Keep Me (15 page)

When my heart no longer feels like it’s about to explode, I carefully withdraw from her ass and pull the dildo from her pussy. She lies there limp and pliant, small sobs still shaking her frame as I unlock the handcuffs and massage her delicate wrists. Next, I untie the blindfold, sliding it out from under her. The silky piece of cloth is drenched from Nora’s tears, and as I gently turn her over, I see wet streaks on her blanket-creased cheeks. She blinks at me, squinting against the bright light, and I reach for her nipples, releasing first one, then the other from the clamps. She doesn’t react for a moment, but then her entire body jolts as blood rushes back to the abused buds. A moan escapes her throat, and fresh tears well up in her eyes as her hands go up to cover her breasts, cradling them protectively against the pain.

“Shh,” I soothe, leaning down to kiss her. Her lips taste salty from her tears, and a tiny flame of arousal reignites within me. My cock, now flaccid, twitches, her pain and tears turning me on despite my extreme satiation.
I’m not up for round two quite yet, though, and instead of deepening the kiss, I reluctantly lift my head and gaze down at her.

She stares up at me, her eyes slightly unfocused, and I know she’s still recovering from the intensity of the experience I put her through. In this moment, she’s utterly defenseless, both mind and body unshielded, and I use her weakened state to press my advantage. “Tell me how you feel now,” I murmur, raising one hand to tenderly caress her jaw. “Tell me, baby.”

She closes her eyes, and I see a single tear roll down her cheek. “I feel . . . empty and full at the same time, destroyed, yet replenished,” she whispers, her words barely audible. “I feel like you shredded me into pieces and then remade those pieces into something else, something that’s no longer me . . . something that belongs to you . . .”

“Yes.” I absorb her words hungrily. “And what else?”

She opens her eyes, meeting my gaze, and I see a strange sort of hopelessness etched into her face. “And I love you,” she says quietly. “I love you even though I see you for what you are—even though I know what you’re doing to me. I love you because I’m no longer capable of
not
loving you . . . because you’re now part of me, for better or for worse.”

I hold her gaze, the dark empty corners of my soul sucking in her words like a desert plant takes in water. Her love may not be freely given, but it’s mine. It will always be mine. “And you are part of
me
, Nora,” I admit, my voice low and unusually hoarse. This is the closest I can come to telling her how much she means to me, how deep my longing for her runs. “I hope you know that, my pet.”

And before she can respond, I kiss her again, then slide my arms under her body, pick her up, and carry her to the bathroom to wash up.

The week before Julian’s departure is bittersweet. I still have not entirely forgiven him for the forced tracker implants—or for the bracelet embedded with yet another tracker he made me start wearing a couple of days later. Nevertheless, ever since Julian’s words that evening, I’ve been feeling infinitely better.

I know what he said is not exactly a declaration of undying love, but from a man like Julian, it might as well be. Ana is right: Julian lost everyone who has ever mattered to him. Everyone except me, that is. The fact that he clings to me with such brutal possessiveness may be overwhelming at times, but it’s also an indication of his feelings.

His love for me is wrong and perverse in many ways, but it’s no less real because of that.

Of course, knowing this makes my fear for Julian’s safety on the upcoming trip even more intense. As his departure time approaches, my joy over his confession fades, and anxiety takes its place.

I don’t want Julian to leave. Every time I think of him going on this mission, I’m gripped by a suffocating sense of dread. I know there is an irrational component to my fear, but that doesn’t lessen it in any way. Aside from the very real danger Julian will face, I’m simply afraid to be alone. We’ve spent so little time apart in the past couple of months that the thought of being without him for even a few days makes me feel deeply stressed and uneasy.

It doesn’t help that I have exams and papers galore, or that my parents have been steadily pressuring me to come for a visit—something that Julian won’t allow until the Al-Quadar threat is fully contained.

“You can’t leave the estate, but they can come visit us here if you’d like,” he tells me during shooting practice one afternoon. “I would advise against it, though. Right now your parents are more or less off the radar, but the more contact I appear to have with your family, the more danger they’ll be in. It’s up to you, though. Just say the word, and I’ll send a plane for them.”

“No, that’s okay,” I say hastily. “I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to them.” And raising my gun, I start shooting at the beer cans on the far edge of the field, letting the now-familiar jolt of the weapon take away some of my frustration.

I realized that my parents are in danger a couple of days after we came to the estate. To my relief, Julian told me that he’d already put a discreet security detail on them—highly trained bodyguards whose job is to protect my family while letting them go about their lives. The alternative, he explained, is to bring them to the estate with us—a solution that my parents rejected as soon as I brought it up.

“What? We’re not moving to Colombia to live with an illegal arms dealer!” my dad exclaimed when I told him about the potential danger. “Who does that bastard think he is? I just got a new job—not to mention, we can’t leave all of our friends and relatives!”

