“Then when?” I force myself to hold his gaze. “When I have an infant to care for? Or a toddler? How about when the child is full-grown? Do you think it’ll be safe for me to go then?”

Julian’s lips thin into a hard, dangerous line. Backing me up against the shower wall, he grasps my wrists and pins them above my head. “Don’t push me, my pet,” he murmurs, his erection pressing into my stomach. “You won’t like the consequences.”

Despite my determination, a tendril of fear coils in my chest. I know Julian won’t hurt me right now, but physical punishment is not the only weapon in my husband’s arsenal. Images of Jake’s brutal beating flash through my mind, bringing with them a sickening chill.

“Don’t,” I whisper as he leans down and brushes his lips against my ear, the tender gesture a stark contrast to the threat of his body looming over me. “Julian, don’t do this.”

He straightens, his eyes like hard blue gems. “Don’t do what?” Transferring my wrists into one of his large palms, he trails his free hand over my breasts and down my belly, his fingers grazing over my burning skin.

“Don’t—” My voice breaks, his touch making my core throb with need despite the lingering chill. “Don’t let it be like this.”

His hand comes up, his fingers catching my jaw in an inescapable grip. “Like what?” he asks, his tone deceptively even. “Like you’re mine?”

My breath catches. “I’m your wife, not your slave—”

“You’re whatever I wish you to be, my pet. I own you.” The casual cruelty of his words hits me like a blow, knocking all air out of my lungs. Something of my reaction must’ve shown because his grip on me eases, his tone softening slightly as he says, “This is your home, Nora. Here. With me. Not out there.”

“They’re my parents, Julian. My family. Just like you are my family now. I can’t spend my whole life locked in a cage for my safety. I’ll go crazy.” I can feel tears gathering behind my eyelids, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. The last thing I want is to show what an emotional mess I am these days.

Stupid pregnancy hormones.

Julian stares at me, his eyes glittering with frustration, and then, with an abrupt movement, he releases me, stepping back. Turning off the water, he steps out of the stall, grabbing a towel with barely controlled violence. His cock is still hard, and the fact that he’s not already on me is surprising, even considering his new, treat-Nora-like-glass approach.

Moving cautiously, I follow him out of the shower, my wet feet sinking into the plush softness of the bathroom mat. “Can you please—” I begin, but Julian is already stepping toward me with the towel. Wrapping it around me, he pats me dry before stepping back to grab another towel for himself.

“What does all this have to do with Yulia Tzakova?” His words stop me in my tracks as I’m about to leave the bathroom. When I turn toward him in confusion, he clarifies, “The Russian interpreter you saw yesterday. Does she have anything to do with your sudden desire to see your parents?”