Beth doesn’t tell me anything else about Maria. In fact, she doesn’t talk to me much at all. She’s one of those rare individuals who seems happy being by herself. If I were her, I would go crazy being stuck here on this island, doing nothing but cooking, cleaning, and looking after Julian’s sex toy, but she seems perfectly fine with it.

I, on the other hand, am far from fine. I am constantly thinking about my old life, missing my family and friends. They probably think I’m dead at this point. I’m guessing there was a big search for me, but I doubt it yielded any results.

I also think about Jake, wondering if he recovered from his beating. It had looked so brutal, what Julian’s thug had done to him. Does Jake know that it was my fault? That he got attacked in his house because of me?

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that it doesn’t matter if he knows or not. Whatever Jake and I could’ve had together is over. I belong to Julian now, and there’s no point in thinking about any other man.

In a way, I am lucky. I know that. I’m sure many girls end up in far worse circumstances than me. I once saw a documentary about sexual slavery, and the images of those hollow-eyed women had haunted me for days. They’d seemed broken, completely and utterly crushed by whatever had been done to them, and even the fact that they’d been rescued didn’t seem to dispel the suffering etched into their faces.

My captivity is different. It’s much nicer, much more comfortable. Julian is not trying to break me, and I’m grateful for that. I may be his sex slave, but at least he’s my only master. Things could definitely be much worse.

Or so I tell myself as I wait for his return, desperately hoping that Julian’s reaction to my prying won’t be as bad as I fear.

Chapter 14

Julian comes back in the middle of the night. I must’ve been sleeping lightly because I wake up as soon as I hear the quiet murmur of conversation downstairs. My captor’s deeper tones are interspersed with Beth’s more feminine ones, and I have a strong suspicion I know what they’re talking about.

I sit up in bed, my heart galloping in my chest. Getting up, I quickly pull on yesterday’s clothes and run to the bathroom to freshen up. I don’t know why I care about brushing teeth right now, but I do. I want to be as awake and prepared as possible for whatever Julian decides to do to me.

Then I just sit on the bed and wait.

Finally, the door to my room opens and Julian walks in. He looks unusually tired, with dark shadows under his eyes and a hint of stubble on his normally clean-shaven face. These flaws should’ve diminished his beauty, but they only humanize him a bit, somehow enhancing his attractiveness.

“You’re awake.” He sounds surprised.

“I heard voices,” I explain, watching him warily.

“And you decided to greet me. How nice of you, my pet.”

I know he’s mocking me, so I don’t say anything, just continue looking at him. My palms are sweating, but I’m doing my best to project a calm demeanor.

He sits down on the bed next to me and lifts his hand to touch my hair. “Such a sweet pet,” he murmurs, lifting a thick strand and playfully tickling my cheek with it. “Such a curious little kitten . . .”

I swallow, my breathing fast and shallow. What is he going to do to me?

He gets up and starts to undress while I watch him, frozen in place by a mixture of fear and strange anticipation. His clothes come off, revealing the powerfully masculine body underneath, and I feel a wave of desire rolling through me, heating up my core.

I want him. Despite everything, I want him, and that’s the most screwed-up thing of all. He’s probably going to do something awful to me, but I still want him more than I could’ve ever imagined wanting anyone.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Did you do this to Maria?” I ask quietly. “Did you also keep her as your pet?”

He looks at me, his eyes as blue and mysterious as the ocean. “Are you sure you want to go there, Nora?” His voice is soft, deceptively calm.

I stare at him, feeling uncharacteristically reckless. “Why, yes, Julian, I do.” My tone is bitterly sarcastic, and I realize that part of my boldness stems from jealousy, that I hate the idea of this Maria being special to Julian. But even that realization is not enough to stop me. “Who is she? Some other girl you abused?”

His expression darkens, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he would do now. In a way, I want to provoke him. I want him to punish me, to hurt me. I want it because I need him to be nothing more than a monster—because I need to hate him for the sake of my sanity.

He walks over and sits down on the bed next to me. I fight the urge to flinch when he reaches for me and wraps his strong fingers around my neck. Gripping my throat, he leans over and brushes his cheek against mine, back and forth, as though enjoying the soft texture of my skin against the roughness of his stubble-covered jaw. His fingers don’t squeeze, but the threat is there, and I can feel myself shaking, my breathing speeding up in terrified anticipation.