And that was as far as that got. I can’t say I blame my parents for not wanting to move halfway across the world to be with me in my abductor’s compound. They’re still young, both in their early forties, and they’ve always led active, busy lives. My dad plays lacrosse nearly every weekend, and my mom has a group of girlfriends who get together for wine and gossip on a regular basis. My parents are also still very much in love with each other, with my dad constantly surprising my mom with little gifts of flowers, chocolate, or a dinner out. Growing up, I had no doubt that they both loved me, but I also knew that I wasn’t the absolute epicenter of their lives.

No, if what Julian says is true—and I’m inclined to trust him on this—it’s best if my parents don’t appear to have too close of a connection to the Esguerra organization.

Their ability to lead a normal life depends on it.

* * *

On the night before Julian is scheduled to leave, I ask Ana to prepare a special dinner for us. I recently discovered that Julian has a weakness for tiramisu, so that is our dessert for tonight. For the main course, Ana makes lasagna the same way that Julian’s mother used to make it. The housekeeper told me it was his favorite dish when he was a boy.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like a good meal will suddenly convince Julian to forego the cruel pleasure of getting his hands on Majid. I know my husband well enough to understand that nothing can dissuade him from that. Julian is used to danger. I think he even craves it to some extent. I’m not foolish enough to think that I can domesticate him with one dinner.

Still, I want this evening to be special. I need it to be special. I don’t want to think about terrorists and torture, abduction and mind fuckery. For just one night, I want to pretend that we’re a regular couple, that I’m simply a wife who wants to do something nice for her husband.

Before dinner, I take a shower and blow-dry my long brown hair until it’s smooth and shiny. I even apply a little eyeshadow and lipgloss. I don’t normally put this much effort into my appearance, since Julian is already insatiable as is, but tonight I want to look extra pretty for him. My dress for the evening is a strapless little number, ivory with a black trim at the waist, and my shoes are sexy black peep-toe pumps. Underneath, I’m wearing a black strapless pushup bra and a matching thong, the most wicked lingerie set I have in my wardrobe.

I’m going to seduce Julian tonight, for no other reason other than because I want to.

He gets delayed by some last-minute logistics, so I end up waiting for him at the candle-lit dinner table for a few minutes, anxiety and excitement battling for supremacy in my chest. Anxiety because I feel sick thinking about tomorrow, and excitement because I can’t wait to spend time with Julian.

When he finally walks into the room, I stand up to greet him, and his gaze fastens on me with breathtaking intensity. Stopping a few feet away, he runs his eyes over my body. When he lifts his eyes back to my face, the fire that burns in the blue depths sends an electric tingle straight to my core. A slow, sensual smile curls his lips as he says softly, “You look gorgeous, my pet . . . Absolutely gorgeous.”

A flush of pleasure warms my skin at the compliment. “Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes glued to his face. He changed for dinner as well, putting on a light blue polo shirt and a pair of gray khaki pants that fit his tall, broad-shouldered body like they were made for him. With his dark, lustrous hair back to its former length, Julian can easily pass for a model or a movie star vacationing on a golf resort. My voice sounds breathless as I say, “You look pretty amazing yourself.”

His smile widens as he approaches the table and stops in front of me. “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs, his strong fingers curving around my bare shoulders as he lowers his head and captures my mouth in a deep, yet incredibly tender kiss. I melt on the spot, my neck arching back under the hungry pressure of his lips, and it’s not until Ana pointedly clears her throat behind us that I regain my senses enough to realize that we’re not in our own bedroom. Embarrassed, I push him away, and Julian lets me, releasing me and stepping back with a smile.

“Dinner first, I guess,” he says wryly and, walking around the table, takes a seat across from me.

Ana, her cheeks slightly red, serves us lasagna, pours us each a glass of wine, and disappears before I have a chance to do more than say a quick thank-you.

“Lasagna . . .” Julian sniffs appreciatively at the food. “I can’t remember the last time I had this.”

“Ana told me your mother used to make it for you when you were little,” I say softly, watching as he takes the first bite. “I hope you still like it.”

His eyes lift from his plate, his gaze locking on mine as he chews the food. “You arranged this?” he asks after he swallows, and there is a strange note in his voice. He gestures toward the wine and the candles burning on the outer edges of the table. “It wasn’t Ana who set all of this up?”

“Well, she did all the work,” I admit. “I merely asked her for a few things. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? No, of course not.” His voice still sounds a bit odd, but he doesn’t question me further. Instead he begins to eat in earnest, and the conversation turns to my upcoming exams.

After we’re done with the lasagna, Ana brings out the dessert. It looks as rich and scrumptious as any I’ve seen in an Italian restaurant, and I watch Julian’s reaction as Ana places it on the table in front of him.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. Instead he gives Ana a warm smile and thanks her for the efforts. It’s not until she leaves the room that he turns to look at me. “A tiramisu?” he says softly, his eyes reflecting the dancing light from the candles. “Why, Nora?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze unusually thoughtful as it lingers on my face, and I wait for him to press further. But he doesn’t. Instead he picks up his fork. “Why not indeed,” he murmurs and turns his attention to the mouthwatering dessert.

