Chapter 17

Tess

~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 his hips but not the thick, heavy cock 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 technicolor.

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, naked, 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 hips with a small smile.

This man who killed for me, fucked 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 hyperspeed. 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 demande plus ça.~” 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 against 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. A play on the French word for friend. 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 his 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. I perished in his greeny gaze. ~“Comment tu t’appelles?”~ 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 secret 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, flailing, 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 fuck 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.

I screamed.~

~No, this couldn’t happen. “Brax!”~

He lay there, wrapped in his own misery, unaware of mine. Driver laughed, ripping off my pajama bottoms, tossing them to the side.

My body felt weighed down, moving as if drugged. “Stop. Fucking stop!”

They just laughed.

I wished I were dead, tears leaking. Another shadow crystallized behind Brute and Driver, flocking into being with raven wingbeats and murder.

But instead of instilling fear, hope starburst through me.

Master.~

~Q stood, staring at me with unbridled rage and transcendent power. Time slowed as he pulled free a silver gun and shot Brute, then Driver with sharp-edged finesse.

Red rain splattered, but I didn’t care. I crawled toward shadowy Q, climbing over corpses, focused only on my owner.

“You saved me.”

His smile sent a melody of feeling through me. “You’re mine. It’s my honor to protect you.” He gathered me closer and shadows kissed with icy teeth.~

“Je reviendrai toujours pour toi.”~I’ll always come for you….~

I woke in a room of luxury. The mattress cradled me like fluffy clouds, and stencils of carousels made me feel young, fanciful.

Not like a slave who’d been fucked by two different men last night, then put to bed like a naughty girl because I wouldn’t tell Q my name.

A knock sounded, and I scrambled upright, wincing at the lashes on my legs. I checked during the night to see how torn and bruised I was, but Q and his attentiveness halted the injuries.

They looked ten times better already, but I couldn’t wait for them to be gone. Each welt reminded me of Brute and Driver, Q committing murder, every nasty little thing of running away.

Q was right, though. By fucking me, he overshadowed Brute completely. The fear and crippling memories were there, but every time recollections tried to suck me dry, Q would be there.

Touching, kissing, ordering me to only think about him. He stopped my sadness and grief, tinging it with lust and acceptance.

Q stole their power, freeing me by fucking me.

The knock came again, and the door opened without waiting for my reply.

Suzette bustled in with a breakfast tray full of homemade jam and warm croissants. She smiled, placing it on my lap. “~Bonjour~, Ami.”

I blinked with how happy she was. Hazel eyes sparkled, and dusky skin positively glowed.

I narrowed my eyes; female intuition said why she couldn’t stop grinning. “You know he took me last night, don’t you?” It was strange to be so open, but she couldn’t hide her gloat.

She’d been waiting for this day for longer than I wanted to contemplate.

She nodded, perching on the end of the bed. “Yes. But mostly I’m glad to see you in one piece.” She dropped her eyes, plucking her pinafore. “Running away was so stupid.

“I could’ve warned you about some of the locals around here. Franco isn’t a guard to keep you in. He’s a guard to protect us from them.”

I stopped mid-bite of a croissant. “What do you mean?”

She sighed and glanced toward the door, as if expecting Q to storm through at any moment. Before she could speak, I asked another question. “Were you Q’s slave, too, Suzette?”

She froze.

I didn’t really expect her to answer, so my eyes widened when she said, “Q set me free when I was sold to him.

“I’ll always love him for that.” She bit her lip before adding, “Q has never taken me, not for my lack of trying. When I arrived, I was broken beyond repair.

“I had things done to me that I can’t even think about, let alone talk about, but Q… Q brought me back to life.”

I pushed the tray away, breakfast forgotten. Would I finally learn about my mysterious owner? “How did he bring you back to life?”

She looked up, eyes glittering with tears and memories. “He gave me freedom. Gave me everything I needed to get well again.

“For a year, he put up with me bowing and crawling, until he finally managed to get me to stand.

“But it took him another year to get me to open, to talk when I wanted, not just when I was asked a question. He slowly broke the brokenness in me.”

She gripped my hand, squeezing my fingers hard. “You don’t get it, Ami. And you won’t until he tells you himself, but he’s the best man I know. Out of all of us, he’s the one who’s ruined.

“I’ve never been able to help him. For five years, I’ve worked for him, never left his side, but nothing I’ve tried works.”

My heart raced. Suzette confirmed my thoughts from last night. Q may be a dominant but he suffered more than anyone. With what? Perhaps he was terribly disfigured.

Was that why he refused to remove his shirt? I’d never seen him naked, or touched his skin.

“Tell me, Suzette. Tell me why he’s more broken than you or I.”

She hung her head. “That isn’t my story to tell, Ami. You’ll have to earn his trust and show you care to learn about your master.”

