Twisted Together

Chapter Three

Intertwined, tangled, knotted forever, our souls will always be twisted together,

our demons, our monsters belong to the other,

Bow to me, I bow to thee, now we are free

“Well that was the shortest wedding in bloody history,” Franco muttered as I slid into the car and slammed the door. Sunshine gave way to shade, providing relief from the piercing glare. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Melting into the leather upholstery, I angled the vents to receive an artic blow from the air-conditioning. Being in the high-noon sun and dealing with the stress of being told I wasn’t marriageable material had taken its toll.

Q slid into the limo, slamming the door just as loud as I had. We hadn’t spoken a word on the way back; I didn’t trust myself not to burst into tears. I’d make a fool of myself by showing how insecure and truly afraid I was.

I don’t want you, Tess. How could I love you now you’ve become one of them? The voice from when I’d been drugged in Rio kept repeating in my mind. Q didn’t know that while I hurt and maimed under the command of my captors, he’d visited me often. My phantom conjuring with his whispers of me no longer being pure or worthy.

I knew it was irrational to believe he didn’t want me—not after his letter and everything he’d done—but I wasn’t strong enough to stop the voices from undermining everything I knew to be real and replacing them with lies.

Damn lies.

Insecure filthy lies.

I sneaked a glance at Q. He glared out the window, his forehead furrowed, eyes dark with planning. He’d withdrawn once again, focusing inward on whatever idea he’d latched onto. The last time he’d been this intense, he’d ordered me to beat him practically to death.

My eyes refused to stop drinking him in. His white t-shirt clung to his body made from pure stone. His longer hair was wind-swept and messy. His five o’ clock shadow hid some of the tension from his jaw but not enough.

He was so perfect. Too perfect. How could I ever compete, always feeling second best? My heart had leapt out of my throat and dived into the waves when he’d said he couldn’t marry me. Every dark thought and worthless aspiration I secretly nursed came true in that one, horrifying minute.

I’d always known it was only a matter of time before he finally realized he was marrying a girl with sin in her soul and a woman’s blood under her fingernails. And not just any woman. A trafficked woman—a bird he would’ve done anything to save.

He might suffer guilt for letting Leather Jacket take me. However, I suffered guilt for murder.

Franco lowered the barrier between us. “Couldn’t wait to get to the honeymoon, huh?” He threw a look over his shoulder, his emerald eyes catching mine.

My stomach twisted. What would he say if he knew Q had postponed it? Would he nod as if it made perfect sense? Would he tell Q he was worthy of a woman who was pure and not a killer like me?

I looked away, unable to stare at the man who’d been beside Q for years. I was jealous. Jealous of his time with Q when I’d had so little.

Franco cleared his throat, catching my attention again. He raised his eyebrow, kindness softening his fierce features.

I smiled weakly, then froze when he winked. He winked.

Q muttered, “No honeymoon. Not yet.”

Franco rearranged his face from kind and open to cool and professional. Ignoring me, he looked at Q. “Where to then?”

Take her back to Australia. I’m done. The snide cruel voice in my head answered on Q’s behalf, filling me with damp iciness. Oh, God. I had to get the negativity under control. I had to find a way to clear my mind.

Q glanced my way, his mind elsewhere. Finally, he answered, “Just drive for a bit. I’m still thinking. I want something impersonal.”

Impersonal? First he took me to an island that obviously meant a lot to him, then he wanted to take me somewhere that meant nothing. Trust in him, Tess. I had to keep my chin high and my heart believing.

“Sure thing.” Franco nodded, putting the glass back up.

Q looked out the window without a sideways glance.

I wanted to go to him. I wanted his arms around me, so I could focus on what was real and not what was in my head. My mouth opened, spilling an unauthorized question. “Why couldn’t we have stayed on Volière? Even if you don’t want to get married, surely it was a good place to spend time together?”

Q didn’t turn around. It took a moment for him to reply, as if sorting through the words to make sure he said nothing wrong. “I want the impersonality of somewhere we’ve never been. I want somewhere on neutral ground.” He kept staring out the window, brooding. His hands curled on his thighs, saturating the atmosphere in the car with energy and frustration.

I ignored the splinters in my heart. “For what?” He wants somewhere where no memories exist for either of us. It made sense—I supposed.

“I don’t know yet,” Q muttered.

I couldn’t help the quick intake of breath or the tickle of tears. Why the fuck was I so weak? I hated being weak. I wanted to be strong again—to understand why Q had done what he did. I wanted to have the strength to allow life to guide me without being terrified of what was around the corner.

Anger filled me; I smashed my stinging eyes. Twisting my body, I tried to see through the swimming tears, focusing on the passing view.

Rustling sounded as Q shifted. “I’m making this up as I go along, esclave. I’d forgotten how overgrown that hovel of an island is. Someone needs to go in with a chainsaw.” His accented voice that normally radiated with honesty dulled with the lie.

I looked over. He smiled, softening the brutality of such a fib. “Please, Tess, let me do what I need to do.”

The anger hadn’t left my veins. I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight. I wanted to prove I still had the guts to stand up for something I desperately wanted. And I desperately wanted to be married to Q. If I hadn’t let the memories take me hostage, I could’ve been Mrs. Mercer in a few short hours. Now, I might never wear his name.

“You said you liked it wild. You deliberately left it untouched.” A thought came to me, I asked, “Why did you buy it in the first place? There must’ve been a reason.” Images of him sending women to heal and recoup there filled my mind. Maybe he hadn’t bought it for himself but for another.

As much as I wished I could read his secrets and unravel his past, I couldn’t. Q was still an enigma. I wanted to pledge my life to his even while we fumbled in the dark.

