Tears of Tess (32 page)

He
was right, I couldn’t lie and I cried harder.

I
wanted to scream: fuck me, I’m yours. Instead, I said, “Get your fingers out of
me.”

“Shush,
ma belle
. You want this.” His voice rippled with sensuality. I wondered
how much he acted, too. Had he tamed himself on my account? How much darker
would he go?

Q
stroked harder, withdrawing more moisture between my legs. My breasts ached to
be touched, mouth empty, needing kisses, but my heart blazed so full, I thought
I might disintegrate into fiery fragments.

Q
stopped suddenly, withdrawing. “I’m the only one who can give you what you
truly desire.” Fingers dug into my cheek, spreading my scent. “But I refuse to
take it.” He stepped between my legs, positioning his cock where I wanted him most.
He rubbed with the tip, earning a pant and a cry.

I
rocked, imploring him to take me. I trembled with need so extreme, it set my
teeth on edge.

“Give
it to me, or you’ll become nothing.”

My
eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you everything you ask for. There’s nothing left to
give.”

Pulling
back, he stared, unfettered, eyes blazing with overpowering lust. He stepped
away, dragging a hand over his short pelt of hair.

My
hips moved toward him on their own accord, searching, wanting. Mortified, I
pressed against the post, hoping he hadn’t seen.

But
he did; his lips quirked. “Always lying.”

I
said nothing.

Q
paced. “I’ll fuck you anyway you want, if you give me what
I
want.”

Delicious
anticipation filled, but I frowned. “What do you want?”

“I
want to own all of you,
esclave
. Including your name.”

My
heart raced. Truth rang in his words. He would deny both of us because he
wanted to know my name. I didn’t have to fake the answer: “You’ll be dead
before that happens.” I was furious with him.

He
chuckled—it sounded positively light-hearted compared to the tension charging
around us. “No one will be dead, but I might die of pleasure by having you.”

I
ignored the thrill, staying in character. “Bastard.”

His
mood shifted to commanding, dominating. “You have no idea.” He laughed but it held
pain.

My
breath hitched. I tried my rusty French.
“Je ne suis pas à toi.”
I am
not yours.

Grinding
his teeth, he reached up, undoing the knicker restraints. Pulling my body
roughly away from the bedpost, he threw me on the mattress. “I dare you to say
that again,
esclave
.” Folding himself over me like a living cape,
pressing down, almost suffocating me in the covers. My stomach twisted and a
small mewl escaped. The overbearing action of lying on me, both thrilled and
terrified. 

Lips
kissed a trail along the back of my neck, all the while fingers tickled the
inside of my thigh, moving higher, higher.

Each
millimetre he travelled set my blood to boil. I didn’t understand how one touch
made me shiver with need. Was it Q’s domination? The knowledge I couldn’t stop
him? It couldn’t be. The rape cured me of that ridiculous fantasy.

Somewhere
in my mind, I knew Q meant me no harm. He wanted me and I was his; there was
nothing wrong with him taking me—anyway he chose.

“Spread
your legs,” he demanded.

I
instantly complied. Fingers found my entrance, stroking. Q’s breath hitched as
he forced two fingers inside, stretching, bruising, but it wasn’t enough. I
needed more. An orgasm teased, on the brink of release. So close, so fast. I
wanted it desperately.

Q
seemed to sense my urgency and slid off. Kneeling behind, hands curled around
my ankles possessively, spreading my stance even more.

I
cried out as his tongue licked up my leg, moving with delicious wet pressure,
heading to the one place I ached.

When
his tongue found me, sucking my clit with the finesse of an experienced lover,
my hips bucked over his mouth. I’d never been so needy, so possessed with
yearning. I never wanted to think again. This was true freedom—right here, with
my master kneeling between my legs.

A
long finger entered, thrusting deep as his tongue lapped, conjuring star bright
spasms, shooting in my belly. I rode his finger, searching for friction.

I
needed him in me. I needed him to claim.

He
stood, grabbing my neck, arching me to kiss him. His chin glistened from my
wetness, filling me with my taste.  

He
bit my lip, positioning himself behind me. “I own all of you,
esclave
.”

I
wasn’t prepared for the sharp, sudden, shocking invasion of his massive cock. I
cried out as he stretched me wide, giving no time to adjust. My stomach knotted
into a complex cosmos, gathering power to release.

I
groaned as he thrust hard, taking me from behind, spread over the bed. I
trembled in ecstasy I’d never felt before.

Q
bit my shoulder, fingers digging deep into my hips, jerking me back, thrust
after thrust. Each withdrawal and penetration, built and built until I was sopping
wet, moaning, whimpering, more vocal than I’d ever been in my life.

“
Putain
de merde
,” he growled, fucking me so hard, my knees bashed against the soft
comforter.

His
voice was everything I needed to release the glowing galaxy in my core. I
screamed, literally screamed, as I came harder than I’d ever come before.

The
mind games Q played, the connection I felt after a lifetime of being adrift,
all exploded, turning my body into a bundle of hyper-sensitive nerves.

Q’s
sexual domination enlightened me. My good girl barrier was permanently removed,
and I revelled in Q’s flesh slapping against mine, finding his own pleasure.

The
heavy hotness of his balls slapped against my clit as he fucked harder. My
hands grabbed the sheets, bunching them with every skin slap.