“And if I don’t want to learn?”

Suzette stood, looking overcome with endless sadness. “Then you don’t deserve him.”

That night, Q came for me.

I spent the day with Suzette and Mrs. Sucre, battling two different emotions. One moment, my body would warm and liquefy, remembering Q’s strength, his lust in the shower.

The next, I’d freeze and swallow nausea while memories of Brute crushed.

The two extremes never ended, and by the time we finished dinner in the kitchen, my eyes were heavy, body lethargic. I needed sleep and hoped I wouldn’t be hounded by nightmares.

I lay in bed, staring at the silver canopy above. I hadn’t cleared it with anyone if I could remain in the carousel room, but Franco spotted me opening the door earlier, giving a slight nod.

I hoped his nod meant I could remain on the second level, and not banish myself to the cell of a maid’s room.

The door creaked ever so quietly, sending my heart into hyper-drive. I didn’t need to ask who. My entire body knew the answer—master.

Q padded across the thick carpet, his silhouette proud and stealthy. I wriggled beneath my sheets. What exactly was he doing here at two in the morning on a weekday? I knew how hard he worked.

I expected him to be in bed. The moment I thought of Q in bed my mouth went dry. Where did he sleep? What did his room look like?

Then again, I ~assumed~ Q worked hard. I knew nothing about him, and after the comments from Brute about Q’s family, I didn’t want to know.

If I learned the truth, and it was disastrously horrid, I would have to run again.

And I didn’t want to run. The world was dangerous; I preferred to live with the devil I knew.

I held my breath as Q padded closer. It seemed with every step, he pulled energy toward him until the gloom sparkled. An image of Q naked and asleep in bed assaulted me.

My mouth watered at the thought of seeing him so vulnerable.

He stopped by the side of the bed. I couldn’t see his features in the dark, but his breathing was measured and strong.

He stood in faded jeans and a scruffy white t-shirt. I’d never seen him in something so...ordinary. He wore suits like a persona—a uniform amplifying his demands for submission. It worked.

It turned him into a sharp, merciless weapon; the female in me licked her lips at his dangerous edge. But Q in jeans and t-shirt showed another side.

A clue into the man behind the suits, a man with too many thoughts and no one to talk to.

He didn’t say a word, but simply placed two items on the foot of the bed. He paused, lurking in the dark.

I lay, unmoving, waiting to see what he’d do. I wouldn’t let him walk out the door without getting what I wanted. I wanted to talk to him, unravel his secrets.

I needed to know if he wanted me so much, he came to wake me in the middle of the night.

Waiting in the dark, I ached for an order to serve.

I licked my lips as he ran a hand over his head, deliberating.

Finally, he stepped toward the door, stopped, and turned back. Sucking in a breath, he ordered, “Wake up, ~esclave~.”

His voice stroked my skin; I embarrassed myself with a small pant. I couldn’t help it—my hearing belonged to him.

He chuckled. “Unless you’re awake already.”

Dammit.

Coming closer, he leaned down and turned on the diamante side lamp, casting a soft glow, an oasis of illumination. “ ~Bonsoir.~” His lips twitched a little as he stared from above.

I grew too hot under the covers but daren’t kick them off. I wore a large t-shirt and shorts, but somehow they were insubstantial when Q looked at me.

Like I was a chocolate éclair, and he desperately needed a sugar fix.

“Hello,” I murmured, loving the thrill of lust and fear. The knowledge I’d give him what he wanted and no longer suffer guilt. I was free from my feelings for Brax—I let him go.

It hurt if I remembered his quirks and kindness, but there was no point torturing myself. Q owned me—that was all I needed to remember.

“I have gifts for you.” Q sat on the edge of the bed. His warm weight pressed hard against my thigh beneath the covers. I shivered.

He grabbed the sheets, fumbling beneath the quilt. I yelped as his hand found my ankle, tugging my leg out of bed.

I couldn’t speak as he rested my leg on his thighs, running a thumb around my bony ankle. “Something’s missing.”

His touch resonated directly between my legs. I trembled as he bent and pressed a possessive kiss on my shin. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a black bracelet into view, dangling it.

I gulped. Another GPS tracker.

“This saved your life, ~esclave~, yet you cut it off to escape.

“If you’d have thrown it out the window while driving, instead of leaving it in the car, I would never have found you in time.” His voice verged on menacing, shooting horror into my heart.

Oh, my God, he was right. If I hadn’t thought I’d be free and in police custody, I might be buried with all the potatoes by now…or wishing I was.

In one swift move, I sat upright, stole the tracker, and secured it around my ankle. The snap of plastic echoed around the hushed space; my heart thudded. I’d tagged myself.

I willingly admitted I wouldn’t run again.

