I needed Q to take me again and again. I needed him to rule me so Brute didn’t win by making me fear sex. I belonged to Q, yet he never stepped over the line from tormentor to rapist.
I huddled into the towel, so confused.
Q stalked out of the bathroom, leaving wet footprints. The cold embrace of rejection made me tremble. Was that it? He took what he wanted, then left me to fend for myself. What happened to his promise of never leaving me alone?
I couldn’t let Q cast me off. Without him, I belonged to no one. I no longer had parents or Brax. My old life was over.
Q ruined me for a monotonous grey-toned existence, eclipsing it with techno colour.
The bathroom closed in, dripping with blackness and horror-filled memories. Without Q, my skin itched with terror as demons and monsters crept from shadows.
I knew I needed to deal with my issues, to find my strength. I couldn’t use Q as a bandage to forget, but I wasn’t strong enough yet.
The sounds of opening drawers drifted into the bathroom, and Q prowled back with arms full of clothes. He placed them in the dry basin and ripped my towel off. I stood, naked, thrilled how his body tensed, eyes glued to my exposed figure.
“Hold up your arms,” he ordered, a large white t-shirt in his hands. I complied and he slipped the t-shirt over my head. His five o’ clock shadow rasped my cheek as he bent to tug the hem.
“Step.” He kneeled with a pair of white knickers, raising an eyebrow. I clutched his wet shoulder for balance, letting him slide the knickers up my legs. The sensual slide, his fingers kissing skin, made my eyes snap closed.
He pinged the elastic around my hips with a small smile.
This man who killed for me, fucked me, owned me was dressing me. It didn’t make sense.
Q leaned forward and hooked fingers beneath my heavy tresses, pulling damp curls from beneath the t-shirt. His fingers caused lust to swirl again. I was insatiable.
His nostrils flared. The bathroom went from steamy to sex-aware and provocative. He stood rigid and aloof; his face hidden behind a mask of inexhaustible control.
“Hello, treasure.”
Brute’s voice slashed through my brain. My throat dried in panic as the rape replayed at hyper-speed. My soul chilled with ice, reliving what happened. A tremble racked my body and I keened.
Q lashed out, grabbing my chin. “What are you doing? I told you to forget it. You’re only to remember me from tonight.”
I dropped my eyes, nodding rapidly, wishing I could obey, but thoughts slithered on the edge of consciousness: Brute with his horrible breath and fingers; Driver with his lies and hair pulling.
With Q here, he helped me forget, but every moment he withdrew, returning to a cold master, rather than tentative lover, I floundered.
Ripping his eyes from mine, he opened a vanity drawer and pulled free a tub of arnica. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at a fluffy bench behind the door. I sat, gasping as Q knelt before me. “This will help.”
With soft fingertips, he massaged the ointment into lash marks on my upper thighs. The pressure both painful and delicious. Echoes of memories tried to jail me, but Q’s touch wouldn’t let me linger in nightmares. Not while he rested between my legs, stroking me. His scent of citrus kept me grounded, reminding he might have flaws, but he cared about his possessions. He would look after me as long as I pleased him.
“What did you mean when you said you were frightened about how far you’d go, when I was chained in the sparrow room?” The words fell out; I clamped a horrified hand over my mouth. Oh, my God, what made me say such a thing?
Q froze and his sudden emotional recoil left me freezing. “I’m not in the mood to answer questions, esclave.”
Glaring, he returned to rubbing in the pungent healing balm, effectively slicing off any conversation. But a core of strength filled me and I had to know. I needed to know more about this conundrum of a man. Who was he?
“What did those men mean tonight? Only taking what they’d taken in the past? Do you traffic women, Q? Is that why you’re so afraid to do to me what you’ve done to others?”
I never thought I’d see Q terrified, but he fumbled upright, throwing the tub of arnica in the sink. It spun around and around, clattering to a noisy stop by the plughole.
Q bared his teeth, swiping ruthless hands over his face. “Don’t talk to me about that. It’s none of your goddamn business. Merde, ne me demande plus ça.” Do not ask me again.
