The only person I want affection from—no, crave affection from—is Nora, and that’s a recent development.

After the three women are done with their emotional reunion, we all head into the house. Despite the late hour, Nora and I are hungry, and we devour the meal Ana prepared for us with record speed. Then, replete and exhausted, we go upstairs to our bedroom.

A quick shower and an equally quick fuck later, I drift off to sleep with Nora’s head pillowed on my uninjured shoulder.

I’m ready for our normal life to resume.

* * *

The scream that wakes me up is bloodcurdling. Full of desperation and terror, it bounces off the walls and floods my veins with adrenaline.

I’m on my feet and off the bed before I even realize what’s happening. As the sound dies down, I grab the gun hidden in my nightstand and simultaneously hit the light switch with the back of my hand.

The nightstand lamp turns on, illuminating the room, and I see Nora huddled in the middle of the bed, shaking under the blanket.

There’s no one else in the room, no visible threat.

My racing heartbeat begins to slow. We didn’t get attacked. The scream must’ve come from Nora.

She’s having yet another nightmare.

Fuck. The urge to do violence is almost too strong to be contained. It fills every cell of my body until I’m shaking with rage, with the need to kill and destroy every motherfucker responsible for this.

Starting potentially with myself.

Turning away, I draw in several deep breaths, trying to hold back the churning fury within me. There’s no one I can lash out at here, no enemy I can crush to take the edge off my temper.

There’s only Nora, who needs me to be calm and rational.

After a few seconds pass and I’m certain I won’t hurt her, I turn back to face her and put the gun back into the nightstand drawer. Then I climb back on the bed. My ribs and shoulder ache dully, and my head throbs from my sudden movements, but that pain is nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest.

“Nora, baby . . .” Leaning over her, I pull the blanket off her naked body and place my right hand on her shoulder to shake her awake. “Wake up, my pet. It’s just a dream.” Her skin is clammy to the touch, and the whimpering noises she’s making pain me more than any of Majid’s torture. Fresh rage wells up, but I suppress it, keeping my voice low and even. “Wake up, baby. You’re dreaming. It’s not real.”

She rolls over onto her back, still shaking, and I see that her eyes are open.

Open and unseeing as she gasps for air, her chest heaving and her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

She’s not having a dream—she’s in the middle of a full-blown panic attack, likely one caused by her nightmare.

I want to throw my head back and roar out my rage, but I don’t. She needs me now, and I won’t let her down.

Not ever again.

Rising to my knees, I straddle her hips and bend down to grasp her jaw in my right hand. “Nora, look at me.” I make the words a command, my tone harsh and demanding. “Look at me, my pet. Now.”

Despite her panic, she obeys, her conditioning too strong to be denied. Her eyes flick up to meet my gaze, and I see that her pupils are dilated, her irises nearly black. She’s also hyperventilating, her mouth open as she tries to draw in enough air.

Fuck and double fuck. My first instinct is to hold her against me, to be gentle and calming, but I remember her panic attack during sex the night before and the way nothing seemed to help her then.

Nothing except violence.

So instead of murmuring useless endearments, I lean down, propping myself up on my right elbow, and take her mouth in a hard, brutal kiss, using my grip on her jaw to keep her still. My lips smash against hers, and my teeth sink into her lower lip as I roughly push my tongue inside, invading her, hurting her. The sadistic monster inside me thrills with delight at the metallic taste of her blood, while the rest of me aches at her mind’s agony.

She gasps into my mouth, but the sound is different now, more startled than desperate. I can feel her chest expanding as she draws in a full breath, and I realize that my crude method of reaching her is working, that she’s now focusing on the physical rather than the mental pain. Her fists uncurl, her hands no longer grasping at the sheets, and she stills underneath me, her body tensing with a different sort of fear.

A fear that arouses the darkest, most predatory part of me—the part that wants to subjugate and devour her.

The rage that still simmers within me adds to this hunger, mingling with it and feeding upon it until I become this need, this mindless, terrible craving. My focus narrows, sharpens, until all I’m aware of is the silky feel of her lips, flavored with blood, and the curves of her naked body, small and helpless underneath mine. My cock stiffens to a painful hardness as she grabs my right forearm with both of her hands and makes a soft, agonized sound in the back of her throat.

Suddenly, the kiss is no longer enough. I have to have all of her.

Letting go of her jaw, I push myself up with one arm, rising onto my knees. She stares up at me, her lips swollen and tinged with red. She’s still panting, her chest rising and falling in rapid tempo, but the unseeing look in her eyes is gone. She’s with me—she’s fully present—and that’s all my inner demon requires at the moment.

I climb off her in one swift motion, ignoring the pang of pain in my ribs, and reach into the bedside drawer again. Only this time, instead of a gun, I pull out a braided leather flogger.