I didn’t think he’d answer, but quietly he replied, “I had a crazy notion I would retire there.”

I sat taller, twisting my hands in my lap. “You wanted to retire on Volière?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to picture him bumbling around on an island as an old man all on his own. But he wouldn’t be alone. He would’ve found someone worthy if I hadn’t been sold to him. He would’ve fallen in love—eventually. A man like Q deserved to be loved unconditionally.

Still not looking at me, Q admitted, “A few years ago, I was dealing with a lot of shit. I had more slaves being rehabilitated than I could keep count of. The pressure of dealing half in the light and half in the fucking dark messed me up inside. All I wanted was peace. Serenity. Somewhere no one could find me. It seemed the perfect place.”

I understood his need for a bolt-hole. Somewhere he wouldn’t be judged or be a stranger in his own home. Keeping my voice low, so as not to shatter the gathering softness between us, I said, “That’s a good reason.”

Q looked over, his pale eyes delving into mine. “A good reason but no longer valid. I’ll never retire there. Not now.”

My heart beat harder at the thought of the future. I loved that I had the privilege of watching him age. I’d love every year as his dark hair turned to salt and pepper and the faint frown lines by his eyes became laugh lines instead. I didn’t picture him hidden away on an island though—it just didn’t fit.

I murmured, “No matter how hard I try I can’t visualize you sequestered on some wild oasis. You have too many people relying on you. You love your birds too much. Your…vocation. You’d miss France.”

Q’s forehead furrowed. He gave the impression I’d guessed right on every account. He may be well travelled and crave silence and space occasionally, but he was a French man to the last drop of blood. He would miss the local cuisine, the language. He would miss the seasons, and the satisfaction of his unique charity.

I would miss all of that, too. His life was now mine, and it couldn’t be more perfect. I couldn’t wait to help others, or be by his side while playing a real life game of monopoly. My university degree would be put to use, and I’d finally earn my place.

He chuckled, shedding some of the stress in his eyes. “Stupid idea, right?” He picked a non-existent piece of lint off his trousers. “I thought it was the only place I would find what I was looking for. That I could stop lying to myself and running from a past I can’t forget.” He suddenly looked up, his gaze blazing with jade fire. “I’ve grown up since then. There is no running, only accepting. I found what I needed the moment you entered my life. And as much as I dislike that the chateau belonged to my father, I finally have the inclination to turn it from his to ours.”

Ours.

Ours.

My lungs stuck together. “Ours?” I breathed.

Q twisted his body to face me. “Yes. Ours. Yours. Mine. Ours.” He gently took my hand, squeezing hard. “I no longer need Volière. Next time I speak to Frederick, I’ll get him to draw up the papers to sell it.”

I managed to suck in a reedy breath even as my eyes popped wide. “Just because you won’t retire there doesn’t mean you have to sell it.” I looked to where our hands were joined and couldn’t contain the sharp spasm of lust and love. “Keep it. I hate to think of that perfect wilderness being ruined.”

Q chuckled. “You were there for a moment. You can’t have grown attached.” His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, turning the faint awareness into something tangible and throbbing.

I licked my bottom lip, quickly becoming drunk on the thought of kissing him.

Q stiffened; his fingers clamped fiercely around mine. His eyes remained on my mouth. “If you want me to keep it, I will.”

“Just like that.”

“Juste comme ça.” Just like that. His gaze flickered up, drawing fire and the beautiful wonderful feeling of want. I’d missed the flush; worried I’d be destined to be cold and lifeless inside. Q ran the pad of his thumb over my knuckles, sending shivers arching over my skin.

My entire body grew heavy, lethargic, spreading with warm, scrumptious anticipation. What were we talking about? Ah, yes, Volière. “I’ll never get used to your wealth.”

Q unwound my fingers from his, moving his palm to my hip. I jolted at the fierce shock of him touching me. Every second that passed the car fogged with whatever built between us. It dewed on my eyelashes, spreading lazy fronds through my heart.

Q’s hand drifted down my side where the seat-belt fastened. With his eyes locked on mine, he pressed the button and released me. The car continued to drift forward through traffic, shuttling us to who knew where in our own private world.

Tugging me forward, Q murmured, “Well, you better get used to it because it’s all yours. No pre-nups, no stupid documents or lawyers. As far as I’m concerned, every euro is yours.”

He didn’t stop pulling until I slid into his lap. Every inch I travelled over his rock hard thighs, I struggled to catch my breath. I existed purely on the lust-filled cognizance budding between us. “I can’t take it.”

I couldn’t take a penny from this man. Not after he’d given me so much. Even now he gave me so much in the form of remembrance—bringing my body back to life, filling me with liquid heat and joy.

Q’s right. Getting married with the clouds hanging over our heads was a mistake. The clouds were building, thickening, filling with threatening thunder and lightning. The storm would ruin our fragile happiness in one strike. I didn’t want to risk losing this. Losing him.

I’d already lost myself—still trying to wiggle through the bars of my captivity to grasp freedom. I would never be the fierce young woman I’d been. I had to find who I was now, before I could give Q everything.

Q captured my hand, spinning the new ring on my wedding finger. The diamonds danced and pranced, set perfectly in wing-shaped gold.

“Knowing there’s a tracker in there—knowing I’ll always have you close, is the only reason why my migraines have given me a reprieve.” Q’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “You’ve cured me in so many ways, esclave, but you’ve ruined me in so many others.” He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles with barely hidden reverence.

“How? How have I ruined you?” I tingled where our bodies touched. His arm rested around my back, holding me close while his chest and legs cushioned me like a living chair.