He chuckles softly, and I feel the gust of air against my ear. Despite his weary appearance, his breath is fresh and sweet, as though he had just been chewing gum. I close my eyes, trying to convince myself that Julian wouldn’t really kill me, that he’s just toying with me right now.

He kisses my ear, nibbling lightly on my earlobe. His touch in that sensitive area sends pleasurable chills down my spine, and my breathing changes again, becomes slower and deeper as I get more aroused. I can smell the warm, musky scent of his skin, and my nipples tighten, reacting to his nearness. The ache between my thighs is growing, and I squirm a little, trying to relieve the pressure building inside me.

“You want me, don’t you?” he whispers in my ear, slipping his hand under the skirt of my dress and lightly stroking my sex. I know he can feel the moisture there, and I suppress a moan as one long finger pushes inside me, rubbing against my slick inner wall. “Don’t you, Nora?”

“Yes.” I gasp as he touches a particularly sensitive spot.

“Yes, what?” His voice is harsh, demanding. He wants my complete surrender.

“Yes, I want you,” I admit in a broken whisper. I can’t deny it any longer. I want Julian. I want the man who kidnapped me, who hurt me. I want him, and I hate myself for it.

He withdraws his finger then and lets go of my throat. Startled, I open my eyes and meet his gaze. He lifts his hand to my face, pressing his finger against my lips. It’s the same finger that was just inside me. “Suck it,” he orders, and I obediently open my mouth, sucking the finger in. I can taste myself, my own desire, and it makes me even more turned on.

When he’s satisfied that the finger is clean, he removes it from my mouth, grasping my chin with his hand instead, forcing me to meet his gaze. I stare up at him, mesmerized by the dark blue striations in his irises. My body is throbbing with need, desperately craving his possession. I want him to take me, to fill the aching emptiness within.

But all he does is look at me, a mocking half-smile playing on his beautiful lips. “You think I’m going to punish you tonight, Nora?” he asks softly. “Is that what you’re expecting me to do?”

I blink, startled by the question. Of course I expect him to do that. I did something that upset him, and he’s not shy about hurting me when I’m on my best behavior.

Apparently reading the answer on my face, he smiles wider. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, my pet, but I’m far too exhausted to do your punishment justice tonight. All I want right now is your mouth.” And with that, he fists his hand in my hair and pushes me down, so that I’m kneeling between his legs, his erection at my eye level.

“Suck it,” he murmurs, looking down at me. “Just like you did my finger.”

I’m no stranger to blow-jobs, having given quite a few to my ex-boyfriend, so I know what to do. I close my lips around the thick column of his shaft and swirl my tongue around the tip. He tastes a little salty, a little musky, and I look up, watching his face as I cup his balls in my hand and squeeze them lightly. He groans, his eyes closing and his hand tightening in my hair, and I continue, moving my mouth up and down on his cock, swallowing him deeper every time.

For some reason, I don’t mind pleasuring him this way. In fact, I find it strangely enjoyable. Even though it’s an illusion, I feel like he’s at my mercy at the moment, that I am the one who has the power right now. I love the helpless groans that escape his throat as I use my hands, my lips, and my tongue to bring him to the very brink of orgasm before slowing down. I love the agonized expression on his face when I take his balls into my mouth and suck on them, feeling them tightening in my mouth. I love the way he shudders when I lightly scrape my fingernails on the underside of his balls, and when he finally explodes, I love the way he grabs my head, holding me in place as he comes, his cock pulsing and throbbing in my mouth.

When he releases me, I lick my lips, cleaning off the traces of semen while looking up at him the whole time.

He stares down at me, still breathing heavily. “That was good, Nora.” His voice is low and raspy. “Very good. Who taught you to do that?”

I shrug. “It’s not like I was a nun before I met you,” I say without thinking.

His eyes narrow, and I realize that I just made a mistake. This is a man who seems to revel in the fact that he was my first, who likes the idea that I belong to him and only to him. Any references to ex-boyfriends are best kept to myself.