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 c**k 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 pu**y.
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 ni**les screamed to have his mouth sucking. My pu**y 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 c**k 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?”