I flinched, buffeted by his anger.
He grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. I scrambled for his hands, trying to get free.
Q glared into my eyes and all the connection we built disappeared. Only annoyance, frustration, and deep-seated loathing showed. “What is your name?” His voice rasped my skin, conjuring heat and yearning.
The Old Tess may be dead, but New Tess didn’t want to share the secret either. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but it was fundamental to keep it.
“Ami,” I whispered. A play on the French word of friend. If Suzette wanted to call me friend, who was I to argue? I could get used to it. Tess would be forgotten. The thought made me sad, but I couldn’t give Q my name. I’d given him everything else… that small part was mine.
Q growled, pacing in front. “Even now, you don’t break. After everything, you’re still strong enough to defy me.” He stopped abruptly, seething, “Tell me! Give in, esclave. Give me your name!” His chest heaved with anger as eyes beat me into submission.
I bowed my head. I would give him anything for saving me, but not that. My name belonged to my past. My past belonged to Brax. Q was something else entirely. He was my new everything.
“Ami,” I repeated.
“You are not my friend,” he snapped. “Stop lying.”
I shook my head. I knew that. I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted to be his everything, too. I wanted what he offered in his touch, in the undercurrent of need. I wanted him to be honest, just like our bodies were honest. I wasn’t the only one lying.
Q stepped against me, the harbinger of citrus and crackling lust. “One last time, esclave. What. Is. Your. Name?”
My stomach hurt to lie under the force of his demands, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak the truth. “Katrina.”
“Lie.”
“Sophie.”
“Lie.”
“Crystal.”
“Goddammit, stop!” Q exploded. A hand lashed out, fingers diving into my hair, craning my neck back. I perished in his greeny gaze. “Comment tu t’appelles?” What is your name?
“Esclave.”
His eyes slammed shut, preventing me from seeing conflicting emotions darting in their depths: anger, remorse, tangible need.
When he opened them, there was nothing but blankness. He nodded. “I will learn who you are one day. That is a promise. And my promises are law.”
For some reason, my heart fluttered. He made a promise to keep trying, and by trying he would have to get to know me. Perhaps I could make him see me not as an object or possession, but as a person—a woman he ensnared just by being him, not by being my master. Every crazy little thing about him weaved a cage more unbreakable than his mansion and guards. What would he do if he knew that? Would he toss me out because I’d begun the journey of giving Q my biggest sense of all, or would he get on his knees and crush me in thanks for giving him something so precious?
I didn’t know. And I wanted to know. Everything.
*
“No! It can’t be true. It can’t!”
Brax thrashed in bed, kicking, failing, wrapped in a nightmare. Nightmare number four, this week alone, and I was tired. So tired.
“Brax, wake up.” I gripped his sweaty shoulder, shaking him.
He didn’t respond, face twisted in grief. I knew what he suffered—he told me his dreams, and all of them featured the car accident that killed his parents.
Every night I held him, gave comfort, and every morning I woke tired and drained. But I soothed him because
he needed me, and by being there for him, I felt I belonged.
Brax swung wide, a punch landing on my jaw. “Ow, fuck, Brax. Wake up!” I pinched his nose, cutting off oxygen so he’d wake, but shadows at the bottom of the bed gathered—darker, changing, growing.
My heart stopped as Brute and Driver leered above, licking their lips, cocks jutting from trousers, glistening and evil.
They’d come to finish what they started. They would kill me.
“Brax! Help!” I slapped him, but he never woke.
Brute chuckled. “He isn’t strong enough for you, treasure. I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” He moved fast, grabbing my ankles beneath the sheets, dragging me to the end of the bed.
I screamed.
No, this couldn’t happen. “Brax!”
He lay there, wrapped in his own misery, unaware of mine. Driver laughed, ripping off my pyjama bottoms, tossing them to the side.
My body felt weighed down, moving as if drugged. “Stop. Fucking stop!”
They just laughed.
