Chapter 11

Tess

~Skylark~

The next day, Suzette came for me.

I hadn’t slept a wink. The moment Q let me go, I sprinted up the stairs and into my cage.

The elements of a door and walls helped contain the rising panic attack. I pushed the chest of drawers across the door and huddled in the middle of the bed.

But I couldn’t fall asleep, just in case Q came back to finish what he started.

All night, I battled with repeating nausea and a body too hot. I couldn’t evict the fright from my lungs or the shame in my heart.

Not because of what Q did—touched me, made me wet against my wishes—but because of the dark part that ~wanted~ him to take me. I wanted it so damn much.

My eyes remained dry, but my heart wept. Q was my punishment for making Brax so uncomfortable. The bitch, Karma, would make me live my sick fantasies—realize that I wasn’t normal, that I needed help.

My rib ached from fighting, but I poked the bone, enticing more pain. I deserved to be in agony, to pay for the sins toward the sweetest man I ever knew. A man I may never see again.

Pain confronted all the nastiness harboring in my soul. ~No wonder your parents never loved you.~

~They hated you for stealing their retirement, but also because they saw what you didn’t: that you’re broken.~

I was a bad, bad person and deserved my fate. I brought this nightmare with my wicked thoughts.

Q was my curse.

When Suzette arrived in the morning, she tried the door, followed by a French slur and a loud knock. “Open up.

“You aren’t allowed to block the entry.” She must’ve leaned into the door as it opened slightly.

My eyes widened as she squeaked the dresser aside, inch by inch. Shit, if a woman her size could break my security, Q could come in whenever he damn well pleased.

Was there no way out? I’d looked out the tiny postage stamp-sized window, searching for downpipes or something to scale to the ground.

But nothing could be used—trees grew too far away, and the fall looked at least five stories.

Not to mention, once I managed to climb down, guards patrolled and the GPS anklet would alert Q to my location.

Suzette squeezed through the gap in the door, and placed hands on her hips. “You mustn’t do that again, ~esclave~.”

The word conjured everything from last night: Q’s smell, his touch, his aura of power. I shuddered. I should just take my own life. It would stop the internal battle and put me out of my misery.

I gulped, hating the hopelessly weak thought. ~Never! Shit, Tess never. Whatever happens, you can and will survive.~

Suzette crossed her arms, staring. “It becomes easier.” Her voice twisted with anger, her own issues and hurt. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she’d been through similar circumstances.

My eyes shot to her. “Was it the same for you?” Did Q break her down bit by bit, with his odd mixture of controlling and gentleness?

She shook her head, fingers digging into her forearms. “Not ~Maître~ Mercer. Another.” Her hazel eyes blazed then settled. She sighed, “Q is many things, but never as bad as others.”

My ears pricked. Q’s name on her tongue sounded strange. I was used to her calling him Master Mercer. What sort of relationship did they share? Not that I cared.

“Let me give you some advice.” She moved closer; I watched warily. I didn’t buy her friend act. “Let go. It doesn’t have to be forever, but allow yourself to relax.

“It doesn’t have to be wrong if he treats you right.”

Her words were blasphemous, but some small part of me considered it. How would it feel to forget about Tess for a while? To play a pantomime of the perfect slave.

Tess would disappear and ~Esclave~ would take her place. I’d be the perfect toy, all the while searching for a way to run.

It might be best for her to think I accepted the advice. I stood, bowing my head. “You’re right. I’ll try.” How did other victims get through this?

I needed a safety mechanism, something to protect my soul like a suit of armor in battle.

I’d found the protection in Mexico. I’d been ready to do anything to keep my mind whole. I just needed to do that permanently.

She smiled, dropping her arms to clap. “ ~Super~. Now, have a shower and dress so we can begin the day.” Her eyes dropped to my dirty sweater.

I hated the pleasure beaming in her eyes, all because I agreed to give Q a chance. She bounced with happiness because I allowed the horrible new existence to rule my life. Terror iced my spine.

Why her vested interest? Mental note: never let my guard down around her. Whatever I said would most likely get back to Q.

“I don’t have anything else to wear.”

Suzette clucked her tongue, striding toward the free-standing wardrobe. “You obviously haven’t looked at what Q bought for you.”

