Fireworks jetted to comets and comets thundered to galaxies as Q pumped harder.
He yelled, “Baiser moi.”Fuck me. He reared back, arms locking as he drove into me the hardest I’d ever taken it. Smooth balls slapped against my ass; I burned, blazed, fired from his claiming. “Take my come. Take a part of me,” he growled.
Deep inside, I felt him spurt, dousing me in warmth, marking me, while at the same time giving up a part of himself.
Shuddering, the last of his cli**x wrung him dry. He collapsed on top, uncaring about the steam-filled shower, or his ruined suit. The thrumming of his heart matched mine as we lay on the floor, unable to move.
For the first time in my life, I felt a bond. A profound connection, an intrinsic part of me belonged to him. Not just master and slave, but man and woman.
Was he the man to make my heart sing? This overbearing dom who wanted me to submit one moment, then wrapped me in cotton wool the next?
I couldn’t deny he gave me a selfish gift. My body no longer trembled from what happened. He gave me a new memory full of heart-breaking brutality. I throbbed with a residual orgasm, eerily vacant thanks to my soul-wracking cry.
Q met my eyes, and his simmering anger made me swallow. “Am I in trouble?” He looked as if he wanted to put me over his knee and spank me.
His lips twitched and he slapped the side of my ass. “Ah, esclave you’re in serious trouble. I’ll never be able to leave you alone now.”
Chapter 17
*Quail*
I expected Q to shut down and leave after our shower—too many things passed between us, and I was raw. Q avoided my eyes as he pulled out and stood, but he didn’t move to leave.
He leaned down, pulling me off the floor, before stepping out of his soaking trousers and throwing them in the bath. The wet material slapped loudly, followed by his blazer. He left his shirt on, long enough to cover h*ps but not the thick, heavy c*ck between his legs. He maintained the hair down there just like he did his head. A subtle shadow of masculinity without any of the wildness.
My body tingled. He screamed man and dynamism. I was a girl with a ceaseless past, no way enough for him, but determined to try.
He took me tonight in a mixture of compassion and anger, but I wanted more. I wanted what he promised when I first arrived. The act of taking from me, even though my body would willingly give up every part to him.
I bit my lip, remembering Q fingering me over the pool table. I’d been turned on beyond anything I could’ve imagined. Hatred for him added another dimension to an already overwhelming experience. Now, I didn’t hate him, but I still wanted to struggle.
I needed Q to take me again and again. I needed him to rule me so Brute didn’t win by making me fear sex. I belonged to Q, yet he never stepped over the line from tormentor to rapist.
I huddled into the towel, so confused.
Q stalked out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints. The cold embrace of rejection made me tremble. Was that it? He took what he wanted, then left me to fend for myself. What happened to his promise of never leaving me alone?
I couldn’t let Q cast me off. Without him, I belonged to no one. I no longer had parents or Brax. My old life was over.
Q ruined me for a monotonous grey-toned existence, eclipsing it with techno colour.
The bathroom closed in, dripping with blackness and horror-filled memories. Without Q, my skin itched with terror as demons and monsters crept from shadows.
I knew I needed to deal with my issues, to find my strength. I couldn’t use Q as a bandage to forget, but I wasn’t strong enough yet.
The sounds of opening drawers drifted into the bathroom, and Q prowled back with arms full of clothes. He placed them in the dry basin and ripped my towel off. I stood, nak*d, thrilled how his body tensed, eyes glued to my exposed figure.
“Hold up your arms,” he ordered, a large white t-shirt in his hands. I complied and he slipped the t-shirt over my head. His five o’ clock shadow rasped my cheek as he bent to tug the hem.
“Step.” He kneeled with a pair of white knickers, raising an eyebrow. I clutched his wet shoulder for balance, letting him slide the knickers up my legs. The sensual slide, his fingers kissing skin, made my eyes snap closed.
He pinged the elastic around my h*ps with a small smile.
This man who killed for me, f**ked me, owned me was dressing me. It didn’t make sense.
Q leaned forward and hooked fingers beneath my heavy tresses, pulling damp curls from beneath the t-shirt. His fingers caused lust to swirl again. I was insatiable.
His nostrils flared. The bathroom went from steamy to sex-aware and provocative. He stood rigid and aloof; his face hidden behind a mask of inexhaustible control.
“Hello, treasure.”
Brute’s voice slashed through my brain. My throat dried in panic as the rape replayed at hyper-speed. My soul chilled with ice, reliving what happened. A tremble racked my body and I keened.
Q lashed out, grabbing my chin. “What are you doing? I told you to forget it. You’re only to remember me from tonight.”
I dropped my eyes, nodding rapidly, wishing I could obey, but thoughts slithered on the edge of consciousness: Brute with his horrible breath and fingers; Driver with his lies and hair pulling.
With Q here, he helped me forget, but every moment he withdrew, returning to a cold master, rather than tentative lover, I floundered.
Ripping his eyes from mine, he opened a vanity drawer and pulled free a tub of arnica. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at a fluffy bench behind the door. I sat, gasping as Q knelt before me. “This will help.”
