Chapter 20

Tess

~Tern~

I tossed and turned in bed, terrified of what morning would bring.

After running like a coward, I tried to eavesdrop, but voices didn’t travel up the staircase.

The unknown haunted me and I couldn’t remove the image from my mind of Q in a cell.

I glanced at the clock; my heart stuttered like a faulty object. 2:14 a.m.

No one had come for me. No noise signaled that Q had been forcefully removed from his home. Was he bribing them to turn the other way?

I hoped beyond hope this might all blow over, and life would continue. If it didn’t, I would latch onto the bedpost and refuse to go. I didn’t want to return to Brax or parents who didn’t care.

I didn’t know how a warrant worked—didn’t it give the right to explore the house? How come no one explored?

It didn’t make sense. I was still in the man’s house, who Brax accused of keeping me prisoner. Somehow, Q kept the law from stealing me or arresting him. ~He’s more powerful than I thought.~

It was yet another unknown.

At two-thirty, I gave up the pretense of trying to sleep. Pulling the sketchpad Q gave me from my bedside table, I turned on the lamp.

With a painful squeeze in my chest, I cracked open fresh pages and took out a charcoal. My fingers twirled the pencil like an old friend, but I sat staring at the paper, lost.

So many things fought for space inside. I wanted to run, or fight, or scream. I wanted to apologize to Q, then yell at him for making me feel so many things.

Sketching was my outlet, and I wanted to pour everything onto the page.

Slowly, my hand feathered quick strokes, followed by heavier touches here and there. As I worked, I recalled the release drawing gave. It soothed and eased, helping calm my overworked mind.

Following lines and contours of buildings from memory, I disappeared into the realm of property and architecture, finding blissful silence from worry and lust.

I frowned as I made a mistake, but kept going. I preferred sketching from a photograph or directly in front of a building, the sun on my face and the world buzzing around.

Sitting in bed, waiting to hear my fate, I sketched Q’s mansion. I drew his home on the sketchpad he gifted. His gesture gripped my heart; I throbbed for him. ~Please, don’t let him be in custody.~

My uncertain future tried to steal the oasis of calm and I sighed. Where had Suzette gone? I hadn’t seen her since the conservatory.

I flinched to think she would’ve slapped me if Q hadn’t stopped her.

Night turned into early morning, yet I didn’t turn off the light. I huddled, sketching as if the world would crumble if I didn’t. Q’s pastel mansion came to life.

I added sconces and plasterwork beneath sweeping windows, capturing ruddy cheeked cherubs and intricate architraves.

Normally, my passion lay in crisp lines of concrete and steel, not a historic manor, but the drawing would be one of my best. I wished I could draw humans.

Capture Q’s face on the page, his sternness, his posture. But nothing, not even a perfect photograph, would capture Q’s essential being. Q was vibrant. Q was unique.

Q radiated... as Quincy he turned human. I didn’t want human. I wanted my master. A lover who dominated.

Exhaustion warred with sadness, and I sank deeper into pillows.

I fell asleep with the pad on my lap, and charcoal-smeared hands cupping a cheek.

“~Esclave~. I mean... Tess.”

My heart catapulted, blood pumping.

Brute. Driver.

Hands. Cock. Pain.

Nightmares shattered, leaving me with breath-stealing fear. A hand landed on my shoulder, hot and heavy. I snapped.

Screaming, I struck, connecting with something solid. Pain blazed in my wrist and I shot upright, yelping. “What the hell?”

A man’s ~umph~ filled the night-silence. The smell of citrus hit, with the reek of bourbon and brandy.

Q stumbled back. “~Merde.~ You didn’t have t—to fucking hish m—me,” he slurred, rubbing his chest, climbing drunkenly off the bed.

Oh, my God. Q.

My body warmed, even as my mind told me to be careful.

He grunted, swaying toward the mattress again, almost tumbling on top.

Hell, my master was inebriated. I knew he shouldn’t drink with his migraine. His shoulders rolled, rather than straight and proud, eyes glazed and watery.

~Don’t tell me he’s been drinking with the police all this time?~

I sat up, pushing covers off and climbing out of bed.

Q blinked, shaking his head. He tripped, grabbing hold of a bedpost. I approached him warily, with hands up in surrender and heart rabbiting. “Q... get into bed, before you fall over.”

He giggled. Literally giggled like a little girl. “Trying to t—take advantage in m—my intoxicated state, ~esclave?~” French accent thickened, slurred. I had trouble understanding.

I stepped closer, my palate catching the smell of booze. He scooted back and swayed like a human tower of Pisa. For God’s sake, how much did he drink?

I darted forward and caught him, propping him up with a shoulder. The alcoholic whiff tingled my senses. I swear I grew high off the fumes. Or was it his hot, hard, sinful body pressed against mine?

Or the deep musky scent of aftershave and sandalwood?

My stomach twisted as Q leaned heavily, turning his head to sniff my hair. He sighed. “Smell so good. So fucking good. Like rain... no, no like frost.

“Sharp and fresh and icy and cold and...and painful.” He closed his eyes, voice trailing into a whisper. “You love c—causing pain.”

