by Anna Zaires
“Pregnancy?” I feel like he’s speaking a foreign language. “What are you talking about?”
Goldberg sighs, looking tired. “Nora is six weeks pregnant, Julian. It looks like the morning-after pill didn’t work.”
I stare at him, stunned, and he says, “Listen, I know it’s a lot to take in. Why don’t I leave the two of you to discuss this, and I’ll answer any questions you might have in the morning? For now, the best thing for Nora would be to get some rest. Stress is not good in her condition.”
I nod, still mute with shock, and he swiftly departs, leaving me alone with Nora.
Nora, who’s sitting there like a wax doll, her face nearly as white as the robe she’s wearing.
Hot liquid spills over my hand, burning me, and I realize that I forgot about the tray I’m holding. The pain clears my mind, and I finally process the meaning of Goldberg’s words.
Nora is pregnant.
Not sick. Pregnant.
The icy fear eases, replaced by a new, entirely foreign emotion.
Placing the tray with the half-full cup of tea on the nightstand, I sit down next to my wife and wrap my hands around her small palms. “Nora.” I pull on her hands to get her to face me, and see that she’s still shellshocked, her gaze blank and distant. “Nora, baby, talk to me.”
She blinks, as if coming back to herself, and her hands jerk in my grasp. I release her and watch as she scoots back, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes lock with mine, and we stare at each other in silence as seconds tick by.
“Did you do this?” she finally asks, her voice a strained whisper. “Did you ask Dr. Goldberg to give me a placebo instead of the morning-after pill? Is the new implant in my arm a fake?”
“No.” I don’t bother being outraged at her accusation. If I’d wanted her pregnant, I might’ve considered doing something along those lines, and Nora is smart enough to know that. “No, my pet. This is as much of a shock to me as it is to you.”
She nods, and I know she believes me. There is no reason for me to lie. She’s mine to do with as I please. If I had impregnated her on purpose, I wouldn’t deny it.
“Come here,” I murmur, reaching for her. She’s stiff as I pull her closer, but I ignore her resistance. I need to hold her, to feel her in my arms. Her hair tickles my chin as I pull her onto my lap and inhale deeply, closing my eyes.
Nora is not sick.
She’s carrying my baby.
It seems surreal, unnatural. She’s tiny in my embrace, barely bigger than a child herself. Yet she’s going to be a mother—and I’m going to be a father.
A father, like the man who gave me life and molded me into what I am today.
Unbidden, an old memory comes to me.
“Catch!” He throws the ball at me, laughing. I jump for it, and my five-year-old hands close around it, snatching it from mid-air.
“I got it!” I feel so proud of myself, so full of joy. “Father, I caught it on the first try!”
“Good job, son.” He grins at me, and in that moment, I love him. His approval matters to me more than anything else in the world. I forget about the frequent bite of his belt, about all the times he yelled at me and called me worthless.
He’s my father, and in that moment, I love him.
My eyes fly open, and I stare blankly at the wall, still holding Nora. I can’t believe I ever loved that man. He’s been the subject of my hatred for so long, I’d forgotten there were those kinds of moments.
I’d forgotten there were times he made me happy.
Would I make my child happy? Or would he or she hate me? I told Nora I would make an awful father, but I have no idea if that’s the truth. For the first time, I try to imagine myself holding a newborn baby, playing with a chubby-cheeked toddler, teaching a five-year-old how to swim . . . The pictures come to me with surprising ease, filling me with an unsettling mixture of fear and longing.
With a desire for something I’ve never known.
A stifled sob startles me, and I realize that it’s Nora.
She’s crying, her slim body shaking in my arms. I can feel the wetness from her tears on my neck, and it burns me like acid.
For a moment, I had forgotten how much she doesn’t want this child.
How much she doesn’t want a child with me.
“Hush, my pet.” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I can’t help it. The unpleasant tightness in my chest is back, and with it, the irrational urge to hurt her. Fighting it, I say in a softer tone, “This is not the end of the world, believe me.”
She stills, falling silent for a moment, but then another sob racks her body. And another.
I can’t take it anymore. Her misery is like a hot knife plunging into my side—agonizing and maddening at the same time.
Thrusting my hand into her hair, I close my fist around the silky strands and pull her head back, forcing her to look up at me. Her eyes, wide and shocked, meet mine. I can see the tears sparkling on her lashes, and the sight enrages me further, awakening the beast inside.
Her lips tremble, parting as if she would speak, but I lower my head, swallowing her words with a deep, hard kiss. Lust, sharp and strong, kindles in my veins, hardening my cock and clouding my brain. I want her, and I want to punish her at the same time. I can feel her struggling against me, taste the salt from her tears, and it spurs me on, heightening the twisted hunger.
I’m not sure how we end up on the bed, with her stretched helplessly beneath me, but the clothes we’re wearing seem like an intolerable barrier, so I tear them off, feeling more animal than man. My fingers close around her wrists, transferring both of them into my left hand, and my knees push between her thighs, parting them roughly.
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.<
br />
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.
“Your persistent nightmares and panic attacks.” The doctor gives me a sympathetic look. “It’s not uncommon for pregnancy hormones to amplify anxiety, particularly in the wake of traumatic events.”
“Oh.” I stare at him. “So I’m not just overreacting to what happened?”