Q chuckled, bringing his head up to nuzzle my throat. “In so many fucking ways. You’ve proven I’m not untouchable.” I shivered as the tip of his tongue licked me. “You’ve taught me how vulnerable I truly am.”

My head fell back as he tugged on the ends of my hair, forcing me to arch in his arms. “You’re not vulnerable, Q. Not ever.”

His teeth grazed across my neck and for a millisecond my heart raced with fear instead of lust. The sharpness of his teeth sent my lungs suffocating for breath.

If only I needed pain like I used to. If only I could accept what he would give. There was no doubt Q would eventually want to hurt me. It was who he was. Who I loved.

And when that day came, I would whimper and fight and pretend I loved every moment of it. I would force myself to come for him. I would train my body to accept and hide the stark reality that I no longer lusted for pain. He would never know. He never needed to realize my sacrifice or gift.

The pinpricks of his teeth disappeared—soothed by a worshiping lick. “I am. Terribly.”

I moaned as his large hand teased up my side, his thumb stroking me in ever widening circles.

“You’re not. You’re the strongest, bravest—” My brain stopped working as his thumb found my nipple, whispering around it in perfect possession.

Q’s breathing increased until hot puffs tickled my neck with temptation. The swirling of his touch scrambled my coherency and I let myself drift—let myself come undone by his control.

“Pour la première fois de ma vie je suis vulnérable, parce que je suis tombée amoureuse.” For the first time in my life I'm vulnerable, all because I fell in love.

Mouth. Hands. Tongue.

Sounds ceased to exist. The hum of the tyres on the road faded; the stop and sway of the vehicle didn’t enter our realm of superb synchronicity. Every second brought a heavy blanket around us, drawing tight, shutting out the world.

“They took you. Those motherfuckers took what I treasured the most.” His lips pressed against my throat, then collarbone, then shoulder. “They tore my heart out. You tore my heart out by making me care so much.” His voice wavered with a mixture of strength and weakness.

My heart broke for him. I’d lived my own hell but Q had his own nightmares to bear. “Tell me…talk to me.”

Touch. Breath. Lick.

Q suddenly grabbed my knee, twisting me to straddle him. With my legs spread over his lap, he thrust upward, grinding his erection against the tight web of my jeans. The dark look in his eyes was possessed, consumed with the desire to be inside me—to join us while we were linked by this brittle connection.

“I’m not ready,” he growled. “Not ready.” His face contorted with barely restrained violence; his cock twitched, craving me just as I craved him.

He’d spoken the truth. The unwilling truth. Will we ever be ready to rip ourselves open and bring our devils to light?

Lips. Heat. Mouth.

I stiffened, trying to keep my thoughts from knotting into an incomprehensible ball. “Will you ever be?”

I moaned loudly as his hand fisted my hair, holding my head tight and unmovable. His beautiful features flashed with rage so bright and vibrant, I sucked in a breath of pure terror.

Q glared, wrenching all my fear and ghosts to the surface. “I’ll be ready when you are, esclave. A life for a life. A tale for a tale.”

I didn’t have time to breathe before his lips descended on mine and my brain died an ambrosial death. His taste shot right through my heart, body, and soul, entering every molecule. He touched the nucleus of who I was, smashing through the chains, bulldozing through the wreckage of my tower, and picking me up in his ever strong arms.

I found one piece of myself in that shattered wasteland of my psyche: I remembered the luscious taste of violence.

Pulling. Sucking. Licking.

Every slippery swirl of his tongue resonated and throbbed in my pussy.

Q groaned as I went from submissive and obeying to needing and demanding. My arms wrapped around his head, gluing his mouth to mine, making sure he would never get free. My core melted, sending pinwheels and sparklers igniting in my blood.

I bruised us. I tasted the almost foreign flavour of metallic from my teeth slicing my bottom lip. I kissed him harder than I’d ever kissed before.

Our breathing tangled, our hands became separate entities as we groped and stroked and pinched.

I’m ready, I wanted to say. I’m ready to share my tale just so I can learn yours. I want to know you. Every part of you. I want to own you.

Q forced my mouth wider, his tongue almost choking me he kissed so deep. I duelled him, waging a battle, trying to win the war on who would break and speak the loathsome truth first.

My jaw ached, my nipples screamed to have his mouth sucking. My pussy twinged and throbbed for him to fill—to turn me from empty to full.

I was ready. I was strong. I wanted to talk.

The indecision and unknowing had to stop. We’d cinched our lives together—it was time we started trusting and pulled the ends of our connection tight, stitching ourselves together forever.

I panted as Q broke the kiss. Crashing back to earth, I noticed how wild and enthralled we’d been—how transcended from mortal bodies the kiss had taken us. Q sucked up all the energy in the car, consuming me. All I could see was him. Not the wondrous view, or the quaint buildings streaming past the window. Just him. Always him.

My jeans were unbuttoned, Q’s hand half in my knickers, trying to touch me. My own hand cupped his cock through his trousers; my fingers white from squeezing him so hard. Q’s lips were red and wet while his hair stuck up in all directions.

He’d never looked so sexy or tempting.

Never breaking eye contact, Q reached behind me to the intercom button. With a smile dancing on his lips, he growled, “Take us to the closest hotel, Franco. I need to do something rather urgently.”

I was hot then cold.

Excited then afraid.

Turned on then repulsed.

My heart went from thrumming with life to a lump of unmovable muscle.

The thrill of wanting, craving, panting for Q to deliver what he’d started in the limo wouldn’t stay constant. Confusion doused me, hesitation chilled me.

Franco pulled the car to a halt outside some huge fancy hotel. All whitewashed and pristine, it glittered with mocking purity. I instantly hated it. I felt too dirty, too messed up to enter such an immaculate establishment. I missed Volière. It was chaotic and unkempt and forgiving. The polar opposite of this place.