Q sucked in a breath, capturing my wrist when I went to pull away. He traced the barcode tattooed on my flesh. His face flashed with hatred and anger, but his ire wasn’t directed at me.

My heart warmed, knowing he hated the people who stole me.

His fingers turned harsh, eyes captured mine. “How bad was it, when they took you?”

I waited for anger and terror for what they did, but I felt nothing. I didn’t know if I blocked it out, or if the rape dulled my senses.

Shrugging, I tried to tug my arm back. “It was the worst week of my life, until last night.”

“Worse than me?” he murmured. His voice held an edge, almost as if his question meant a lot more than what he asked.

Wanting to give him something, after all he did for me last night, I nodded. “A lot worse.”

He shook his head, eyes unfocused. Memories swirled in their depths and I wanted to chase him wherever he went. I wanted to ~know~ him. Would he ever let me get close?

Was a slave allowed to help her owner, while letting him use her body? I didn’t know the rules.

Q finally released me, presenting the other package. “This is for you.” His jaw clenched as I held my hands out, accepting the large sketchpad and charcoal pencils. I opened it and couldn’t breathe.

Inside, architectural graph paper—the exact kind I used in my university course—glowed fresh and new.

My eyes widened. “You remembered what I told you…that first breakfast when you kissed me.”

He sat straighter, tension rippling in his body. “I remember everything, ~esclave.~ I remember how you smell, how you taste.

“I remember how you feel inside and how terrified you were when I found you at Lefebvre’s residence. I also know things you haven’t told me. You secretly like what I do to you.

“You think you hide it, but I know that darkness in your eyes. It feeds me, calls to me.”

He fisted the covers, throwing them off me, exposing my body. “Why else do you think I can’t leave you alone?”

I couldn’t look away from his gaze; his intensity trapped me, searing with need and want. When I didn’t answer, he ordered, “Get out of bed.”

For a moment, I wanted to disobey, to see what he’d do, but some small part was truly scared of him. I hustled to leave the warm nest. Swinging my legs over the edge, I stood.

Immediately, he grabbed my hips, positioning me in front of him. His breathing grew harsh as he ran his gaze over my unsexy ensemble.

He frowned, thoughts running over his face. He pushed away, stalking to the dresser. Opening a drawer, he fumbled inside before withdrawing a lacy G-string.

I gulped as he came back, swinging the knickers on his middle finger.

“Stand by the bedpost.” His voice dropped even lower, yelling intentions in every syllable.

I didn’t move, fighting too many complexities to order my legs to work.

Grinding his teeth, he grabbed my arm, tugging me down the bed to stand in front of a white lacquered bedpost. “Put your arms above your head.”

He was so close; a heavy cloud of sandalwood and spice buffeted, turning my knees to water. I stretched, arching my back against the pillar, deliberately forcing my breasts to touch his chest.

He startled, raising an eyebrow, before reaching up and securing my wrists with the G-string. The lacy material bit into my skin, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as being chained in the sparrow room.

At least my feet were on carpet, and no guests saw my suffering.

Q bent his head, leaning his length against mine. His hips pressed hard, dominating.

I tilted my chin, positioning my lips for him to kiss me.

He never closed his eyes and pale green irises made me feel as if I’d entered a wood glen where naughty fairy men took advantage of fair maidens.

I swallowed hard as he came within a fraction of kissing me. But, with a crooked smile, he pulled back. “You want me to kiss you, ~esclave~. That’s not how this works.”

Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled free a pair of silver scissors. Fear widened my eyes. What the hell?

“You don’t get to choose what I do to you. Because you want me to kiss you, I won’t.”

I moaned, then flinched, wishing I could slap a hand over my traitorous mouth. ~God, Tess, way to sound desperate~. I didn’t want to be tied up and abused. ~So why do you ache for it?~ Shit, I was sick.

The rape must’ve done something, made me a danger whore. But that was a lie. The only thing that happened was Q. He controlled my body like a puppeteer—I had no will to disobey—I ~couldn’t~ disobey.

Maybe I should try to find the center of calm from the day I sucked Q. The safe zone might protect me from more upsetting thoughts.

Save my sanity, stop me from leaping willingly into a realm of bondage and kink.

I closed my eyes, trying hard to tap into blank safety. Fear swelled. If I didn’t stop my desires now, I might slide down a slippery slope, never finding my way back to normal.

~You were never normal.~ I pursed my lips, feeling lost and confused. How could I want two things at the same time? Roughness, freedom… both taunted with agonizing temptation.

Q took my chin in his thumb and forefinger, hypnotizing me with his gaze. “Don’t. Stay with me.”

How did he feel me withdrawing? I shook my head, dislodging his fingers. “What gave me away?”

Q rolled his shoulders as if reigning himself in, bringing his energy to heel.