Q bought me clothes? ~Creepy bastard~. First, he forced me to admit I belonged to him, then expected to dress me like a Barbie doll.

I climbed off the bed and looked over Suzette’s shoulder. She was shorter, but her personality made up for her pigmy stature.

She pulled out a gorgeous, slinky, silver gown with diamantes across the bodice. “ ~Fantastique~, this would look amazing on you.”

I snorted, forgetting for a moment where I lived and indulged in talking clothes with another female.

“There’s no way I would wear that.” I shuddered to think of the elegant material whispering over my skin, enticing men’s attention—Q’s attention.

Reaching over, I grabbed a pair of fitted jeans and a knitted cream sweater. They were the least blingy clothes available, but screamed designer and money.

“These will do.” I cuddled them, anxious to change the Mexican sweater-dress for new clothes.

She shook her head, giggling. “If you’re trying to hide your figure so Q doesn’t want you, it will never work. You don’t know him like I do. He’s…different around you.”

My heart swooped and stomach rolled. I hated her tone—the almost maternal love in her voice. What did she mean, different?

Perhaps he wasn’t normally a horny bastard—just my luck to bring out that side of him.

Before I could ask, she brushed past and hovered by the door. “Come down when you’re done. I’ll give you some privacy.” With a kind smile, she shut the door, leaving me with my thoughts.

Not wanting to be alone to wallow, I quickly grabbed a white lacy bra and matching knickers and headed to the bathroom.

Funny how, over a week ago, I dressed in expensive purple lingerie in the hope to catch Brax’s eye. Now, I wanted a sack to hide in.

The shower helped settle my nerves somewhat. I should’ve taken one last night after Q manhandled me, but the thought of being naked in the house, with him lurking somewhere… well, I couldn’t do it.

I’d rather reek—maybe then he’d be repelled.

But showering in the daytime made me comfortable. Q seemed to leave during the day, and for that, I was thankful. I had alone time—away from his prying fingers and eager mouth.

Once dressed, I headed downstairs and found Suzette in the lounge. The weak winter sun shone patches of brightness on the white carpet like golden pools.

Everything about the house looked as if it belonged in a waxworks or museum. Too perfect. Too neat.

Where was the haphazardness of life: the pair of shoes by the door, a dirty glass on the coffee table? It was sterile.

I ached for my home with Brax. The roughness, the texture, but most of all the happiness. I’d never find happiness here. Perhaps Suzette was right.

Maybe playing a part would be easier until I could be free again.

Shutting my feelings off, I asked, “I’m here. What did you need me for?” I hoped she wouldn’t lock me in the library. Q hadn’t ordered me to breakfast, but who knew what rules he left her to follow.

Suzette stopped cleaning the windows with a bright pink rag and smiled. “Nothing. I didn’t want you upstairs all alone, that was all.” She stuffed the rag into her pinafore pocket, coming closer.

“I do know what you’re going through. You can talk to me. I won’t betray your confidence.” The look in her eyes wavered with pity and understanding.

Her kindness, and offer of friendship, wrung my heart dry. Tears sprouted, unbidden. How desperate was I for a friend? To have someone to talk to would be beyond wonderful.

~You can’t. She belongs to Q.~

Suspicion replaced hope and I glared. “What did Q order you to do? Befriend me so I’ll tell you my name? Tell you things I’ll never tell him? Strip me of my only defense?”

Her mouth gaped, face twisted. “No, not at all. I’m only trying to be nice.”

Her reaction caused doubt and I slouched. I was a bitch. When I didn’t reply, an uncomfortable silence fell.

A woman called from the kitchen,~“Suzette, arrêtez de parler à l'esclave et venez m’aider à faire le dîner de maître Mercer. C'est dimanche; je ne vais pas faire le canard à l'orange toute seule.”~

I strained, deciphering the long string of French. Something like: stop talking to the slave and make dinner for Master Mercer—my torturer. He didn’t deserve food.

I raised an eyebrow as Suzette smiled. I’d give anything to know what she thought—it might help figure out what the hell my future held.

“Do you want to come help us cook? ~Maître~ Mercer has duck à l'orange on Sundays. It takes a while to prepare.”

My mouth hung open. She honestly thought I wanted to prepare dinner for the bastard who’d fingered me last night? Did she know what happened in the gaming room? My cheeks flushed.