Q
fisted my hair, arching my back, at the same time, he spanked my ass. “Fuck, I
want to make you bleed.” He hit me again, again. Each handprint hot, laced with
pleasure-pain and erotic torture.

The
agony added another threshold to battered nerve endings. “Oh, God,” I moaned,
shuddering with fiercely building pressure, racing up my legs, into my centre.

Not
again. Surely. I never had multiple orgasms.

Q
cursed, slapping me so hard, tears rained even as I panted.
It hurts. It
feels too good. Stop. Hit harder. Don’t. More.

I
shattered into a gazillion pieces, milking Q’s cock for a second time.

“Fuck,”
he groaned, bucking with feral strength, shaking me to the soul. He slapped my
ass so hard, I bit my lip, drawing blood. Stinging pain pulsed while Q exploded
inside. I felt every ridge, every spurt, relishing in owning some part of him.
He gave himself to me.

His
come was mine. Just like I was his.

My
ass stung but my body was as limp as a ragdoll.

Q
pulled out, breathing hard. I rolled painfully onto my back, watching him stalk
to the bathroom. He returned, wrapping a towel around his hips. 

I
sat up, flinching from his abuse, both external and internal. My body languished
in sated bliss.  

His
demeanour was closed off, angry. He didn’t even look me in the eye.

Had
I been that terrible? I wasn’t experienced, but Brax always seemed to enjoy sex
with me. Rejection stabbed like daggers; I waited for a sign that Q was
satisfied, but he never looked at me.

His
seed trickled down my thigh, spreading a damp stain on the sheets. Tears
pricked. I must’ve done something terribly wrong. I had to fix it. If I didn’t
please Q, he’d throw me back to men like Brute and Driver. He’d withdraw his
protection. His comfort.

I
didn’t know what to do. 

Sliding
off the bed, I crawled to Q. He never asked me to be anything other than human,
but maybe he secretly wanted me to be lowly.

I
clutched his towel, looking into tortured pale green eyes. He didn’t look like
a man who had explosive sex. He looked like he wanted to commit suicide, or
scrub his cock with abrasive soap. A man with ten-tonne regret.

My
throat lodged with need and failure. “I’m sorry. I can do better. I promise.
Please, give me another chance.”

Old
Tess sat up in horror. I begged a man who didn’t even want me—a man who kept me
like an unwanted pair of socks—to fuck me again.

I
begged like he could end my life.

Because
he could. I no longer trusted the world. I trusted Q. With everything I had. I
couldn’t cope if he despised me for something I did wrong.

Q
stepped back, his muscles making it seem as if sparrows moved and fluttered. “
Esclave
,
stop this. Go get clean. Go to bed.”

His
orders slapped me in the face. He wanted me to clean so no part of him
remained? How could he ask that? We were linked. If I showered, the link would
be gone. I would be nothing again.  

Oh,
God, I was fucked up. So ruined. So broken.

Q
looked down, jaw working under his five o’clock shadow. “I won’t touch you
again until you tell me your name.”

Then
he left. Just like every time.

*Swan*

M
y
new life began.

For
two weeks, I only saw Q when he returned home from work, and even then, it was
only brief.

With
a smouldering, unreadable expression, Q would regard me before disappearing to
areas of the house I wasn’t allowed to go.

Moments
after, music erupted through speakers. Songs with laments or curses, lyrics full
of rage and threats, rattled the windows.

Q
had eclectic taste in music. Heavy metal screamed from the speakers one night
and the verse slapped me with debilitating need.  

It’s
awoken and refuses to go back into the dark

every
moment, of every second, of every heartbeat, I fight the urge to hurt

my
resolve is weakening, my guilt lessening, my needs overpowering

I
am not responsible for what happens to you, you provoked me, awoke me, excited
me

my
tongue aches for your blood, my heart beats for pain

fear
is my calling card and I mean to earn your terror.

Q
played the song twice, as if pounding the message into me: whatever he’d done
was tame compared to what he wanted, and the longer I didn’t tell him my name,
the more he needed to hurt me.

Withholding
my name was my only weapon against Q. It drove him mad, and I loved it. I loved
the power of dragging emotion from him.  

I
lay in bed at night, panting, so ready for my door to burst open and a wrathful
Q to claim me. But stubbornness was my friend, and I wouldn’t spill my last
secret. Either I was crazy to provoke my master, or I’d gone mad with
captivity. Either way didn’t matter, as I felt alive when I listened to the
loud songs. Obsessed with how my body tingled and tensed, consumed with fluttering
wings of anticipation—completely bewitched by Q.

So
we played our game, waiting to see who’d break first. Nights passed with relentless
need, days inched by with excruciating impatience.

For
fourteen days, Q stayed true to his promise and never came.

Winter
thawed, and spring splattered the countryside with tulips and daffodils.

I
accepted I would never know where I lived. Suzette wouldn’t tell when I asked,
and I doubted Q ever would.

No
one would ever find Tess Snow again. She no longer existed.
I am Ami
Esclave.

By
day, I worked on my French with Suzette, by night I waited for Q. I was wet all
the time, and when he didn’t appear, dreams consumed me. Nightmares of Q throwing
me away because he couldn’t stand me any longer. Reoccurring dreams of Driver
and Brute, raping me, about to kill, but instead of Q saving me, Leather Jacket
stole me back to Mexico. Where he hurt, broke, and ultimately sold me to
another. Brax played centre in my dreams, but he never rescued me. He would
either sleep through my torture, or simply look on in despair.