“I told you—I sense you.” His toned muscles stood out beneath the white t-shirt; I couldn’t look away from the bulge in his jeans.

“Now, stay still and present.” His face remained stoic and cool as he advanced with the scissors, running the cold kiss of metal along my neck, dipping to my throat.

His breathing quickened as the blade nicked my collar.

With perfect care, he cut my t-shirt right down the center. Each snip undid me, thread by thread, until I was sure he opened my chest, revealing a rabbiting heart, and all my secrets.

Everything he did symbolized so much. Q relished in playing me with unsaid words, everything about him a mystery.

~He won’t be so cocky when I discover who he is~. I’d use those secrets to play the same game—a sick circle of mind-trips and power struggles.

My core clenched at the thought of going head to head with Q in a battle of wills. I didn’t think I’d win, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to win. I could allow him to rule me—like I wanted him to.

He swallowed when he snipped the hem, splaying it wide, showing bare breasts and my rapidly breathing stomach.

With perfect control, he ran the pinpoint of a blade from my lower lip, down my neck, between my cleavage, to the top of my cotton shorts.

My skin broke out in goosebumps as he pressed ever so gently. The blade puckered my skin, but didn’t pierce. The delicate balance of trusting and fearing him made my heart buck out of control.

Q seemed lost in contemplation, twisting the scissors in a circle around my belly button. He told me not to leave, to remain rather than disappearing in my mind, but ~he~ left.

His face shadowed with thoughts and recollections. Things that didn’t seem pleasurable, things that made his body tremble. I’d give anything to follow him—to see if he lived in the dark or the light.

I tested the boundaries of the restraints; no give at all. He’d tied the knickers well. I squirmed beneath the blade; his eyes snapped to mine. He blinked, casting shadows away.

Palming the scissors, he leaned closer, wrapping fingers around my wrists as the button of his jeans bit my belly. His clothed chest teased my nipples, making them harden to painful nubs.

“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you.”

Oh, God. His voice activated every part. I panted breathlessly, “Why don’t you then? Or do you enjoying torturing me first?”

He reared back, jaw working. “Do you think this is torture? I could do so much worse, ~esclave.~ He rubbed his groin against mine, pressing my ass hard against the bedpost with his cock.

“I ~want ~to do so much worse.” His accent thickened, muttering,~“Je veux te faire crier. ~” I want to make you scream.

He didn’t say it in a kinky, playful way; he said it with passion so nightmarish, I couldn’t see anything but whips and pain and blood.

That did it.

My lust switched to fear and I moaned again, but this time, it was a plea. “Please… you don’t have to make me scream. You can take me. I’m yours.”

He laughed darkly. “You don’t get it do you, ~esclave?~ Your permission turns me off. I need to take from you to feel something. If you think I’m not like those men who raped you, you’re wrong.

“There’s something broken in me, and I need your pain to come.” He twisted a nipple with angry fingers. I yelped.

Pain coursed to pleasure, warming, making me wet. If Q was hardwired, needing pain to enjoy sex, so was I. I might’ve gone through my entire life, never knowing the key to my pleasure was pain.

Q, in his brutality, showed me something taboo… showed I liked to be dominated, and not just light role-playing. No, I needed the real thing.

Light shone through my brain at the realization. ~I’m not a sweet, innocent girl who wants cotton candy and sonnets. I’m a fighter, a slut, a woman who needed to be taught her own body.~

As I stood, tied to a bed, my owner leering with sin in his eyes and promise of hurt on his lips, I changed again. The chrysalis of who I’d been cracked open, letting me fly free.

I unfurled newfound wings, becoming more than Tess. I became a twisted, treasured belonging, reveling in her ownership. Who wanted Q to hurt her.

Fire blazed in my belly; I bared my teeth, snarling. “I won’t let you fuck me.”

Everything slammed to a halt.

Q. Me. Time.

The world teetered while Q tried to read me. We glared into each other’s eyes, reflecting the same fuckedupness, recognizing the same in the other.

The bond between us flared tight, reaching with glowing shackles, binding us together. I relished in the binds, accepting my true identity before Q even realized what I offered.

Slowly, Q moved, his entire body predatory, smooth, shark-like. “You won’t let me fuck you, ~esclave~?” Delight shimmered in his gaze, etched with black smoldering lust. “I’ve already fucked you.

“What makes you think I want to again?”

I thrust my hips forward, bumping an overheated core against his straining erection. The moment I slipped into unwilling victim, Q raged with hardness. His cock verged on iron, hard and unyielding.

“I don’t care if you do or don’t. You won’t because I say you’re not allo—”

He smothered me with his body; the post dug into my back as his mouth captured mine. His tongue speared between my lips.