Q hadn’t exactly been discreet, dragging me down the stairs.

I laughed with a bitter edge. “Do you want my honest answer? Or the one I should give?”

Suzette dropped her eyes, stepping closer. Her gaze bounced fugitively toward the kitchen. “Come help. Be a part of the household, while he isn’t here.

“He can’t stop you from having fun, companionship.” Her hand fluttered on mine; I tensed. “If you find connection with others, you’ll be able to withstand a lot more.”

Stand more? Of what? Erotic torture and mind-warping games? I laughed again, brittle and tear-sharp. “You think I’ll be able to have fun? That’s an impossibility. Let me go.

“Let me return to my boyfriend, then I’ll have fun.” My body shook as anger exploded. I wished it were Q I screamed at, but his minion would have to do.

“Brax might be dead because of the men who kidnapped me. All because your sick boss likes to own women. All of this is a mistake.” I thumped my chest, buckling with heartache. “Brax might be ~dead.~

“Do you understand? And it’s all my fault!”

She nodded, biting her lip, distressed by my outburst. “I’m so sorry to hear about your boyfriend, but you have to forget him. He’s in your past, and ~Maître~ Mercer isn’t a bad man. Give him a cha—”

I slapped hands over my ears, like a child refusing to hear the awful truth. “You’re heartless to think I could ever forget about Brax.” I fought tears with temper. “And stop lying for Q.

“Stop trying to mould me into whatever he expects slaves to be. Just stop it!”

She touched my arm, tugging lightly so I released my ears. She whispered, “Don’t stop living while you endure.

“And don’t let the pain of your past stop you from being happy in this new life.” Taking a deep breath, her passion tinged with anger as she added, “Don’t do what I did, and pretend it will all go away.

“I let my owners break me. Not because I couldn’t fight anymore, but because it was the easier way to live; you never truly break. The key is not to lie to yourself, even while you fake it.”

Breathing hard, I dropped my arms. Her hazel irises were clear and full of wisdom. She’d learned the hard way and wanted to help me cheat on the lessons coming.

I still didn’t know why she spoke so highly of Q, but I thawed a little. However, the memory of sitting in Brax’s lap, on our last night together, fragmented me.

Brax’s voice resonated in my thoughts, ~“The truth hurts less than fibs and fakers.”~

I had to abandon the truth and wrap myself in lies to survive. I had to change completely.

Suzette showed a different reality, and even though she rattled the bars of my jail and confirmed there was no way out, she comforted, too. She was living evidence I could endure and survive.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “Surprisingly, that does help a little.”

Linking her arm with mine, she tugged me toward the kitchen. “I’m glad. Next time, don’t fight him, okay?”

My hackles rose, effectively stomping on my warming feelings toward her. “What does it matter to you?”

She refused to meet my eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Come along, dinner won’t cook itself.”

Hours later, flour dusted my nose, and the citrus tang of orange enveloped the kitchen.

The cook, Mrs. Sucre, who was round as a donut and just as doughy, pulled a well-roasted duck from the oven as the front door slammed.

The afternoon spent in the kitchen had been the best since I’d boarded the plane to Mexico.

Suzette wormed her way into friendship, and we started a tentative bond which I hoped would keep me sane as long as I remained captive.

But all those relaxed feelings flew away as Q strode into the kitchen.

I froze, holding a pan of roasted rosemary potatoes. Q’s presence filled the kitchen, consuming oxygen, awareness…space. He looked like a resplendent peacock in a royal blue suit and crimson shirt.

His pelt of hair shone under the kitchen lights, while his pale jade eyes smoldered.

My entire body reacted: nipples hardened, mouth parted. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t ignore his call.

Him. He was back. Here. In the house.

Oh, God. Primal instincts clawed, itching to bolt, while at the same time, I softened with need. Emotions tore me in two and I trembled, almost dropping the potatoes.

Suzette appeared, lightly brushing her fingers against my hip. Her touch was petal soft, sharing some unspoken sisterhood. Calm acceptance tamed my jitteriness, but Q never broke eye contact.

He stared with an almost physical connection, causing my heart to race and guilt to swell for no reason.

She smiled happily as Q and I continued our silent war, then she jumped as he stormed closer. His abrupt change from standing to movement unsettled Suzette and me.

We shifted back a step, not that it helped with the powerhouse of Q coming straight for us.