Q hastily smoothed his trousers, running a hand through his hair to hide the obviousness of what we’d been doing.

We were here. We were about to go somewhere just the two of us. Q would take me in his way. He would hurt me.

I bit my lip, looking out the window. I couldn’t let him see my desire swiftly becoming fear.

“Do you know why you’re tied up?” Leather Jacket’s voice hissed in my ear. “It’s so we can do what you did to those girls but ten times worse.”

Oxygen. I suddenly couldn’t get enough.

Stop. This is Q. The man you would die for. Does it matter the thought of a belt or whip terrifies you? You’re doing this for him—not you.

The pep-talk granted me enough sanity and peace to suck in a much needed breath.

Franco shut off the engine, then came to open my door. Sunshine bounced inside, taking with it the remaining dark awareness ebbing between Q and me.

I looked at Q briefly, suffering a full body jolt. His eyes were hooded, turbulent; his chest rising and falling with power. His entire soul reached across the car to touch me, warn me—threaten with just how much he needed me alone.

Franco took my hand, helping me from the car. Q’s eyes dropped to where Franco held me; his jaw clenched. He didn’t like anyone touching me—least of all strangers—but he smothered his temper, allowing Franco some leniency.

“Ready to go?” Franco asked, tugging my fingers. Breaking eye contact with Q, I allowed Franco to guide me from the vehicle. His large hand was warm and dry, effortlessly hoisting me upward.

“Thank you,” I said, letting him go the moment I stood.

Franco stared, his bright green eyes probing mine. His lips parted as a thought flashed across his face. Leaning in, he said quickly, “I’ve never spoken about what Q did to find you, but you’re stupid to let the fear keep you hostage. If you saw what he’s capable of….You wouldn’t be fearing anyone but the monster in your bed.”

Q climbed out, slamming the door behind him. He came forward, glowering at Franco.

“As-tu fini?” Are you quite done? Q’s anger lashed us, snarling the tropical air into a turbulent eddy. “Can I have her back now? Or are you planning on taking her out to dinner?”

“Q…he was only being—”

“I don’t fucking care what he was being.”

Franco shrugged. “She’s my boss too, you know. Have to keep the employers happy.” Two very strong and opinionated male egos clashed. Lowering his head, Franco glared under his brow. “Keep your anger for those who deserve it, Mercer.”

Franco gave me a smile. “Like I said, you’re safe with him and I’m always there as back-up.”

Q coughed as if he couldn’t believe Franco’s nerve.

My emotions toward Q’s head of security were mixed. At the beginning I’d hated him, then I grew to care for him, seeing him as a loyal employee, but now…now I sensed he’d been initiated into Q’s world a bit too well. He seemed dangerous—wearing the same edginess and unpredictability that Q did. Whatever happened in their hunt to find me, Franco had adopted the darkness.

I doubted Suzette would be pleased. I always had a suspicion she had a little crush on Franco. I knew Suzette was madly in love with my husband to be, but it wasn’t sexual love, more like a saviour complex, kind of love.

“That’s comforting to know. Thank you.” I pressed against Q, trying to unwind the tightness in his body.

I wanted to ask what Q had done in Brazil, but a grisly still-warm heart leapt into my mind and suddenly I didn’t want to know—I had enough filth inside my brain.

Q bared his teeth. “Yes, very comforting. Now fuck off and flirt with someone else’s woman. I won’t need you for the rest of the night.”

Franco splayed his hands, brushing away the angst between them. “Book me a room, and I’ll stay out of your way. You know my number if something happens.” Giving me a small salute, he grinned. “Enjoy your evening. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about whom to fear.”

“Franco! As-tu perdu la tête, putain?” Have you lost your fucking mind? Q was absolutely livid. His eyes narrowed to slits, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye as Q grabbed my elbow, charging me toward the entrance. I looked over my shoulder, relieved to see Franco laughing, fully enjoying getting a rise out of Q. At least he hadn’t quit or aimed a gun at Q’s back.

“Q, it’s okay. He was only trying to—”

“I know what he was trying to do, and it damn well worked. Fucking idiot.” He nodded tersely at a man in a green suit who opened the large glass doors for us. “I have no right to be pissed off, yet I can’t stop it. Guess I’ll have to apologise.”

I shivered as we walked from island heat into freezing air-conditioning of a five star glitzy hotel. I wanted to say something—anything to have the Q who’d been so gentle and forthcoming come back.

There were many forms of pain, and right now my heart was suffering.

“Pain is your only option, puta. Hit her.”

I closed my eyes for a second, slapping the voices away.

Q stalked through the hotel lobby, dragging me in his terrible wake. Needing to find normal again, I asked, “Do you own this hotel, too?” I blinked, focusing on the imposing pillars, the ginormous potted plants, and grand piano with expensive looking cocktail bar to the right. The lobby spoke of island tranquillity and exoticness.

All this—this wealth—came with the package of being with Q. I still struggled to get used to it.

Q slammed to a halt, yanking me against him.

Instantly my heart clawed up my throat. The burning, searing awareness of his erection dug against my belly. His eyes looked too ferocious to be gentle.

He’s going to hit you. The minute you’re behind closed doors he’ll strike.

I wanted so much for the rush of wetness between my legs. The intoxication of lust in my blood.

“You wouldn’t like that would you, esclave? Yet another property; yet another possession.” He shook his head. “Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu détestes autant l’argent.” I don’t understand why you hate money so much.

My heart pumped harder as a few guests glanced over, their faces freezing in judgement. To anyone who didn’t know us, the way Q held me would look like a bad argument or worse, domestic violence.

