He trembled, groaning under his breath. “Only for me, esclave. All mine.” He fingered me harder. His thumb found my clit, swirling in time to the tempo he set. Rocking, possessing, mind-shattering.
His thumb was magic, conjuring swirling, sparking energy to centre on his touch. My stomach tensed as my core tightened around him, demanding to be filled, to be satisfied and taken, but Q just kept up the maddening erotic beat. Thrust, swirl, thrust. His hand worked his erection, bringing more blood to his cock, so it heated and wept with clear liquid. Liquid I wanted to lap. His balls tightened, sitting high and full, straining with the need to come.
With his fingers still deep inside me, Q stopped stroking himself to fumble with one of the straps around my wrists. I groaned as the tightness released, letting blood gush into my hands.
He never faltered in his rhythm as he undid the cuffs around my neck and other wrist. When I was free, he placed my hand on his cock.
His velvety heat was like the trigger on my release. My body clamped around his fingers as the first ripple milked him hard. So f**king good. My hand squeezed Q tightly. He hissed, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the heady thrill of finally giving in to the body-aching orgasm.
I felt eternally heavy as if gravity increased a thousand fold and then I let go, embracing the next wave of my orgasm, pulsing around my heart, wrapped tight around my spine and inner thighs, blazing with need.
Q slapped my hand away from his c*ck and withdrew his fingers.
No!
I gasped as the orgasm faltered, and, with no stimulation, receded like a pitiful wave.
“Why? Let me come. Please, let me come!” I begged, reaching for him with my freed arms.
He ducked out of reach, unleashing my ankles before standing again. Trailing his fingers over my torso, he turned his hands to claws, raking nails across me. He didn’t break the skin, but the burn activated the whip marks, encouraging pain to smoulder. Reaching my waist, he undid the final strap and pulled me from the cross.
With a grim mouth, he murmured, “I’m not done with you yet. When you come, it will feel so f**king unbelievable you won’t be able to move.”
He gathered me into his arms, pressing his forehead against mine and breathing deep. “Promise to obey everything I say. If you even think of rebelling or speaking against me, I’ll not be held accountable. T’as compris?” Do you understand?
I was speechless. For Q to demand I obey him, to allow him full control and acceptance never happened. He got off on fighting, on denial. I wanted to ask so many questions, but held my tongue and nodded.
I would’ve promised to do anything if it meant I could finally come.
Q backed away a little, crooking his finger for me to follow. “Come here.”
My feet moved on their own accord. I wanted to pounce on him and tackle him to the ground. Yet Q made no move to finish what he started.
My eyes darted between his intense gaze and heavy cock.
Q pointed at the ground by his feet. “Kneel.”
With a racing heart, I obeyed, folding to the floor as gracefully as I could with ten tonne lust-riddled limbs. The thick carpet welcomed, easing some of the soreness from the cross.
Q placed a hand on my head before walking slowly behind me. His fingers stayed locked with my hair, tugging it a little. With powerful hands, he gathered the strands. I shivered.
He captured every wisp and unruly curl, then twisted the thick strands until he made a blonde rope.
With a jerk, he pulled my head back until my heels jammed into my ass. “I like being able to control you this way, esclave.”
His mouth descended on mine from above. The upside-down awkwardness added a new dimension to our kiss, and I opened wide to let his tongue possess me. Controlling me with my hair, Q stole my breath, making me squirm.
My hands clenched into fists on my thighs, and I wanted more than anything to touch myself and come. I couldn’t stand the ache much longer—the unbearable need to explode.
Withdrawing from the kiss, Q wrapped my hair around my neck. The tickling strands wrapped around my throat made me claustrophobic. Small pops of panic burst in my bloodstream. I didn’t think I could stand to be strangled again.
Q stalked back to stand in front of me; my eyes fell to his cock. Pre-cum smeared down the underside of his velvety skin. I licked my lips.
His belly rippled with need and he groaned, taking a step closer. Our eyes burned holes in each other and we didn’t say a word. He stood still, apart from the slight twitch of his hips, the unconscious plea to give him what I desperately wanted.
I sat higher on my knees, reaching with shaky hands to clasp his hot length. My fingers latched around him, tight and unforgiving.
His head fell back, and the moan dragged from his throat vibrated in my p**sy. If he kept making sounds like that I’d come from the power of his voice alone.
I stroked him once and his heavy hands landed on my head, exerting a little pressure, giving me a request.
My mouth watered as I bowed my head. The hair tightened around my throat. The moment my tongue touched his cock, I knew why he’d lassoed my hair around me. My airway was already compromised. Sucking his c*ck diminished it even more. Breathing thorough my nose didn’t help—every breath became a struggle.
My nostrils flared in fear, but I opened wide and sucked Q’s girth deep into my mouth. He threaded his fingers into my strands, holding my head prisoner as my tongue lapped from beneath and my lips clamped tight around him.
He rocked deeper into me, pressing down on my head. “Take it. Fuck.”
My p**sy clenched, and I could’ve cried with how much I wanted his c*ck deep inside me. Anger and frustration bubbled, and I dared scrape my teeth along his length, testing him, showing him how on edge I was.