~“C'est quoi ce bordel, qu’est ce qu’elle fait ici?”~ Q snapped, glaring at Suzette, shoulders rippling with temper.

Suzette bowed her head. ~“Je suis désolée, maître.”~

Dismissing Suzette without a second thought, his eyes looked me up and down in one arrogant sweep. “What are you doing in here? You’re a slave, not the hired help.

“Get out.” He leaned closer, brushing my cheek with a hard hand. Electricity zapped from his touch and my core clenched on its own violation.

~Not again. Please, stop betraying me! ~ How could I hate him when my body melted every time he touched me?

Q yanked his hand away. He narrowed his eyes as if the spark between us was my fault. “Have a shower; you’re covered in flour. ~Merde.~”

Before I could argue, the word ~slave~ implied I should cook and clean, Suzette pushed me toward the exit, whispering, “Don’t argue. I can see the desire to stand up to him in your eyes.

“But remember what I said.”

The moment we were in the lounge, she rushed, “Have a shower, and dress in one of those beautiful gowns.

“He’ll love seeing you in things he bought.” Her eyes grew dreamy, as if match-making us made total sense. “Give him what he wants.”

Pulling away, I felt betrayed all over again. I hissed, “Give him what he wants? How about I tie myself up and present myself as the main course? That’s what he wants, isn’t it?”

Suzette pinched the bridge of her nose, throwing me an exasperated look. “His fantasies will be shared, I’m sure. It’s your job to let him show you without fear or guilt.”

My lungs squeezed together. “~What?~ You think he suffers fear and guilt? Try the girl who’s been kidnapped! Holy shit.” The curse fell like a nasty bomb; Suzette frowned in disapproval.

“Just go and dress.” She shoved me toward the stairs and I ran.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but had no intention of obeying. She’d stepped over the line, implying her boss suffered more than I did. Fuck that.

I’d show him how much I didn’t want to be there. I thought I could do it—pretend and pantomime. I thought I could become something slave-like and meek.

I was wrong.

Hot, terrible anger boiled as I bolted up the steps two at a time. I’d show him. I didn’t think of the consequences, focused only on what would make me feel better.

Slamming the door, I headed straight to the wardrobe, and wrenched open the doors. Racks of designer dresses and Victoria’s Secret lingerie beckoned with style.

My fingers itched to attack the clothes, to take my wrath out on innocent fabric. I may not be able to hurt Q physically, but I could hurt his wallet.

I yanked the first item—a delicious amethyst dress—off its hanger and tore the neckline with my teeth. My heart raced as I gnawed on the silky fabric.

It took a few attempts, but I managed to cut it enough to rip it with my hands. It cracked like a lightning bolt and split in two.

The next victim hung on a padded hanger—a cream blouse with prancing black horses. It ripped with a loud snarl. I tossed it to the floor, joining the growing cemetery of clothes.

In a rampage, I grabbed the bras and tore the straps off. They joined the graveyard. Next, I found a drawer full of impractical nylons and laddered them with nails and teeth.

I panted, loving the fierce retribution in my veins. It may only be clothes I ruined, but it gave me an outlet. My skin shone with sweat as I reached for another blouse.

I froze as the door slammed open.

Q stood, fists balled at his sides, posture hard and unmovable. Eyes darted over the pool of ruined clothing. His jaw clenched before glaring at me with every unspoken command possible.

My legs wobbled, wanting so badly to hit the floor, to grovel for forgiveness. I didn’t know this owner standing in the doorway.

No remnants of the man who fingered me in both pleasure and pain last night resided in his gaze. I pushed too hard.

~Oh, fuck.~

I hunched, crumpling the grey blouse in my hands. Fear gripped, turning me into an autumn leaf.

Clearing his throat, he cricked his neck. The force of his temper buffeted like a slap to the face.

“Care to tell me why you’re ruining three thousand euros worth of clothing?” He purred with undisguised lust, and barely held restraint. His face tense with outrage, smouldering need in his eyes.

My body took control as blood boiled to lava. Attraction rolled through my belly and I wanted to punch myself for how wet I became. I had no self-control. He was right to treat me like a slave.

I was nothing but a sex hungry woman who didn’t deserve Brax’s adoration. Who only deserved to be beaten and taken. I was so fucked up, I couldn’t get wet with gentle kisses from a man who loved me.

