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. 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 bed post.” 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 bed post. “Put your arms above your head.”
He was so close; a heavy cloud of sandalwood and spice buffeted, turning knees to water. I stretched, arching my back against the pillar, deliberately forcing my br**sts 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 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 h*ps pressed hard, dominating.
I tilted my chin, positioning 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 centre of calm from the day I sucked Q. The safe zone might protect 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 agonising temptation.
Q took my chin in his thumb and forefinger, hypnotising 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.” 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 centre. 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 symbolised 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 br**sts and rapidly breathing stomach. With perfect control, he ran the pinpoint of a blade from my lower lip, down my neck, between my cl**vage, to the top of my cotton shorts.
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 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 n**ples, making them harden to a painful nub. “You have no idea how much I want to f**k you.”
Oh, God. His voice activated every part. I panted breathlessly, “Why don’t you then? Or do you enjoying torturing 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 tiens à te faire hurler.” 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 with 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, revelling in her ownership. Who wanted Q to hurt her.
Fire blazed in my belly; I bared my teeth, snarling. “I won’t let you f**k 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 f**ked-upness, 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 f**k you, esclave?” Delight shimmered in his gaze, etched with black smouldering lust. “I’ve already f**ked you. What makes you think I want to again?”
I thrust my h*ps forward, bumping an overheated core against his straining erection. The moment I slipped into unwilling victim, Q raged with hardness. His c*ck 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. A 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 savour. 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 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 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 cl*t 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.