I wished I were dead, tears leaking. Another shadow crystallized behind Brute and Driver, flocking into being with raven wingbeats and murder. But instead of instilling fear, hope starburst through me.
Master.
Q stood, staring at me with unbridled rage and transcendent power. Time slowed as he pulled free a silver gun and shot Brute, then Driver with sharp-edged finesse. Red rain splattered, but I didn’t care. I crawled toward shadowy Q, climbing over corpses, focused only on my owner.
“You saved me.”
His smile sent a melody of feeling through me. “You’re mine. It’s my honour to protect you.” He gathered me closer and shadows kissed with icy teeth. “Je reviendrai toujours pour toi.” I’ll always come for you….
I woke in a room of luxury. The mattress cradled like fluffy clouds, and stencils of carousels made me feel young, fanciful. Not like a slave who’d been fucked by two different men last night, then put to bed like a naughty girl because I wouldn’t tell Q my name.
A knock sounded and I scrambled upright, wincing at the lashes on my legs. I checked during the night to see how torn and bruised I was, but Q and his attentiveness halted the injuries. They looked ten times better already, but I couldn’t wait for them to be gone. Each welt reminded me of Brute and Driver, Q committing murder, every nasty little thing of running away.
Q was right, though. By fucking me, he overshadowed Brute completely. The fear and crippling memories were there, but every time recollections tried to suck me dry, Q would be there. Touching, kissing, ordering me to only think about him. He stopped my sadness and grief, tinging it with lust and acceptance.
Q stole their power, freeing me by fucking me.
The knock came again and the door opened, without waiting for my reply.
Suzette bustled in with a breakfast tray full of homemade jam and warm croissants. She smiled, placing it on my lap. “Bonjour, Ami.”
I blinked with how happy she was. Hazel eyes sparkled and dusky skin positively glowed.
I narrowed my eyes, female intuition said why she couldn’t stop grinning. “You know he took me last night, don’t you?” It was strange to be so open, but she couldn’t hide her gloat. She’d been waiting for this day for longer than I wanted to contemplate.
She nodded, perching on the end of the bed. “Yes. But mostly I’m glad to see you in one piece.” She dropped her eyes, plucking her pinafore. “Running away was so stupid. I could’ve warned you about some of the locals around here. Franco isn’t a guard to keep you in. He’s a guard to protect us from them.”
I stopped mid-bite of a croissant. “What do you mean?”
She sighed and glanced toward the door, as if expecting Q to storm through at any moment. Before she could speak, I asked another question. “Were you Q’s slave, too, Suzette?”
She froze.
I didn’t really expect her to answer. My eyes widened when she said, “Q set me free when I was sold to him. I’ll always love him for that.” She bit her lip, before adding, “Q has never taken me, not for my lack of trying. When I arrived, I was broken beyond repair. I had things done to me that I can’t even think about, let alone talk about, but Q… Q brought me back to life.”
I pushed the tray away, breakfast forgotten. Would I finally learn about my mysterious owner? “How did he bring you back to life?”
She looked up, eyes glittering with tears and memories. “He gave me freedom. Gave me everything I needed to get well again. For a year, he put up with me bowing and crawling, until he finally managed to get me to stand. But it took him another year to get me to open, to talk when I wanted, not just when I was asked a question. He slowly broke the brokenness in me.”
She gripped my hand, squeezing fingers hard. “You don’t get it, Ami. And you won’t until he tells you himself, but he’s the best man I know. Out of all of us, he’s the one who’s ruined. I’ve never been able to help him. For five years, I’ve worked for him, never left his side, but nothing I’ve tried works.”
My heart raced. Suzette confirmed my thoughts from last night. Q may be a dominant but he suffered more than anyone. With what? Perhaps he was terribly disfigured. Was that why he refused to remove his shirt? I’d never seen him naked, or touched his skin.
“Tell me, Suzette. Tell me why he’s more broken than you or I.”
She hung her head. “That isn’t my story to tell, Ami. You’ll have to earn his trust and show you care to learn about your master.”
“And if I don’t want to learn?”
