But he doesn’t touch my clit. Instead his hand releases my hair and slides down to my neck. Then he grips my throat, forcing me to rise up so that I’m standing on my knees, my back slightly arched. My eyes pop open and my hands automatically fly up, clutching at his strangling fingers, but there’s nothing I can do to loosen his hold. In this position, he’s even deeper inside me, and I can barely breathe, my heart beginning to pound with a new, unfamiliar fear.
He leans forward then, and I can feel his lips brushing against my ear. “You are mine for the rest of your life,” he whispers harshly, the warmth of his breath making my skin prickle with goosebumps. “Do you understand me, Nora? All of you—your pussy, your asshole, your fucking inner thoughts . . . It’s all mine to use and abuse as I will. I own you, inside and out, in every way possible . . .” His sharp teeth sink into my earlobe, causing me to gasp at the sudden pain. “Do you understand me?” There is a dark note in his voice that scares me. This is new—he’s never done this to me before—and my pulse soars sky-high as his fingers tighten around my throat, slowly but inexorably cutting off my air supply.
Rising panic sends adrenaline surging through my veins. “Yes . . .” I manage to rasp out, my fingers now clawing at his hand, trying to pry it away. To my horror, I start seeing stars, the room blurring and going dark in front of my eyes. Surely he doesn’t mean to kill me . . . Surely he doesn’t mean to kill me . . . I am terrified, yet for some strange reason, my sex throbs and electric shivers run over my skin as my arousal spirals inexorably higher.
“Good. Now tell me . . . whose wife are you?” His fingers tighten further, and the stars go supernova as my brain struggles to get enough oxygen. My body is on the brink of suffocation, yet it’s more alive in this moment than it’s ever been, every sensation sharpened and refined. The burning thickness of his cock inside my ass, the heat of his breath on my temple, the pulsing of my engorged clit—it’s too much and not enough at the same time. I want to scream and struggle, but I can’t move, can’t breathe . . . and as if from far away, I hear Julian demanding again, “Whose?”
Right before I pass out, his grip on my throat eases, and I choke out, “Yours” . . . even as my body convulses in a paroxysm of agonized ecstasy, the orgasm sudden and startlingly intense as much-needed oxygen rushes into my lungs.
Frantically gulping in air, I slump against him, trembling all over. I can’t believe I came like this, without Julian touching my sex at all.
I can’t believe I came while being afraid of dying.
After a moment, I become conscious of his lips grazing my sweat-dampened cheek. “Yes,” he murmurs, his hand now gently stroking my throat, “that’s right, baby . . .” He’s still buried inside me, his hard cock splitting me apart, invading me. “And what’s your name?”
“Nora,” I gasp out hoarsely, quivering as his fingers trail down from my neck to my breasts. I’m still wearing my sports bra, and his hand burrows under the tight material, cupping my breast.
“Nora what?” he persists, his fingers pinching my nipple. It’s erect and sensitive from my orgasm, and his touch sends a fresh ripple of heat down to my core. “Nora what?”
“Nora Esguerra,” I whisper, closing my eyes. It’s a fact I will never forget now—and as Julian resumes fucking me again, I know that Nora Leston will never exist again.
She is gone for good.
Part II: The Estate
Chapter 11
Nora
Over the next couple of weeks, I slowly acclimate to my new home. The estate is a fascinating place, and I spend much of my time exploring it and meeting its inhabitants.
Besides the guards, there are a few dozen people living here, some by themselves, others with their families. They all work for Julian in one capacity or another, from the oldest generation to the youngest. Some—like Ana and Rosa—take care of the house and the grounds, while others are involved in Julian’s business. He may have only recently returned to the compound, but many of his employees have lived here since the time when Juan Esguerra—Julian’s father—reigned as one of the most powerful drug lords in the country. To an American like myself, such loyalty to an employer is unfathomable.
“They’re well paid, provided with free housing, and your husband even hired a teacher for their children a few years ago,” Rosa explains when I ask her about this unusual phenomenon. “He might not have been here much in person, but he’s always been good at taking care of his people. They’re all free to leave if they want, but they know they’re unlikely to find anything better. Besides, here they’re protected, but out there, they and their families are fair game for nosy policemen or anyone else seeking information on the Esguerra organization.” Giving me a wry smile, she adds, “My mother says that once you’re a part of this life, you’re always a part of this life. There’s no going back.”