But, put a man who wanted to hurt in front of me, with fucking on his mind and bondage in his thoughts, and I unravelled like the slut I’d become.

Tears erupted, and Q growled. “No point crying. You knew I’d be furious, yet you did it anyway.” He stalked forward, kicking the door shut. He stopped a metre away. “Tears won’t save you.”

I sniffed, straightening my back. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting I cried because of my torment, cried with hatred for a traitorous body.

Fear smothered, but the unmasked need swimming in my blood scared me a hundred times more. Would I have reacted this way for any man who bought me? Or was Q different?

An unwilling aphrodisiac to my sinful body.

My voice came out whisper-soft. “I won’t allow you to dress me like an object. I refuse.” I didn’t mention most of the items were gorgeous, exactly what I would’ve chosen given a bigger bank balance.

“I’m human, too. Not an object for you to play with.”

He chuckled. “An object who’d rather be naked the entire time? That can be arranged.”

My heart bucked. I dropped my eyes. “No.”

“No?” He inched closer, bringing inferno heat. His entire body rippled with lustful fire. “You say no after destroying things I bought for you?”

“Does it hurt for you to see things damaged?” I dared look in his eyes and his nostrils flared. “Because if it does, then you’re hurting me. I have feelings—same as you!”

His hand lashed out, grabbing the nape of my neck. Dragging me closer, I collided against solid muscle, and breath exploded from my lungs.

“You think you’re like me? You’re not,” he snarled, right before his mouth smashed against mine and his tongue darted past my lips. I punched him, but he didn’t stop.

If anything, it amplified him from ruthless to out of control.

Spinning me around, he trapped me hard against the door, grinding his hips into mine. In one fluid move, he kicked my legs apart with a foot. So quick, so sure.

My lungs couldn’t get enough oxygen as he kissed me harder than anyone had before. Blood mixed with his dark taste. Indents of his teeth bruised my mouth, and my thoughts disintegrated.

I half-moaned, half-cried as he thrust his cock so hard against me, my feet left the floor.

Ending the kiss on the same brutal note, he panted, “What are you?”

I blinked, completely disoriented. Then fight returned; I shoved him.

He grunted as he stepped back, but it wasn’t enough. Landing on me again, his weight pinned my body. His breath hot on my cheek as he rubbed his five o’clock shadow along my jaw.

“Don’t fucking push me. What ~are~ you?”

~Not this again~. In a moment of lunacy, I tried to head-butt him.

His eyes flared wide and lips twitched. The look of alpha possession overshadowed for a moment with sheer amazement. He rammed his thigh between my legs, rubbing against overheated flesh.

Even through denim every part of him awoke every part of me and I ached. I burned. I ~wanted.~

“You made me say it last night. You broke me. I won’t do it again,” I seethed.

He growled, moving his thigh. He cupped with me forceful fingers. My head wanted to crash against his shoulder in servitude, but I couldn’t. This was wrong.

God help me, I’d broken myself with battling two conflicting things. Run. Fuck. Run. Fuck. The trance sent wetness gushing from me. I’d never been so turned on and never hated someone more.

“I’ll gladly break you again to hear you say it.” His hands captured my wrists, slamming them above my head against the door. Holding me with one hand, his other went back to my jeans.

With nimble fingers, he undid my fly and somehow managed to wriggle his hand inside the denim and knickers.

I bucked as a finger pressed deep inside. No soft requests or gentle foreplay, a straight finger fuck.

“Say it,” he ordered. My eyes snapped closed as he hooked his finger, pressing against my g-spot. “Your body drips for me, ~esclave.~ I’ll let you have me, if you say it. Say you’re mine.”

Another finger entered as fierce as the first and my legs turned to jelly. He held me upright by my wrists and fingers rode me deep. I’d never been touched so totally before.

Brax…he wasn’t a lover of foreplay…~Stop thinking about Brax. Especially now. This would break his heart.~

My mind cracked into shards. I struggled to fight the insane urge to submit; I could ~never~ submit. Lifting extremely heavy eyelids, I snarled, “Mine. Not yours.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him, eyes flashing with a feral edge. “Wrong answer.” He ducked and threw me over a shoulder, just like the captor in Mexico.

