Tears of Tess (28 page)

He
bit my ear, growling as I let my legs fall open in his lap, surrendering
completely. He breathed hard, breath clouding around me with mint and spice.

Without
warning, he withdrew and smeared my wetness around my clit, pinching and
rubbing. Sparks of need fizzed and popped, making their way down my legs.

He
groaned as I writhed in his lap. His own needs raged, making him tremble as he
pressed his hard cock against my hip.

I
gasped and pressed back, loving the gift he gave: the gift of sensual power. My
letting go turned him on.

He
needed me as much as I needed him. The knowledge magnified my lust a thousand
fold. With boldness I never knew I had, I captured his wrist, stopping him
playing with my clit.

His
eyes shot to mine, lips parted and glistening. Never looking away, I guided his
fingers back inside, bowing in his arms as I pressed deep. My flesh welcomed and
I rode his hand like I always wanted.

It
was Q’s turn to snap. With fingers fucking me, he pushed me off his lap and onto
the cold slipperiness of tiles. My spine complained, and I found it hard to
breathe with hot water cascading into my face, but none of it mattered. It didn’t
matter because Q wrenched his fingers from me, fumbling to undo his belt buckle.
He’d reached his breaking point.

I
reached for his fly, helping free his hard cock from sodden clothes. We panted
and cursed, both consumed with the need to fuck. To connect. To join.

Q
pushed his trousers off his hips, followed by black boxer-briefs. His gorgeous
cock jutted proudly, and I felt a moment of fear. I swallowed as Q glared with
smouldering pale green eyes. “I’ll give you what you need. Don’t fear me.” His
voice dropped from deep, to gravel and stone.

I
nodded.

He
grabbed my hip, sliding me under him, settling between my legs in one quick,
possessive move. I panted, looking up. My body was too hot, heart raced too
fast, and it felt as though it was my first time. The first time a man managed
to fit all my fantasies into one: connection, possession, lust, passion.

Q
crushed his mouth to mine, his taste filling me. His sweet, minty darkness
decimated the metallic sourness from Driver putting his fingers in my mouth. I
moaned, dragging him closer. I willingly gave Q my sense of taste.

I
drowned in his scent, touch, taste, and sound. My heart buoyed as his groan
vibrated through me.

His
tongue fucked my mouth and vision spaced; I became lightheaded. Saliva mixed
with shower water and we drank each other.

Q
thrust, pushing his cock inside just a little. He froze and stopped kissing me.
“Are you on birth control?”

Wow,
how irresponsible could I be? I hadn’t even thought about protection. I pushed hair
away, hoping Q didn’t have any diseases. I dropped my eyes. “I’m on the
injection.”

“And
how many men have you been with?” he demanded, lust blazing.

I
wanted to say no one because the answer was a double-edged sword. Brax and been
my one and only… until tonight.

Q
must’ve seen the answer in my face as he nodded. “You don’t have to answer. And
you have nothing to worry about from me.”

It
was odd to pause and talk about protection, when we balanced on the fine edge
of erratic sex, but it offered peace. It let me tear through self-restrictions,
and embrace hot desires. I was truthful for the first time in my life. “I want
you inside me. I need you,” I whispered.

Q’s
answer was to kiss so hard, he bruised my lips. With one hard thrust, he
impaled himself inside. My wetness accepted him in a smooth, sensual glide—no
pain or agony, only pleasure and ecstasy. His suit rubbed against damp skin; my
back screamed from hard unforgiving tiles, but I didn’t care.

Q
grunted, filling me completely, digging his fingertips into my waist, keeping
me pinned. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since you arrived,” he panted, rocking,
building a burning fire.

I
couldn’t speak; I could only focus on Q and his heat inside. He fucked with arrogance
and power. Every thrust reminded I belonged to him. An orgasm built deep, and I
whimpered at the sharpness.

Q
rocked harder, pressing me against the floor as we slid all over the place.
“That’s it. Give me something of yours. You owe me that.” Letting restraint
drop, he bucked into me, cursing in French, eyes glowing with so many things, and
I felt awed by what he let me see.

My
body responded: tightening, building, already forgetting the abuse from Brute.

Q
bit my ear, pressing his suited chest against mine, cock thickening inside,

heating,
scorching. The fine edge of pleasure and violence unravelled me. “Come for me,
esclave
.”

His
magic words bent me to his will, and my body no longer obeyed me. It obeyed its
new owner.

I
screamed as an orgasm rippled from toes, up calves, into thighs, and finally
detonated inside my core. I rippled around him, banding tight, milking with
every wave of release. Fireworks weren’t enough, and I climbed higher, pushed
on by Q’s thrusts and smell and taste and unbridled rapture.

Fireworks
jetted to comets and comets thundered to galaxies as Q pumped harder.

He
yelled, “
Baiser moi.
”Fuck me. He reared back, arms locking as he drove
into me the hardest I’d ever taken it. Smooth balls slapped against my ass; I
burned, blazed,
fired
from his claiming. “Take my come. Take a part of
me,” he growled.

Deep
inside, I felt him spurt, dousing me in warmth, marking me, while at the same
time giving up a part of himself.

Shuddering,
the last of his climax wrung him dry. He collapsed on top, uncaring about the
steam-filled shower, or his ruined suit. The thrumming of his heart matched
mine as we lay on the floor, unable to move.

For
the first time in my life, I felt a bond. A profound connection, an intrinsic
part of me belonged to him. Not just master and slave, but man and woman.

