Tears of Tess (16 page)

Legs
trembled, breathing quickened, and my traitorous body preened, softening for
more.

Q
murmured, “Your skin is so soft here.” His touch fluttered higher, inching
closer.

A
tear oozed and dripped onto the felt, turning apple to forest.

Q
sucked in a breath. “I’m hurting you so much you need to cry? Have I hit you?
Beat you?”

I
shook my head, unable to answer.

His
touch went from fluttering to branding. I gasped as an invasive hand cupped between
my legs. Embarrassment, need, desire,
loathing,
all shot through my
heart.

One
fingertip brushed against my entrance through damp knickers. “So wet,
ma
chérie
.” He ran his nose down my neck as his fingertip found my clit. I
bucked in his arms. His chest strained against my back. “Your body doesn’t lie.
It likes it. It likes me.”

“I
may not be able to control my physical response, but don’t confuse anything
with me liking you,” I half-panted, half-snarled. “I won’t. Ever.”

He
chuckled, sending vibrations. “So determined to fight? Fine.” In a sharp move,
he grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me toward the pool table again. Bent
over, a finger moved firmer against my core. “What is this?” he whispered.

My
cheeks flared with heat; I wished to be far, far away. 

“Answer
me,
esclave
.”

“My
vagina.”

He
chuckled, cupping harder. “Wrong again.” Expert fingers worked the sides of my
knickers, easing them to the left, exposing me. Everything inside tightened,
wound, twisted.
Oh, God.

Why
was this happening? Brax. I didn’t want to replace memories of him with this
monster who thought he owned me.
Don’t think.
Tears slipped silently.

The
smell of sandal wood and citrus filled my nose as Q settled over me. He didn’t
touch, which made it worse. His fingers were there; the heat of his skin blazed
against my thigh. Anticipation drove me wild as much as it killed, knowing what
was to come.

Q
fisted my hair, tilting my head to the side. His mouth descended on mine, a
tongue opening the seam of my lips effortlessly, despite clamping shut. The
moment his tongue entered my mouth, a finger plunged into me, hard and fast.

“Oh,
God.” My mouth opened wide; I trembled with the onslaught—the act of ownership.
He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t sweet.

“This
is mine. Everything is…”

I
knew what he wanted. The word balanced on my tongue but I swallowed. I would
never say it.

“Mine,”
he growled. With no warning, he inserted another finger and fucked me, plunging
deep and fast, my body quivering with hunger. My breath was harsh, too fast.
I’d never been taken so completely. Nothing else mattered but his fingers
inside, and the relentless rhythm he set. The sharp banding of an orgasm
sparked in surprise; I moaned. I couldn’t climax. That would be the ultimate
betrayal.

I
bucked, trying to remove his fingers, but he pressed harder, grinding his cock
into my ass. “
Merde,
you’re so wet. Wet for me.” Surprise layered his
voice, almost reverent. Had he never made a woman wet before? That couldn’t be
true, not with the expert way he dragged repulsive need from me. I hadn’t gone
Stockholmy—I hated him, knew what he did was wrong, but my body, shit, my body
didn’t care.

Q
gave me something I needed since I’d started dreaming of sinful things, started
looking at images online of men fucking women with a fine edge of violence.

Q
rocked his hips again, and I rocked back, against my will. He sucked in a
breath, tickling my neck. Even as I fought to get free, my core rippled with
pleasure. His dominance created an unwanted, potent cocktail in my brain.
I
don’t want this. Stop!

His
fingers thrust inside, drawing more moisture from my body.

He
sighed heavily, working a knee between my legs, splaying me wider. I lost
balance and his fingers slipped out, gripping my hip.

His
legs bent, and he grinded a trouser-covered erection against my wetness. He
rocked, hard as steel and hot as a branding iron.

Little
stars exploded behind my eyes. Only fabric stopped him from taking me. I hated
every thrust. “Please…don’t,” I cried. Tears ran uncontrollably, joining the
stain below.

He
struggled to talk, deep and ruff. “You chose option one. Remember?”

Pressing
an elbow into my back, he fumbled behind me. Hips disappeared as he unzipped
his fly. The sound of metal teeth unzipping terrified me and I snapped. My body
may want this, but I sure as hell didn’t.

I
jerked upright, ignoring the pain of his elbow. I feinted to the side, kicking his
kneecap. His leg gave out, but he caught himself on the edge of the table.
“Don’t fight. You’ll only make it worse.”

How
many times had I heard that? And every time it turned out to be the truth. But
I couldn’t
not
fight. I’d never be able to live with myself.

I
breathed so hard my lungs ached. I looked frantically for the stairs. Where the
hell were the fucking stairs?

