Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (37 page)

His eyes fired with lust as his fingers hooked my knickers, stripping those off me, too. In exactly ten seconds of arriving in one of the most gorgeous rooms I’d entered, I was stark naked in a bathroom full of expensive cosmetics, the fluffiest silver towels, and a shower big enough for a team of sumo wrestlers.

Q sucked in a breath, his face darkening as he rubbed the front of his trousers. “Goddammit, do you have to be so fucking tempting?”

The harsh want in his voice shoved away my annoyance, layering me with heavy attraction. His chest rose and fell; the top of the ‘T’ branded above his heart teased me with the three open buttons of his shirt. I needed him to touch me.
Now.

I kicked my jeans and knickers away, loving the heat building in my core. I loved the power he granted. The power of being naked in front of him with his body locked into position, calling to mine with a need past all realm of intellect.

“Why do you make me wet every time you look at me like that?” I countered his question, focusing inward on the trickle of dampness inside.

“It’s only fair you’re wet, Tess. Because I’m so fucking hard I could hammer a nail right through marble.” His eyes feasted on my skin; his hand grasped his cock roughly, angrily.

We devoured each other, separated only by a metre. A stupid, silly little metre that I wanted eradicated.

I took a step toward him.

The motion snapped him back into whatever whirlwind idea he currently chased; he moved away. Holding up a hand, he ordered,
“Va dans la douche, esclave.”
Get in the shower.

I shook my head, heat prickling my skin. My gaze fell to Q’s trousers, licking my lips at the bulge of his desire. “Come in with me,” I murmured, stepping toward him as he kept inching away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off my naked skin. “No. If I do, we’ll never get to dinner.”

Running my hands up my waist, cupping my breasts, I taunted, “I’m not hungry for food,
maître
. Who needs dinner when I can suck on you?”

He groaned, his step faltering. His hand abandoned his cock, fumbling with his top button. “Fuck, you don’t play fair.”

I might not be playing fair, but I was winning.

Taking another step, I basked in how hyperaware my skin was. His intense stare stroked me, making me hum,
smoulder.
My tongue wanted to lick him, my mouth wanted to suck him, my body wanted to ride him, and my mind wanted to explode into a gazillion pieces of bliss.

Q dragged the zipper down, teasing me with black boxer-briefs, barely concealing his raging erection. My tummy clenched, and my hand fell between my legs. My head was suddenly too heavy as I tantalized myself, panting to taste him.

Q looked up, latching eyes with me. Anger ticked his jaw, or was it tightly restrained need. “Tess?”

 “Yes…” I whispered, totally absorbed in fantasies of what I would do the moment Q got naked.

He stormed toward me, grabbed my wrist, and jerked my fingers away from the slickness of my core. His face contorted. “I told you that is
mine.
Not yours. You think you’re winning. But I can deny you—I have enough self-control.”

My hand lashed out, gripping him through his open fly. His cock leapt in my palm, intensely hot and eager. “Are you sure about that?”

He grunted, pushing his hips into my hand, before slapping my touch away. Wrapping his fingers around my throat, he murmured, “If you keep up your little game, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. Obey me. Get in the fucking shower.” His lips slammed against mine in a cruel, brutal kiss. I cried out as bruises became an addiction and pain became an obsession. I
needed
him. It wasn’t fair—he started this by undressing me. He had to finish. I had to come.

Q tore his mouth from mine. “Wash, so I can take you out on a date.”

I shivered, fascinated by his perfect lips, craving them between my thighs. I wanted what he’d given me last night. I wanted to be bitten, dined upon—his banquet of choice forever.

Words vexed me—they skipped and darted from my mind as lust clouded—making me mute and needy. “And…and if I don’t?” I cupped his balls through his boxers.