My heart stopped. ~I~ hurt ~him~? It was the other way around. Completely. I never suffered so much since he owned me.

His eyes flashed to mine, swirling with liquor and a lingering headache. “That’s what you are. Painful.” He thumped his chest. “Painful to me.” Closing his eyes again, he frowned and swallowed.

Unable to address the swirling mess of feelings inside, I pushed him toward the bed. “Sit before you fall.” Breathing hard, I helped lower him till he lay down.

He moaned, clutching my forearm when I moved away. His grip was a death trap, and I had no choice but to sit by his side, letting him wrap strong, heated fingers around my barcoded wrist.

Inching closer, I hesitantly ran fingers through his short hair, relishing once again in being able to touch him. I thought I wouldn’t see him again—be alone with him again.

The fact he wouldn’t remember visiting me in the morning didn’t matter. He was here. For now. In this window of time, before the sun rose—he was all mine.

He quieted, purring under my gentle touch. Sadness fell as I realized he was about to pass out. So much for having him to myself. He came to hog my bed and left me out in the cold.

His breathing settled, low and even; I pulled away. He was asleep. The moment I moved, fingers tightened on my wrist. “Snow. Snow. You’re named after winter… my favorite season.”

I froze. He spoke with no holds barred. Voice clearer, but still loose with booze. “Why do you like winter?” I whispered, so afraid he would comatose before answering.

“The season where everything dies, but is reborn better than ever.” His eyes flared, and wedged himself upright on elbows, wincing. “That’s what I do, you know. I’m winter.”

I had no clue what he meant, but stayed as quiet as possible. ~Please, keep talking.~

A strange light filled his pale eyes. “Fifty-seven,” he mumbled.

Heartbeats raced. Somehow, I knew Q was about to open up. He dropped his guard, allowing me to glimpse inside. I launched into interrogation mode.

Trying hard not to look too interested, I linked fingers with his, stroking ever so gently. “Fifty-seven what, master?”

His eyes closed and he moaned, swaying toward my touch. Then his lips twitched and he jerked away. “Not master. Fucking hate that word.” Jaw clenched, and he waged a war inside.

Smoldering jade eyes entrapped me and I couldn’t move.

Drunken glaze stole him again; he sighed with the weight of the world. “Not true. Love that word when I’m ~your~ master. I love hurting you, fucking you, playing mind games with you.

“It makes me just like him.”

Q curled a fist, and I yelped as he punched himself hard in the chest. “I’m sick. Nothing but evil lives inside.” He grabbed me, dragging me close, almost pressing his nose against mine.

“You came along, and made me accept the darkness.”

I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t like the rage and strange glint in his eyes. I felt lost and breakable. Swallowing, I changed the subject. “Why fifty-seven? What does the number represent?”

Q chuckled darkly. “Girls, of course. Fifty-seven little birds I froze in my winter frost and helped thaw.”

Girls? He owned and lived with fifty-seven girls before me? Sick jealousy rolled, and I froze. ~What the fuck does that mean?~ My brain hurt. Q’s drunken metaphors didn’t make sense.

No one could have fifty-seven women. It was monstrous.

I wanted to slap him. “You’ve owned fifty-seven girls?”

He nodded, as if it made perfect sense. “Fifty-seven.” A finger connected between my breasts, marking, branding. “You’re fifty-eight.” His eyes dropped to my chest and he cupped my flesh fiercely.

“Number fifty-eight, who ruined my life.”

I whacked his hand away. “~I~ ruined ~your~ life?” Fierce rage consumed, mixing with jealousy, drowning in jittery angst. My heart refused to stop beating a billion flurries a minute.

“~I~ “You sleep with fifty-seven slaves and have the audacity to question how many men I’ve been with?

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” I shot off the bed, tangling fingers in my hair, inflicting pain to stop the bone-crushing agony of the truth. “You have no idea how fucked up you’ve made me.”

Q flung his long legs off the bed, standing. He promptly sat heavily, holding his head. “Stop screeching, ~esclave.~

“Come here.” He kept his head bowed, but a hand outstretched, fully expecting me to obey. Not this time. I’d reached my limit.

I stalked back and slapped him. “I was right to call the police. You’re a bastard.”

Oxygen cracked with tension as Q looked through heavy lids. His teeth ground and the sloppy drunk morphed into angry drunk. In a flash, Q whipped upright, picked me up, and threw me on the bed.

I yelped as he collapsed on top, pinning me to the mattress.

He growled, “I’m a bastard? Isn’t that a requirement to being a master? To be cruel and unapproachable?” He traced my ear with a tongue, lacing me in brandy. “I love treating you like dirt.

“It gets me fucking hard.” Q ground his raging hot cock against my flimsy night shorts. “Can you feel that, ~esclave?~

“I’m a walking hard on needing to punish you, fuck you, remind you that your place is beneath me to take my come and welcome my palm.”

He thrust again, a feral shadow on his face. “Every moment with you in my home is delicious fucking torture.

“Every time I see you, I want to make your skin flush with pain, your breath ragged from pleasure. I want to do everything that I shouldn’t want to do. Do you get it?

“You cause immeasurable pain as you bring alive the sickness in me.”