“Q, don’t be so rough. You’ll have security asking questions.”

He growled, “I’d like to see them probe into affairs that aren’t any of their goddamn business.”

I couldn’t stop the knotting of my stomach or the slight queasiness of Q’s temper. Something else must’ve upset him. Franco couldn’t have riled him up this much. Could he?

Wishing I could force him to look at me instead of through me, I whispered, “Is everything alright?”

“Don’t speak to me,” Q muttered. His tone tightly controlled and ice cold.

I’ve done something wrong.

I was sure of it.

He’s guessed.

No, that couldn’t be possible. Please, don’t let that be possible. Only moments ago he’d been sweet and kind and very much together. Would I always suffer whiplash where his mercurial emotions were concerned?

Looking around at the milling guests, I hissed, “Stop making a spectacle, Q. People are looking.”

“They can look all they want. And to answer your question, no, I don’t own this hotel. If I did, I would’ve kicked everyone out by now so I could teach you a lesson right here.”

My eyes flared. “Teach me a lesson? What the hell did I do?” My lungs worked harder, saturating my blood with anger, ready to fight, ready to retaliate.

“You—you….Goddammit, I don’t know.” He sighed. The blazing fire in his gaze snuffed out, becoming human once again.

My own temper fizzled. Taking a risk, I rested a palm over his heart. “Take me to a room. Use me to forget whatever’s upsetting you.”

Use your chains. Use your scissors. Use whatever you want.

Before the image would’ve made me throb for a release. Now…now I vibrated to avoid it.

His shoulders tightened. “I’ve wanted you since you woke up screaming this morning.” His hand imprisoned mine, pressing my fingers harder against his chest. “I won’t hold back. I can’t hold back. Tell me now if that’s going to be an issue.”

Tears rushed my spine. Sadness filled my heart.

Yes, it’s an issue. But no, I won’t tell you.

Stepping into the role of Old Tess, I murmured, “I want you. I need you to hurt me, Q. I need to remember.”

Q’s back snapped straight. With a fierce kiss, he dragged me the rest of the way to reception in a flurry of footsteps.

The woman behind the desk was gorgeous with long black hair, thick eyelashes, and moon-sized eyes. She radiated an aura of strength and independence—exactly the type of woman Q admitted he liked—someone who wasn’t broken. Someone who would fight him.

A sharp band of jealousy struck from nowhere as the woman smiled at my master, batting those ridiculously thick eyelashes. I watched Q carefully, trying to read how affected he was by her.

He didn’t even glance at her. Dropping my elbow, he snatched his wallet from his back pocket, yanking out a credit card. Handing it over, he ordered, “The best room you have available and a suite for a colleague.”

The receptionist’s mouth parted slightly as she took the credit card, eyeing Q with interest. Her smile encompassed coyness rather than professionalism. I welcomed the snarl in my stomach. I loved the ignition of rage. Adored my willingness to fight.

It was so different to hurting the women in Rio. This I would gladly start and end.

Something shifted in me. Something small but fundamental as I took back a piece of my life—acknowledging my urge to hurt another.

“Is there a problem?” I said, dragging the girl’s eyes to mine. I had the sudden need to smooth my hair. I wished I wore a tailored dress or some exorbitantly expensive jewels. I felt so ordinary next to Q. But he was mine.

Hands off, bitch.

Her smile froze, turning to brittle efficiency. “No. No problem.”

We both jumped as Q slapped the counter. “When I asked for a room, I want it now, not tomorrow.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, bending to look at the computer screen. The cattiness and female challenge between us faded as her interest in Q died a quick death thanks to his rudeness.

After a second, she said, “We only have the Presidential suite available.”

“Fine. Book it.”

“How many nights will you be staying?” She fluttered those obnoxious lashes in Q’s direction.

“Not sure. Keep it open-ended.”

Her eyes popped wide; I swallowed back my smugness. Q was dangerous. He was dark. But he was also the most generous, sexy, powerful man I’d ever met.

Happiness ballooned as Q glanced my way. He didn’t acknowledge me, but we were linked too deep. We belonged.

I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

“Um, well. We can’t just hold it. It’s four thousands euros a night. Should I book for the one night, or a week, or what?”

Q bristled, electrifying the air. “Charge me whatever you want but give me the keys.” His eyes fell on me, melting the ice in my blood, turning me into a flickering candle ready to burn.

Holy crap. It wasn’t often that I blushed. But damn, Q set my cheeks on fire.

The girl dropped her eyes, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

A moment later, Q fisted the old-fashioned key she held up, and dragged me like his hard-won prey toward the elevator.

“I’ll keep the other key here for your colleague. Oh by the way, dinner is included in the room rate. I’ll advise your butler to confirm your menu selections,” the woman called after us.

Q slammed to halt, spinning back toward her. “If anyone interrupts us, I’ll have this entire hotel bulldozed to the ground. No dinner. No reservation. No menus. Nothing.” A smile decorated his face, struggling to project a businessman rather than a beast. “Merci.”

I didn’t say a word as we rushed to the elevators. He punched the ‘up’ button. His fingers tightened around mine until mini-heartbeats pounded in time with my fear.

The lift pinged. We entered.

One second.

Two seconds.

No one else entered.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

The doors closed.

The lift hadn’t moved before Q launched himself at me.

Grabbing my hips, he hoisted me upward, slamming my back against the mirrored panelling. Instinctively my legs wrapped around his body, joining us tightly together.

The second Q rested between my legs, he thrust upward, grinding himself violently against me. His glowing eyes captured mine, his mouth tightening into a grimace. “Fuck, I’m hard. Can you feel it? Fucking hell, Tess. Qu'est-ce que t’es en train de me faire?”

