Quintessentially Q

by Pepper Winters

  With my wrists cuffed in his fingers, I said, “Do you want to know what I thought when I returned to you. The promise I made to myself?”

  Q froze, nostrils flaring.

  I took his silence as approval and continued, “I said I’d fight for you. That you deserved to be fought for. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know what I need to finally get through to you—” I leaned forward, trying to get close enough to kiss him. He stiffened and his hold gave no room for movement. “—but I’ll never stop. I was right. You’re worth every fight. Every argument and bump in the road. I’ll fight because I’m falling for you, Q.”

  How could I not fall for this man? This complex, emotionally tangled man. The saver of slaves and property tycoon. Q was all my nightmares, fantasies, and needs rolled into one bestial package. He was my drug of choice and I’d been craving him for four long days.

  “Don’t fall for me.” He grabbed my shoulders. His touch was hot and his fingertips branded me with force. “I can’t be responsible for that.”

  My heart beat too fast as I breathed in his scent of sandalwood and citrus. His body was so close, it befuddled me with lust and toe-curling need.

  “Be responsible for what?” I took a risk, ducking my head to kiss him on his forearm. The corded muscle leapt beneath my lips, and he let go as if I’d bitten him.

  “I’m sure to break other parts of you, but I don’t want the curse of breaking your heart.”

  “You can’t break something that is freely given.” A small part of me wanted him to say he’d treasure it, guard it, and nurture it forever, but that softness wasn’t there yet.

  He struggled every day with my demands and expectations. I knew he did. I saw it in his eyes, the way he watched me with a mixture of awe and annoyance, even a touch of fear. One moment he’d answer my seemingly harmless question, the next he’d shut me out as easily as a storm cloud swallows the moon.

  Every day I kept prying, kept prodding. Being a pest and a nuisance, waiting for the day when his self-control snapped and tore me into pieces.

  “Enough,” Q roared. His chest strained as he pushed me hard against the cross. My back crashed against the eerily warm wood. I flinched as Q pressed his long frame against mine, sandwiching me completely. “Now is not the time to talk about hearts and falling, esclave. Now is the time for pain and fucking. See how the two don’t mix?”

  He pushed off, swiping his face with an angry palm. “I’m tired. Too tired to keep fighting. I want you. I’ve wanted to make you scream for four fucking long days. I tried to behave. I tried to stop the darkness, but you just wouldn’t let it go. And now it’s my turn. You’re going to give me what I want. Take this obsessive sick need from me and help grant me a reprieve.”

  Something black gleamed over the pale green of Q’s eyes. Something I’d only seen flickers of. Something that terrified as much as enthralled me.

  “Not another word, or I’ll use the ball gag. I only want moans and my name on your lips when I come deep inside you. Understand?” He breathed hard, and the tip of his cock nudged at the waistband of his boxer-briefs, excessively hard and calling to me like an addiction.

  I’d never felt more alive or more frightened.

  “I understand, maître,” I whispered.

  My voice was the starting gun. Q gritted his teeth, visibly shuddering. All along he’d been searching for my permission—whether he knew it or not. He shed the angry tension and relaxed, transforming into a composed master.

  I waited for him to buckle the myriad of straps around me, but he paused.

  Waited and watched.

  Breathed and deliberated.

  Then he lurched forward; his mouth crushed mine. My neck protested from where he’d strangled me and I couldn’t breathe as his tongue darted past the seam of my lips and took. My God, he fucking took. He demanded and cajoled with every twist of his tongue. Every lick and sweep.

  The kiss held fury and promises. His lips spoke how much he already cared for me, all the while trying to eat me alive.

  With unrestrained hands, I let myself do what I’d wanted for so long. I allowed myself to touch him. My arms flew up and my fingers swept through his thick, short hair.

  He moaned as I dug nails deep, remembering his migraine and how he let me massage him back to health. How, by letting me tend to him, my emotions blossomed and grew. I’d been a slave—a possession—then. Now, I belonged. I was truly his, but only because I chose it.

  I’d found where I belonged. I was done fighting my desires. Q was everything I wanted and more.