My mind whirled with every word; I tried to push him off. My arms were weak and trembly, body wet and needy. The blackness in his tone warmed, thrilled, repulsed, ~terrified.~

Not one sense, but everything, sprang to hyperawareness. I wanted to scratch his eyes out—to draw more anger from him for some ludicrous reason.

My core rippled, needing to be taken violently, even as my mind rebelled against the thought of him being with so many others. “Get the fuck off me.”

His answer was to kiss me. His tongue darted past my lips, thrusting, claiming with every angry stroke. I wriggled, but it was no use.

While he smothered me with taste, he pinned my wrists above my head, breathing hard. Biting my lower lip, he pulled away. “Why didn’t you want me to know your name?”

The sudden change from anger to inquisition left me reeling. I pursed my lips, glaring.

Temper blazed on his face, and he kissed me so hard, I cried out with the pain. Q took advantage of my open mouth, plunging his tongue deep, almost choking me with ferocity.

When he finally let me breathe, he bit my neck and shook his head like a lion with prey. My skin stung then screamed as teeth punctured my skin.

“Fuck!” I jolted; he laughed.

His tongue lapped the wound, saliva stinging with liquor.

I squeezed my eyes and just lay there. “Why are you being so cruel?”

Tears pressed and my topsy-turvy emotions flicked from lust to lusty hate. “I wish the police arrested you.” I could never make up my mind which feeling was true when it came to Q.

One moment, I thought I might be able to give him what he needed, be his slave if I got something more in return, other times, I wanted him dead.

He reared back, looking with temper and remorse. My heart stuttered, then raced erratically. He was full of personalities tonight; I couldn’t keep up.

Q muttered, “~Tu ne peux pas être á moi, mais je deviens á toi.”~

My stomach twisted, filling with frothy bubbles. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t look away. Q brushed his lips against mine ever so sweetly, repeating in English, forcing me to swallow the words.

“You may not be mine, but I’m fast becoming yours.”

Time froze.

His confession tied me up, stole my mind. His drunken state let me see the depth of his feelings. Time began anew, sparkling with new possibilities. My body was no longer mine, it belonged to Q.

Everything belonged to Q.

“Goddammit, you don’t play fair,” I whispered, brushing away a tear that had the audacity to leak.

Q rolled, propping himself on his elbow. One finger traced my nipple through the thin t-shirt. His deep French accent rumbled, “~Esclave~… I can’t…. I won’t…” he slurred.

My hand reached on its own accord to cup his cheek. Clammy skin burned beneath my fingertips. He leaned into me as if I was a lifeline.

I murmured, “What do you need, master?” My body knew. It had known all along. Q fought more battles than I did, and after his crazy drunk rantings, I began to understand just how deep he went.

Just how much he suffered. “Tell me. Anything you want.”

“I killed him. I killed him for doing things to girls I desperately want to do to you.” He sat on his knees, hazy with alcohol, but still focused, aware.

He sucked in a breath. “Let me have one night where I can do anything I want. Submit to me completely, no more arguing, fighting.

“Become a perfect slave.” He lowered his voice, throbbing with intensity. “For me.”

In his request, I saw black need—need so extreme it eclipsed my lust, making it seem like a crush compared to a violent love affair.

“You’re not just a possession, ~esclave~. I could force you to do this, but I won’t.” He rubbed an unsteady thumb along my bottom lip. “I’m giving you a choice.”

The connection between us strengthened, lengthened. By giving me the choice, he showed he cared as much as he may want to destroy.

The rest of the world ceased to exist. The police didn’t matter. Brax didn’t matter.

Q and I became our entire galaxy, and I reveled in the gift I was about to give him. The gift I was about to give myself.

I dropped off the bed and fell to my knees. Bowing, I splayed my legs like every image I’d seen of a submissive before her master.

I bowed further; hair curtained my face as I whispered, “~Je suis à toi~. Fuck me, master, act out your fantasies. Hurt me. Debase me.

“Make me yours.” Every word I uttered turned on a power inside unlike any other.

The fact I willingly gave myself to him, to do whatever he wanted, unlocked new dimensions I’d been too chicken-shit to visit. I needed this as much as he did.

Q unfolded himself from the bed, positioning himself in front of me. His breathing grew harsh and thick, chest pumping with exertion. He stroked my hair before fisting it, jerking my eyes to meet his.

Everything about him smoldered: eyes, mouth, body. I could’ve come just with the pheromones he shot into the air.

“You’ve made your choice. You can’t take it back. I take you up on your offer, ~esclave~.” He pulled me upright by my hair. My scalp screamed, and I winced, holding onto his hands.

When I stood, he said, “You can scream. You can cry. But I give you my promise I’ll stop if you say the safe word.”

“What’s the safe word?” I didn’t need to ask. I smiled crookedly.

Together, we murmured, “Sparrow.”

With another look, singeing my soul, we signed our bargain. Q swelled with dominance and I burned with power of my own. A power I didn’t have a name for—power over Q.

“You’re mine tonight.” Q kissed my cheek.

“Yes,” I breathed, and just like that, I became Q’s whore. His doting, willing, eager little whore.

Q vibrated with unbridled sexuality as he grabbed my hand and carted me from the room.