What are you doing to me?

The air no longer held oxygen, only need.

I bent my head to kiss him, but he denied me his lips. Tilting my face, I managed to find his cheek, then throat, then ear. Tracing my tongue around the shell and fleshy lobe, I murmured, “You need to be in me. I need you to be in me.”

He growled, driving up harder. The beads of my spine throbbed against the unforgiving mirror.

“You have no fucking idea, esclave. Needing you frays my patience. Needing to come makes me insane. I’m running out of control.” His voice dripped with black desire—stealing thoughts straight out of my head.

My ears roared with blood; I grew wet with every uncontrolled and savage thrust. I relished the melting, hoping against hope I remained turned on. Fear had no place here. Not while I had the man who’d saved my life between my legs.

Q’s anger switched to feral desire. I latched onto his strength, keeping myself locked in delectable lust.

I moaned as Q fisted my hair, giving him access to my throat. His wet mouth covered the sore brand and the stinging pain of an unhealed wound sent a tangle of terror through me.

I wanted to be with him—more than anything. I wanted to feel him inside me. I wanted to hold him close and have his body blanket mine. I wanted to feel safe.

“Hit her, puta. Kill her, puta. Obey us!”

“Goddammit, esclave. I need you. I need—” Q’s breathing was ragged, harsh. His hand dropped from my hair to my breast, cupping me with vicious fingers. Sensitivity erupted to agony; I bit my lip, scrambling to keep hold of desire.

I’m not strong enough.

My eyes squeezed. I willed my body not to expose me.

In some far away universe, the elevator doors opened.

An embarrassed cough.

It sounded out of place to the heavy breathing and absorbed world we lived in.

Q twisted his head. “Ah, fuck me,” he grumbled. His hips withdrew from mine and the violence of his touch receded to let me slither down his body and land on my feet.

An elderly man in an immaculate tuxedo, bowed. His black eyes looked flustered, shining with wry amusement. “I believe you booked the Presidential suite. I’m the butler, Andre.”

I gawked, unable to act normal while so much intensity bubbled in my blood.

Q however slipped into egotistical businessman, dragging me from the lift. “Yes, we’re staying in the suite. No, we don’t need anything. You’re dismissed for the rest of the night. Thank you for your time.”

The butler bowed again, his lips turning up ever so slightly. “I’ll be on extension 232 if you require anything.” Entering the lift we’d just vacated, he smiled. “Good day to you both.”

The doors shut but it didn’t cut off the small peel of laughter.

My heart hadn’t had time to stop racing; my hands shook. Once I entered that room, I could no longer be weak. I could no longer indulge in the horror and memories drowning me.

Q believed I was the perfect masochist to his sadistic needs.

I am that girl.

I am.

“Nosy old bastard,” Q muttered, fishing the key from his pocket. The entire floor housed the Presidential suite. There was only one door, and Q attacked it with the key. It swung open thanks to a well-placed kick.

I laughed softly. “He didn’t exactly want to see two people groping each other. Hazards of the job I can imagine.”

Q lassoed my wrist, yanking me into the room. With a dark smile, he slammed the door and spun me against the wall. The second my back hit resistance, Q froze. His eyes fixed me in place, adding more bubbles to my blood.

I forced myself to relax. Give in. I had to trust him and let go completely.

Don’t tense.

I had to trust in my strength to survive whatever he would do.

He can’t know.

Our breathing accelerated, filling the suite with overwhelming tension. Q raised his arm, slowly, so, so slowly, dragging out the anticipation until I quivered against the wall.

“Where were we before we were interrupted?” His eyes fell to my brand, his jaw locking. Something animalistic flickered over his face, transforming him into something far scarier than human. “Seeing my mark on your skin—it does things to me, Tess. It affects me here.” He thwacked his chest with a fist. “It calms me here.” He tapped his temple.

Q was so strong and invincible but beneath it all he was insecure—just like me. He needed daily affirmations that I wouldn’t leave. That I wouldn’t lock him out like before.

We were the same.

We need to talk.

Q reached forward, running his fingertips along my jaw. In their wake, he left me on fire. My heart scurried faster and faster, hurling itself to its doom.

“So many things I want. So many things I need to do.” Q’s fingers trailed down my throat, making their lazy way to hold my neck hostage.

My hands balled by my sides; my breathing turned fast and reedy. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.

He’s going to hurt you. Spank you. Bite you.

The panic was worse than the pain and out of nowhere a familiar tug happened deep inside. A tug of promise—a shelter where I’d once hidden.

The tower.

Horror shoved away the first brick sliding into place. No!

Never again would I shut myself off. No matter what I went through I couldn’t go back into that circular prison. I wouldn’t find my way out again.

Q’s fingers squeezed, reminding me of the day he’d strapped me to the cross and waited to see how far I’d let him go.

I couldn’t stomach the stretching tautness. If I let Q draw out the connection, he’d taste my reluctance.

I did the only thing I could.

I threw myself at him.

Q’s fingers broke away from my throat, falling to his side as I jumped on him. He grunted as my body weight knocked his balance, making him stagger backward.

I was the one taking. I was the one reclaiming our relationship and even though I knew pain would be forthcoming, I relished the power at the surprise in Q’s eyes.

But then it was gone. Replaced with fierce lust and unfathomable possession.

“Fuck, Tess.” That was all Q managed before I slammed my mouth against his, shutting him up. He groaned as I wrapped my legs around him just like in the lift.

His biceps rippled, holding my weight, only to spin me around and smash me against the opposite wall.

