by Anna Zaires
So instead of begging, I lie still, waiting, my breathing fast and shallow as I try to listen to his movements. I can’t hear anything. Is he just standing there watching me? Staring at my semi-naked body stretched out and restrained on the bed?
Finally, I hear something. A scraping noise, as if he picked up something from the nightstand.
I wait, listening tensely, and then I feel it.
Something cold and hard sliding under the tight band of my bra, pressing between my breasts.
I almost flinch in shock, but manage to remain still, my heart beating frantically.
Snip. The noise is unmistakeable.
It’s the sound of metal cutting through thick fabric. Julian just used scissors on the front of my bra.
I allow myself a small exhalation of relief, but then I tense again as I feel the cold scissors sliding down my body.
Snip. Snip. Both sides of my thong are cut, the dull edge of the scissors pressing into my hipbones. I feel the warmth of Julian’s hand as he pulls the mangled scrap of fabric off my body, and then I hear him suck in a breath. He’s looking at me. I know it. I picture what he’s seeing as I lie there naked, with my legs wide open, and a flush heats up my skin at the pornographic image in my mind.
“You’re already wet.” His voice, low and thick with lust, makes me burn even more. “Your pussy is dripping for me.” He accompanies the words with a butterfly-soft touch on my aching clit. His fingertips feel rough on my sensitive flesh, yet fire rockets through my veins, filling me with desperate need. Unbidden, a moan escapes my throat, and I lift my hips toward him, silently begging for more.
This time, he answers my plea.
I feel the mattress dip again as he climbs onto the bed, settling between my legs. His hands, large and strong, grip the top of my thighs, and then he lowers his head to my sex. I feel his hot breath wash over my open folds. I almost whimper in anticipation, but I hold back at the last second, not wanting to do anything to cause Julian to change his mind. I want his touch. I need it. It’s agonizing to be without it.
And then I feel it—the soft, wet pressure of his tongue between my folds, the pressure that both quenches and intensifies the ache. He doesn’t lick me; he just holds his tongue against my clit, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough. I rock my hips in small, spasmodic movements, creating the exact rhythm I need, and the tension within me grows, the pleasure gathering in a hot, pulsing ball within my core. His tongue moves then, his lips closing around my clit in a strong sucking motion, and the ball bursts, shards of ecstasy blasting through my nerve endings as I cry out, no longer able to stay silent.
Before my orgasm is completely over, he starts licking me. Just soft, gentle licks that extend the pleasurable aftershocks coursing through my body. It feels good, even with my clit swollen and sensitized, so I lie there, enjoying it, limp and content from my release. It’s not until a minute later that I realize that the pleasure is sharpening again, growing stronger, transforming into that aching tension.
I gasp, arching toward his mouth, needing more pressure to bring me over the edge, but he keeps touching me with those light licks, his tongue just barely grazing over my clit.
“Please, Julian . . .” The words escape before I can remember the restriction on speaking, but to my relief, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he keeps licking me, his tongue moving in a rhythm that slowly and torturously winds me tighter, pushing me closer but not letting me get what I need. I try to push my hips higher, but I can’t gain much leverage, stretched and spread as I am.
All I can do is endure, utterly at the mercy of whatever pleasure-torment Julian chooses to dole out.
Just when I think I can’t bear much more, he shifts to the side, moving his right hand from my thigh to my throbbing sex. His large, blunt fingers probe my entrance, and I moan as he pushes two of them in, penetrating me with startling swiftness. I’m almost there, it’s nearly what I need . . . and then his thumb presses hard on my clit.
I fly apart, acute pleasure rippling through my body as I convulse, gasping and crying out.
“Yes, that’s it, baby,” he murmurs. His hand leaves me, and I hear the sound of a zipper coming down. I register it only dimly. I feel drunk on orgasms, worn out by the brutal intensity of it all. My heart is pounding as if I ran a race, and my bones feel like they’ve turned to jelly.
