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Only, the squeezing doesn’t stop where it once did; pressure bears down on the sides of my neck, my pulse skittering as it becomes almost impossible to breathe. My eyes meet his, wide and uncertain, but the satisfaction ripe in his makes my blood sing.

It’s a strange sensation, willingly having your oxygen taken away, but the suffocating feeling seems to culminate to something bigger, something better, pleasure mixing with fear.

“That’s it,” he croons, making me quiver with delight, “take my cock, little one. Just like that.” When he pushes his hips flush with mine, a low groan ripping from his throat, my vision darkens at the corners and I come undone, my chest tight as my brain floats on.

I spasm around him, screaming as release floods through me, my inner walls coaxing and milking him dry. A satisfied grunt huffs out as he plasters us against the glass door, his hand falling from my throat to bracket my ribcage.

“Jesus Christ.” His breaths are harsh against my wet hair, and with his free hand he reaches behind him, shutting off the faucet.

For several minutes, neither one of us moves. We don’t speak, cocooned in the safety of silence, unwilling to be the first to shatter it.

A chill snakes up my arms, making me shiver, and he smirks, finally pulling out of me. I wince at the sudden loss, trying not to pay much attention to the chasm his absence leaves inside me, wondering how similar this will be to the last time we had sex.

“Are you okay?” he asks, setting me on my feet and taking a step back. His gaze sweeps over me, doctor mode in full effect as he assesses my body for signs of distress. A finger brushes the scar on my thigh, and he frowns, a dark look clouding his features. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I blink, glancing down at where he touches me, wiping some of the smeared blood from my skin. “I liked it.”

One brow arches, and he swallows. “Yeah?”

It’s a single syllable, spoken on the tail end of an exhale, loaded with insecurity. I can feel it, the uncertainty, and it catches me off guard for a moment to think a man as deadly and powerful as Kal might ever feel vulnerable.

Nodding, I cover his hand with my own, bringing it up to where I can feel him leaking from between my thighs. “I like anything you do to me,” I whisper, trying to level the playing field with my admission, even though it’s physically painful for me to indulge.

Still, if Kal Anderson asked me to tear my bleeding heart out of my chest and serve it to him on a silver platter, I’d do it, no questions asked. I’d probably ask him to oversee the operation, to make sure I was doing it correctly.

I just don’t think he returns the sentiment.

“You’re not on birth control,” he deadpans. It’s not a question, but a statement, and the authority with which he says it gives me pause.

“No,” I say, pushing a strand of hair from my shoulder. “Papá never even let me think about sex, let alone explore methods of preventing complications from it.”

He doesn’t say anything for several beats, during which my heart rate kicks up, pounding in my ears. I feel faint, exhausted, and, for some reason, scorned.

“I’ll set up an appointment with a friend of mine, and we’ll get you on it.”

He steps past me, pushing open the door and walking across the room to the sinks, pulling a white towel from a wall-mounted hook. His clothes drip onto the floor as he returns, holding the towel out for me, and I step into it slowly, processing his words.

“Do I get a say in whether or not I go on it?”

Wrapping the towel around me, he tucks the corner beneath my armpit, turning me to face him. “I’m not so old that I can’t recognize bodily autonomy,” he says, reaching up to cup my jaw. “I just thought it would be easier.”

I glance at the dip in his throat, studying it as I mull his words over in my brain. “If I asked you to wear condoms, you would?”

Kal’s face screws up. “Of course. I’d be missing out on the glorious sight of my cum dripping from your sweet little pussy, but I’m not a monster. As legitimate as this marriage is, I’d be insane to bring children into the mix.”

Something pinches in my chest, but I ignore it, nodding instead. “Okay. I’d... be willing to try, I think.”

“If it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.” He cradles both my cheeks in his hands, bending down to press a featherlight kiss on my lips; the act is far more gentle than I’d ever have imagined him capable of being, and it stirs something wanton in my belly.

Guiding me over to the sink, we quickly brush our teeth, and I can’t keep from staring at him in the mirror, knowing the domesticity I’m being granted is only the result of my attack, and nothing more.

It doesn’t mean anything, Elena.

Still, when I climb into bed moments later, exhaustion finally settling over me, I pull the blankets to my chin and roll on my side, watching as he grabs pajamas from his dresser and takes them back into the bathroom, returning minutes later completely changed.

He towel dries his hair, then tosses the terry cloth into a nearby hamper, walking to my side of the bed with a plastic first aid kit in hand. Flipping the top open, he carefully plucks out a packet of antibacterial ointment and a wide Band-Aid.

“Ooh,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows as my body fights sleep. “Are we going to play doctor?”

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