“I meant every word,” I whispered. Ducking my head to nuzzle her throat, drowning myself in frost and scent that was uniquely Tess.
“Umm…” she moaned, reaching for my lapels, dragging me closer. I lost my footing, crashing into her, forcing her to back up and collide with the kitchen bench.
“You’re my gravity. Je suis à toi,” I murmured. I’m yours.
How could I f**k this woman, sleep beside her, and care for her when I didn’t even know her? My heart knew hers, my body belonged to hers, but I didn’t own her mind.
And I wanted to. Needed to.
Grabbing her hips, I positioned her square with my cock. Her taut belly quivered as I pressed hard against her, pinning her against the counter. “I need to know you, Tess. I need to own every last thing about you.”
Possessiveness snarled deep in my belly and muscles locked with anger. I wanted to own her past, her present, her future. I wanted to be her first and last and f**king forever. I wanted to wipe everything from her life where I wasn’t the centre point of her evolution.
Fuck.
My lips crashed down on hers, and we moaned loudly. Her hands disappeared around my waist, frantically trying to pull my shirt from the waistband.
Her tongue entered my mouth with no apology, stealing every rational thought. She demanded anger. She demanded feral and brutal, but for once—for the first time ever—I wanted to kiss her sweetly.
I couldn’t stop the low chuckle escaping me.
She broke the kiss, an eyebrow quirked.
I shook my head, still lightheaded from the taste of coffee and Tess in my mouth.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
“You can’t laugh mid-kiss and refuse to tell me, Q.” One of her hands came around the front of my trousers, dropping to cup my cock.
I flinched, bowing closer as she tugged me hard. “I want to know.”
The beast inside roared, and I fought the urge to slap Tess’s hand away. She was getting too bold around me. She wasn’t frightened enough to satisfy the sickness inside, but at the same time, her touch turned me on beyond belief.
Gone was the compulsion to be sweet. Sweet, tender… I spoke three languages, but I failed to understand those words. Whatever lurked inside would never learn them. It was a moment of insanity to think otherwise. But I wanted to keep Tess in one piece and to do that, I had to tame myself. No matter how much the leash would hurt.
Rocking back, I broke Tess’s hold on me and picked up my coffee. I gulped it back, welcoming the scald on my tongue—the pain helped ground me. It wiped away frivolous emotional thoughts and made me regroup.
Work.
I had to focus on work. Not this woman who turned my thoughts and body against me. Avoiding Tess’s gaze, I placed the empty coffee cup in the sink. “We have to go. We’re late as it is, and God knows what’s happened with my company these last four days.”
I buttoned up my blazer buttons and smoothed the silk teal tie.
Risking a look at Tess, my throat closed taking in her glare. Her face was flushed, feverish; her eyes bright, shooting blue-grey lightning bolts right into my cock.
“I’m in agony, Q. I need some relief. You can’t expect me to spend the day by your side and not go out of my mind.” She came closer, but I captured her hands, keeping them from destroying my self-control.
“Please, please, f**k me.”
Goddammit, how could I refuse that? How could I refuse my own body?
Red haze tinted my vision and the beast snarled deep within.
Fuck everything.
I’d give her what she wanted. What I wanted. What we needed.
“Sir, your flight is ready to take off.” My chin whipped up to find Franco, head of my security and annoying son of a bitch, in the middle of the lounge. He bowed his head, brushing a hand over his amused grin. His green eyes never looked away though, knowing exactly what we were up to.
Merde. I’ll have to fire all my staff if I want to have Tess nak*d again. All of them were determined to keep me from her.
“Fine. We’re coming,” I growled.
Franco covered his chuckle as he turned and left. Bastard.
Turning to Tess, I asked, “Are you ready to go?” My voice was gruff, cold. But only because I had so much frustration inside. All I wanted to do was slide deep inside her. I wanted to hang her from the ceiling in the harness and lick her p**sy until she cried.
Tess narrowed her eyes, her hands curled into small fists. Small tremors of need skittered over her skin and her entire demeanour flared with annoyance. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
My eyes shot to hers, trying to read her second meaning. I had no doubt there was a second meaning.
Her face said nothing, but her body spoke volumes.
And it said f**k me.
Chapter 4
Save me, enslave me, you will never cave me.
Taunt me, flaunt me, kill whatever haunts me...
Two words.
Love: The most spectacular, indescribable, deep, euphoric, unconditional acceptance of someone.
Hate: An intense dislike; an elevated level of anger; an unnatural emotion of inexplicable temper.
Both those words were defined, but if I existed this way for much longer, I would lose the meaning completely.
Love and hate.
Love and hate.
I both loved and hated Q with an ever burning passion.
Love was something I’d only ever had glimpses of: brotherly love for Brax, my girlfriendly love for friends at university. I never felt love for a family member. Not once did I have a rush of kinship in my entire childhood.
I existed in a loveless void until Q bulldozed his way in with his anger and twistedness.