Q shuddered, dragging me closer. His proximity sent fireworks detonating in my stomach. “If you don’t, I’ll fuck you against the window. Everyone on the street will see you writhe for me. Strangers will see you come.” Imprisoning my jaw, he growled, “Do you want that? Are you a secret exhibitionist, Tess, because I’d gladly show off what I have in my bed. I’d happily sink deep into your heat and mark you in front of men who will never know the extreme fucking joy of being inside you. I’d love to thrust hard, smashing you against the glass, knowing husbands of other women got hard seeing how incredible you are—how responsive you are—how damn fucking sexy you are.”

Oh. My.
God.

My heart stopped beating. I lost complete control over my thoughts and senses. The mental images Q painted set my blood blazing with gasoline. His voice was so powerful I felt the bite of chill from the glass on my nipples. I could feel the slimy surface, scrambling for purchase as Q pounded into me.

I’d never thought of being watched before. I’d always been rather shy about my body, conscious of imperfections, but Q made it sound erotically delicious.

I bit my lip, deliberating.
How can you want people to see something so private, Tess?

I didn’t have an answer, but my body melted, liquefied,
burned
at the thought of Q delivering his threat.

A loud knock shattered the carnal awareness thrumming between us.

The freedom of thought shattered, sending my mind reeling with fear. Who was there? Were we safe here?

My instincts weren’t on high alert for myself—but for Q.

“Fuck,” Q muttered. With a harsh hand, he pushed me away. “Get showered,
esclave
. Your outfit for tonight is here, and I personally want to dress you in it.”

I didn’t remember the shower. I didn’t remember much of anything apart from the replay of Q having his wicked way with me against the windows in full view of strolling couples. I didn’t pay attention to the hot water licking over my sensitive skin, or the shakiness of my hand as I applied mascara or blow-dried my curls. And I certainly didn’t give power to my over-active instincts. I wouldn’t ruin tonight by being afraid of nothing.

But I did remember striding into the bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel, and stopping dead at the sight of Q.

Would he ever cease to amaze me? I’d never get used to how darkly handsome he was, with his widow’s peak, luminous pale eyes, and sculptured cheekbones.

He was a festival for my eyes: black leather loafers, perfectly ironed grey slacks, crisp silver shirt, open blazer, and no tie.

I couldn’t latch onto the seamless thoughts in my head.

When is his birthday? I want to buy him a shirt that matches his eyes.

Where did he get those clothes?

It isn’t fair he’s so beautiful—I look like a homeless runway on his arm.

I must’ve done something right to deserve him.

The thought I decided to go with was: “Is there another bathroom in this suite?”

Q shook his head, smiling wryly, enjoying my tongue-tiedness. “Yes. His and Hers. Now come here. I have a surprise for you.”

I glided forward, noticing he’d drawn the curtains. I sucked in a breath as he hooked a finger around the knot in my towel. “It’s only fair I dress you, seeing as I stripped you before.”

With a sharp tug, the towel unravelled, pooling at my feet. My blood scorched to have him, kiss him, but at the same time, I loved the tease—the knowledge he was taking me out on a date, and I wouldn’t be able to ravish him until we got back.

Guiding me toward the bed where two packages existed, he positioned me at the foot of the ginormous mattress, and opened the smaller box.

I swallowed hard as he pulled out a matching set of purple lingerie.

Purple.

The same colour I’d bought in the hopes of seducing Brax. I swayed as every little change in my life sucker-punched me. It felt like a different universe where I’d laid my heart open and tried to be honest with Brax. It felt like a century ago I’d thrown away an innocent vibrator all because he’d been hurt and scared.

Q leaned closer, diving into my eyes. “Tess…?”

I forced the memories to fade, but there was one question refusing to disappear. I wanted to know the answer. I wanted to finally acknowledge how all my dreams came true in a way I’d never suspected. “If I said to you I used to have a vibrator and made myself come with the thought of some unknown master biting my shoulder and striking me with a whip—how would that make you feel?”

I knew Brax’s response:
I don’t have to fuck you to be a man, Tessie
.

