I shudder with perverse arousal, my nails digging into his chest as the tight ring of muscle gives in to the merciless pressure. The burning invasion is agonizing, my insides roiling as he pushes in deeper and deeper. It’s been months since he’s taken me like this, and my body’s forgotten how to handle this, how to relax into the overly full sensation. Squeezing my eyelids shut, I attempt to breathe through it, to remain strong, but tears, stupid, betraying tears, come anyway, trickling out from the corners of my eyes.

It’s not the pain that makes me cry, though, or my body’s twisted response to it.

It’s the knowledge that my punishment isn’t over, that Julian still hasn’t forgiven me.

That he may never forgive me.

“Do you hate me?” The question escapes before I can hold it back. I don’t want to know, but at the same time, I can’t bear to keep silent. Opening my eyes, I stare at the dark figure above me. “Julian, do you hate me?”

He stills, his cock lodged deep within me. “Hate you?” His big body tenses, his lust-roughened voice filling with disbelief. “What the fuck, Nora? Why would I hate you?”

“Because I miscarried.” My voice quavers. “Because our child died because of me.”

For a second, he doesn’t respond, and then, with a low curse, he pulls out, making me gasp in pain.

“Fuck!” He releases me, moving back on the bed. The sudden absence of his heat and his heavy weight over me is startling, as is the light from the bedside lamp he turns on. It takes a moment before my eyes adjust to the brightness and I make out the expression on his face.

“You think I blame you for what happened?” he asks hoarsely, sitting back on his haunches. His eyes burn with intensity as he stares at me, his cock still fully erect. “You think it was somehow your fault?”

“Of course it was.” I sit up, feeling the stinging soreness deep inside, where he was just buried. “I’m the one who wanted to go to Chicago, to go to that club. If not for me, none of this would’ve—”

“Stop.” His harsh command vibrates through me even as his features contort with something resembling pain. “Just stop, baby, please.”

I fall silent, staring at him in confusion. Wasn’t that what this whole scene was about? My punishment for disappointing him? For endangering myself and our child?

Still holding my gaze, he takes a deep breath and moves toward me. “Nora, my pet…” He takes my face in his large palms. “How could you possibly think that I hate you?”

I swallow. “I’m hoping you don’t, but I know you’re angry—”

“You think I’m angry because you wanted to see your parents? To go out dancing and have fun?” His nostrils flare. “Fuck, Nora, if the miscarriage is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have let you go to that bathroom on your own—”