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. Eyes zeroed in on my nipple clamped br**sts. “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 betrayed Brax in the worst possible way. I was a disloyal bitch.
Q prowled close, looping fingers though 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 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 thousand fold. I came to life under his stare.
And he knew it. He pulled his c*ck free, wrapping fingers around the thick girth, stroking hard. “Do you like it when I call you that? Mine? All f**king 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 n**ples 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 unravelled. My p**sy clutched nothing, needing him inside. Nothing else mattered in the world but having him. I wanted to scream at him to f**k me, but the bloody gag turned my words to moans.
He pressed his c*ck 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. 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 c*ck so close, it made me insane.
His eyes flashed as I rocked, smearing sensual liquid all over his c*ck 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 c*ck 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 c*ck f**king 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. “Ce que tu me fait?” 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 h*ps 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, br**sts 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 c*ck 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 c*ck and his ragged breathing.
Q leaned back further, head falling as he f**ked 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 s'adapte à ma bite si bien.”Fuck, your cunt fits my c*ck 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 need.” His body convulsed and a low angry groan ripped from his throat. A hot pulse of sem*n filled and that was all I needed.
I combusted.
Every atom in my body detonated and fired. My p**sy 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; 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 n**ples, 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.
Chapter 21
*Pheasant*
Pain and achiness woke me.
Memories of last night swirled, thick and fast. My body clenched, remembering Q’s rampant f**king, his drunken ramblings about girls and winter. He gave clues; I just had to figure out the metaphors to understand.
And I wasn’t capable right now. My brain was sludge, body hissing with lashes and bruises. I felt used, abused, and entirely adored.
I shifted, trying to get comfortable. The thick carpet cushioned, but also tickled. Q moaned and held me tighter, a muscular arm banded around my stomach. Incredibly, he was still inside, flaccid but still big enough to be very aware of the intrusion.
I rocked my h*ps a little, trying to rouse him.
His breathing changed from deep to shallow. Slowly, he stiffened, filling me like a balloon, stretching until I ached with reminders of how hard he took me last night.
I bit my lip as his nose brushed aside tangled hair, kissing softly.
With a soft groan, he rocked.
My eyes closed as dexterous fingers captured my nipple, rolling tenderly. So different from the angry dominance from last night. Q wasn’t the one f**king me this morning. It was Quincy.
I moaned, pushing back, matching his rock. We languished and delighted, not chasing a body-splitting orgasm, but more a gentle glow.
His hand trailed from breast to core, playing with my cl*t as the rock turned serious, claiming.
I whimpered as Q wrapped his leg around mine, trapping me. With the extra purchase, he thrust, pressing upward, hitting the top of my womb.
“I never thought I’d enjoy vanilla,” he mumbled into my hair.
I froze. What did he mean? He’d never shared intimacy before? The gentleness of sex compared to angry rutting?
His breathing caught, not noticing I’d withdrawn, trying to analyse what he meant. His fingers smeared my cl*t with wetness, rubbing erotically, giving me no choice but to pay attention.
“Come for me, esclave.” His order was breathless; his leg wrapped around mine, tensed.
He thrust harder, tainted with some of the violence I was used to from Q. Pinching my clit, he forced me to come. My body clenched and quivered, welcoming Q’s orgasm as he filled me with his seed. His soft moan sent my heart fluttering, and I smiled.
* * * * *
We must have drifted again. I woke to a knock.
Q flinched, unwrapping himself from around me. Our skin popped slightly as suction tried to keep us together. Q grumbled, holding his head. “Merde, how much did I drink last night?”
I laughed softly. “Enough to ramble about birds and girls and…” My voice drifted. Sadness replaced my post conjugal glow. “I’m number fifty-eight.”
Air chilled as Q froze. “What?” Eyes flared with panic. “I said that?” He scooted upright, wincing.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his trim, toned body. His heavy c*ck still glistened from being inside me. The sparrow tattoo filled me with sorrow for some inexplicable reason.
“Can you tell me now? What do the birds have to do with the fifty-seven slaves you’ve had before me?”
Q swiped a hand over his face, pacing away. Gathering his trousers, he refused to look at me. Pulling them on, he didn’t bother with underwear. I hadn’t seen his tattoo from behind, but the cloud looked ominous and evil. A nightmare of thorns and branches trying to devour innocent little birds.