  Running my hands down his scalp, I captured the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His taut body landed on mine with a heavy lurch, pressing me hard against the cross. His mouth bruised mine as our lips melded and clashed against each other.

  Spearing my tongue with his, I battled his taste until we were both heaving and clawing at each other. I lost sense of how hard I scratched his neck and shoulders. I lost sensation of how hard his fingers dug into my hips. Nothing existed but our kiss.

  Sharp, sweet pain made me gasp. My eyes watered as Q pulled back, licking his lips free from a small trace of accusing red.

  “You bit me,” I panted.

  I opened my mouth and ran a fingertip over my already swelling tongue. Metallic blood pooled just a little; I swallowed.

  He stared at me unrepentant, eyes glassy with lust. “I couldn’t stop it. I had to taste you.” His throat rippled as he swallowed, taking some part of me deep into him.

  My thoughts raced. Even though Q was so hard to read, I began to see his true depth of need. His need for scars and blood and primal connection. He wasn’t faking it. It wasn’t about the kink or whipping. It was purely about opening me up, cracking open my very existence, and possessing me.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it scared me. I liked pain. I loved the taboo line of pleasure in accepting a whip’s kiss or a flogger’s smack—subservient entirely to my master’s whim. But I wasn’t ready to die.

  Will Q ever be satisfied? My heart sank, plummeted right to my toes.

  Panic rose in my throat, forming into an uncomfortable knot. “Will I ever be enough? Will I ever be able to give you what you crave?”

  Q jolted upright, his entire body jerking to a rigid halt. It wasn’t until he took a fumbling step back I realized I’d spoken aloud.

  Oh, shit.

  My eyes flew to Q’s blazing jade ones, and my heart died a little more. Tess, you idiot.

  Rushing forward, I grabbed his arm and squeezed hard muscle. “I didn’t mean that. I know this is all so new. It’s strange…for both of us.”

  Q looked at me as if I were an alien species. His eyes went blank, face contorted with confusion and regret.

  I cupped his cheek, desperate to have him come back to me. I could almost follow his thoughts. See the blood splatter, the hatred for himself.

  When he didn’t react to my soft touch, I tried hard instead. I slapped him.

  The noise of flesh against flesh snapped him out of his zombified state. He blinked, rubbing his cheek absentmindedly. A few seconds passed while he gathered himself together.

  Finally, he scowled. All the fire and lust from before blazed in his gaze.

  “I told you not to speak unless it was screaming my name.”

  His body rippled as he allowed his demons to come fully into the light. “And banish those thoughts from your head, esclave. No matter what I say, you are enough. Too much. Trop pure et parfaite pour un homme comme moi.” Too pure and perfect for a man like me.

  He rolled his shoulders, growling, “But it won’t stop me from trying to ruin you.”

  My legs trembled, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than a simple hug. I wanted him to be soft and sweet, touch me and comfort me. He said I was enough, but I wasn’t so sure, and the insecurity made me desolate.

  Q didn’t give me time to wallow. He slammed against me, pushing backward with the strength of a brick wall. My back conn
ected with the cross and oxygen fled my lungs.

  Q dropped his head and his lips latched onto my neck.

  “Q—” My voice was breathy, a plea for something. Something I doubted I would ever receive.

  His mouth sucked hard on my skin, bruising the delicate flesh. I shivered in his arms as he licked along my collarbone. His hands roamed over my hips, up my ribcage to find my breasts. With an angry hold, he took the weight, pinching my nipples hard as his teeth whispered across my neck.

  “Ah!” I jolted as a sharp slice burned my throat.

  My mouth hung open as he lapped and groaned. “You taste so good. Not your skin, or sweat, or perfume. The very depth of you. Your life-force. Your blood.” He licked again before soothing my nipples with his thumbs. “Does that disgust you? Does it horrify you that I need this to feel connected? That this is a part of being loved by me?”

  His tone hinted that he expected me to say yes. Even now, even though I gave him promises and slept beside him while he suffered nightmares of doing untold things to me, he still expected me to leave. I just hoped to God I was strong enough to keep my promises.