I followed my drunken master down the rich corridor and up a set of private stairs only visible behind a wall panel.

Circular steps led up and up, until Q pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a medieval-looking door.

He practically threw me inside, before slamming it, and locking it with the same key.

My eyes widened as I took in the cylindrical room. It would’ve been a tower, if the additions to the manor over the years hadn’t evolved and hidden it from view.

It reeked of masculinity—a dark undertone sending hot need through my veins.

A massive white rug rested in front of a ginormous fireplace. It was so big, I could’ve stood inside and not reached the mantle.

Weapons and ancient paintings covered the walls, along with a bed three times the size of any other.

Q’s domain.

The décor screamed hunter—an insight into his wishes, desires to ravage and ruin. The huge room announced how much he loved to control and dominate. He brought me here to do anything he wanted.

~How many other girls have been in his space?~

I scowled, ignoring those thoughts. Tonight was about Q and I. Past and future didn’t belong in this exquisite present.

Sitting at the end of the monstrous black-covered bed was a mirrored chest. Studded with silver rivets, it reflected my tousled hair and trembling form.

My heart raced, absorbing so much at once.

Q came up behind and slapped my ass. “Stand in the center of the room.” The scent of alcohol warned Q’s inhibitions were completely gone. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed until he was sober.

When I didn’t move, Q grabbed my throat, sending arcs of fear and want through me. “Obey, ~esclave.~”

He let me go and I scampered to the center of the room. My feet sank into thick, silver-white strands of the carpet.

Facing the magnificent fireplace, I noticed carvings of foxes hunted by hounds, and deer impaled on spikes. At first glance, it was pretty and fanciful.

But when studied, it writhed with hunger to kill and maim.

A sliver of terror darted down my back; I looked behind for Q. He stood by the wall, pulling on a lever.

Tinkling sounded from above, and I craned my neck as chains with leather cuffs descended.

My throat closed. He wanted to restrain me like he had in the sparrow room. Panic flared, turning my heated blood into a volcanic eruption.

Q’s hot form pressed behind mine. I trembled as he rubbed his erection against my ass. “Put your hands up, ~esclave.”

I agreed to do anything he wanted, but I didn’t have the courage to go through this again. All I could think about was the Russian and his knife.

Shaking my head, I whimpered, “I’ll do anything but this.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “You’re disobeying?” His tone held nightmares. “I’ll punish you if you don’t put your arms up immediately.”

I bit my lip. The force of the command buckled me, and I slowly raised my arms. Everything Q was about to do would put my entire mindset to the test.

I would either fall headlong into love, or break completely. I wanted this to hurt. I wanted to feel every inch. I wanted to remember it for the rest of my life.

And if it meant tying me up again, so be it. Perhaps it would replace the memories of the Russian and his knife, just like Q replaced the rape with himself and the shower.

My eyes fluttered closed as Q secured my wrists in the leather cuffs. When the last buckle was tight, I whispered, “I have one request, if I may, master?”

Q pressed his face against my neck, licking the bite he’d given earlier. “One request and no more. Make it count.”

I trembled and opened the remaining barriers inside. This request was for me. Only for me. “I want you to call me Tess.”

He froze, cock hard against me, chest against my back. A minute ticked past before he murmured, “You want to link your name to this? But you fought so hard to keep it from me.”

I nodded, swallowing as he rocked his hips once, causing me to sway forward in the bindings. “I know. But I want you to call me by my name.

“I want to know you own me.” My core clenched and I moaned as Q found my breast, twisting my nipple so hard it erupted into flames.

“As you wish, ~esclave~. Every time I call you Tess, remember I can do anything I want to you. I fucking own you.”

“Yes.”

“After tonight, every time I say your name you’ll get wet for me. I not only own your body but your identity, too. Do you deny it?”

“No, I don’t deny it. I’m yours. Through and through.”

With another twist of a nipple, Q strode toward the fireplace. I stood meekly in my cuffs, watching.

He didn’t load the fire with logs or fumble with matches. One click and gas flames roared, immediately searing.

Q faced me, running hands over his head. He shed the remaining tipsy haze, cloaking himself with sovereignty. Stalking forward, he pulled silver scissors from a pocket.

I gulped and didn’t say a word as he stopped a breath away. Snipping the scissors once with a tight smile, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and cut.

The blade tickled my stomach, up between my breasts, until the collar broke apart and it hung in tatters. Q clenched his jaw, cutting away my bra and shorts.

With a hot look beneath heavy eyes, he snipped my knickers and watched as they fluttered to the floor.

I stood in naked glory, spreading wings of fearful happiness.

Gathering the ruined clothing, he threw them in the fire. The smell of burning filled the room and the drunken lust on Q’s face magnified to desperate proportions.

I couldn’t stop how fast I breathed, and hated when Q disappeared behind me. I heard the sounds of latches being undone and a heavy lid creaking open.

Things tinkled and clanked, sending imagination into overdrive. I strained to look over my shoulder, mouth hanging open at the toys and apparatus in the mirrored chest.