All residual fear rushed to haunt me and my body no longer hummed. It burned for freedom. To end this, to run.

Q dropped me on the bed, immediately yanking my jeans off. I couldn’t stop it. One minute they were on, the next they lay discarded with the other torn clothes.

He climbed on top, and I kicked. My knee connected with his rib cage, and he winced, but a hand grabbed my side, pressing against my own broken rib. Everything oozed to greyness with pain.

It gave him time to undo his tie and wrap it tightly around my wrists.

My heartbeat thrummed in my arms, hating the tight restriction. Shoving my wrists above my head, he pinned me down, trying to wedge himself between my legs. I fought like an alley cat.

Our legs battled, feet grappled with the sheet, and for a moment, I might’ve won. I lost with one misplaced kick.

Within moments, I lay spread-eagled with him panting above me. Smouldering, unwanted lust ignited. Misplaced lust. Lust that drove me mad with confusion and hatred.

Eagerness and longing flamed on his face. His smell of sin, citrus, and sandalwood dazzled my senses, flaring in every part. My core clenched as Q rocked, breathing hard and rattling.

Somehow, the synapses of my brain hardwired to his scent.

Oh, God. He successfully owned one of my senses! Smell. I couldn’t let him take more.

Howling, I bit his shoulder. “Let me the fuck go!”

He reared back, rage and hard-edged respect in his eyes. Did he respect that I fought? Did it turn him on so damn much? ~Sick, sick bastard.~

He raised a hand as if to strike me.

I fought the urge to curl into a little ball and stared into his turbulent gaze. “Do it. Hit me. At least the pain will leave a physical mark you’ll have to see every day.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. His hand hovered, before cupping my cheek. He ran a trembling thumb across my lips.

“Say it.” Something raw blazed in his gaze, imploring on some deep, psychological level. He seemed desperate to hear me admit I was his.

He reached between us, stroking my clit through my knickers. All the fireworks that’d been smouldering sparked to life. An orgasm gripped my muscles with sharp ecstasy; I threw my head back.

“Oh, shit.” I didn’t want the orgasm—even though I did. I didn’t want it, as Brax never gave me one, and to me, that made our separation horribly final.

As if Q sliced us apart, leaving me ruined for anything but roughness and savagery.

Just as the bands of muscles exploded, Q stopped touching me. He scrambled off, pulling me to a sitting position. My bound wrists drooped into my lap.

I blinked, my body resonating with the build-up of intensity, smarting for relief. My orgasm dwindled to nothing.

I wanted to scream. He left me deliberately on the knife-edge of pleasure.

“What is your name?” he demanded, as he undid his belt, tore it from its belt loops, and tossed it on the ground.

The sound of the heavy belt buckle hitting the soft carpet sent heartbeats racing even faster.

I refused to answer but couldn’t look away as he undid his fly and untucked the crimson shirt. He left the royal blue jacket on but unbuttoned it so the material flared to the sides.

Placing himself in front, his crotch the perfect height to my mouth, he ordered, “Suck me.” Q’s gaze sent incandescent fire racing in my blood, but it didn’t match the horror I lived with. Suck him?

I couldn’t. Not a man. A stranger. My ~owner~. ~I’d rather bite.~

When I didn’t move, Q pushed his boxer briefs down, pulling his raging hard cock from its prison. The tip glistened with pre-cum, his scent of musk and darkness ~spilled~ around me.

Fisting his thick length, he bit his lip, stroking. My stomach clenched; I closed my eyes. “Please—” I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He inched closer, practically pressing his cock against my lips. “You can. And you will, ~esclave~.”

I tilted my head away, hyperaware of the dampness of pre-cum as he ran his hot erection along my cheek. His hand lashed out, fingers bruising my chin, keeping me in place. “Open.

“And if you bite, I’ll hit you so hard, you won’t wake up for days.” His voice rasped with excitement, but there was something else, too. Something I recognized, but couldn’t place.

Heat blazed, all emotions turned to dust.

My body twitched as tears flowed. I needed help. I needed saving. Everything I felt suddenly boiled over, steaming with no outlet… then something happened.

Everything… stopped.

My mind shut down, body turned numb. Everything I battled… disappeared. I was left an empty shell—uncaring, blissfully vacant.

Calm descended as I accepted obedience like a balm against the hardship of fighting. In that moment, I became what he wanted: his.

