To my surprise, Julian doesn’t fall on me right away. Instead he releases my arm and looks at me, his sensuous mouth twisted into a cold, slightly cruel smile. “Why don’t you show me what you learned in those self-defense classes of yours, my pet?” he says softly. “Let’s see some of the moves they taught you.”

I stare at him, my heart climbing into my throat as I realize what Julian wants. He wants me to fight him, to resist—even though it won’t change the outcome.

Even though it’ll only make me feel helpless and defeated when I lose.

“Why?” I ask in desperation, trying to put off the inevitable. I know Julian is just toying with me, but I don’t want to play this game, not after everything that has occurred between us. I want to forget those early days on the island, not relive them in this twisted way.

“Why not?” He begins to circle around me, causing my anxiety to spike. “Isn’t that why you took those classes, so you could protect yourself from men like me? Men who want to take you, to abuse you?”

My breathing accelerates further, adrenaline flooding my system as an involuntary fight-or-flight response kicks in. Instinctively I turn, trying to keep him in sight at all times, as if he were a dangerous predator—because he is one right now.

A beautiful, deadly predator who is intent on me as his prey.

“Go ahead, Nora,” he murmurs, stopping so that my back is against the wall. “Fight.”

“No.” I try not to flinch when he reaches for me, his hand closing around my wrist. “I’m not doing this, Julian. Not like this.”

His nostrils flare. He’s not used to me denying him anything, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he will do. My heart is beating painfully in my chest, and a thin trickle of sweat slides down my back as I hold his gaze. By now I know Julian wouldn’t truly harm me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t punish me for my defiance.

“All right,” he says softly. “If that’s how you want it.” And using his grip on my wrist, he twists my arm upwards, forcing me down to my knees. With his free hand, he unzips his shorts, letting his erection spring free. Then he wraps my hair around his fist and pushes my mouth toward his cock. “Suck it,” he orders roughly, staring down at me.

Relieved by the simple task, I gladly obey, closing my lips around the thick column of his sex. He tastes like salt and man, the tip of his shaft damp with pre-cum, and some of my anxiety fades, edged out by growing desire. I love pleasuring him like this, and as Julian’s grip on my wrist slackens, I use both hands to cup his balls, kneading and massaging them with firm pressure.

He groans, closing his eyes, and I begin to move my mouth back and forth, using a sucking motion to bring him deeper into my throat each time. The way he holds my hair hurts my scalp, but the discomfort only enhances my arousal. Julian was right when he said I have masochistic tendencies. Whether by nature or by nurture, I get off on pain now, my body craving the intensity of these types of sensations.