in continuous heated spurts.

  Breathing harshly, I sink down on top of her, my arms no longer able to support my weight. Every muscle in my body is shaking from the force of my release, and I’m covered with a thin veil of sweat. After a few moments, I muster the strength to roll over onto my back, pulling her to lie on top of me.

  It shouldn’t be this intense again, not after the way we fucked earlier, but it is. It always is. There’s never a moment when I don’t want her, when I don’t think about her. If I ever lost her—

  No. I refuse to think about that. It won’t happen. I won’t let it.

  I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

  Safe from everyone but me.

  Chapter 8

  Nora

  When I wake up in the morning, Julian is already gone.

  Climbing out of bed, I head straight for the shower, feeling grimy and sticky after last night. We both fell asleep right after sex, too worn out to bother washing up or changing the wet sheets. Then, just before dawn, Julian woke me up by sliding inside me again, his skilled fingers bringing me to orgasm before I was fully awake. It’s as if he can’t get enough of me after our long separation, his already-strong libido going into overdrive.

  Of course, I can’t get enough of him either.

  A smile curves my lips as I remember the searing passion of last night. Julian promised me the wedding night of my dreams, and he certainly delivered. I don’t even know how many orgasms I’ve had over the past twenty-four hours. Of course, now I’m even more sore, my insides raw from so much fucking.

  Still, I feel immeasurably better today, both physically and mentally. The bruises on my thighs are less tender to the touch, and I’m no longer feeling quite as overwhelmed. Even the idea of being married to Julian doesn’t seem as frightening in the morning light. Nothing has truly changed, except that now there is a piece of paper joining us together, letting the world know that I belong to him. Captor, lover, or husband—it’s all the same; the label doesn’t alter the reality of our dysfunctional relationship.

  Stepping under the shower spray, I tilt my head back, letting the hot water flow over my face. The shower is as luxurious as the rest of the house, the circular stall big enough to accommodate ten people. I wash and scrub every inch of my body until I begin to feel human again. Then I go back into the bedroom to get dressed.

  I find an enormous closet in the back of the room, filled mostly with light summer clothes. Remembering the stifling heat outside, I select a simple blue sundress, then slide my feet into a pair of brown flip-flops. It’s not the most sophisticated outfit, but it’ll do.

  I’m ready to explore my new home.

  * * *

  The estate is huge, much bigger than I thought yesterday. Besides the main house, there are also barracks for the two-hundred-plus guards who patrol the perimeter, and a number of houses occupied by other employees and their families. It’s almost like a small town—or maybe some type of military compound.

  I learn all this from Ana over breakfast. Apparently Julian left instructions that I was to be fed and shown around when I woke up. Julian himself is occupied with work, as usual.

  “Señor Esguerra has an important meeting,” Ana explains, serving me a dish she calls Migas de Arepa—scrambled eggs made with pieces of corn cakes and a tomato-onion sauce. “He asked me to look after you today, so please let me know if you need anything. After breakfast I can have Rosa give you a tour if you like.”

  “Thank you, Ana,” I say, digging into my food. It’s incredibly delicious, the sweetness of the arepas complementing the zesty flavor of the eggs. “A tour would be great.”

  We chat for a bit as I finish up my meal. In addition to learning about the estate, I find out that Ana has lived in this house most of her life, having started as a young maid working for Julian’s father. “That’s how I learned English,” she says, pouring me a cup of frothy hot chocolate. “Señora Esguerra was American, like you, and she didn’t speak any Spanish.”

  I nod, remembering Julian telling me about his mother. She had been a model in New York City before marrying Julian’s father. “So you knew Julian when he was a child?” I ask, sipping the hot, rich drink. Like the eggs, it’s unusually flavorful, with hints of clove, cinnamon, and vanilla.

  “I did.” Ana stops there, as though afraid of saying too much. I give her an encouraging smile, hoping to prod her into telling me more, but she begins to clear off the dishes instead, signaling an end to the conversation.

  Sighing, I finish my hot chocolate and get up. I want to learn more about my husband, but I have a feeling Ana may be just as close-mouthed on this topic as Beth.

  Beth. The familiar pain shoots through me again, bringing with it a burning rage. Memories of her violent death are never far from my mind, threatening to drown me in hate if I let them. When Julian first told me about what he did to Maria’s attackers, I had been horrified . . . but now I understand it. I wish I could somehow lay my hands on the terrorist who killed Beth, make him pay for what he did to her. Even the knowledge that he’s dead doesn’t pacify my anger; it’s always there, eating at me, poisoning me from within.