He thrust harder, causing my jaw to lock and teeth to mar such delicate flesh. The thick head of his c*ck hit the back of my mouth and the urge to gag suffocated me. I tried to take a deep breath, but my hair didn’t allow my lungs to fill.
Desperation grew and grew until my chest ached and my heart galloped. And yet I kept sucking, kept stroking. Q was in a different dimension, petting my head, taking my mouth with his eyes tightly closed.
“Your mouth is f**king heaven,” he grunted.
His c*ck rippled as I sucked harder, determined to make him truly mean what he said. I wanted him to unravel. I wanted it to be over so I could breathe again.
Anxiety made me bold. I slid one hand between his legs and cupped his balls.
He jolted. His h*ps stopped their searching rock. For a second, I wondered if he’d stop me. Maybe I wasn’t allowed to touch him there, but the second passed, and he relaxed again.
I squeezed the tender flesh, rolling them in my fingertips. He twitched, and his muscular thighs quivered.
Looking up, I imprinted how he looked in that moment. His eyes squeezed shut, his mouth in a grimace. He looked like an evil demigod. A living relic of sinful sex.
Opening wider, I slid him in and out, licking and laving while I cupped his balls harder. I wanted him to come. I wanted to steal the fine edge of his control and make him lose it.
I’m going to drive you wild, Q Mercer.
Growing braver, I darted my hand further between his legs. He stilled, but I didn’t give him an opportunity to decide if he liked it. With two fingers facing upward, I pressed hard on the ridge of skin between his balls and a**hole.
He jerked as I found the thicker node of skin, the small walnut-sized erogenous zone also known as the male g-spot.
I pressed it again, sucking his c*ck deep into my mouth.
Q gasped and wrenched back, but I went with him. I kept my lips glued around him and my hand firmly between his legs.
I suffered black spots in my vision as my hair slowly asphyxiated me, but I kept a rhythm: suck, press, suck, press—a thrusting motion between his legs, my touch firm and unyielding.
Q let out a loud groan. “Merde. Stop!”
I didn’t stop.
I added teeth to my suction. I flexed my fingers, ignoring everything else but getting Q to lose control.
“Fuck f**k fuck.” It was a match to a cannon, a lost pin to a grenade. Q lost it. “Fuck me, esclave. Merde.”
His fingers gripped my head, holding me hostage as his h*ps thrust violently into my mouth. I never let up on the pressure between his legs, coaxing his g-spot, pinching the vein feeding his balls with blood.
“Tu vas me tuer. C’est tellement bon. Mon Dieu.” You're going to kill me. It feels too good. My God.
My mouth leaked saliva, unable to do anything but accept Q’s motion. My neck grew wet as I dribbled and my arm erupted into fire from keeping the pressure.
Q grunted like a feral animal. His throat rattled with curses, his body vibrated with aggression, and the entire room filled with the thick scent of sex.
I teetered on the brink of passing out, my body numb and weak. Q groaned from the tips of his toes. His belly stiffened, his legs froze, and his g-spot surged.
Then he came.
“Fuck…” he snarled, spurting down the back of my throat, cascading warm and salty on my tongue. Wave after wave I swallowed, and still he kept coming. I choked and he pulled out, fisting himself.
With angry strokes, he milked the last of his orgasm, panting as he kept spurting, dousing me in white sticky droplets all over my br**sts.
The picture of Q towering over me, his face furious and red while eyes blazed with his release, was a sight to behold. I wanted to capture the moment, sear it on my brain, remember the ink of his tattoo, the musky taste of him in my mouth, and the knowledge I drove him to break.
With shaking hands, I unravelled my hair from around my throat, and removed as much spit as I could.
My entire mouth ached, and my p**sy felt wronged—slighted for not being f**ked and given the same sort of release Q experienced.
Taking gulping breaths, Q smeared a droplet of warm come over my nipple.
Instantly the orgasm blazed alive again, sparking, begging, setting my teeth on edge. Please put me out of my misery.
Never taking his eyes off mine, Q reached under my arms and helped me stand on unsteady legs. His face shut down, unreadable.
“Do you need me, Tess?”
I jolted with the power and ragged sex appeal in his voice. My eyes fluttered, needing to close; I was drunk on the need to come.
I nodded fretfully.
He ducked, so we were almost eye level. “Do you need my tongue on your cunt to come?”
My eyes snapped shut, battered by the image of Q licking me, biting me, making me unravel. “Yes,” I moaned.
His fingers caressed my other breast, giving it the same treatment as the first. “Will you walk around in constant agony if I don’t f**k you?” His thumb and forefinger pinched my nipple, sending waves of need through my belly to my core.
Anger rose again. What the hell was he playing at? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. “You know I will.”
He grabbed my breast hard, making me groan and shudder. I swayed toward him, trying to touch his still hard cock. If only he’d let me use it. He wouldn’t have to do anything. I could ride him to satisfaction.
But his voice was a whiplash. “Don’t touch me.”
Shock wrenched my eyes wide; my skin flushed with embarrassment and hurt. I looked deep into his gaze, searching for the reason of his denial.