“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.