There’s no way I could possibly want more, yet when he covers me with his large body, a tiny twitch of renewed sensation makes my belly tighten. He’s naked, having already removed his clothes, and I can feel his heat, his hardness. His raw male power. Even if I weren’t restrained, I’d feel helpless and small, surrounded as I am by him, but with the rope on my ankles and wrists, that feeling is magnified. I can hardly breathe under his weight, but it doesn’t matter. Even air feels optional at the moment.
All I need is Julian.
He shifts on top of me, propping himself up on his elbows. The hard, smooth tip of his erection brushes against my inner thigh as he lowers his head to kiss me, and I tense with anticipation as I feel him beginning to press in.
I’m wet and slick from the orgasms, my body primed for his possession, yet I still feel the stretch as his thick cock forces apart my inner walls, the sensation stopping just short of pain. His tongue invades my mouth at the same time, and I can’t even moan as he begins to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic. It’s overwhelming, the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body completely dominates and claims mine. I can’t see, can’t move. I’m drowning, and he’s my only salvation.
I don’t know how long it takes before the pulsing tension coils in my core once more. All I know is when Julian comes, I come with him, shuddering and crying out in his embrace.
Afterwards, he removes the blindfold and the ropes and carries me to the shower. I’m so exhausted I can barely stand, so Julian washes me, taking care of me as if I were a child. When he brings me back to bed, he pulls me into his arms, and as I fall asleep, I hear him say softly, “I will give you the world, my pet. The whole fucking world—just as long as you’re mine.”
Chapter 18
Julian
I wake up the next morning to the familiar feel of Nora sprawled on top of me. As usual, she’s sleeping with her head pillowed on my chest and one of her slim legs draped across my thighs. I can feel the soft, plump weight of her breasts against my side, hear her even breathing, and my cock stiffens as recollections of last night invade my mind in graphic detail.
I don’t know why I occasionally feel this urge to torment her, to hear her beg and plead. Why the sight of her bound to my bed gives me such satisfaction. When we were driving from her parents last night, I planned to take her gently and have her go to sleep, but when I saw her standing next to that four-poster bed, my good intentions went up in smoke. Something about the way she had been looking at me sharpened the dangerous hunger inside, bringing the darkness to the surface. What I wanted to do to her only began with ropes, and if I hadn’t made myself walk out of the room after tying her up, I would’ve broken the vow I made to myself the night I hurt her.
The vow to keep violence out of our bedroom for the next few months.
Thankfully, leaving her for a bit and taking a cold shower in one of the guest rooms seemed to do the trick, taking the edge off the craving. When I came back, I was more in control, able to settle for torturing her with pleasure instead of pain.
A change in Nora’s breathing brings my attention back to her. She shifts on top of me, making a soft noise, and rubs her cheek against my chest. “You didn’t get up yet,” she murmurs sleepily, and I smile, a peculiar sense of wellbeing spreading through me at the pleased note in her voice.
“No, not yet,” I confirm, stroking her smooth, naked back. “I will in a few moments, though.”
“Do you have to?” Her words are muffled. “You make a nice pillow.”
“I’m glad I can be of use.”
At my dry tone, she moves her head, looking up at me through her
long, dark lashes. “Does it bother you? That I sleep on top of you like this?”
“No.” I grin at her question. “Do you think I’d let you if it did?”
She blinks. “No. Of course you wouldn’t.” Moving off me, she sits up, pulling the blanket up around her. “We should probably get up. I wanted to go for a run before breakfast.”
I sit up too. “A run?”
“Yes. It’s safe here, isn’t it?”
“Not as safe as at the compound.” The idea of her running out there makes me uneasy, even with all the security measures and no obvious threat in sight. If anything were to happen to her . . .
“Julian, please.” Nora begins to look upset. “I’m just going to run here, in Palos Park. I won’t go far, but I can’t stay cooped up in this house for two weeks—”
“I’ll go with you.” I get up and walk over to the closet to find a pair of running shorts. “Get dressed. We should hurry. I’m guessing Rosa is already preparing breakfast.”
