Tears of Tess (19 page)

Why
did I ever fight? This was so much easier. Almost drug like. Dreamlike. I
wanted to laugh. Freedom. I’d found it, in my mind.

Q
stopped thrusting into my mouth; harsh fingers angled my throat to look up. I
didn’t stop stroking, even as pale eyes delved into mine.

I
blinked, not caring. If he wanted to rape me, so be it. If I was to be his for
eternity, fine. He might own my body. He would never own my soul.

“What
is your fucking name?” he muttered, French accent warbling the curse. He should
swear in French. It sounded better.

I
never dropped eye contact, still stroking, still working like a good wind-up
toy.

He
growled, knocking my hands off his cock. They landed limply in my lap.

Q
stood, swaying slightly with his erection standing proud beneath the shirt,
trousers puddled around ankles like shackles. My skin prickled with the force
of his stare, but apart from that, nothing moved me. I didn’t care what he wanted.
My name? I didn’t know my name.

Oh,
I had to answer. He asked a question. I had to obey. “
Esclave
. My name
is
Esclave.
”

He
hissed between clenched teeth as I reached for his cock again, dragging a
fingernail up the length, pressing hard against the slit at the top.

Q’s
fingers threaded through my hair, grabbing a handful. He yanked my head back,
lowering his face to mine; we breathed each other’s breath.

I
sat there, unmoving. I sighed, relief coursing through my heart. I no longer
cared. I convinced my mind to leave, and it had. Everything that happened now
didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stain my life, as it had been put on hold. 

His
gaze swelled with urgency, commandments. Then softened, churning into
unhappiness, grief. Before I could figure out the puzzle, blankness came over
his features and he kissed me.

His
tongue plundered, and I opened wider, inviting him to take. I even licked him
back, massaging his taste with my own. He groaned. It sounded tortured, as if
he wanted to kiss but didn’t, like he fought against morals, choices.

My
heart stayed an even rhythm, never rising, even as his hand dropped to my
breast and twisted a nipple. Like the obedient slave he wanted, I opened like a
sun-warmed flower, pressing flesh into his palm, arching my back.

He
stumbled backward, as if I’d bit him, tripping over trousers. With angry jerks,
he hoisted up his pants, wincing as he tucked his erection away.

I
cocked my head, wondering, but not caring, why he pulled away. I’d done
everything right. “Did I not please you?” My voice was odd—dead, lifeless,
robotic.

Q
froze, running hands over short hair. His darker skin whitened with what looked
like fear. “What are you?” he demanded.

I
didn’t hesitate. I knew the answer. It was easy. “Yours.”

He
sucked in a breath, eyes flaring wide. He paced in front, never taking his gaze
off mine. “You said you wouldn’t let me! You seemed so strong, unbreakable. You
lied to me.” He bristled with anger. “I haven’t even fucked you, yet you’re
broken.” Guilt etched his livid tone.

I
stayed unruffled, unworried. He raged because he broke me? Wasn’t that his
goal? He should be pleased it took such little time. I thought I could last
longer, but my mind no longer wished to fight. I refused to scream and cry when
I found solitude and calm. Could he only get off on the sounds of distress?

I
had no answer so I dropped my eyes, staring at my bound hands, waiting.

He
stalked forward, undoing the tie around my wrists in angry movements. “You lied
and I don’t like liars.”

I
shrugged. What was there to say? He owned me—he could call me what he wished.
“I’m yours. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He
shook his head, temper flaring. “You’ve given up. You aren’t mine unless I make
you mine!”

My
mind hurt. I couldn’t unravel that. I was his. Undeniably. He
knew
that.
My body screamed it loud enough.

“Take
off your sweater.” His eyes dropped to the weight of my breasts under the
jumper. Rather than excitement, fear, anticipation, I felt nothing—heavenly
nothing. He towered above like the God of sex, his erection straining against his
trousers, calling to me. 

I
grabbed the hem and tugged the sweater over my head in one swoop. I stood and
reached for his waist. His skin burned as I touched his hipbone. 

His
breath came faster, looking hungrily at my bra. It was so nice not to feel. If
Brax watched me the way Q did, I’d have hidden my stomach, worried about the
birthmark in the valley of my breasts, worried if he loved me even with flaws. Here,
I didn’t care.

 “Give
me your bra.” He held out a hand, waiting. His jaw worked as I reached behind
and unclasped the lacy cups. I dangled it between my forefinger and thumb,
passing it to him. My nipples pinpointed and ached. His gaze thrilled my body,
heating my vacancy into need.

Not
looking away, Q’s fingers latched around my hand, accepting the bra. His thumb
caught my barcode tattoo; the burn made me wince. The tinkle of delicate silver
summoned his eyes and he frowned.

Brax’s
bracelet.

The
void I floated in evaporated. Memories roared back.

Brax.

Mexico.

Pain.

Leather
Jacket.

My
mind woke, latching onto things I wished I could forget.
No. No, stay. Don’t
go back.

Q’s
jaw tightened as I tugged my hand back, skin crawling. How did I come to be
only in my knickers, standing in front of him? Everything was foggy; a dream I
couldn’t quite grasp.

