Whatever strange mood she’s in, she’s still mine in all the ways that matter.

Still kissing her, I lean forward until we’re both lying flat on the bed, with me covering her. I’m careful to handle her gently, so I don’t put any pressure on the Band-Aid-covered areas. The monster inside me may crave her pain and tears, but that desire pales in comparison to my overwhelming need to comfort her, to take away that lifeless look in her eyes.

Reining in my own lust, I set about caring for her the only way I know how. I kiss her all over, tasting her soft, warm skin as I make my way from the delicate curve of her ear down to her little toes. I massage her hands, arms, feet, legs, and back, enjoying her quiet moans of pleasure as I rub out all stiffness in her muscles. Then I bring her to orgasm with my mouth and my fingers, delaying my own release until my balls almost turn blue.

When I finally enter her body, it’s like coming home. Her hot, slick sheath welcomes me, squeezes me so tightly that I nearly explode on the spot. As I begin to move inside her, her arms close around my back, embracing me, holding me close—and then we detonate together at the end, our bodies straining together in violent, mind-shattering bliss.

17

Nora

I wake up later than usual, my head and mouth feeling like they’ve been stuffed with cotton. For a moment, I struggle to remember what happened—did I somehow have too much to drink?—but then memories of last night seep into my mind, twisting my stomach into knots and flooding me with confused despair.

Julian made love to me last night. He made love to me after violating me—after drugging me and forcing the trackers on me against my will—and I let him. No, I didn’t just let him; I reveled in his touch, allowing the blazing heat of his caresses to burn away the frozen hurt inside me, to make me forget, if only for a moment, about the ragged wound he inflicted on my heart.

I don’t know why this, out of all the horrible things Julian has done, affects me so strongly. In the grand scheme of things, putting the trackers under my skin—allegedly to keep me safe—is nothing compared to kidnapping me, beating up Jake, or blackmailing me into marriage. These trackers are not even necessarily forever. Theoretically, if I ever make it off the estate, I can go to a doctor and have the implants removed, so I may not even be stuck with them for the rest of my life. My fear yesterday definitely had an irrational component to it; I was reacting on instinct and not thinking things through.

Nonetheless, it felt like a part of me died last evening—like the prick of that syringe killed something inside me. Maybe it’s because I had begun to feel that Julian and I were growing closer, that we were becoming more like a regular couple. Or maybe because my Stockholm Syndrome—or whatever psychological issue I have—made me imagine rainbows and unicorns where there were none. Whatever the reason, Julian’s actions felt like the most agonizing betrayal. When I regained consciousness last night, I felt so devastated that I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.