* * *
We start the run with an easy jog to warm up. It’s a brisk sixty degrees out, but moving keeps me from feeling the chill, even though I’m not wearing a shirt. I debate having Nora put on more layers, but she looks comfortable in her cropped leggings and a T-shirt, so I decide to let it slide.
As we exit our driveway and turn onto the street, I keep a careful eye on neighbors’ cars pulling out of their garages and people stepping out for their own morning run. Being around so many strangers makes me uneasy. My men are strategically positioned all around the community, so I know we’re safe, but I can’t help watching for signs of danger.
“You know nobody’s going to jump at us from the bushes, right?” Nora says, obviously noticing my preoccupation with our surroundings. “It’s not that kind of neighborhood.”
I glance at her. “I know. I vetted it.”
She smiles and picks up speed. “Of course you did.”
I match her pace, and we run at a fast clip for the next several blocks. A light sheen of perspiration appears on Nora’s face, making her golden skin glow, and I find myself increasingly distracted by the sight of her. She always looks sexy when she runs, her petite body athletic and feminine at the same time. The tight, round muscles of her ass bunch and flex with every step she takes, and I can’t help picturing my hands squeezing those globes as I slam my cock into her.
Fuck. At this rate, I’m going to need another cold shower.
“What are you doing after breakfast?” Nora asks breathlessly as we pass a jogging couple. “Do you have some work to do?”
“I have that meeting with my portfolio manager in the city,” I reply, trying to control the urge to turn and glare at the male jogger. The fucker eyed Nora a bit too appreciatively when we ran past him. “I’ll be back before dinner.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She’s beginning to pant as she speaks. “I want to get a haircut today, and maybe meet with Leah and Jennie.”
“What?” I turn my head to stare at her as we round the corner. “Where exactly are you planning to do these things?”
“At the Chicago Ridge Mall. I messaged Leah and Jennie last week, letting them know I’d be in town, and they said they were going to come in today and stay for the long Memorial Day weekend.” She says it all in one long breath, then gulps in more air and gives me an imploring look. “You don’t mind if I see them, right? I haven’t seen Jennie in two years, and Leah—” She abruptly falls silent, and I know it’s because she was going to say she saw Leah the last time she was in that cursed mall, when Peter let her act as bait for Al-Quadar. My pet doesn’t realize I already know about that meeting—and about Jake’s presence that day.
“You’re not going to that mall.” I know I sound harsh, but I can’t help it. Just the thought of her wandering around that place by herself is enough to make me see red. “It’s too crowded to be safe.”
“But—”
“If you want to meet with your friends, you can do so here at the house or at some restaurant in Oak Lawn—after I make sure it’s secure.”
Nora’s lips tighten, but she wisely doesn’t voice any objections. She knows this is as far as she can push me. “Okay, I’ll ask them to meet me at Fish-of-the-Sea,” she says after a minute. “What about my haircut?”
I eye the long, thick ponytail hanging down her back. It looks beautiful to me, especially with the end swinging back and forth over her shapely ass. “Why do you need one?”
“Because”—she pants as we pick up the pace—“I haven’t had so much as a trim in two years.”
“So?” I still don’t see the problem. “I like your hair long.”
“You are such a guy.” She can barely speak but somehow manages to roll her eyes. “I need to shape this mess. It’s driving me crazy.”
“I don’t want you cutting it short.” I don’t know why I care all of a sudden, but I do. “If you trim it, don’t take off more than a couple of inches.”
Nora gives me an incredulous look as we stop to let a car pull out of the driveway in front of us. “Really? Why?”
“I told you. I like it long.”
She rolls her eyes again as we resume running. “Yeah, okay. I wasn’t going to shave it off or anything. I just want to get some layers put in.”
“No more than a couple of inches,” I repeat, giving her a hard look.