  “No. I understand who you are and what you need. I didn’t—”

  Q bit me particularly hard, drawing more blood. His throat contracted as he swallowed and when he went to pull away, I hugged his head to me, forcing his lips against the bite.

  Goosebumps sprang over my skin as his hot breath charred me into cinders. “Drink me if that’s what you need. Fuck me if it will help you believe. Je suis à toi.” I’m yours.

  He groaned, thrusting his hips against mine; the hardness of his cock, trapped in his boxer-briefs, speared against my belly button.

  My heart twisted as my core melted. My mind spiralled into the darkness Q was so good at conjuring. I didn’t care it was socially wrong to share blood. I didn’t care that societies protecting women would be horrified with what I let Q do to me.

  The world didn’t matter. This was us. This was our fuckedupness learning how to live without guilt and shame.

  Q nibbled his way up my neck, along my jaw, to my lips. When he kissed me, he didn’t hold back. His tongue swept deep, bringing with it the metallic taste of rust and a need so basic it threatened to steal my thoughts, unlearn everything I knew, and embrace a life of existing purely to be with Q.

  His hands dropped to caress my body. Squeezing my hips once, he captured my right wrist and fanned my arm out, all the while fucking my mouth with his sinful tongue. He pulled away when the back of my hand touched wood. His eyes were bright and pupils dilated. “Everything about you is mine. Do you deny it?”

  Breathing hard, battling the urge to rub my pussy against his leg between my thighs, I shook my head. “I don’t deny it.”

  With a sharp nod, Q reached over me to wrap a soft leather cuff around my wrist. With a fierce expression, he tightened it until I felt a faint heartbeat in my fingertips. A sharp burst of panic rose from nowhere, gripping my heart, making it flurry.

  Q froze, staring at me unguarded. The lust sheening his face caused more wetness to trickle. I couldn’t run and the knowledge turned my body on beyond compare.

  “You’re frightened.” His voice was so gruff, I barely understood him.

  I opened my mouth to deny it, but why would I hide the truth? Q lived for the truth, he fought for authentic fear.

  “You tied it so tight. I’m afraid I’ll never be free.”

  He chuckled. “And you think you’re free when you’re not restrained? You don’t know me at all, esclave.” Capturing my left arm, he repeated the process until miniature beating hearts thrummed in my fingers. “You’ll never be free of me. I’ll never be free of you. It’s fate who decides, and fate gave us each other.”

  Memories of our blood oath sprung to mind. “Nous sommes les uns des autres.” We are each other’s.

  He sucked in a breath; his face danced with shadows caused by early morning clouds. The sun dappled the room in spotlights of warmth, but not this corner. In this corner only shade was permitted.

  “Oui.” He bent to kiss me, but I kept my eyes wide open. Focusing on his sculptured cheekbones and how achingly lonely his gaze appeared. We never looked away as his lips worked mine, soft but dangerous at the same time. His tongue skirted the fine line of unbreakable discipline and uncontrollable passion.

  His large hands cupped my face, holding me still as he bent his head to angle the kiss deeper. The back of my head hit the wooden cross, and I moaned as he pressed his entire muscular body against mine. His naked skin heated my own, feverish, hot as the devil.

  Pulling away, Q breathed hard, sending his sparrow tattoo fluttering like crazy. The rolling black clouds and barbwire seemed to be particularly violent, devouring more birds, erupting more feathers, spiralling in their bid for freedom. Q expected me to fly away. I needed to find a way to prove I wasn’t going to.

  A flash of inspiration hit, and I murmured, “You’re my wings. You made me fly.”

  He froze, hands unmoving on my cheeks. His pale eyes seared into my soul.

  Q wasn’t just my master in the bedroom. He was the master of my heart.

  Finally, he whispered in his deep, accented voice, “You stole my loneliness. I may have given you wings, but you've become my gravity. I’ll never be free of your force.”

  I melted. If my arms hadn’t been imprisoned by the cross, I would’ve thrown them around Q and climbed his body. I would’ve freed his straining erection from his boxer-briefs and pushed myself on top of him. I needed connection. I needed to bind us. Entwine us. Imprint and devour us.