What I felt for Q exceeded the realms of love in my mind. I wanted to love him. I wanted to crack his cruel façade and help him learn to love me back. I wanted to love his darkness, as well as bring him some light.
I swallowed back the weird giggle bubbling in my chest. I’m the love cripple trying to teach a loveless monster.
But none of that mattered, because he was set on torturing me. Twice he almost gave in to the gravity-altering pull between us and twice he let an interruption halt it.
An interruption shouldn’t matter! He should’ve demanded more time—after all, he was the boss—and finished what he started this morning.
His punishment was the worst I could’ve ever imagined, and my stomach growled with hunger and indigestion from being so tightly wound. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think. I could barely sit still or walk straight.
My head pounded with excess energy, body twinged and throbbed with the need to release. My hands itched to touch myself. He shattered my willpower.
“Be careful.” Q took my hand as I climbed the helicopter steps and entered the first chopper I’d been in in my life. The sleek black machine, emblazoned with Q’s initials and a flock of gold-gilded sparrows, was stunning, but the inside was incomparable.
I slammed to a halt, my jaw hanging wide.
Everything about Q vibrated wealth. He wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t ostentatious. It was ingrained into his pores as much as his heady citrus scent. So why I let the interior of a helicopter floor me and make me hyperaware of Q’s bank balance, I didn’t know.
Q pushed me forward, moving me out of the way.
I looked around in wonder at the four impeccable black leather chairs. They faced each other in pairs with crimson stitching and armrests full of dials for massages and who knows what.
“Do you like it?” Q smiled, taking a seat in one of the huge chairs. “I was lucky enough to secure one of the prototypes. It’s a Bell 525 Relentless.” He stroked the leather while his face softened. “I may spend the majority of my wealth on other hobbies—” his voice tightened mentioning the sex trade industry—“but I like nice things. And I like procuring things others haven’t owned before.”
The ulterior message that Q liked unsullied—that he prized what was untouched and pure—wasn’t lost on me. Too bad I wasn’t a virgin for him—did he hate that I’d been used before? I stopped that train of thought. It hurt too much.
Ignoring his gaze, I tottered forward in my stilettos, the heels sinking into the thick, dark strands of luxury carpet. I couldn’t think of a more aptly named helicopter: the Relentless. Exactly like its new owner: relentless in breaking me, owning me, torturing me.
A flatscreen TV graced one wall along with a panel full of dials and gadgets that I daren’t touch.
“It’s lovely,” I whispered.
A loud masculine laugh rang around the enclosed cabin. “Just lovely? Hell, if you don’t respect the bird, you can catch a cab to Paris.”
Q chuckled, flicking his gaze to a man who’d appeared at the top of the steps. Decked out in full pilot regale, his black hair was covered with a beret and his dark brown eyes twinkled.
“It’s nice to know you appreciate her as much as I do, Mr. Murphy.” Q’s voice echoed through my bones, activating my trembling core all over again.
I bit my tongue to stop the low moan and forced myself to smile. “It’s a gorgeous piece of aviation. I’m looking forward to flying in style.”
Mr. Murphy bowed his head, touching the edge of his pilot’s cap. “I should think so, ma’am.” He flashed me a smile and turned his attention to Q. “If you’re ready to depart, I suggest we leave now, sir. Winds are good, and flight time should be about thirty-three minutes.”
Q nodded, waving him away. “You’re free to take off.” His sharp jade eyes darted to me, and I suffered an instantly dry mouth. The taste of him lingered on my tongue. I wanted nothing more than to have him use me again.
His lips twitched and the cabin pressurized with whatever thoughts Q indulged.
“Please don’t disturb us, captain. I have a lot of work to catch up on. I trust you’ll get me to my office in time, without needing to communicate.”
The captain shot me a quick stare before nodding and backing down the stairs. “No problem, sir. As you wish.”
“Oh, and Mr. Murphy?” Q ran a fingertip over his bottom lip, deep in whatever thoughts he entertained.
The captain paused, his body poised. “Yes, sir?”
“I’m locking the connecting door.” His head tilted, body language projecting a simple warning. “We aren’t to be interrupted. Understand?”
The captain didn’t look at me this time, for which I was thankful. My heart raced a gazillion beats a minute, and I couldn’t suck down gluttonous breaths without swimming with need.
Q didn’t move a muscle, locked tight in his chair.
The captain nodded again. “No problem at all. I’ll see you in Paris.” He swung the fuselage door closed. The sound of the lock stole the ability to stand up. My knees wobbled sending me sprawling into a chair.
Locked inside a tiny space with Q for half an hour.
Oh, God. I’ll end up humping his leg, or worse, sitting on his face. I started to hyperventilate. I wasn’t strong enough to endure his punishment. I’d crack. No doubt. I’m already cracking.
The chair enveloped me in five-star comfort, but I could’ve floated in gossamer and clouds for all I cared—it would’ve still irritated my skin, set fire to my extremities. Just like the hated tight skirt and silky pantyhose. Every twitch, every movement, flared the whip marks on my thighs—a direct link to the burn between my legs.