Then Suzette arrived. She had bite marks all over her body. Hair shaved, cigarette burns, and broken fingers. I promptly hired a mercenary to return the favour to the men who broke her.
It took six months before Suzette spoke a word. Another six months before she let me be in the same room with her. Slowly, she started working around the house, throwing herself into housework, as if she could become invisible as a staff member and not the slave she’d been. And I let her.
It helped. Her skin went from pallid to rosy, her eyes lost the panicked hue, and slowly she stopped jumping whenever I appeared, moving with silence.
When I asked if she was ready to go home, she refused. She threw herself at my feet, begging to stay. She had no one to return to, and professed her love for me. She wanted me to love her. Take her however I wanted. But I couldn’t. I never could. I couldn’t resort to using broken women. I would never find myself in the aftermath.
Instead, I used professionals. Played out dark fantasies with women who gladly accepted ten thousand euros for a bit of pain. It never satisfied. It left my throat coated with dissatisfaction, but that was my sacrifice. I would never touch a slave again.
Suzette became fundamental to helping other girls heal. She befriended them, and they found their way back to happiness quicker.
Our little team worked well for years. I focused more on property than saving women. I expanded the company into South East Asia, Fiji, New Zealand, and Hong Kong.
Then my world flipped upside down.
Esclave fifty-eight arrived.
The moment she stumbled across the threshold, all those dark needs roared and raged inside. I wanted to throw myself down the stairs and take her then and there. I f**king wanted, wanted, wanted.
She was different.
She wasn’t broken.
For the first time, a slave came to me spitting and alive. Intelligence blazed in her eyes and my c*ck stirred, unable to be controlled. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop, and hated her almost as much as I hated myself.
I finally met a woman with fire and passion matching my own, and all I wanted to do was break her. I wanted her to be mine in every way humanly possible.
I was a sick, sick bastard and would go to hell for what I fantasized.
After twelve years of battling the beast, it sprang from its cage and refused to go back. The lifetime of urges couldn’t be refused. They overtook, held me hostage, and I fell into the role of master so effortlessly, as if it was the true me. The real me. The monster.
She was mine.
* * * * *
*Present*
She shook her head, looking into my black soul with dove-grey eyes. “Nous sommes les uns des autres.” We are each other’s.
Two emotions fought for space in my chest. The beast lurched forward, ready to take her up on the offer to debase and hurt, while the other wanted to gather her gently and lavish every penny I had.
After everything I did. After what Lefebvre did… my heart raced. That f**king cock-sucking bastard. Black anger gathered again at the thought of him raping her. I wanted to dig up his unmarked grave and dismember him piece by piece. A single gunshot was too good for that a**hole.
But Tess survived. She forged stronger and shone brighter. She never broke.
I pressed against her again, hissing between my teeth at the burn in my cock. I wanted to f**k her so bad, but I needed to tame other urges, too.
“Nous sommes les uns des autres,” I repeated, kissing her deeply. Her soft groan sent my sanity spiralling out of control. How did I manage to send her away? Kick her from my room after she let me whip her to the point of drawing blood? I’d been a bloody saint with willpower of an angel.
I sacrificed everything, because I refused to break such a perfect woman. A woman who pranced into my life with spark and fire, threatening to burn my very existence to the ground.
“I can’t believe you came back,” I murmured, heart galloping, still unable to believe the blood oath we made. I smeared residual crimson on her throat, whispering fingers across her collarbone.
My eyes dropped to the tattoo on her wrist. Holy fuck, what was she trying to do to me? She spoke to the darkness inside, and despite her fear, stood up to me. I wanted to pummel her into the ground to make her obey, but her rebellion was also my undoing.
I’d never be free of her.
Tess Snow.
Tess esclave.
Mine.
All mine.
I can’t wait any longer. She came back on her own terms. It’s my turn now.
I stood, shoving my c*ck into my trousers, wincing at how f**king hard it was. Damn woman cast a spell on me. Tess blinked, watching with those intoxicating Bambi eyes, begging me to f**k and hurt her.
I groaned. If I did this, there would be no going back. She would become everything I needed. I had to trust in her vow. The promise she would be strong enough. I hoped to God she was right because I gave up fighting.
The monster roared, beating his chest, salivating at the thought of what was to come.
I was done and she was mine, in every sense.
“Come.” I grabbed her tattooed wrist, jerking her from the library. Stalking through the foyer, her little pants sent lust into a realm off insanity. Fuck, I needed her. To scream and writhe and bleed.
What sort of man needed to make a woman bleed? Not a sane one. I’m infected. Poisoned. Destined for hell.
I slammed my fist against the hidden door beneath the stairs, taking violence out on the wood panel.
Tess flinched, but didn’t move away.
I raised an eyebrow as the door opened, giving her one last opportunity to admit she made a huge mistake. Not that it would make any difference. I wasn’t letting her go again. Willing slave or not. The beast preferred unwilling, because I was sick. So sick.
“Je suis à toi,” she panted.