  Q seemed to feel the same way. His eyes morphed from deep and smouldering to bright and glittering. His composure tightened from tense to coiled. A predator, a wolf, a killer about to indulge in his prey. “No more talking, Tess.”

  I shivered with the way he said my name. It held every inch of emotion that he couldn’t verbalize.

  Q dropped to his knees, thudding against the thick white carpet. He tugged my left leg to line up with the cross and its buckle in one sharp move. I stumbled, relying on the cuffs around my wrists to grant me balance.

  As his fingers worked around my ankle, sending spasms of intense awareness up my inner thigh, Q murmured, “One day, I’ll break you completely. One day, I’ll be strong enough.”

  The thrill of his confession shot like an arrow through my heart. I wanted with all my soul to tell him I hoped to God he did, but I didn’t think he meant it like that. He didn’t want to break me until I was ruined—he wanted to own me completely. The difference was I didn’t think Q knew what he meant.

  Or, maybe he did, and I was a stupid little girl. Nevertheless, I fell back into unwilling slave—the role that turned my master and me crazy. The role that guaranteed explosive sex, battle of wills, and deep satisfaction.

  Gathering a deep breath, I hissed, “No. You’ll never break me.”

  Q snapped.

  The barrier dropped once and for all. With brutal fingers, he spread my other leg and secured me tightly against the warm wood. Gone were the soft caresses. This was pure animalistic control. He stood in one quick move, grabbing the two pieces of leather hanging on either side of my hips.

  Jerking them across my belly, he tightened them. He didn’t say a word, but we glared and dared and warred with our eyes. The room crackled with pent-up frustration, unkept promises, and a slight undercurrent of fear. Whose fear I didn’t know, but it added to the thick cloud of emotion engulfing us.

  Q leaned forward, reaching behind my neck. Securing the last remaining strap, he looked deep into my eyes. “You’re going to be the death of both of us.”

  True undiluted fear raced through my blood. The tightness of the strap across my throat signified complete submission. Something I never really gave, even though I let Q dominate me.

  I may be a masochist, but I wasn’t a submissive, and that’s why Q needed me.

  Once the strap was tight across my throat, and I was truly immobile, Q dra
gged his finger from the tip of my nose, down my lips, over my throat and breasts, dipping past my ribs and belly right to my pussy. He stroked my clit, once, twice, before moving lower.

  I trembled with every millimetre he touched. The need to have him took over every thought.

  His eyes tightened as his finger dipped inside me ever so slowly.

  My jaw went slack and I moaned at the leisurely possession. His finger felt like pure ecstasy. I shuddered around his touch, sucking him deeper, my body begging for more.

  Q growled, pressing harder until his knuckles connected against my core. “Fuck, you’re wet. Every time, esclave. Every time, you’re ready for me.” His voice held awed pleasure.

  My hips tried to work, to entice him further, but the straps became the perfect prison.

  He pressed deeper; I groaned as he curved his finger to stroke my g-spot. “You lied. You said I couldn’t break you. And yet, here I am breaking you, bit by bit. And you fucking love it. Your body screams the truth. When will you admit it?”

  I bared my teeth, my body was a molten volcano, every blood cell erupting. “Never.”

  He chuckled. The dark sound echoed in my ears, down my neck and spine. “Never is a long time.” Easing out of me, he quickly inserted two fingers, stretching me wide, coaxing my body to accept him, regardless of the sudden intrusion.

  My head fell forward, and all I wanted to do was surrender. To let Q do whatever he wanted to me; to bask in the onslaught of sensations. But for Q to let go, I had to pretend. Pretend he scared, hurt, and horrified me. I didn’t want to think how that troubled me—how I didn’t understand why Q needed it that way.

  For once, I didn’t like the role play. I wanted him to know how much I needed this part of him, to let him know it was okay with me. More than okay—I lived for it. I wanted to scream for him to hit me, fuck me, debase me, but I couldn’t because permission wasn’t what he sought. It was the hunt, the chase, the crime of causing agony.

  Q took a step back. My thoughts screeched to a halt as he paced away, heading toward the mirrored chest.