I whimpered, melted, wanting so badly to kiss him back. But that wasn’t allowed in the role I played. The role I ~needed~ to play.

His lips branded, tearing another moan from me, rather than a curse. His tongue possessed my senses, forcing me to duel, to parry, to taste and savor. Was I returning his kiss? No, I wasn’t.

I was fighting to breathe, in every sense of the word.

I bucked, breaking the kiss, breathing ragged.

He turned the scissors on me again, hands deathly still as he snipped the waistband of my shorts. He murmured, “You want me to stop?”

~God, no. Never.~

“Yes, you bastard. I won’t let you do this. It’s sick. Wrong. Let me go.”

His body trembled with some undescribed emotion; keeping eye contact, he cut again.

I squirmed as the metal continued lower and lower, brushing against my core. “You don’t have permission. Stop.”

Eyes sharpened with challenge, and he deliberately cut slower, dragging out suspense, snipping my clothes away, one clip at a time.

The moment he cut the crotch, the shorts fell away, puddling to the floor in disgrace. If Q touched me, I’d combust. My damp knickers clung to every part.

Pretending to fight stimulated my lust to a forest fire.

No wonder missionary didn’t do it for me. I needed scissors and threats to become drunk on need.

Q slammed to his knees, wrapping his strong arms around my thighs, jerking me toward him. I screamed as his mouth connected over my knickers, hot breath radiating like a bomb between my legs.

He nibbled my swollen clit through the material, dragging more erratic breaths from my lungs.

I wanted to open my legs, to hook them over Q’s shoulder and ride his mouth, but that wasn’t the character of unwilling slave. Instead, I wriggled, trying to run from his probing, mind-melting tongue.

He rumbled in his chest; it vibrated against my legs. With one hand, he grabbed my ankle, purposely bringing attention to the GPS anklet. His silent touch spoke volumes. ~You’re mine. I track you.~

~You can’t escape.~

It was a red flag to my brain, knowing I could be wild and wanton because he wanted it. I could scream and writhe, and it only excited him. Brax would run if I ever screamed in bed.

Q tongued me, pressing with a pointed tip, licking wet cotton. I couldn’t stop my breath turning softer, feathery, needful.

“You don’t want this?” Q murmured again, standing slowly, trailing a finger up my inner thigh, right to my mouth. With a twist of his lips, he forced his finger past my lips.

The primal instinct to suck consumed, but I forced myself to go against instinct and bite instead.

He jerked, yanking his finger away.

I smiled darkly. “Put anything in my mouth and I swear to God, I’ll bite it off.” My mouth filled with saliva, anticipation making me hungry.

Ever since I belonged to Q, I discovered things I was never strong enough to visit before. This new, dark part wanted to taste his blood. To get real and gritty and deliciously wrong.

Q stepped closer, jeans scraping highly sensitive flesh. A band of release sparked from the contact.~ I’m so close. I’m never this close. God, Tess, he’s barely touched you.~

It was the mind games—my brain made it raw, wonderful.

His eyes glazed with need and he bit my lower lip, dragging soft flesh between his teeth: a warning he’d bite back.

I shuddered as he let me go. I expected him to cut my knickers off, but he paused, turning the scissors on himself.

Arching his neck, he snipped the collar, cutting down the centre of the t-shirt, just like with mine. Once in half, he shrugged it off, letting it join my ruined clothes on the floor.

My world spun and all I could think of was sparrows.

Q glared, daring me to judge him. And judge I did. His entire torso and right side was covered in fluttering birds.

The panic in a sparrow’s eyes closed my throat as they flew frantically from brambles, barbwire, and stormy clouds.

The clouds roiled on his side, swallowing up unlucky birds, suffocating them to death.

My heart hurt looking at Q’s intricate tattoo. There lurked an evilness, a sadness, reminding me of the mural on the wall of the pedestal room. I wanted to run fingers along perfectly inked feathers.

I wanted to lick his nipple where one bird had gotten free, the joy in its eyes blazed with hope.

So much was said by the design, but I didn’t understand it. I looked into his eyes. He held contact for a moment, before looking over my head.

His hands curled and he sucked in a breath, outlining perfectly cut stomach muscles.

He vibrated with tension. My heart fluttered like little sparrow wings, and I gave my last sense to Q. My sense of sight.

Standing so erect, standoffish, he filled my vision with everything I ever wanted. He owned everything but instincts and heart.

“Tell me. Tell me the story of the birds.”

He clenched his jaw. “It isn’t a story you need to know.”

“But it means so much to you. I see a recurring theme, Q… I want to understand.”

His face blackened. “You don’t have the right to call me Q when you’re tied to the bed. I’m your ~maître~. Address me as such.”