I follow his lead, and soon our plates are all but licked clean.

* * *

When we get upstairs, Julian leads me to the bed. Instead of undressing me right away, however, he captures my face between his palms. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, baby,” he whispers, his eyes dark with some indefinable emotion.

I smile up at him, my hands coming up to rest on his waist. “Of course . . .” My heart feels like it’s about to overflow with happiness. “It’s my pleasure.”

He looks as though he’s about to say something else, but then he just slants his mouth across mine and begins to kiss me with deep, almost desperate passion. My eyes drift shut as pleasure spirals through me. His lips are unbelievably soft, his tongue skillfully caressing mine, and the rich, dark taste of him makes my head spin. As we kiss, his hands slide around my back, pressing me closer to him. The hardness of his erection against my belly sends a spear of heat straight to the center of my sex, and I clutch at his sides, my knees weakening as his lips wander from my mouth to my earlobe and then down to my neck.

“You are so fucking hot,” he mutters thickly. His breath almost burns my sensitive skin, and I moan, my head falling back as he arches me over his arm to nibble at the tender area just above my collarbone. My nipples tighten, and my sex begins to ache with the familiar pulsing tension as Julian licks my skin, then blows cool air over the wet spot, sending erotic chills all over my body.

Before I can recover, he tugs me upright, spinning me around so that I’m standing with my back to him. Then his hands are on the back of my dress, pulling down the zipper. The little dress falls to the floor, leaving me wearing nothing but my black heels, push-up bra, and thong.

Julian sucks in an audible breath, and I turn around, giving him a slow, teasing smile. “You like?” I murmur, taking a couple of steps back to give him a better view. The expression on his face makes my pulse quicken with excitement. He’s looking at me like a starving man looks at a piece of cake, with agonized longing and naked lust. His eyes say that he wants to devour me and savor me at the same time . . . that I’m the hottest woman he’s ever seen in his life.

Instead of answering, he steps toward me and reaches behind my back to unhook my bra. As soon as my breasts are free, he covers them with his warm palms, his thumbs rasping across my hardened nipples. “You are fucking exquisite,” he whispers roughly, staring down at me, and I draw in a shaky breath, his words and the touch of his hands making my insides quiver. “You’re all I can think about, Nora . . . all I can focus on . . .”

His confession turns my bones to jelly. The knowledge that I have this effect on him—that this powerful, dangerous man is just as consumed by me as I am by him—makes my heart pound in a wild, erratic rhythm. Regardless of how it all began, Julian is now mine, and I want him as much as he wants me.

Emboldened, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head down toward me. As our lips meet, I put everything I have into that kiss, letting him feel how much I need him, how much I love him. My hands slide into his thick, silky hair as his arms close around my back, pressing me against him, and my peaked nipples rub against the ribbed cotton of his shirt, reminding me of the tantalizing contrast between my near-nakedness and his clothed state. His hard erection pushes into my belly, and the heat within me spikes as our mouths mesh in a symphony of lust, coming together with explosive yearning.

I’m not sure how we end up on the bed, but I find myself there, my hands frantically tearing at Julian’s clothes as he rains hot kisses on my chest and stomach. His hand closes around my thong, ripping it off with a single motion, and then his fingers push into my opening, two big fingers penetrating me with a roughness that makes me gasp and arch against him. “You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, thrusting his fingers deeper into me before pulling them out and bringing them to my face. “Taste how much you want me.”

Unbearably aroused, I close my lips around his fingers, sucking them into my mouth. They’re coated with my moisture, but the taste doesn’t repel me. If anything, it turns me on, makes me burn even hotter. Julian groans as I suck on his fingers, swirling my tongue around them as if they were his cock, and then he pulls his hand away. Rearing up, he pulls his shirt over his head with a single motion, exposing the rippling muscles underneath. His pants are next, and I catch a brief glimpse of his erection before he climbs on top of me, his powerful hands grabbing my wrists and pinning them next to my shoulders. Then his eyes lock on mine, and he pushes my thighs apart with his knees, pressing the head of his cock against my opening.

My heart thrumming with anticipation, I hold his gaze. His face is taut with lust, his jaw clenched tight as he slowly penetrates me. I expected him to take me roughly, but he’s careful tonight, working his thick cock into me with a deliberateness that’s both arousing and frustrating. There’s no pain as my body stretches to accept him, only pleasurable fullness, but some sick part of me now wants the roughness, the violence.

“Julian . . .” I run my tongue over my lips. “I want you to fuck me.
Really
fuck me.” To emphasize my request, I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him all the way into me. We both groan at the intense sensation, and I see his pupils dilating until only a thin rim of blue remains around the black circle.