“You’re not,” Dr. Goldberg assures me. “Depression and anxiety can happen to pregnant women with much less provocation. You do need to take it easy and relax as much as possible, though, both for your sake and that of the baby. Acute stress during pregnancy can lead to all sorts of complications, including a miscarriage.”
“I will make sure she rests and doesn’t stress.” Julian reaches for me again, intertwining his fingers with mine. It’s as if he can’t bear not to touch me today. “What about food, drinks?”
“I’ll give you a list of what to avoid,” Dr. Goldberg says. “You probably know about alcohol and caffeine, but there are a few more things, like sushi and seafood high in mercury.”
“All right.” Julian turns his head to look at me. “Baby, would you be okay with the doctor examining you now and removing the implant?” His voice is unusually soft, his gaze filled with indefinable emotion.
“Um, sure.” I see no reason to procrastinate, and I like that Julian asked, instead of just ordering the examination in his usual autocratic manner.
“Good.” He lifts my hand—the one he’s holding—and presses a kiss to the back of my wrist before letting it go. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
I nod, and Julian quietly exits the room, closing the door behind him.
“All right, Nora.” Dr. Goldberg smiles at me, reaching for his bag and pulling out latex gloves. “Shall we begin?”
* * *
After the doctor leaves, I change into a swimsuit and go to the back porch, grabbing my Psychology textbook on the way. Pregnancy or not, I have an exam to study for, and I’m determined to do so—if for no other reason than to distract myself from the situation. My arm once again sports a tiny, Band-Aid-covered wound, and I try to ignore the faint ache there, not wanting to focus on the fact that my birth control implant is gone . . . and the reason why.
It’s strange, but the broken feeling of last night is no longer there. It’s been replaced by a kind of distant hurt. I should probably be traumatized and angry at Julian, but I’m not. Like the days right after my abduction, last night feels like it belongs to a different era, to a time before we became who we are. I know I’m playing that game with myself again—the one where I exist solely in the moment and push all the bad stuff into a separate corner of my brain—but I need that game to stay sane.
I need that game because I can’t stop loving my captor, no matter what he does.
It doesn’t help that the Julian of this morning is a far cry from the brutal savage of last night. From the moment I woke up, he’s been treating me like I’m made of crystal. Breakfast in bed followed by a foot rub, constant little kisses and affectionate gestures—if I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s feeling guilty.
Of course, I do know better. Only a thin line separates the monster of last night from the tender lover of this morning. Guilt is an emotion that’s as foreign to my husband as pity for his enemies.
When I get to the back porch, I grab a lounge chair under an umbrella and make myself comfortable. As always, the air outside is hot and humid, so thick it’s almost smothering. I don’t mind, though. I’m used to it. If it gets unbearable, I’ll jump into the pool. For now, I open my textbook and begin re-reading the chapter on neurotransmitters.
I’m only halfway through when a moving shadow makes me look up.
It’s Julian. Dressed in a pair of black swim trunks, he’s standing next to my chair, his gaze traveling over me with unabashed hunger.
I lick my lips, staring up at him. In the bright sunlight, he’s almost unbearably beautiful, the new scars somehow only adding to his stark masculinity. From his shoulders to his calves, every inch of his body is packed with lean, hard muscle. His powerful chest is dusted with dark hair, and his abs are clearly defined, with a line of hair trailing down from his navel into his shorts.
He’s stunning, more gorgeous than any man I’ve known—and I want him.
I want him despite last night, despite everything.
“How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, his voice low and husky. “Any nausea? Tiredness?”
“No.” I sit up, swinging my feet to the ground, and put down the textbook. “I’m okay today.”
Julian sits down next to me and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Good,” he says softly. “I’m glad.”
“Did you come out for a swim?” I try to ignore the warmth pooling between my thighs at his touch. “I thought you would go to your office.”
“I did, just for a few minutes, but I’m takin
g the rest of the day off.”
“Really?” Julian’s days off are so rare they’re practically nonexistent. “Why?”
He gives me a wry smile. “I couldn’t focus.”
“Oh.” I regard him cautiously. “Do you want to go for a swim then? I was thinking of diving in after I finished this chapter, but I can go now.”
“Sure.” Julian rises to his feet and offers me his hand. “Let’s go.”
I place my hand in his and let him lead me to the pool. As we approach the water, he suddenly bends down, slides his arm under my knees, and picks me up.
Startled, I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Julian! Don’t throw me in! I like to walk in slowly—”
“I wouldn’t throw you in, my pet,” he murmurs, holding me as he descends into the pool. His eyes gleam with unexpected humor. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”
“Um, do I have to answer that?” I can’t believe I’m in the mood to tease him, but I feel ridiculously lighthearted all of a sudden. Some weird hormonal fluctuation, no doubt, but I don’t mind. I’ll take lighthearted over depressed any day of the week.
“You do have to answer,” he says, a wicked grin appearing on his face. The water is now up to his waist, and he stops, holding me against his chest. “Or else . . .”
“Or else what?”
“This.” Julian lowers me a few inches, letting my dangling feet touch the water. He tries for a menacing scowl, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitching with a suppressed smile.
“Are you threatening me with a dunking, sir?” Wiggling my right foot in the water, I give him a look of mock reproof. “I thought we just established that you wouldn’t throw me in?”
“Who said anything about throwing?” He steps further into the pool, letting the water creep higher up my calves. His fake scowl disappears, edged out by a darkly sensual smile. “There are other ways to deal with naughty girls.”