I clawed at his back, hoping to enrage him enough to use me fast and hard. Fast because as much as I wanted him, I wanted it over quickly. Fast was good—fast hid everything slow would reveal.

His tongue lashed out, taking complete possession of my mouth. I squirmed closer, pulling his hair, forcing him to hurtle toward violence.

He growled as I reached down and grasped his cock as hard as I could.

“Fuck.” His hips pistoned, crunching my wrist between us. My mouth opened in a silent scream but Q used the advantage to kiss me harder, deeper, wider.

“What are you?” he grunted, rocking into me.

“You’re worthless. You belong to us. Withdrawal will make you do anything, obey anyone. You’re ours.”

My body jolted; I pressed harder against Q wanting to run from the abysmal thoughts.

“Answer me, esclave.” Q’s touch bruised, but he didn’t raise his palm or reach for his belt.

“Je suis à toi.” I panted. Revelling in the freedom of the phrase, I repeated, “Je suis à toi, Q.” I’m yours.

“Just like I’m yours.” His passion poured down my throat to my heart, heating me, protecting me. His lips crushed mine, and his arms bunched, pulling me away from the wall. Blindly, he carried me, but a second later we crashed into a sideboard.

The hard wood smacked into my thighs; Q swore under his breath. With glazed eyes and need glowing on his face, he swiped an angry arm behind me, knocking off expensive porcelain and a vase holding cascading lilies.

The flowers teetered then committed suicide on the marble floor below. The tinkling of splintering glass and china mixed with our heavy breathing. Cold water splashed my legs, soaking into my jeans.

Q didn’t give me time to look at the mess. His lips found mine, drowning me in his hunger. Hoisting me higher, he placed me on the sideboard, scooting me to the edge for easy reach. His lips tore from mine, his eyes latching onto my chest.

Bending over, he took the delicate material of my singlet in his mouth and tore it with his teeth. Once torn, he grabbed the neckline and ripped.

The cotton didn’t stand a chance, shredding like gossamer to follow the same path the flowers had. I moaned as his mouth latched onto my nipple through my bra. I fought the anxiety in my blood, waiting for the sharp nip of teeth—knowing the slight onset of pain would undo all my wetness, turning me from willing to pretending.

“You taste so good. So fucking good,” he growled, his fingers fumbling at the clasp. The hook sprang free, and Q jerked it off my body to toss over his shoulder. His eyes darkened from pale to smouldering. His jaw clenched as every muscle in his body locked into place. “Goddammit, you’re too fucking perfect.”

Reaching for me again, he pushed me back to taste. He manhandled me exactly how he wanted—using me like the perfect toy—his toy.

Every pull and suck of his mouth sent fire whooshing through my veins and into my core. Every lick and tease of his teeth made me forget.

Forget the voices. The pain. The suffering.

He became my entire world.

His lips left my nipple, leaving me cold and wet. His eyes charred my every thought.

With ruthless fingers, he attacked my jeans button. His knuckles brushed my clit through the material, sending a bolt of pleasure clenching my body.

Yes!

So long since I felt such inhibition. He granted immunity from everything but the selfishness of sex.

The zip released with one yank, then Q’s fingers looped around the waistline.

He pulled. Hard.

I almost fell off the sideboard. Bracing my hands on the smooth wood, I arched my hips, giving him room to tear them down.

My thighs were moon-white, marked only by remnants of kicks and torture. They were only faint shadows but Q’s eyes narrowed. Tracing the fading bruises, his face filled with harrowing rage. “Jamais. Ils ne prendront plus jamais ce qui est à moi.” Never again. Never will they take what's mine.

My heart sank further into my body, hiding from his temper; it came alive again as a burst of tenderness softened his features.

He leaned over, descending his mouth to the sensitive skin of my hip. With a slice of sharp canines, he decimated the scrap of lace.

My mind whirled as I sat fully naked before him. Q froze, drinking me in.

“Destroying my clothes again?” I breathed. Loving his lust—the ferocity and abandonment. He was loving me like I needed him to: full of passion and no pain.

“It’s only fair seeing as you destroyed my fucking heart.” He kissed me, making me swallow his words.

With strong hands he spread my knees, placing himself between my legs. I fumbled with his belt, cursing the rush of nostalgia and regret. I missed the lust at the thought of him using the leather. I missed the fuckedupness that made me his.

Q pushed my hands away, unbuckling in one fast pull.

I swallowed hard as he tore the belt free.

A moment hovered between us.

A moment where his eyes asked questions, and I kept mine from answering.

A moment where he ran the leather through his fingers, deliberating whether to use the still-warm belt as foreplay.

I fought the tremble; tussled with the truth.

If he chose to use it, I would accept. If he wanted it, I would obey.

Then the moment ended and Q hurled it away—his body twisted with the effort. His chest heaved as if the action drained his self-control beyond endurance. The heavy buckle crashed into something breakable in the distance, sending more noises of breaking china.

“I don’t have time for games. I need you on my cock. Now.”

With a furious jerk, he pulled off his trousers, underwear, and shoes in one swipe. His cock sprang free, glistening with pre-cum, beckoning with silky steel and promise of oblivion.

My mouth fell open at how gorgeous he was. How perfectly made and achingly divine.

Every muscle twitched with longing, sending euphoria waltzing through my veins.

My pussy throbbed; my breathing accelerated. I welcomed back the joy of wanting to come.

I needed to take back this part of my life.

I was ready.

I swayed forward, biting his shoulder only to receive a mouthful of cotton. My eyes were endlessly heavy as I looked up. “I need to see all of you.”

Q clenched his teeth but allowed me to grab the hem and draw his t-shirt up. Up, up, revealing clouds, barbwire, and sparrows.