Q didn’t seem to notice the epiphany I experienced, and when he tilted my head to take his cock, I let him.

He pressed the back of my head, entering my mouth with his long, velvety length. He moaned as I deep-throated with no revolt at all.

I let him.

He groaned, flexing his hips as my lips created a suction around hot flesh. He muttered something in French, bending forward, almost brushing my hair with his chest.

I let him.

In my untouchable cocoon, I would let him do anything.

He was male. I was female. That was all there was to it.

My hands moved on their own accord, reaching for him. One hand cupped tight, smooth balls, while the other stroked his throbbing length.

I floated on a cloud of indifference as I pleasured, touched, tasted. Nothing registered—neither scent, nor taste, nor sound. I was a robot, a perfect toy—my only purpose: to make him cum.

Why did I ever fight? This was so much easier. Almost drug-like. Dreamlike. I wanted to laugh. Freedom. I’d found it, in my mind.

Q stopped thrusting into my mouth; harsh fingers angled my throat to look up. I didn’t stop stroking, even as pale eyes delved into mine.

I blinked, not caring. If he wanted to rape me, so be it. If I was to be his for eternity, fine. He might own my body. He would never own my soul.

“What is your fucking name?” he muttered, French accent warbling the curse. He should swear in French. It sounded better.

I never dropped eye contact, still stroking, still working like a good wind-up toy.

He growled, knocking my hands off his cock. They landed limply in my lap.

Q stood, swaying slightly with his erection standing proud beneath the shirt, trousers puddled around ankles like shackles.

My skin prickled with the force of his stare, but apart from that, nothing moved me. I didn’t care what he wanted. My name? I didn’t know my name.

Oh, I had to answer. He asked a question. I had to obey. “~Esclave~. My name is ~Esclave.~”

He hissed between clenched teeth as I reached for his cock again, dragging a fingernail up the length, pressing hard against the slit at the top.

Q’s fingers threaded through my hair, grabbing a handful. He yanked my head back, lowering his face to mine; we breathed each other’s breath.

I sat there, unmoving. I sighed, relief coursing through my heart. I no longer cared. I convinced my mind to leave, and it had. Everything that happened now didn’t matter.

It wouldn’t stain my life as it had been put on hold.

His gaze swelled with urgency, commandments. Then softened, churning into unhappiness, grief. Before I could figure out the puzzle, blankness came over his features and he kissed me.

His tongue plundered, and I opened wider, inviting him to take. I even licked him back, massaging his taste with my own. He groaned.

It sounded tortured, as if he wanted to kiss but didn’t, like he fought against morals, choices.

My heart stayed an even rhythm, never rising, even as his hand dropped to my breast and twisted a nipple.

Like the obedient slave he wanted, I opened like a sun-warmed flower, pressing flesh into his palm, arching my back.

He stumbled backward, as if I’d bit him, tripping over his trousers. With angry jerks, he hoisted up his pants, wincing as he tucked his erection away.

I cocked my head, wondering, but not caring, why he pulled away. I’d done everything right. “Did I not please you?” My voice was odd—dead, lifeless, robotic.

Q froze, running hands over his short hair. His darker skin whitened with what looked like fear. “What are you?” he demanded.

I didn’t hesitate. I knew the answer. It was easy. “Yours.”

He sucked in a breath, eyes flaring wide. He paced in front, never taking his gaze off mine. “You said you wouldn’t let me! You seemed so strong, unbreakable. You lied to me.” He bristled with anger.

“I haven’t even fucked you, yet you’re broken.” Guilt etched his livid tone.

I stayed unruffled, unworried. He raged because he broke me? Wasn’t that his goal? He should be pleased it took such little time. I thought I could last longer, but my mind no longer wished to fight.

I refused to scream and cry when I found solitude and calm. Could he only get off on the sounds of distress?

I had no answer so I dropped my eyes, staring at my bound hands, waiting.

He stalked forward, undoing the tie around my wrists in angry movements. “You lied and I don’t like liars.”

I shrugged. What was there to say? He owned me—he could call me what he wished. “I’m yours. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shook his head, temper flaring. “You’ve given up. You aren’t mine unless I make you mine!”

My mind hurt. I couldn’t unravel that. I was his. Undeniably. He ~knew~ that. My body screamed it loud enough.