Anger at being denied made me argumentative. “I’ll fight you. You’ll have to wrap me up in brambles, same as the sparrows on your chest, if you want to fuck me, ~maître.~”

My taunt worked; he grabbed my chin with hard fingers. “You think you’re so fierce with your threats. My job isn’t to wrap you in shackles, ~esclave.~ My job is to ~unshackle~ you.

“And as much as you deny it, I’m doing a damn fine job.”

He ran his nose against mine, murmuring, “So shut the fuck up, stop looking at me like I’m some code to be cracked, and let me do what I fucking want to you.”

Stepping back, he attacked his jeans. Rather than undoing them, he cut them. Sawing through the waistband, slicing down the legs.

Each snip revealed hard thighs kissed by little curls, firm quads, and perfect bare feet. “Let’s see how you stick to your threats when I take your body.”

Oh, God. My insides were liquid, heated. Embarrassment at being wet painted my cheeks red. I couldn’t control my reaction. Q was my master in every sense.

Q stepped from the ruined jeans, closing the small distance between us. I couldn’t look away from his tattoo.

I related to it and in a way, I knew what it represented, but the conclusion kept leaping from grabbing distance.

Rolling his hips into mine, wearing only boxer briefs, Q murmured, “Tell me again you don’t want this, ~esclave~.”

How could I lie when my body screamed the truth? My mind was lust-filled, hazy, but I had a part to play. Q wanted me to fight so… I fought.

I leaned forward, snapping my teeth, coming within a hair's breadth of his nose. “Go to hell.”

His cock jumped in his boxer shorts, scalding me. Out of nowhere, his palm connected with my cheek, sending spasms of heat.

I gasped, glaring with watering eyes. “You fucking hit a woman when she says no? You’re perverted.”

He pursed his lips. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Taking him up on his offer, I whispered, “You think you’re a monster. You’re not.”

He grabbed my hair, twisting my neck. Agony flared, and I whimpered in real fear. “Would a kind man do this?”

When I didn’t answer, he twisted further until I screamed. “No! Only a monster does that.”

Not pacified, he reached for the scissors, quickly snipping my knickers and his boxers. They fluttered to the floor in pieces.

Q weighed the scissors in his hand, before tracing my naked stomach with the blade. “Would a kind man do this?” With a flick of his wrist, he nicked me. Blood welled in the tiny cut.

I shivered, wanting to put my hand over the wound, to hide it, heal it.

Real tears dripped. I was an idiot to think there was something redeemable in this man.

“No, only a monster would do that.” My voice was barely audible.

Q sneered. “Now you know the truth.” He bent and licked the blood off my stomach. His tongue lapped; my core clenched, reacting to the tenderness after inflicting pain.

His saliva staunched the bleeding and he straightened, licking his lips.

Everything tightened, my mouth parted, desperate to taste his blood. Tasting him was fair. He cut me—a debt must be paid.

Q narrowed his eyes, our souls screamed at each other, unhindered by human words.

~I want to hurt you.

I want to own you.

I want to devour you.

I want to make you mine.

I’m already yours.~

Who thought that? Me or him? Whose eyes spoke the truth before we acknowledged it in our minds?

Q reached up, and with a quick slice, nicked below his nipple with the sparrow flying free. A droplet of crimson welled. I watched with crippling need.

~Taste. I have to taste.~

He stood taller, placing his chest against my mouth. I greedily lapped the droplet, moaning as salty metallic fogged my entire being.

Once I cleaned him, he pulled away, murmuring, “Monsters find each other in the dark.”

I couldn’t read his tone, and I didn’t like the implication. ~Am I a monster?~ Compared to Brax most definitely, but Q… there were limits he crossed that I never could.

~Had~ we found each other in the darkness? I may have black desires, but I loved light, too. I needed tenderness to temper pain and degradation. Was that an option?

Q wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking, looking deep into my eyes. With another hand, he found my center, easing a finger deep inside.

Even though my body rippled, I never stopped being in character. Q couldn’t know how much I wanted this. I had to fight—I ~wanted~ to fight.

I somehow tapped into a kickass actress, coaxing a tear to fall. “I don’t want this.”

His nostrils flared. Unwrapping fingers from his cock, he captured a tear on a fingertip. He stared at it, then me, indecision searing in his gaze. The night reclaimed him, shadowing his face.

He licked the salty tear. “You’ll be crying more before I’m finished with you.”

I began a file on what turned my master on. Tears was one, struggles another. What was his ultimate undoing? I wouldn’t stop until I found out.

Tears shed again, forcing myself into the headspace of hating him, just like when I first arrived. Before he saved me, killed for me. Q didn’t want a meek slave. He loved my unbrokenness.

Another puzzle locked into place. Was that what Suzette meant when she said Q didn’t touch her because she was ruined? He touched me, because I fought—I was strong.