“Uh-huh, sure.” I get the impression she’s doing a third eye-roll in her head. “So I’ll go for the haircut then?”
“Not at the Chicago Ridge Mall. Find a quiet place nearby, and I’ll have my men secure it.”
“Okay,” she gasps as we begin a full-out sprint. “It’s a deal.”
* * *
Before I leave for the city, I make sure Nora is fully set with her plans for the day. I assign a dozen of my best men to be her security detail and give them orders to be as unobtrusive as possible. She probably won’t even notice their presence, but they’ll make sure nobody suspicious gets within three hundred feet of her.
“I’ll be fine,” she says when I hesitate in the hallway before leaving the house. “Really, Julian. It’s just a haircut and lunch with the girls. I promise everything will be all right.”
I take a deep breath and release it. She’s right. I’m being paranoid at this point. The precautions I’m taking are the best way to keep her safe outside the compound. Of course, I could always keep her inside the compound for the rest of her life—that would be optimal for my peace of mind—but Nora wouldn’t be happy that way, and her happiness matters to me.
It matters far more than I would’ve ever expected.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, still reluctant to go for some reason. “Any nausea? Tiredness?” I glance at her stomach—a stomach that’s still flat in the tight jeans she’s wearing.
“No, nothing.” She gives me a reassuring smile when I look up to meet her gaze. “Not even a hint of nausea. I’m as healthy as a horse.”
“All right then.” Stepping toward her, I lift my hand to lightly stroke her cheek. “Be careful, baby, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, looking up at me. “You too, Julian. Stay safe, and I’ll see you soon.”
And before I can step away, she rises up on her tiptoes and plants a brief, burning kiss on my lips.
Chapter 19
Nora
“Rosa, are you sure you don’t want to go with me?”
“No, no, I told you—I have a lot to do before dinner. Señor Esguerra is trusting me to impress your family with this meal, and I don’t want to disappoint him. You go ahead, have fun catching up with your friends.” Rosa practically shoos me out of the enormous kitchen. “Go, or you’ll be late for your hair appointment.”
“All right, if you’re sure.” Shaking my head at Rosa’s stubborn sense of duty, I head to the main entrance, where a car is already waiting for me. Thankfully, it’s not the limo, but a regular-sized black Mercedes. I won’t stand out too much, though this car, like the limo, also looks to be equipped
with bulletproof glass.
The driver is a tall, thin man I’ve seen around the estate, but never spoken to. Julian told me this morning that his name is Thomas. Thomas doesn’t introduce himself or say much this time either, all his attention focused on the road. As we leave the driveway, I see two black SUVs pull out behind us and follow us at some distance. It makes me feel like I’m the First Lady—or maybe a mafia princess.
The latter is probably a better comparison.
It takes less than a half hour to get to the hair salon. It’s not an upscale place, but it has a good reputation in the area, and most importantly, Julian deemed its location easy to secure. I hadn’t expected to get an appointment so easily, but they’d had a cancellation this morning and were thus able to fit me in at eleven.
“Just a little trim, please,” I request after a tattooed, purple-haired lady shampoos my hair and leads me to one of the cutting stations. “No more than a couple of inches.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Look at how thick it is. You should at least get some layers put in.”
I frown, studying my reflection in the mirror. “Will it still be long?”
“Of course. You won’t lose any of the length—it’ll just be shaped nicely. The shortest layers, those around your face, will be well below your shoulders.”
“In that case, go for it.” I try to sound decisive, even though I feel nothing of the kind. It’s hard to disobey Julian, even in this small thing, and that makes me determined to do so. “Let’s layer up this mess.”
As the hairstylist bustles around me, tugging and snipping at my hair, I watch the other people in the salon. After weeks of isolation on the estate, it feels odd to be among so many strangers. Nobody is paying me much attention, but I still feel uncomfortably exposed, as though everyone is staring at me. I’m also somewhat anxious. I know nobody here means me any harm, so the feeling is illogical, but some of Julian’s paranoia is rubbing off on me.