I gritted my teeth. Fuck, yes, she was mine. No one else’s. She was lucky I didn’t hang and quarter the stupid boy she went home to. Idiot. Sleeping beside her every night—touching her. Couldn’t he see the unique treasure he had? My chest swelled with pride. Tess left him for me. She was too much for a boy. She needed a man with a demon inside.
I didn’t think I’d ever find a female beast with contorted desires like mine.
But she found me.
My back rippled with tension as I dragged her down the stairs. The lights clicked on automatically, illuminating the dark teak bar, pool table, and further a music recording studio, and sauna.
Tess didn’t say a word as her eyes fell on the pool table, chest pumping. Goddammit, I loved touching her that night. I’d been so ready to rape her, to try and get rid of the sickness inside in one swoop, but she fought too much, made me too hot. I wanted the agony of dragging out the suspense. I wanted to torture myself with the insanely painful urge to fill her with my cock.
I was rather proud of my strength that night. If I had raped her—who knows if she could’ve handled everything else I did to her.
Tess bumped into me, unable to tear her eyes off the table. I wrapped tight, imprisoning arms around her, growling. “Remember my fingers inside you, esclave? Remember how wet you were? Even then, your body knew you belonged to me.”
She shivered, tight and tense, but malleable and feminine at the same time. “Are you going to finish what you started that night? Take me over the pool table?” A pink tongue darted between her lips, tempting me beyond belief.
Fuck, I could barely stand my c*ck ached so hard.
“No. I have another idea.”
She sucked in a breath, pulse strumming in her wrist where I held.
Rational thoughts smashed the horny beast to the side. I panicked. How the hell would this happen? How could I hurt her and then…not? Would the insane urge to beat the shit out of her ever leave? I’ll constantly have to watch what I do, how hard I do it. I could never resort to being my father. Never.
I spun her, trapping her against my chest, rubbing my c*ck on her belly. “Your skin is too flawless. I want to scar it.” I squeezed my eyes closed. I sounded like a sick fuck, but shit, the thought of marking her permanently did insane things to me.
She wiggled, thrusting h*ps against my thigh, riding me, deliberately driving me crazy. So brave, so stupidly brave. “You’ve already scarred me. You just can’t see it.”
I sucked in a breath. Images of her soul ripped to shreds because of what I did made me flinch.
Forcing the thoughts away, I grunted, “Just so we’re clear, I’m your master and you’re mine… you’re esclave. I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to f**k you, and when we’re done, I’ll try to give you what you want. I’ll try and talk, or chat, or whatever you want me to do.” I sighed heavily, tensing as blackness claimed me. “But I can’t promise I’ll be able to.” Trying to be semi-human, I demanded, “Do you still want to do this? Knowing I might not be able to do anything but take and take. Until you can’t give anymore? Until I wring you dry?”
She nodded, biting her lip, face tight with need. “Oui, maître.” Grey-blue eyes hot, full of sex and yearning. She bowed her head, blonde curls hid her face; a dominant thrill shot through my body.
The freedom she granted—to allow my darkness to mix with hers—was indescribable. I wanted to crush her to death in an embrace, and never let go. I wanted to f**k her so hard she broke in my arms. I wanted to kiss her brow and nurse her back to health once I hurt her. I wanted so many things. So many things I never thought I could have.
I couldn’t stop staring. She arched up, pressing soft, breakable lips against mine. “Maître, punish me. I deserve to be punished for f**king another man while I was away from you.”
What. The. Fuck?
My body slammed to a halt. My world spun with brimstone and hell. I wrapped fingers around her throat. “You dare admit that? Are you suicidal?” I squeezed until true fear popped into her eyes, and it fed me. Shit, it fed me. The fear, the fragility. A delicate bird I could wipe from existence so easily.
Horror tempered my rage; I forced my fingers to relax. Get a grip!
“Not suicidal, but close if you don’t touch me. I’m on a knife edge needing you, Q.”
Hearing my name on her lips ignited the fuse I tried so hard to stop from exploding. I was done holding back. No more talking.
Grabbing her hair, I dragged her to the crystal bar in front of the pool table. I wasn’t in the mood for games. I was in the mood for alcohol and getting wet.
I pressed her over the bar, revelling in her moans, her cries, her sexy pants. “You’ll be sorry you said that, esclave. You want to see how dark I’ll go? Well, you can’t. Not until you prove your promise. Not until I trust you’re strong enough.”
I wrapped my fingers around the base of her skull, placing her cheek against the cold granite countertop.
She writhed, pressing her ass hard against me. Goddammit, this woman.
“Does it make you jealous? Do you want to wipe away the memory of him with your cock? Because I want you to. I need you to. Q… please…Q.”
Holy shit, who was this little animal? Did I create her, or was she always this twisted? My skin sparked with tingles. Emotions I never experienced before exploded. Happiness. True, unbridled happiness.
I shook her for good measure. “I’m so f**king jealous of that boy. I was jealous of Franco flying with you back to Australia. I was jealous of Suzette for earning your friendship. I was even jealous of myself when I f**ked you. Fuck, yes, I’m jealous. Insanely jealous.”