I didn’t know Q’s and I wanted to. Desperately.

Q’s forehead furrowed, holding out the lacy bra. “How would that make me feel?” His head cocked. “Is that a trick question?”

I laughed quietly, hiding my nervousness. “No. I honestly want to know.”

Q tossed the bra on the bed, before planting his large hands on my hips. “I’ll tell you how that makes me feel. It makes me fucking hard at the thought of you getting yourself off. I can picture your flushed cheeks, taste your wetness, hear your pants.” His head dipped, kissing my neck. “I adore the thought of you fantasising about the exact things I’ve done to you—almost as if you were always meant to be mine.”

Pushing me away, he held up the knickers and dropped to his knee. I obediently stepped into the lingerie as he held it, shivering as he pulled them up my legs. “I should’ve had Alonzo buy something else for us tonight,” he murmured, positioning the lace between my legs.

“What?” I breathed.

“A vibrator. I can’t get the damn image out of my head of watching you come and then using it on you all over again.”

I didn’t need wings. Q made me fly with words. He wasn’t unsure, or jealous at me seeking pleasure on my own. He wasn’t prudish or tame. He was perfect. He was
mine.

And I never wanted to lose him.

“When will you marry me?” I blurted.

Cringing, I let Q thread my arms through the bra straps, then held up my hair for him to clasp it. The roles had changed—it wasn’t Q pushing me anymore but me pushing him.

Q didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the last box, lifting out the sexiest, demure dress I’d ever seen. A seamstress’s work of perfection with silk and netting in every shade of grey possible.

Silently, Q helped me into it. The sleeveless gown kissed just below my knees, cocooning my body like air.

He stepped back, nodding. “I’ll marry you when I’m damn well ready,
esclave
. But tonight, I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Chose anything you want.” Q smiled.

I looked at the menu again, frowning at Italian. Knowing French gave me a benefit—I was able to get the gist of the word, but I didn’t have Q’s aptitude for foreign dialects.

Carbonara with horse?
No, that can’t be right.

Parmesan shredded with rabbit? Could be, but I didn’t want to risk it.

Placing the heavy menu onto the table, I said, “You order for me. I have no idea.”

Q chuckled. “You know, letting me order for you is a turn on. Knowing you trust me enough to give me control over what you eat makes me hard.”

I crossed my legs, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sharp clench at his voice. “Behave. You’re the one who wanted to do this. Not me. I would’ve happily dined on you all night.”
In the safety of our hotel room.

Hearing how prolific Q’s business was on the news unsettled me. I didn’t want to be in public anymore. I didn’t feel incognito or unimportant. I felt
watched.

His eyes narrowed, fingers gripping the menu harder. “You’re the one who has to behave,
esclave
. I’m more than happy to have you as my entrée.”

A waiter appeared from nowhere, interrupting the rapidly budding lust between Q and I. “You ready to order?”

I smiled, glancing around the fine-dining restaurant. It wasn’t large and each booth ringed the perimeter of the room—a red velvet curtain draped on either side of each seating area, giving patrons the sense of dining alone. The hypnotic piano and violin serenade plaited effortlessly with the ebb and flow of diner’s voices. Not to mention the amazing scents of garlic, herbs, and fresh pasta filling the space like a tastebud-tempting haze.  

Q gave me a glance before reopening his menu and reeling off in perfect Italian.

My core tingled at the lyrical tone of the man I would marry. So accomplished. So distinguished. So very, very different behind closed doors.

The waiter nodded, jotting down what seemed like copious amounts of food. Once finished, he bowed, took our menus and left to relay the order.

Q surveyed the restaurant, his shoulders tense.

I leaned forward. “Exactly how much food did you order?”

He focused on me. “I ordered every starter available. I figured we can share and
taste
a bit of everything.” His gaze flashed on the word ‘taste’. I crossed my legs, trapping the ripple between them.