Every feather, every swirl of ink imprinted itself onto my heart. His tattoo encapsulated him like nothing else ever could.

“Q—” My hand lashed out, tightening around his erection. Images of eroticism and passion filled my mind as his heat scorched my palm.

His head fell back as a groan wrenched from his lungs.

My teeth ached; my blood hummed for connection.

Fill me!

My other hand dropped between his legs, cupping his tight balls. His eyes flared wide as I rolled the delicate heaviness in my fingers, wanting to bring him to his knees and serve him.

He thrust his hips into my hand, forcing his length back and forth. Every ripple of hardness, every ridge of his perfectly made cock sent my cells exploding.

“Do you want me, Tess?”

I bit my lip, nodding, transfixed by the velvet iron in my fist.

“It’s yours, esclave. What do you want me to do with it?”

His transfer of ownership sent a flush of untainted happiness. “I want you deep inside me, maître.”

His eyes snapped closed. “Fuck, I love hearing you say that.” He cupped my pussy, his grip hard and possessive. “Never forget it.”

My neck couldn’t hold the sudden density of my head. I cried out as one long, loving finger slipped inside me. Just one. Only one.

But I wanted to fucking explode.

“How much I’ve missed this. Missed your taste. Your sweet, sweet cunt,” Q murmured, his eyes luminous with lust.

“Q—take me. Please—I beg you.”

“You beg me?”

“You’ll beg for more. Withdrawal is a bitch, and you’ll beg, pretty girl. You wait.”

I shook my head, scattering the thoughts.

“Yes. Fill me. Take me. Please—”

His cock lurched in my hands as I ran a thumb over the slippery tip. The slickness of his arousal turned me on beyond belief.

His finger withdrew, lulling me into a haze, then he thrust two fingers deep—stretching me with ownership.

The brief moment of slowness shattered as Q wrapped an arm around my shoulders, bringing me closer. His cock rippled in my touch, demanding something…demanding more.

His fingers massaged me deep, drawing more wetness and pinwheels of passion to radiate in my blood.

“Put my cock in you, esclave. Do it.”

The sideboard put me at the perfect height; Q was so close to entering me.

Q removed his fingers, smearing the glistening liquid over the head of his erection. Seeing him touch himself was the final push I needed.

I wasn’t Tess.

I wasn’t a survivor or murderer or slave.

I was a woman drunk on the need to come.

One entity. One goal. One destination.

“God, I need to be inside you. So deep, so fucking deep,” Q groaned.

My hips rolled forward as I guided the tip of him to press against my entrance. We both shuddered at the first connection.

Lifting me up with one arm, he positioned himself closer, spreading my folds with the thickness of his cock. With eyes locked, we froze at the temptation of sex. The room dripped with anticipation.

I bit my lip as he pushed forward, stretching, taking.

He stopped halfway. His eyes glittered, looking at where we joined. The basest of human acts, the rawest form of love.

Then the slowness and time for words disappeared as Q pulled back and with his face tightly controlled thrust hard.

One savage thrust filled me to the brim and something unlocked inside. The bricks of my tower scattered further as confidence filtered through my previous dread.

Tears sprang to my eyes—not because of pain or weakness but because of pure paradisiac joy.

Joy of being taken. Joy of belonging.

Q reeled off oaths under his breath, jerking me closer, pressing deeper.

I went floppy in his arms, focused only on him. His pelvic bone pressed against mine, rubbing my clit so perfectly an orgasm sparked from nowhere.

No build-up. No warning.

“Oh, God.” I grabbed his neck, needing something to hold onto while the cyclone of pleasure built in my core. Q groaned as he fucked me. Hard and strong and delicious.

My pussy squeezed, intent on one thing, leaving me floundering.

Q’s hands latched onto my hips, holding me firm, allowing him to thrust harder.

My breasts bounced as my body rocked on the wood. I leaned backward, bracing myself against the wall as he pulled my legs to wrap around his body.

The moment my legs locked around him, he surged upward. His cock hit places that acted as a trigger to the fiercest cyclone in history.

Tightening, swirling, building, sparking.

My mouth parted as a ragged moan erupted from my lungs.

“Fuck, yes,” Q yelled, his fingernails digging into flesh. He drove harder, stroking my pussy until every inch of me thrummed like an entire chorus of typhoons.

There was no pain.

Nothing but sweet, sweet pleasure.

I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it.

I didn’t ask permission or delay.

I gave myself over to the unravelling storm inside.

I came.

Every band of release made me shudder in his arms, and I was only vaguely aware of the world outside.

Q fucked harder, growling louder.

I didn’t care about anything but the intense waves of pleasure wringing me dry.

“Goddammit, Tess. Fuck it. Take me.” His voice was far away. I became nothing more than a vessel for him to come into. My soul was elsewhere, living in prolonged bliss. My thoughts were dust and ash.

Pain.

A flash of horrendous pain.

My eyes flew open. The wondrous storm switched to angry squalls—lashing me with darkness and hell.

I was ice cold.

I was terrified.

Q planted both hands on the sideboard, driving into me almost possessed. All I could focus on was the blooming red handprint on my thigh where he’d spanked me.

And then he came.

Rhythmic spurts, shuddering muscles, lust so violent it looked otherworldly on his anger-flushed face.

He’d hit me to come.

He’d needed to punish me to find release.

He took his pleasure from my pain.

The bricks I’d tried so hard to destroy lurched into formation. The foundation of the tower went from rubble to stacked in a blink.

My tower wanted to claim me again. It wanted to save me.

The pain made me want to hide.

With a war-cry, I smashed the cylindrical prison and prayed with everything I had left that I was strong enough.

Strong enough to survive.

Strong enough to survive Q.