He couldn’t fuck an injured… yet he wanted… what did he want? To tame me? To parry?

Something in him wanted to be accused of being a rapist, of being sick and twisted, because that’s how he honestly saw himself.

Q flicked a tongue over my cheek, catching tears. I gasped and wriggled, biting my lip as our naked bodies slid against each other. My nipples sprang to an all-new hardness, budding with excitement.

His head bowed, forehead to forehead. I breathed him in, gluing myself to the post, making sure no part reached for him. That would ruin the game. I couldn’t forget, I didn’t want this.

“Ah, ~esclave. Tu m'excites comme c’est pas croyable.~” You excite me beyond belief. His fingers shot between my legs, plunging deep. My knees trembled as his hand rocked, hard.

I whimpered, body reacting—swelling, melting, ~needing~. I was ravenous for whatever Q gave. I wanted him so badly, but I wanted to fight just as much.

The act of saying no did strange things to me, turning sex from mediocre to knee-wobbly and carnal. I became a hungry, libido-driven woman; only Q could scratch my erotic itch.

Q murmured in French, dialects swallowed by the silent night-shrouded room. I panted, but it sounded hushed, like a dream.

His finger was the ultimate ownership. Palpitating my core, he sucked in a breath as I thrust, needing more

I couldn’t help it. I moaned.

He pressed his cock against my hip, smearing glistening pre-cum on me. His erection was hot, hard, and tempting beyond belief. His breathing matched mine in roughness. “You can’t lie. Not now.

“Not when your body blares the truth.” He moved his fingers, stroking inner parts of me, throbbing with the need to release.

He was right, I couldn’t lie and I cried harder.

I wanted to scream: ~fuck me, I’m yours~. Instead, I said, “Get your fingers out of me.”

“Shush, ~ma belle~. You want this.” His voice rippled with sensuality. I wondered how much he acted, too. Had he tamed himself on my account? How much darker would he go?

Q stroked harder, withdrawing more moisture between my legs.

My breasts ached to be touched, my mouth was empty, needing kisses, but my heart blazed so full, I thought I might disintegrate into fiery fragments.

Q stopped suddenly, withdrawing. “I’m the only one who can give you what you truly desire.” His fingers dug into my cheek, spreading my scent.

“But I refuse to take it.” He stepped between my legs, positioning his cock where I wanted him most. He rubbed with the tip, earning a pant and a cry.

I rocked, imploring him to take me. I trembled with need so extreme, it set my teeth on edge.

“Give it to me, or you’ll become nothing.”

My eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you everything you ask for. There’s nothing left to give.”

Pulling back, he stared, unfettered, eyes blazing with overpowering lust. He stepped away, dragging a hand over his short pelt of hair.

My hips moved toward him on their own accord, searching, wanting. Mortified, I pressed against the post, hoping he hadn’t seen.

But he did; his lips quirked. “Always lying.”

I said nothing.

Q paced. “I’ll fuck you anyway you want, if you give me what~ I~ want.”

Delicious anticipation filled, but I frowned. “What do you want?”

“I want to own all of you, ~esclave~. Including your name.”

My heart raced. Truth rang in his words. He would deny both of us because he wanted to know my name. I didn’t have to fake the answer: “You’ll be dead before that happens.” I was furious with him.

He chuckled—it sounded positively light-hearted compared to the tension charging around us. “No one will be dead, but I might die of pleasure by having you.”

I ignored the thrill, staying in character. “Bastard.”

His mood shifted to commanding, dominating. “You have no idea.” He laughed but it held pain.

My breath hitched. I tried my rusty French. ~“Je ne suis pas à toi.”~ I am not yours.

Grinding his teeth, he reached up, undoing the knicker restraints. Pulling my body roughly away from the bedpost, he threw me on the mattress.

“I dare you to say that again, ~esclave~.” Folding himself over me like a living cape, pressing down, almost suffocating me in the covers. My stomach twisted and a small mewl escaped.

The overbearing action of lying on me, both thrilled and terrified.

Lips kissed a trail along the back of my neck, all the while fingers tickled the inside of my thigh, moving higher, higher.

Each millimeter he traveled set my blood to boil. I didn’t understand how one touch made me shiver with need. Was it Q’s domination? The knowledge I couldn’t stop him? It couldn’t be.

The rape cured me of that ridiculous fantasy.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew Q meant me no harm. He wanted me and I was his; there was nothing wrong with him taking me—anyway he chose.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded.

I instantly complied. His fingers found my entrance, stroking. Q’s breath hitched as he forced two fingers inside, stretching, bruising, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more.

An orgasm teased, on the brink of release. So close, so fast. I wanted it desperately.

Q seemed to sense my urgency and slid off. Kneeling behind me, his hands curled around my ankles possessively, spreading my stance even more.

