“Yes, you will be.” His voice takes on a hard, commanding tone as his hand moves down to grip my throat. “Look at me, Nora. Now.”

Unable to do anything else, I obey, meeting his gaze with my own. His eye glitters a bright, fierce blue. As I look at him, my breathing begins to slow, my sobs easing and my desperate panic fading. I am still crying, but silently now, more as a reflex than anything else.

“Okay, good,” Julian says in that same harsh tone. “Now you’re going to ride me—and you will not think of whatever got you so upset. Do you understand me?”

I nod, his instructions calming me further. As my anxiety melts away, other sensations start to creep in. I become aware of the clean, familiar scent of his body, the crisp feel of his leg hair pressing against my calves…

The way his cock feels inside me, warm, thick, and hard.

My body responds again, further distracting me from my panic. Taking a deep breath, I begin to move, rising up and then lowering myself onto his shaft, my core growing wet and soft as pleasure starts to curl low in my belly.

“Yes, just like that, baby,” Julian murmurs, his hand sliding down my body to press against my clit, intensifying the tension growing inside me. “Fuck me. Ride me. Use me to forget your demons.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I will.” And keeping my eyes on his face, I pick up the pace, letting the physical pleasure carry me away from all the darkness, the inferno of our passion burning away the memories of icy horror within.

When we come, it’s within seconds of each other, our bodies as attuned to each other as our souls.

That evening I go to sleep in Julian’s bed, not my own. The doctors okayed it after cautioning me not to jostle his ribs or face during the night.

I lie on his right, my head pillowed on his uninjured shoulder. I should be asleep, but I’m not. My mind is buzzing, humming like a beehive. A million thoughts are running through my head, my emotions oscillating from elation to sadness.

We’re both alive and more or less intact. We’re together again, having both survived against all odds. I no longer have any doubts that in some fucked-up way, we’re meant to be. For better or worse, we fit each other now, our twisted, damaged parts locking together like a jigsaw puzzle.

I have no idea what the future holds, whether things can ever truly be all right again. I still need to convince Julian to honor my promise to Peter—and I need to ask the doctors for a morning-after pill, given the fact that neither one of us remembered to use protection earlier today. I don’t know if it’s possible to get pregnant so quickly after losing the implant, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. The possibility of a child—of a helpless baby subjected to our kind of life—horrifies me now more than ever.