  “Señora, this is Rosa,” Ana says, and I turn toward the dining room entrance to see a young dark-haired woman standing there. She looks to be about my age, with a round face and a bright smile. Like Ana, she’s wearing a short-sleeved black dress with a white apron. “Rosa, this is Señor Esguerra’s new wife, Nora.”

  Rosa’s smile brightens further. “Oh, hello, Señora Esguerra, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her English is even better than Ana’s, her accent barely noticeable.

  �
��Thank you, Rosa,” I say, taking an immediate liking to the girl. “It’s very nice to meet you too. And, please, call me Nora.” I look toward the housekeeper. “You too, please, Ana, if you don’t mind. I’m not used to the ‘Señora’ bit.” And it’s true. It’s especially strange to hear myself addressed as Señora Esguerra. Does this mean that Julian’s last name is now mine? We haven’t discussed this yet, but I suspect Julian would want to follow tradition in this case as well.

  Nora Esguerra. My heart beats faster at the thought, some of yesterday’s irrational fear returning. For nineteen-and-a-half years, I have been Nora Leston. It’s a name that I’m used to, that I’m comfortable with. The idea of changing it makes me deeply uneasy, as though I’m losing another part of myself. As though Julian is stripping me of everything that I used to be, transforming me into someone I barely recognize.

  “Of course,” Ana says, interrupting my anxious musings. “We’re happy to call you anything you wish.” Rosa nods vigorously in agreement, beaming at me, and I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heartbeat.

  “Thank you.” I manage to give them a smile. “I appreciate it.”

  “Would you like to see the house before we go outside?” Rosa asks, smoothing her apron with her palms. “Or would you prefer to start outdoors?”

  “We can start indoors, if that’s okay with you,” I tell her. Then I thank Ana for the breakfast, and we begin the tour.

  Rosa shows me the downstairs first. There are over a dozen rooms, including a large library stocked with a variety of books, a home theater with a wall-sized TV, and a sizable gym filled with high-end exercise equipment. I’m also pleased to discover that Julian remembered my painting hobby; one of the rooms is set up as an art studio, with blank canvasses lined up in front of a huge south-facing window. “Señor Esguerra had all of this put in a couple of weeks before you came,” Rosa tells me, leading me from room to room. “So everything is brand-new.”

  I blink, surprised to hear that. I had assumed that the art studio was new, since Julian is not into painting, but I didn’t realize he’d redone the entire house. “He didn’t have a pool put in too, did he?” I joke as we walk down the hall.

  “No, the pool was already there,” Rosa says in absolute seriousness. “But he did have it renovated.” And leading me toward a screened back porch, she shows me an Olympic-sized pool surrounded by tropical greenery. In addition to the pool itself, there are lounge chairs that look amazingly comfortable, huge umbrellas that provide shade from the sun, and several outdoor tables with chairs.

  “Nice,” I murmur, feeling the hot, humid air on my skin. I have a feeling the pool will come in quite handy in this weather.

  Going back indoors, we head upstairs. Besides the master suite, there are a number of bedrooms, each one bigger than my entire apartment back home. “Why is the house so big?” I ask Rosa after we view all the lavishly decorated rooms. “There are only a few people living here, right?”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Rosa confirms. “But this house was built by the older Señor Esguerra, and from what I understand, he entertained a lot here, frequently inviting his business associates to stay over.”

  “How did you come to work here?” I give Rosa a curious look as we go down the curving staircase. “And learn to speak English so well?”

  “Oh, I was born here, on the Esguerra estate,” she says breezily. “My father was one of the older Señor’s guards, and my mother and older brother also worked for him. Señor’s wife—she was American, you see—taught me English when I was a child. I think she was maybe a bit bored here, so she gave lessons to the entire household staff and anyone else who wanted to learn the language. Then she insisted that we speak only English in the house, even among ourselves, so we could practice.”

  “I see.” Rosa seems chattier than Ana, so I ask her the same question I posed to the housekeeper earlier. “If you grew up here, did you know Julian back then?”

  “No, not really.” She glances at me as we exit the house onto the front porch. “I was very young, only four years old when your husband left the country, so I don’t remember much from when he was a boy. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I saw him here for only a short time after . . .” She swallows, looking down at the ground. “After it all happened.”