With soft fingertips, he massaged the ointment into lash marks on my upper thighs. The pressure both painful and delicious. Echoes of memories tried to jail me, but Q’s touch wouldn’t let me linger in nightmares. Not while he rested between my legs, stroking me. His scent of citrus kept me grounded, reminding he might have flaws, but he cared about his possessions. He would look after me as long as I pleased him.
“What did you mean when you said you were frightened about how far you’d go, when I was chained in the sparrow room?” The words fell out; I clamped a horrified hand over my mouth. Oh, my God, what made me say such a thing?
Q froze and his sudden emotional recoil left me freezing. “I’m not in the mood to answer questions, esclave.”
Glaring, he returned to rubbing in the pungent healing balm, effectively slicing off any conversation. But a core of strength filled me and I had to know. I needed to know more about this conundrum of a man. Who was he?
“What did those men mean tonight? Only taking what they’d taken in the past? Do you traffic women, Q? Is that why you’re so afraid to do to me what you’ve done to others?”
I never thought I’d see Q terrified, but he fumbled upright, throwing the tub of arnica in the sink. It spun around and around, clattering to a noisy stop by the plughole.
Q bared his teeth, swiping ruthless hands over his face. “Don’t talk to me about that. It’s none of your goddamn business. Merde, ne me demandez pas de nouveau.” Do not ask me again.
I flinched, buffeted by his anger.
He grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. I scrambled for his hands, trying to get free.
Q glared into my eyes and all the connection we built disappeared. Only annoyance, frustration, and deep-seated loathing showed. “What is your name?” His voice rasped my skin, conjuring heat and yearning.
The Old Tess may be dead, but New Tess didn’t want to share the secret either. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but it was fundamental to keep it.
“Ami,” I whispered. If Suzette wanted to call me friend, who was I to argue? I could get used to it. Tess would be forgotten. The thought made me sad, but I couldn’t give Q my name. I’d given him everything else… that small part was mine.
Q growled, pacing in front. “Even now, you don’t break. After everything, you’re still strong enough to defy me.” He stopped abruptly, seething, “Tell me! Give in, esclave. Give me your name!” His chest heaved with anger as eyes beat me into submission.
I bowed my head. I would give him anything for saving me, but not that. My name belonged to my past. My past belonged to Brax. Q was something else entirely. He was my new everything.
“Ami,” I repeated.
“You are not my friend,” he snapped. “Stop lying.”
I shook my head. I knew that. I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted to be his everything, too. I wanted what he offered in his touch, in the undercurrent of need. I wanted him to be honest, just like our bodies were honest. I wasn’t the only one lying.
Q stepped against me, the harbinger of citrus and crackling lust. “One last time, esclave. What. Is. Your. Name?”
My stomach hurt to lie under the force of his demands, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak the truth. “Katrina.”
“Lie.”
“Sophie.”
“Lie.”
“Crystal.”
“Goddammit, stop!” Q exploded. A hand lashed out, fingers diving into my hair, craning my neck back. I perished in his greeny gaze. “C'est quoi ton nom?” What is your name?
“Esclave.”
His eyes slammed shut, preventing me from seeing conflicting emotions darting in their depths: anger, remorse, tangible need.
When he opened them, there was nothing but blankness. He nodded. “I will learn who you are one day. That is a promise. And my promises are law.”
For some reason, my heart fluttered. He made a promise to keep trying, and by trying he would have to get to know me. Perhaps I could make him see me not as an object or possession, but as a person—a woman he ensnared just by being him, not by being my master. Every crazy little thing about him weaved a cage more unbreakable than his mansion and guards. What would he do if he knew that? Would he toss me out because I’d begun the journey of giving Q my biggest sense of all, or would he get on his knees and crush me in thanks for giving him something so precious?
I didn’t know. And I wanted to know. Everything.
* * * * *
“No! It can’t be true. It can’t!”
Brax thrashed in bed, kicking, failing, wrapped in a nightmare. Nightmare number four, this week alone, and I was tired. So tired.
“Brax, wake up.” I gripped his sweaty shoulder, shaking him.
He didn’t respond, face twisted in grief. I knew what he suffered—he told me his dreams, and all of them featured the car accident that killed his parents.
Every night I held him, gave comfort, and every morning I woke tired and drained. But I soothed him because he needed me, and by being there for him, I felt I belonged.
Brax swung wide, a punch landing on my jaw. “Ow, fuck, Brax. Wake up!” I pinched his nose, cutting off oxygen so he’d wake, but shadows at the bottom of the bed gathered—darker, changing, growing.
My heart stopped as Brute and Driver leered above, licking their lips, cocks jutting from trousers, glistening and evil.
They’d come to finish what they started. They would kill me.
“Brax! Help!” I slapped him, but he never woke.
Brute chuckled. “He isn’t strong enough for you, treasure. I’m gonna f**k you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” He moved fast, grabbing my ankles beneath the sheets, dragging me to the end of the bed.