Was
he the man to make my heart sing? This overbearing dom who wanted me to submit
one moment, then wrapped me in cotton wool the next?

I
couldn’t deny he gave me a selfish gift. My body no longer trembled from what
happened. He gave me a new memory full of heart-breaking brutality. I throbbed
with a residual orgasm, eerily vacant thanks to my soul-wracking cry.

Q
met my eyes, and his simmering anger made me swallow. “Am I in trouble?” He
looked as if he wanted to put me over his knee and spank me.

His
lips twitched and he slapped the side of my ass. “Ah,
esclave
you’re in
serious trouble. I’ll never be able to leave you alone now.”

*Quail*

I
expected Q to shut down and leave after our shower—too many things passed
between us, and I was raw. Q avoided my eyes as he pulled out and stood, but he
didn’t move to leave.

He
leaned down, pulling me off the floor, before stepping out of his soaking
trousers and throwing them in the bath. The wet material slapped loudly,
followed by his blazer. He left his shirt on, long enough to cover hips but not
the thick, heavy cock between his legs. He maintained the hair down there just
like he did his head. A subtle shadow of masculinity without any of the
wildness.

My
body tingled. He screamed man and dynamism. I was a girl with a ceaseless past,
no way enough for him, but determined to try.

He
took me tonight in a mixture of compassion and anger, but I wanted more. I
wanted what he promised when I first arrived. The act of taking from me, even
though my body would willingly give up every part to him.

I
bit my lip, remembering Q fingering me over the pool table. I’d been turned on
beyond anything I could’ve imagined. Hatred for him added another dimension to
an already overwhelming experience. Now, I didn’t hate him, but I still wanted
to struggle.

I
needed Q to take me again and again. I needed him to rule me so Brute didn’t
win by making me fear sex. I belonged to Q, yet he never stepped over the line
from tormentor to rapist.

I
huddled into the towel, so confused.

Q
stalked out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints. The cold embrace of
rejection made me tremble. Was that it? He took what he wanted, then left me to
fend for myself. What happened to his promise of never leaving me alone?

I
couldn’t let Q cast me off. Without him, I belonged to no one. I no longer had
parents or Brax. My old life was over.

Q
ruined me for a monotonous grey-toned existence, eclipsing it with techno
colour.

The
bathroom closed in, dripping with blackness and horror-filled memories. Without
Q, my skin itched with terror as demons and monsters crept from shadows.

I
knew I needed to deal with my issues, to find my strength. I couldn’t use Q as
a bandage to forget, but I wasn’t strong enough yet.

The
sounds of opening drawers drifted into the bathroom, and Q prowled back with arms
full of clothes. He placed them in the dry basin and ripped my towel off. I
stood, naked, thrilled how his body tensed, eyes glued to my exposed figure.  

“Hold
up your arms,” he ordered, a large white t-shirt in his hands. I complied and
he slipped the t-shirt over my head. His five o’ clock shadow rasped my cheek
as he bent to tug the hem.

“Step.”
He kneeled with a pair of white knickers, raising an eyebrow. I clutched his
wet shoulder for balance, letting him slide the knickers up my legs. The
sensual slide, his fingers kissing skin, made my eyes snap closed.

He
pinged the elastic around my hips with a small smile.

This
man who killed for me, fucked me,
owned
me was dressing me. It didn’t make
sense.

Q
leaned forward and hooked fingers beneath my heavy tresses, pulling damp curls
from beneath the t-shirt. His fingers caused lust to swirl again. I was
insatiable.

His
nostrils flared. The bathroom went from steamy to sex-aware and provocative. 
He stood rigid and aloof; his face hidden behind a mask of inexhaustible
control.

“Hello,
treasure.”

Brute’s
voice slashed through my brain. My throat dried in panic as the rape replayed
at hyper-speed. My soul chilled with ice, reliving what happened. A tremble
racked my body and I keened.

Q
lashed out, grabbing my chin. “What are you doing? I told you to forget it. You’re
only to remember me from tonight.”

I
dropped my eyes, nodding rapidly, wishing I could obey, but thoughts slithered
on the edge of consciousness: Brute with his horrible breath and fingers;
Driver with his lies and hair pulling.

With
Q here, he helped me forget, but every moment he withdrew, returning to a cold
master, rather than tentative lover, I floundered.

Ripping
his eyes from mine, he opened a vanity drawer and pulled free a tub of arnica.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at a fluffy bench behind the door. I sat, gasping
as Q knelt before me. “This will help.”

With
soft fingertips, he massaged the ointment into lash marks on my upper thighs.
The pressure both painful and delicious. Echoes of memories tried to jail me,
but Q’s touch wouldn’t let me linger in nightmares. Not while he rested between
my legs, stroking me. His scent of citrus kept me grounded, reminding he might
have flaws, but he cared about his possessions. He would look after me as long
as I pleased him.

“What
did you mean when you said you were frightened about how far you’d go, when I
was chained in the sparrow room?” The words fell out; I clamped a horrified
hand over my mouth. Oh, my God, what made me say such a thing?

Q
froze and his sudden emotional recoil left me freezing. “I’m not in the mood to
answer questions
, esclave
.”

Glaring,
he returned to rubbing in the pungent healing balm, effectively slicing off any
conversation. But a core of strength filled me and I had to know. I needed to
know more about this conundrum of a man. Who
was
he?