  “After his parents’ death?” I ask quietly. I remember Julian telling me that his parents were killed, but he never explained how it happened. He just said it was one of his father’s rivals.

  “Yes,” Rosa says somberly, her bright smile nowhere in sight. “A few years after Julian left, one of the North Coast cartels tried to take over the Esguerra organization. They struck at many of its key operations and even came here, to the estate. A lot of people died that day. My father and brother, too.”

  I stop in my tracks, staring at her. “Oh God, Rosa, I’m sorry . . .” I feel terrible that I brought up such a painful subject. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that people here might’ve been impacted by the same events that had shaped Julian. “I’m so sorry—”

  “It’s okay,” she says, her expression still strained. “It happened almost twelve years ago.”

  “You must’ve been very young then,” I say softly. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-one,” she replies as we begin walking down the porch steps. Then she shoots me a curious look, some of her somberness fading. “What about you, Nora, if you don’t mind me asking? You seem young as well.”

  I grin at her. “Nineteen. Twenty in a few months.” I’m glad she feels comfortable enough with me to ask personal questions. I don’t want to be ‘Señora’ here, don’t want to be treated like some lady of the manor.

  She grins back, her former zest for life apparently restored. “I thought so,” she says with evident satisfaction. “Ana thought you were even younger when she saw you last night, but she’s almost fifty and everyone our age looks like a baby to her. My guess this morning was twenty, and I was right.”

  I laugh, charmed by her frankness. “You were, indeed.”

  During the rest of the tour, Rosa peppers me with questions about me and my life back in the States. She’s apparently fascinated with America, having watched a number of American movies in an effort to improve her English. “I hope to go there someday,” she says wistfully. “See New York City, walk in Times Square among all the bright lights . . .”

  “You should definitely go,” I tell her. “I only visited New York once, and it was great. Lots of things to do as a tourist.”

  As we talk, she shows me around the estate, pointing out the guards’ barracks that Ana mentioned earlier, and the men’s training area on the far side of the compound. The training area consists of an indoor fighting gym, an outdoor shooting range, and what appears to be an obstacle course on a large, grass-covered field. “The guards like to keep in top shape,” Rosa explains as we pass by a group of hard-faced men practicing some type of martial arts. “Most of them are former military, and all are very good at what they do.”

  “Julian trains with them too, right?” I ask, watching in fascination as one man knocks out his opponent with a powerful kick to the head. I know a little self-defense from the lessons I took back home, but it’s kid stuff compared to this.

  “Oh, yes.” Rosa’s tone is somewhat reverential. “I’ve seen Señor Esguerra on the field, and he’s as good as any of his men.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he is,” I say, remembering Julian rescuing me from the warehouse. He had been completely in his element, arriving in the night like some angel of death. For a moment, the dark memories threaten to swamp me again, but I push them away, determined not to dwell on the past. Turning away from the fighters, I ask Rosa, “Do you know where he is today, by any chance? Ana said he’s in a meeting.”

  She shrugs in response. “He’s probably in his office, in that building over there.” She points toward a small modern-looking structure near the main house. “He had it remodeled as well, and he’s been spending a lot of
time there since his return. I saw Lucas, Peter, and a few others go in there this morning, so I assume Julian is meeting with them.”

  “Who’s Peter?” I ask. I already know Lucas, but I’m hearing Peter’s name for the first time.

  “He’s one of Señor Esguerra’s employees,” Rosa replies as we walk back toward the house. “He came here a few weeks ago to oversee some of the security measures.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  By the time we arrive at the house, my clothes are sticking to my skin from the extreme humidity. It’s a relief to be back indoors, where the air-conditioning keeps the temperature nice and cool. “That’s Amazonia for you,” Rosa says, smiling as I gulp down a glass of cold water I grab from the kitchen. “We’re right next to the rainforest, and it’s always like a steam bath outside.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” I mutter, feeling in dire need of another shower. It had been hot on the island as well, but the breeze coming from the ocean had made it tolerable, even pleasant. Here, however, the heat is almost smothering, the air still and thick with moisture.

  Placing the empty glass on the table, I turn toward Rosa. “I think I might use that pool you showed me,” I tell her, deciding to take advantage of the amenities. “Would you like to join me?”

  Rosa’s eyes widen. She’s clearly surprised by my invitation. “Oh, I’d love to,” she says sincerely, “but I need to help Ana prepare lunch and then clean the bedrooms upstairs . . .”