I cried out as his tongue licked up my leg, moving with delicious wet pressure, heading to the one place I ached.

When his tongue found me, sucking my clit with the finesse of an experienced lover, my hips bucked over his mouth. I’d never been so needy, so possessed with yearning. I never wanted to think again.

This was true freedom—right here, with my master kneeling between my legs.

A long finger entered, thrusting deep as his tongue lapped, conjuring star bright spasms, shooting in my belly. I rode his finger, searching for friction.

I needed him in me. I needed him to claim.

He stood, grabbing my neck, arching me to kiss him. His chin glistened from my wetness, filling me with my taste.

He bit my lip, positioning himself behind me. “I own all of you, ~esclave~.”

I wasn’t prepared for the sharp, sudden, shocking invasion of his massive cock. I cried out as he stretched me wide, giving no time to adjust.

My stomach knotted into a complex cosmos, gathering power to release.

I groaned as he thrust hard, taking me from behind, spread over the bed. I trembled in ecstasy I’d never felt before.

Q bit my shoulder, fingers digging deep into my hips, jerking me back, thrust after thrust.

Each withdrawal and penetration, built and built until I was sopping wet, moaning, whimpering, more vocal than I’d ever been in my life.

“ ~Putain de merde~,” he growled, fucking me so hard, my knees bashed against the soft comforter.

His voice was everything I needed to release the glowing galaxy in my core. I screamed, literally screamed, as I came harder than I’d ever come before.

The mind games Q played, the connection I felt after a lifetime of being adrift, all exploded, turning my body into a bundle of hyper-sensitive nerves.

Q’s sexual domination enlightened me. My good girl barrier was permanently removed, and I reveled in Q’s flesh slapping against mine, finding his own pleasure.

The heavy hotness of his balls slapped against my clit as he fucked harder. My hands grabbed the sheets, bunching them with every skin-slap.

Q fisted my hair, arching my back, at the same time, he spanked my ass. “Fuck, I want to make you bleed.” He hit me again, again. Each handprint hot, laced with pleasure-pain and erotic torture.

The agony added another threshold to battered nerve endings. “Oh, God,” I moaned, shuddering with fiercely building pressure, racing up my legs, into my center.

Not again. Surely. I never had multiple orgasms.

Q cursed, slapping me so hard, tears rained even as I panted. ~It hurts. It feels too good. Stop. Hit harder. Don’t. More.~

I shattered into a gazillion pieces, milking Q’s cock for a second time.

“Fuck,” he groaned, bucking with feral strength, shaking me to the soul. He slapped my ass so hard, I bit my lip, drawing blood. Stinging pain pulsed while Q exploded inside.

I felt every ridge, every spurt, relishing in owning some part of him. He gave himself to me.

His cum was mine. Just like I was his.

My ass stung but my body was as limp as a ragdoll.

Q pulled out, breathing hard. I rolled painfully onto my back, watching him stalk to the bathroom. He returned, wrapping a towel around his hips.

I sat up, flinching from his abuse, both external and internal. My body languished in sated bliss.

His demeanor was closed off, angry. He didn’t even look me in the eye.

Had I been that terrible? I wasn’t experienced, but Brax always seemed to enjoy sex with me. Rejection stabbed like daggers; I waited for a sign that Q was satisfied, but he never looked at me.

His seed trickled down my thigh, spreading a damp stain on the sheets. Tears pricked. I must’ve done something terribly wrong. I had to fix it.

If I didn’t please Q, he’d throw me back to men like Brute and Driver. He’d withdraw his protection. His comfort.

I didn’t know what to do.

Sliding off the bed, I crawled to Q. He never asked me to be anything other than human, but maybe he secretly wanted me to be lowly.

I clutched his towel, looking into tortured pale eyes. He didn’t look like a man who’d had explosive sex. He looked like he wanted to commit suicide, or scrub his cock with abrasive soap.

A man with ten-ton regret.

My throat lodged with need and failure. “I’m sorry. I can do better. I promise. Please, give me another chance.”

Old Tess sat up in horror. I begged a man who didn’t even want me—a man who kept me like an unwanted pair of socks—to fuck me again.

I begged like he could end my life.

Because he could.

I no longer trusted the world. I trusted Q. With everything I had. I couldn’t cope if he despised me for something I did wrong.

Q stepped back, his muscles making it seem as if sparrows moved and fluttered. “~Esclave~, stop this. Go get clean. Go to bed.”

His orders slapped me in the face. He wanted me to clean so no part of him remained? How could he ask that? We were linked. If I showered, the link would be gone. I would be nothing again.

Oh, God, I was fucked up. So ruined. So broken.

Q looked down, his jaw working under his five o'clock shadow. “I won’t touch you again until you tell me your name.”

Then he left.

Just like every time.