“Take off your sweater.” His eyes dropped to the weight of my breasts under the jumper. Rather than excitement, fear, anticipation, I felt nothing—heavenly nothing.

He towered above like the god of sex, his erection straining against his trousers, calling to me.

I grabbed the hem and tugged the sweater over my head in one swoop. I stood and reached for his waist. His skin burned as I touched his hipbone.

His breath came faster, looking hungrily at my bra. It was so nice not to feel.

If Brax watched me the way Q did, I’d have hidden my stomach, worried about the birthmark in the valley of my breasts, worried if he loved me even with flaws. Here, I didn’t care.

“Give me your bra.” He held out a hand, waiting. His jaw worked as I reached behind and unclasped the lacy cups. I dangled it between my forefinger and thumb, passing it to him.

My nipples pinpointed and ached. His gaze thrilled my body, heating my vacancy into need.

Not looking away, Q’s fingers latched around my hand, accepting the bra. His thumb caught my barcode tattoo; the burn made me wince. The tinkle of delicate silver summoned his eyes and he frowned.

Brax’s bracelet.

The void I floated in evaporated. Memories roared back.

Brax.

Mexico.

Pain.

Leather Jacket.

My mind woke, latching onto things I wished I could forget. ~No. No, stay. Don’t go back.~

Q’s jaw tightened as I tugged my hand back, skin crawling. How did I come to be only in my knickers, standing in front of him? Everything was foggy; a dream I couldn’t quite grasp.

Q snapped his fingers around my wrist. Leaning forward, he peered deep into my soul. His thumb played with the bracelet, sending the cool silver spinning. “Who gave you this?”

My breathing accelerated; I gulped. ~Don’t answer.~

But I didn’t need to answer. His face flashed with triumph, his body settled into a taunting stance. “Someone you care about gave you this.

“Do you think I should let you keep it?” He tugged and the metal bit into my skin. Any more pressure and he’d snap it.

~Tess, go back. Leave and float. Who cares about a bracelet? He can have it. Brax can buy you another.~

My heart stuttered to a slamming halt. But if Brax died back on the bathroom floor, I’d never get another. It was the only thing I had left.

Fight erupted and I attacked. My nails swiped his cheek as I barreled into him. I screamed as we fell to the floor. Q yelled something and snatched at my wrist.

The silver tried to stay intact, but broke with a tiny clink, landing on the carpet beside Q’s head.

Brax!

I yelled and shoved. Q covered his face as I went savage, reaching for the ruined jewelry. Throat tight, I lunged, but Q was too fast. He rolled so I ended up beneath him on the grey carpet.

He pinned my arms with effortless power that made me hate him more. How could I think I could beat him when he subdued me like an annoying butterfly?

Licking his lips, passion raged on his face. “There you are. Don’t switch off again. I forbid it.”

I was back to this horrible life, I fought. My hands curled and bucked, hating how my naked breasts jiggled as I tried to get free.

Q grunted and sat up, straddling me, cupping my breasts. “What is your name?” His lips pulled back from his teeth as he twisted my nipples sending shocks of pleasure-pain through my system.

“What is your name, goddammit? Tell me.”

I glared with every dagger of hatred inside.

Silence.

My tongue knotted against ever saying my name again. It was mine. Not his. I never wanted to hear him say it. “Never!”

Q shuddered with a mixture of unnamed emotion and slapped me. My eyes smarted as heat hurt with embarrassment, rather than pain. He fucking slapped me!

“Merde!” he swore. Standing, he scooped the bracelet from the carpet and dangled it above. “This is mine. You are mine. Get that through your head if you ever want it back.”

I scrambled to my knees, reaching for it. No, he couldn’t take it. It linked to my past, linked to Brax, to who I was deep inside—the tame, sweet girl who wanted nothing more than to belong.

Tears caught in my throat. “I told you what you want. I’m yours. Please, give it back. I’m yours!”

His powerful body tightened, buttoning his blazer with precise movements. The silver tantalized in his fingers before he shoved it into a suit pocket. “You say the words but you don’t believe it.

“I told you. I don’t like liars.”

He turned and opened the door, fingers turning white around the doorknob. “Stay up here. Your punishment for not obeying is starvation. Good night.”

Swiping his face, he left.