Silence descended, apart from the hiss of flames; I grew more and more uncomfortable. Anticipation played with my mind. ~What am I doing? I don’t want this. I don’t want pain and humiliation.~

I should say the safe word and admit this was a huge mistake. I shouldn’t be chained, naked, allowing a man to do anything he wanted. He could kill me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

A slithering sound came from behind, and I tensed. I didn’t want to know what it was. Q paced behind, footsteps almost silent on the carpet. “Seeing as I’ve got you in such a compromising position.

“I’m going to use it to my benefit.” His voice was gravelly with sin.

Oh, God. I wanted to ask what he meant, but he stopped directly behind, a few meters away. Why was he so far?

“How long have you fantasized about being ~fucked?~ Tortured? Used completely?” He stressed the word fuck; it resonated with erotic waves in my belly.

It had to be the most graphic, raw question anyone ever asked.

But it was also a question begging for a lie. I couldn’t tell him that ever since hitting puberty I craved something I didn’t know. I gave myself orgasms to thoughts of domination and fear.

I pressed lips together, not answering.

Out of nowhere, my shoulder blade licked with the pain of a thousand bees. The snap and crack of a whip echoed around the room.

I cried out, jerking in the restraints.

He fucking whipped me! The pain radiated along my back, warm, hot, biting. My stomach tangled with regret. I didn’t sign up to be hit and abused. I signed up to be fucked ruthlessly.

Tears erupted as another crack and kiss of agony landed. My spine screamed and the wetness between my legs increased.

“Answer me, Tess. How long? How badly? I need to know.”

I whimpered, hanging my head. “All along. My mind’s been sick for as long as I can remember. It horrifies me. I can’t control it.

“It ruined my relationship with a sweet man, all because I need to be fucked, rather than made love to.” The truth cascaded off my tongue in one seamless stream. “I need it. So bad you have no idea.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I have some idea.” The whip struck again, licking with agony.

“Stop!” I cried, letting tears run free.

“Does the whip make you wet? Make you desperate?”

“Yes! Shit, yes. So much.”

Q laughed, it was dark and edgy, and so full of need, my heart twisted. He needed to inflict pain—I couldn’t take that from him.

The whip cracked again, but instead of tensing and bracing, I welcomed the lash. My body melted into acceptance and flesh became pliant.

“Tell me your darkest fantasy,” he ordered, pacing, the slither of the whip trailing soft footsteps.

I moaned, images flashed into my head of hair fisting, spanking, and bondage. He knew what I liked—he ~knew~. But I didn’t know what he liked. I curled my bound hands.

“Everything you do to me is a fantasy. I want to know yours. How dark do you want? How much further would you go?”

Q hit lower, licking my lower back and ass. “You aren’t allowed to ask questions.” Every strike burned, but rather than cripple with abuse, it changed me.

I became a phoenix with a flaming back, welcoming the whip’s kiss. My body accepted the lash, not on my back, but in my core. Heat cranked to bonfire.

“Please, I need to know. Please…”

Q stopped whipping. I didn’t think he’d answer, but his breath kissed my neck, whispering, “You aren’t ready to hear the depths of my depravity, ~esclave.~” He spanked my ass with one firm, biting hand.

I groaned.

Even though the pain was multi-dimensional and I equally enjoyed and hated it, I tried to get free. It wasn’t the whip punishing—it was being held in perfect submission. I couldn't retaliate.

I couldn’t twist or run. I could only hang and accept whatever Q gave.

Q backed up, murmuring, “Your skin is beautiful whipped, Tess, blooming pink and red. I think a few more colours are needed. Perhaps a deep maroon.”

The crack gave a second warning, before an intense sting buckled my knees; I swung in delirium. The lash held pent up emotion. Fear overrode again.

Gone were the tantalizing questions, this was pure violence.

“This is for calling the police on me.” Q whipped hard.

“This is for running away.” Another agonising kiss.

“This is for making me so consumed by sin, I can no longer think straight.” Q grunted as he connected with flesh. I sobbed, wailing for him to stop. The crisscross burns stripped me to my soul.

Q threw the whip at my feet, cradling me in his arms. “It’s okay… stop crying.” His linen suit rasped against my tender back as he soothed. The throbbing heat kept time with my heartbeats.

I sucked heavy lungfuls of air. ~Is it over?~ “You’re fucking with my mind,” I breathed through my tears.

Q’s hand headed down my belly, inching lower until he cupped me. “No, I’m fucking ~for~ your mind. I told you, I want to own you—body, heart, everything.”

I moaned as he circled my clit, nibbling my ear. “Tell me. Did you like being whipped?” He thrust a finger inside with no warning, arms banding tighter as I bucked in surprise. “Tell me the truth.”

I couldn’t think straight; I mumbled, “I didn’t like it, but I liked giving you what you need. It made me wet knowing you enjoyed it.”

“You think you didn’t enjoy it… but your body bent to the whip. Listen to what it’s telling you. Let it be your master.” Q sucked in a breath, finger pulsing inside before withdrawing.

He brought his hand to my mouth. “You’re wet. So wet. Suck my finger, Tess.”

I opened, welcoming. My nose was stuffy from crying and I couldn’t get enough breath, but his taste of citrus mixed with me and the pain he caused branded with lust.

I rocked into his erection, silently pleading.

