And just when I think I can’t bear it anymore, he slides one hand under my hips and finds my swollen clit again. His fingers are gentle, his touch butterfly-soft, and I begin to feel a familiar warmth in my belly, my body responding to him despite the painful invasion. What he’s doing isn’t taking away the pain, but it’s distracting me from it, allowing me to focus on the pleasure. I never knew pleasure and pain could co-exist like that, but there’s something strangely addictive in that combination, something dark and forbidden that resonates with a part of myself I never knew existed.

His pace picks up, and somehow that makes it better. Maybe some nerve endings are desensitized by now—or maybe I’m simply getting used to having him inside me—but the pain lessens, almost disappears. All that’s left is a host of other sensations—strange, unfamiliar sensations that are intriguing in their own way. That, and the pleasure from his clever fingers playing with my sex, arousing me until I’m crying out for a different reason, until I’m begging Julian to do it, to send me over the edge again.

And he does. My entire body tightens and explodes, shuddering with the force of my release. He groans as my muscles clamp down on his shaft, and I feel the liquid warmth from his seed bathing my insides, the saltiness of it stinging my raw flesh.

“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear, his cock softening within me. He kisses my earlobe, and the tender gesture is such a contrast to what he’d just done that I feel disoriented. Is this normal kidnapper behavior? When he withdraws from me, I feel empty and cold, almost as if I’m missing the heat from his body pressing me down.

He doesn’t leave me alone for long, though. He unties my hands first and rubs them lightly, then he takes off my blindfold. I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the soft light in the room, and move my arms, bracing myself on my elbows.

“Come,” he says softly, wrapping his fingers around my upper arm. “Let’s get you into the shower.”

I let him tug me to my feet and lead me into the bathroom. My legs feel shaky, and I’m glad he’s holding me. I don’t know if I could’ve walked there by myself.

He turns on the shower, waits for the water to heat up for a few seconds, and leads us into the large stall. Then he thoroughly washes every part of my body, rinsing away all traces of lube and semen. He even shampoos and conditions my hair, his fingers massaging my skull and relaxing me again. By the time he’s done, I feel clean and cared for.

“Now it’s your turn,” he says, turning up my palm and pouring some body wash into it.

“You want me to wash you?” I say incredulously, and he nods, a small smile curving his lips. With the water running down his muscular body, he’s even more gorgeous than usual, like some kind of a sea god.