Q
snapped his fingers around my wrist. Leaning forward, he peered deep into my
soul. His thumb played with the bracelet, sending the cool silver spinning.
“Who gave you this?”

My
breathing accelerated; I gulped.
Don’t answer.

But
I didn’t need to answer. His face flashed with triumph, body settled into a
taunting stance. “Someone you care about gave you this. Do you think I should
let you keep it?” He tugged and the metal bit into my skin. Any more pressure
and he’d snap it.  

Tess,
go back. Leave and float. Who cares about a bracelet? He can have it. Brax can
buy you another.

My
heart stuttered to a slamming halt. But if Brax died back on the bathroom
floor, I’d never get another. It was the only thing I had left.

Fight
ruptured and I attacked. My nails swiped his cheek as I barrelled into him. I
screamed as we fell to the floor. Q yelled something and snatched at my wrist.
The silver tried to stay intact, but broke with a tiny clink, landing on the
carpet beside Q’s head.

Brax!

I
yelled and shoved. Q covered his face as I went savage, reaching for the ruined
jewellery. Throat tight, I lunged, but Q was too fast. He rolled so I ended up
beneath him on the grey carpet. He pinned my arms with effortless power that
made me hate him more. How could I think I could beat him when he subdued me
like an annoying butterfly?

Licking
his lips, passion raged on his face. “There you are. Don’t switch off again. I
forbid it.”

I
was back to this horrible life, I fought. My hands curled and bucked, hating
how my naked breasts jiggled as I tried to get free.

Q
grunted and sat up, straddling me, cupping my breasts. “What is your name?” His
lips pulled back from his teeth as he twisted my nipples sending shocks of
pleasure-pain through my system. “What is your name, goddammit? Tell me.”

I
glared with every dagger of hatred inside.

Silence.

My
tongue knotted against ever saying my name again. It was mine. Not his. I never
wanted to hear him say it. “Never!”

Q
shuddered with a mixture of unnamed emotion and slapped me. My eyes smarted as heat
hurt with embarrassment, rather than pain. He fucking slapped me!

“Merde!”
he swore. Standing, he scooped the bracelet from the carpet and dangled it
above. “This is mine.
You
are mine. Get that through your head if you
ever want it back.”

I
scrambled to my knees, reaching for it. No, he couldn’t take it. It linked to
my past, linked to Brax, to who I was deep inside—the tame, sweet girl who
wanted nothing more than to belong.

Tears
caught in my throat. “I told you what you want. I’m yours. Please, give it
back. I’m
yours
!”

His
powerful body tightened, buttoning his blazer with precise movements. The
silver tantalized in his fingers before he shoved it into a suit pocket. “You
say the words but you don’t believe it. I told you. I don’t like liars.”

He
turned and opened the door, fingers turning white around the doorknob. “Stay up
here. Your punishment for not obeying is starvation. Good night.”

Swiping
his face, he left.   

*Wren*

T
hat
night, I dreamed.

I
dreamed of red and passion and violence. Of being taken, owned, possessed—of Q
filling me with hardness, fucking me over the pool table.

I
woke to my fingers sliding in my wetness. Toes curled and back arched as the
orgasm Q denied me rippled with an intensity echoing in my teeth.

My
heart raced as I came back to earth, uncramping my feet. A damp spot formed below
my ass and cheeks pinked with how wet I was. But lying in the dark, stomach
empty, heart ruined, I found peace.

My
body no longer throbbed, and for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly.

*
* * * *

Time
slowed.

Seconds
crawled into unwilling minutes, turning into tomorrow and next week. Q didn’t come
find me, and I never saw him return home from work. 

But
I knew when he arrived, as the house filled with passionate music. Lyrics
thrummed, stroking with warning. He lived in the same house as me—any moment he
could come, but never did.

Most
of the time, music throbbed with French laments, but then one night, an English
song rained from the speakers.

Every second my temper frays, every moment my beast desires

you think you can win, but you’re not consumed by sin

delicate and sweet are no match for hell and ruin

I don’t want you to see the depth of my blackness

for there-in lie demons and nightmares

don’t look in my eyes, the truth is not for you

you should run, you should flee, you should hide away forever

I
couldn’t describe the loneliness aching in my bones. The song reached like a
plea, freezing me with confusion.

Ever
since that night and the painful song, I couldn’t shake the feeling Q tried to
tell me something in the music he played. But I couldn’t believe it, because if
I did—what did that mean? I couldn’t feel sorry for my captor. I had to remain
aloof, distant.
Be that icicle—sharp and deadly.

Life
settled into a rhythm: an unwanted rhythm, but an ebb and flow nevertheless. I
drifted along, wondering why Q granted peace and left me alone. Did he grow
bored of his new possession already? Or did work demand his time and graced me
with a limited amount of freedom?

Whatever
the reason, Sunday burned my memory as the day Q twisted my emotions so much, I
found a place inside where I could run. In a way, he taught me how to save
myself, even as he broke me further.

Five
days passed, each one scratched on a calendar of waiting. My life existed to
dust and clean, while Suzette helped smooth my rusty French. I stared longingly
at the front door, wanting freedom, but the green-eyed guard was never far
away. Watching, always watching.