He stepped away, leaving me hanging like the captive I was. Q was wrong when he said being owned by him wasn’t romantic or sexy or fun. I’d never felt this way. This uninhibited. This ~free.~

The world went black as Q fixed a blindfold over my eyes, tying it securely. His fingers grazed my neck, sending goosebumps and shivers skimming over my nakedness.

I grew too hot thanks to the fire and perspiration dotted my upper lip.

“I’m going to take control of you now, Tess.”

I nodded erratically, my heart beating wildly out of control.

Q grabbed my breast with one hand. Something sharp pinched my nipple. I wished I could see what it was.

Cupping my other breast, the weight of whatever he clamped dangled with an uncomfortable sensation.

Q murmured, “J'adore tes seins.” I love your tits.

The same pinching weight attached to my other nipple, sending shooting stars of need through an invisible link to my core.

I pulsed in time to the blood throbbing in my nipples and whip marks. I whimpered as pain blossomed when more blood rushed.

Q grabbed the back of my neck, smothering my mouth with his. His tongue wrangled mine into yielding, our breaths mingled.

I moaned, becoming drunk on the taste of him.

Breathing hard, he stopped kissing me, and something soft and leathery danced along my stomach. I clenched, trying to figure out what it was. I hated the blindfold—the lack of eyesight.

It made everything so much more aware, anxious, and sensitive.

Q sucked in a breath. “Every welt I give you makes me so fucking hard.”

I groaned as leather bit into my stomach, right on my pubis. I tried to double over but the restraints kept me arched—available for whatever torture he planned.

“You want to know how dark I’ll go? I want blood. I want you sobbing at my feet. I want you in fucking tatters. Does that scare you?”

Another strike, this time just below my breasts. My rib injury flared with pain, and the nipple clamps jiggled as I twisted, trying to run.

I couldn’t deny the tension of being completely at his mercy made my pussy throb, but I couldn’t understand why. Why did being a submissive turn me on? Why did inflicting pain turn Q on?

My voice was barely audible. “Yes, it scares me. Deliciously terrifies.” My honesty shocked both of us. Breathing hard, I asked, “Why do you want to hurt me, maître?”

Q lashed out, slapping my cheek with a gentle palm. It didn’t hurt, but tears oozed beneath my blindfold. “I revoke your permission to speak.”

I hung my head, chastised. Guess, I wouldn’t know.

Q paced in a circle around me, dragging the flogger over my skin. “It’s not about hurting you, sweet Tess. It’s about branding you.

“Your skin is pure as snow, and I get to mark it.” He flogged my ass again. It caught a whip mark and blazed with agony.

“It’s the wrongness, the rightness, I need your pain.” He whispered in my ear, “I’m invincible when I hurt you.”

Images of dark terror filled me. Every muscle in my body screamed to run. The safe word danced on my tongue. ~I’m stronger than this. I invited this. I won’t say it… not yet.~

Q hit me particularly hard. It made the bee sting seem like a giant wasp, but I didn’t make a sound.

He groaned, tracing a finger over the new injury. “So fucking perfect.”

I breathed shallowly, wanting to see. ~Needing~ to see.

“You deserve a reward, Tess,” he said it so sweetly, as if I was a good girl and earned a lollipop. But his domination made me very aware I wouldn’t be getting an ice cream.

The pain once again morphed to tender hooks of passion, and I welcomed the burn. Welcomed the marks Q branded.

He ripped the blindfold off, kissing me, holding my hair so I couldn’t move away as he fucked my mouth with a tongue that wouldn’t let me breathe.

I gasped and choked, but the moment he left, I wanted more. I wanted to die with him kissing me.

With glinting pale eyes, Q folded to his knees in front of me. “Put your legs over my shoulders,” he demanded.

I blinked. “My legs on your shoulders?” I flushed with embarrassment at the thought of him so close to my pussy—spread and exposed. I was so wet it trickled down my thigh.

I shook my head, unable to be so vulnerable.

Q reached and slapped my ass. His hand connected with whip marks; I yelped.

“Do as I command, ~Tess~.” He stressed my name and it did exactly as he wanted. It reminded he owned me, therefore I had no choice.

Hesitantly, I cocked one leg, placing it on his shoulder. His eyes dropped to my center, face darkening with need. Self-consciousness painted my cheeks.

When my other leg stayed firmly planted on the ground, he glared. “You have two legs. Put them on my shoulders.” His voice rasped, chest working hard.

His passion granted a burst of feminine courage. Jumping, I shifted my weight to the cuffs and I straddled Q’s shoulders—suspended, completely at his mercy.

His arms came up to hold my ass, biceps clenching. He didn’t tear his gaze away from my pussy. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He kissed my inner thigh in a fleeting move, breath hot.

“Here’s your reward for letting me hurt you.” His voice deepened to brimstone and my head snapped back as his mouth latched onto my clit.

My legs spread on his shoulders gave full access, and he took advantage.

His tongue wasn’t shy, swirling around my clit, licking, sucking. Plunging into my wetness, tongue-fucking as if possessed.

It was too much. Too intense. I moaned and whimpered and struggled and wriggled. Little stars shot and fizzled and tormented with every flick of his tongue, every suck of his mouth.