I
made to run, just as Q recovered. He lurched and wrapped arms around my heaving
chest, dragging us to the floor. We landed in a pile of limbs, my rib screaming.
Q’s fly was undone, trousers hanging precariously on his hips. My knickers were
bunched to the side and oversensitive flesh swollen, needing a release.
No!
I’m not turned on. I’m not broken. Not yet.

Manic
possession scorched his eyes, and I slapped him. Q reared back, lips twisted.
Violence bristled as he slammed me down, securing himself above.

I
froze, locking my knees together so he couldn’t settle between my legs. He
clutched my chin, forcing me to look deep into his gaze. “What are you?”

I
squirmed, hating the hunger in his voice, echoing the budding need in mine. I
was sick to think I ever wanted this with Brax. But I
never
wanted this
with Brax. I wanted light role-play, tame bondage, nothing like this.
Please,
not like this.

Q
shocked me silent as he kissed my throat. He lingered, breathing deep. My
stomach flipped. Pulling back, shock resonated in his face, as if he hadn’t
meant to resort to being gentle.

A
conflict of emotions skittered in his eyes, dampening undisguised lust,
twisting it into something else. He sounded regretful, “Say it, and I’ll let
you go. I won’t hurt you. I won’t rape you. Not tonight.”

I
bit my lip. If I said it, I threw myself at his mercy, but if I didn’t say it,
I’d be raped and I couldn’t handle that. Not after the trauma of everything. Not
after my entire world dumped me and left me bereft. Especially not with my body
being enemy number one.

“
Esclave,
say it.” His mouth tickled my ear again, words vibrating through flesh.

My
fight drained, the will to disobey unspooled into meekness. “Yours,” I
breathed, sick to my stomach, wanting to scrub my mouth out.

He
kissed me, so, so softly, smelling like mint and lust—if lust had a smell.
“Again.”

I
shook my head, trying to get free. Q’s arms banded tighter, dragging me against
his rock hard erection. “Don’t test me. My strength to let you go is almost at
breaking point. Push again, and I won’t be able to stop.”

“Why
hesitate? That’s what you mean to do, isn’t it? Ruin me. Keep me captive. A sex
slave. Treat me like some animal to use and abuse?” I whispered, but my tone
crackled with anger, fierce and bright.

“I
don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to take from you,” he murmured. My heart
stopped. His tone hinted his thoughts—remorse.

“What
do you want, then?” I raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Q
paused, a flutter of fingers caressed my arm, imprisoning me, then stopped as
if he did so unconsciously. “You know what I want,
esclave
.”

My
heart hurt. I couldn’t keep up. One moment he touched as if I were an
irreplaceable piece of art, the next he held me as if I was a bitch needing a
lesson. He shook me, growling in my ear. “I need you to say it again, then you
can go.”

Two
options. Two decisions. Neither was easy. Both had consequences. But, for now,
I chose the one protecting my virtue for another night.

I
hung my head and murmured, “Yours.”

*Skylark*

T
he
next day, Suzette came for me.

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

The
elements of a door and walls helped contain the rising panic attack. I pushed
the chest of drawers across the door and huddled in the middle of the bed. But
I couldn’t fall asleep, just in case Q came back to finish what he started.

All
night, I battled with repeating nausea and a body too hot. I couldn’t evict the
fright from my lungs or the shame in my heart. Not because of what Q did—touched,
made me wet against my wishes—but because of the dark part that
wanted
him to take me. I wanted it so damn much.

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

My
rib ached from fighting, but I poked the bone, enticing more pain. I deserved
to be in agony, to pay for the sins toward the sweetest man I ever knew. A man
I may never see again. Pain confronted all the nastiness harbouring in my soul.
No wonder your parents never loved you. They hated you for stealing their
retirement, but also because they saw what you didn’t: that you’re broken.

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

Q
was my curse.

When
Suzette arrived in the morning, she tried the door, followed by French slur and
a loud knock. “Open up. You aren’t allowed to block the entry.” She must’ve
leaned into the door as it opened slightly.

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

Was
there no way out? I’d looked out the tiny postage stamp-sized window, searching
for downpipes or something to scale to the ground. But nothing could be used—trees
grew too far away, and the fall looked at least five stories. Not to mention,
once I managed to climb down, guards patrolled and the GPS anklet would alert Q
to my location.  

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

The
word conjured everything from last night: Q’s smell, his touch, his aura of
power. I shuddered. I should just take my own life. It would stop the internal
battle and put me out of my misery. I gulped, hating the hopelessly weak
thought.
Never! Shit, Tess never. Whatever happens, you can and will
survive.

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

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

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

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

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

Her
words were blasphemous, but some small part of me considered it. How would it
feel to forget about Tess for a while? To play a pantomime of the perfect
slave. Tess would disappear and
Esclave
would take her place. I’d be the
perfect toy, all the while searching for a way to run.