Suzette stood, looking overcome with endless sadness. “Then you don’t deserve him.”
*
That night, Q came for me.
I spent the day with Suzette and Mrs. Sucre, battling two different emotions. One moment, my body would warm and liquefy, remembering Q’s strength, his lust in the shower. The next, I’d freeze and swallow nausea while memories of Brute crushed.
The two extremes never ended, and by the time we finished dinner in the kitchen, my eyes were heavy, body lethargic. I needed sleep and hoped I wouldn’t be hounded by nightmares.
I lay in bed, staring at the silver canopy above. I hadn’t cleared it with anyone if I could remain in the carousel room, but Franco spotted me opening the door earlier, giving a slight nod. I hoped his nod meant I could remain on the second level, and not banish myself to the cell of a maid’s room.
The door creaked ever so quietly, sending my heart into hyper-drive. I didn’t need to ask who. My entire body knew the answer—master.
Q padded across thick carpet, his silhouette proud and stealthy. I wriggled beneath my sheets. What exactly was he doing here at two in the morning on a week day? I knew how hard he worked. I expected him to be in bed. The moment I thought of Q in bed my mouth went dry. Where did he sleep? What did his room look like?
Then again, I assumed Q worked hard. I knew nothing about him, and after the comments from Brute about Q’s family, I didn’t want to know. If I learned the truth, and it was disastrously horrid, I would have to run again.
And I didn’t want to run. The world was dangerous; I preferred to live with the devil I knew.
I held my breath as Q padded closer. It seemed with every step, he pulled energy toward him until the gloom sparkled. An image of Q naked and asleep in bed assaulted me. My mouth watered at the thought of seeing him so vulnerable.
He stopped by the side of the bed. I couldn’t see his features in the dark, but his breathing was measured and strong.
He stood in faded jeans and a scruffy white t-shirt. I’d never seen him in something so…ordinary. He wore suits like a persona—a uniform amplifying his demands for submission. It worked. It turned him into a sharp, merciless weapon; the female in me licked her lips at his dangerous edge. But Q in jeans and t-shirt showed another side. A clue into the man behind the suits, a man with too many thoughts and no one to talk to.
He didn’t say a word, but simply placed two
items on the foot of the bed. He paused, lurking in the dark.
I lay, unmoving, waiting to see what he’d do. I wouldn’t let him walk out the door without getting what I wanted. I wanted to talk to him, unravel his secrets. I needed to know if he wanted me so much, he came to wake me in the middle of the night. Waiting in the dark, I ached for an order to serve.
I licked my lips as he ran a hand over his head, deliberating.
Finally, he stepped toward the door, stopped, and turned back. Sucking in a breath, he ordered, “Wake up, esclave.”
His voice stroked my skin; I embarrassed myself with a small pant. I couldn’t help it—my hearing belonged to him.
He chuckled. “Unless you’re awake already.”
Dammit.
Coming closer, he leaned down and turned on the diamante side lamp, casting a soft glow, an oasis of illumination. “Bonsoir.” His lips twitched a little as he stared from above. I grew too hot under the covers but daren’t kick them off. I wore a large t-shirt and shorts, but somehow they were insubstantial when Q looked at me. Like I was a chocolate éclair, and he desperately needed a sugar fix.
“Hello,” I murmured, loving the thrill of lust and fear. The knowledge I’d give him what he wanted and no longer suffer guilt. I was free from my feelings for Brax—I let him go. It hurt if I remembered his quirks and kindness, but there was no point torturing myself. Q owned me—that was all I needed to remember.
“I have gifts for you.” Q sat on the edge of the bed. His warm weight pressed hard against my thigh beneath the covers. I shivered.
He grabbed the sheets, fumbling beneath the quilt. I yelped as his hand found my ankle, tugging my leg out of bed.
I couldn’t speak as he rested my leg on his thighs, running a thumb around my bony ankle. “Something’s missing.”
His touch resonated directly between my legs. I trembled as he bent and pressed a possessive kiss on my shin. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a black bracelet into view, dangling it.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 268