He pressed his tongue so far inside I cried out, wishing it was his cock buried deep. “Please, master…more…” My body was beyond ready to be claimed, bruised, reawakened into passionate pleasure.

The whip marks heated unbearably, my skin rivered with sweat from the fire, and nipples screamed for relief. I rocked my hips into Q, forcing his tongue deeper, demanding him to be rougher.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, fingers digging into my hips as he dragged me closer. His entire face between my legs. He growled as he bit my clit. Not a simple nip—but a full savage bite.

I screamed as my pussy contracted, thrumming with its own heartbeat. I thrashed, trying to get closer, trying to get away. ~I want more. I can’t handle more.~

My mind broke completely, ruled by the need to come. “Fuck me, Q. Fuck me. I can’t… I can’t stand it.”

He pushed my thighs, and I melted off him. He stood lightning quick as I swung from the ceiling, trembling. My head lolled, and my eyes were too heavy to keep open.

I wanted to scissor my legs to find some relief from the torture. Q turned me from rational woman into a craving addict who needed a fix. I needed his cock. I needed my master.

Q captured my jaw; I opened unwilling eyes. “You can’t stand it. Can you?” His sexy five o’clock shadow glistened from eating me out. I swung forward, wanting to lick him, to clean him.

My mouth watered at the thought of sucking him. I wanted to bite his cock just like he'd bitten me. I wanted it so much, I’d explode if I didn’t get it.

I tried to make sentences form. “I can’t stand the thought of not having you fuck me.”

His eyes snapped closed before he regained control, murmuring, “You’ve submitted completely, and you have no idea what that does to me.”

I had an idea. The same insane, mind-crippling feeling he did to me. If I wasn’t restrained, I’d pounce on him and fuck him till the tingly, urgent, consuming need disappeared.

The only problem was, I didn’t think it would ever disappear. And I didn’t want it to.

“Say it again, Tess.” Q let me go, unbuttoning his blazer.

I breathed hard, panting as he ripped the jacket off, dropping it on the floor.

“Fuck me, master. I can’t stand not having you.”

He groaned, kicking off his shoes as he undid his tie. An evil glint entered his eyes. He slid the cream tie in his fingertips, looking at it then back to me.

My heart lurched as he advanced. “Open.”

I shook my head. “No. I won’t be able to breathe.”

“You’ll breathe around it. You can bite down.”

I clamped my mouth, moaning as he forced the tie between my lips, tying it. Once secured, he kissed my gagged mouth, running the tip of his tongue along my bottom lip.

“You look ~incroyable~ gagged and bound, ~esclave~. I’ll suffer the embarrassment of coming in my trousers every time I think of tonight.”

Stepping back, he stripped. Not bothering to undo buttons, he tore his shirt open. Pings of plastic sounded as buttons flew wild.

My mouth dried, taking in his perfection. His smooth chest, cut with perfect muscles. Sparrows fluttered, inked in blacks and browns, seeming alive with their feathered detail.

He undid his belt, then his fly, and stepped from his trousers.

Standing proud with only black boxer-briefs remaining, Q fondled his thick erection while staring. His eyes zeroed in on my nipple clamped breasts. “Your flesh is so swollen, Tessie.”

I jerked. ~Tessie.~ Brax’s nickname for me. Guilt washed over me like a tsunami and I coughed with pain. I’d betrayed Brax in the worst possible way. I was a disloyal bitch.

Q prowled close, looping fingers through the gag. “What did I say? Why do you hurt?”

I looked down, trying hard to push Brax away. I shouldn’t care, but I did. It was a mistake to ask Q to call me by my name.

Tess might love the sadistic erotic games with Q, but Tessie… she belonged to a simpler past.

Our eyes locked, and Q seemed to understand. “You don’t like it when I call you that.”

I wished I felt differently but a tear rolled, and I nodded.

He licked the droplet. “I don’t care for Tessie either. You’re mine. My Tess.”

My eyes glazed and I swooned into him. Guilt evaporated and my lust returned a thousandfold. I came to life under his stare.

And he knew it. He pulled his cock free, wrapping fingers around the thick girth, stroking hard. “Do you like it when I call you that? Mine? All fucking mine.”

I shook my head, just to be troublesome. I couldn’t look away from Q stroking himself. I arched my back, trying to find relief by rubbing tortured nipples on his chest.

He shuddered, pumping his cock. Reaching with his other hand, he speared two fingers inside, stealing my wetness to smear over the tip, using my lubricant as his own.

I groaned and my body unraveled. My pussy clutched nothing, needing him inside. Nothing else mattered in the world but having him.

I wanted to scream at him to fuck me, but the bloody gag turned my words to moans.

He pressed his cock against my stomach, hitting me with it. I moaned and thrashed, trying to get closer.

“Put your legs around my hips.” Q held out his arms, ready to catch me.

Finally. ~Yes.~

I jumped, spreading my legs at the same time, using the binds to hoist myself. I fitted snug against him. His hotness against my wetness. His throbbing cock so close, it made me insane.

His eyes flashed as I rocked, smearing sensual liquid all over his cock and balls. He groaned as I thrust unashamedly, providing much-needed friction. I could come like this.

