I can hear Nora pleading, begging me to stop, but I can’t. The need to possess her is like a fire under my skin, burning away all rational thought. Grasping my cock with my free hand, I guide it to her opening and penetrate her in one deep thrust, taking her body as I long to claim her heart and soul.

She’s small and tight around me, her muscles clenching desperately to keep me out, but the squeezing pressure only intensifies my violent urge to fuck her. Her resistance maddens me, drives me to take her harder, to batter her with my cock as I hold her pinned under my body. Every thrust is a merciless claim, a brutal conquest of that which already belongs to me. I fuck her for what feels like hours, cognizant of nothing but the ferocious hunger seething under my skin.

It’s not until I collapse on top of her, breathing heavily from an explosive orgasm, that the fog of lust clears from my mind, and I realize what I’ve done.

Releasing her wrists, I push up onto my elbows and gaze down at her, my cock still buried inside her body. She’s lying underneath me, her eyes squeezed shut and her face pale. I can see a smear of blood on her lower lip. I either cut it with my teeth or she bit it in pain.

As I stare at her, she slowly opens her eyes, meeting my gaze . . . and for the first time in decades, I taste the bitter ashes of remorse.

Chapter 8

Nora

My mind is blank, emptied of all thought as I look at Julian. I’m vaguely aware that he’s still inside me, but that’s all I can process at the moment. I feel broken, destroyed, the raw soreness of my body amplified by the deep, stabbing pain in my soul.

I don’t know why this bout of rough sex felt so much like a violation. Why it reminded me of those early days on the island, when Julian was my cruel captor instead of the man I love. Only a couple of days ago, he tortured me with a flogger and nipple clamps, and I reveled in it, begging for more.

I begged today too, but it wasn’t for more. Sex wasn’t what I wanted—not with my heart breaking for the tiny life growing inside me.

For the innocent child conceived by two killers.

“Nora . . .” Julian’s voice is an aching whisper. The pain in it tugs at what remains of my heart. I want to hate him for hurting me, but I can’t. It’s part of his nature. It’s who he is.

It’s why any child of ours is doomed.

I hold his gaze, feeling like I’m crumbling into pieces. “Let me go, Julian. Please.”

“I can’t.” His face twists, the scars around his eye standing out in stark relief. “I can’t, Nora.”

I swallow painfully, knowing he’s not talking about our physical position. “I’m not asking that of you. Please, I just— I just need a moment.”

He withdraws from me, rolling over onto his back, and I turn away onto my side, gathering my knees to my chest. The nausea that plagued me earlier is gone, but I feel weak. Exhausted. My body aches from Julian’s hard use, and a sense of hopelessness engulfs me, adding to my growing despair.

I’m barely cognizant of Julian getting up. It’s only when he presses a warm washcloth between my legs that I realize he must’ve gone to the bathroom and returned. I don’t have the energy to move, so I lie still and let him clean the residue of sex off my thighs.

Afterwards, he pulls me into his embrace and covers us both with a blanket. As the familiar warmth of his body seeps into me, lulling me to sleep, I dream that I feel the brush of his lips against my temple and hear a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

“As I began to explain last night, this pregnancy was improbable, but not impossible,” Dr. Goldberg says as I sit down on the couch next to Julian. “The morning-after pill is ineffective about five percent of the time, and your probability of being able to conceive a few days after the removal of the old implant was also somewhere in the five-percent range, so if you do the math . . .” He shrugs, giving me a sheepish smile.

“What about the fact that Nora is still on birth control?” Julian asks, frowning. “She has a new implant in her arm—she’s had it for weeks.”

“Right.” The doctor nods. “We’ll have to remove that as soon as possible and have Nora start taking prenatal vitamins.” He pauses, then adds delicately, “That is, if you want to keep the baby.”

“We do,” Julian responds before I can process the question. “And we want to make sure the child is healthy.” He reaches for my hand and wraps his fingers around my palm, squeezing it possessively. “And Nora, of course.”

Finally comprehending Dr. Goldberg’s words, I glance at Julian. His jaw is set in hard, uncompromising lines. Abortion hadn’t occurred to me as an option, but I’m surprised Julian is so vehemently against it. He claimed not to want children, and I can’t imagine he’d be hypocritical enough to have moral or religious objections to the procedure.

“Of course,” the doctor says. “Obstetrics is not my specialty, but I can examine Nora and remove the implant, and prescribe her the appropriate vitamins. I can also recommend an excellent obstetrician who might agree to oversee Nora’s pregnancy here. I already emailed you her contact info.”

“Good.” Releasing my hand, Julian gets up, looking restless and tense. “I want the absolute best care for Nora.”

“You’ll have it,” Dr. Goldberg promises, rising to his feet as well. Turning toward me, he says, “At least this explains something.”

“Explains what?” I stand up too, uncomfortable being the only one sitting.