Humping my master like a dog in heat.

Reaching between us, he pushed me back. Guiding his cock, he angled to meet my entrance.

In one fast move, with hands on my hips, he pulled me onto him. Impaling me completely. His length hit the top of my womb, bruising, stretching. The invasion turned my mind to mush.

I went rigid, moaning like the whore I was.

Q’s face darkened with savage lust as he thrust once, fingers stabbing into flesh.

“Fuck, my cock belongs in you.” With one hand, he slapped my breast, activating the clamp to squeeze, sending hurt and spasms of eager dampness between my legs. I wouldn’t last long.

Shit, I was so close, I rippled with release already. An orgasm teetered on a knife-edge—sharp and deadly.

He rolled his hips, meticulously slowly, dragging every ridge of him along every ridge of me. I wanted to scream. I didn’t want slow. I wanted a rampage.

“Raise your eyes,” Q ordered.

I guided super heavy eyes from watching his cock fucking me, locking with his. Pale jade fire blazed with demons he kept locked away. They flittered ghostlike, swarming, urging him to lose control.

He growled and thrust once.

Twice.

Three times with ecstasy.

I tossed my head, chewing on the gag, needing to moan, to vocalize just how much he violated me—how much further I wanted him to go.

He bucked again, grinding his teeth. “I hate you for making me break my vow.” His face twisted with self-loathing and black delight.

~“Qu’est-ce que tu es en train de me faire?”~ What are you doing to me?

Before I could answer, Q lost all control. Baring his teeth, he dropped the barrier to his demons, pounding into me. There was no rocking, or gentle lovemaking.

He pistoned hips into mine, grunting, sweating, a crazed look in his eye. His manicured nails raked my ass, digging deep like rabid claws, inflicting pain in other ways.

The gag barricaded my screams. I bounced in his arms, breasts jiggling with every thrust. The room erupted with the sounds of heavy breathing and slapping sweaty skin. The air temperature was too hot.

Q was too much. My body couldn’t handle the sensory overload.

~Oh, God. Oh, God. I’m coming…~

~“Tu es à moi.”~ You’re mine. Q leaned back, using my weight as a counter leaver, driving upward. His cock so hot and hard, stretching me to breaking point.

My heart sprouted wings, and flew. The build-up of the release rose and rose, never peaking. Fear laced with need. ~Too intense.~ I didn’t think I’d survive it.

The gag blocked air, and the lack of oxygen made my head swim. All I could think about was Q and his nails and his cock and his ragged breathing.

Q leaned back further, head falling as he fucked impossibly harder. His hipbones bruised my inner thighs as he gave me the rampage I needed.

“Fuck, Tess. Fuck yes. Take it. ~Putain, ta chatte est faite pour ma bite.”~ Fuck, your cunt fits my cock so well.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hold it any longer. My entire body split in half, but the release ~still~ didn’t crest.

~Please, please, God. I need… I can’t. I… I…~

“Look at me,” Q growl-panted.

I obeyed and drowned in his smouldering green. Tension thrummed, consuming, and another element stole us. We were no longer master and slave. We were two rutting animals focused on one goal.

“Master, please…” I begged around the material in my mouth.

Q stiffened with power, thrusting as his eyes flared wide and lips parted. “I’ll give you what you want.” His body convulsed and a low angry groan ripped from his throat.

A hot pulse of semen filled and that was all I needed.

I combusted.

Every atom in my body detonated and fired. My pussy fisted around Q’s relentless erection and I screamed. Q’s mouth latched onto my neck, biting.

I transcended from my mere mortal body, riding wave after wave of eye-popping, brain-splintering euphoria.

Q grunted, thrusting in time to my release; his teeth never let up on my collarbone and a slick trail of blood trickled from my throat where he bit. Some primal part of my brain went wild.

I loved that he needed me so bad, he broke my skin. I loved how delicate his tongue was, lapping up my essence.

I shuddered as swell after swell continued, slowly getting less intense. My feet cramped and my entire body felt as if I’d been run over.

With trembling fingers, Q undid my gag, then my wrists. Catching my weight, he cradled me, folding us the floor.

We fell in a tangle of limbs onto the thick white carpet, covering it with sweat, come, and drops of blood.

Q didn’t withdraw, and somehow managed to twist me so I faced away. Not saying a word, he tucked me closer, spooning me with his hard body.

His heart thudded against my back, matching the erratic pace of mine.

I snuggled closer, blissfully content. Q hurt me, but adored me, all at the same time. He gave me everything I needed.

The intimacy between us couldn’t be described and I shivered as he unclamped my nipples, rubbing them gently.

He sighed deeply and yawned. The alcohol in his system no doubt left him depleted.

~You used me, but you kept me safe.~ I tried to transmit the thought. My body wasn’t capable of speech. Q mumbled something, pulling me closer.

The sun pinked the sky outside and Q twitched, already drifting into oblivion.

Tonight had changed my life. Q may make my soul weep and tear itself into pieces but he made it operatic with joy, too. My soul didn’t just sing, it rejoiced.

I finally found a place where my twistedness belonged.

In Q’s arms.