Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  He reared back, looking with temper and remorse. My heart stuttered, then raced erratically. He was full of personalities tonight; I couldn’t keep up.

  Q muttered, “Tu ne peux pas être á moi, mais je deviens á toi.”

  My stomach twisted, filling with frothy bubbles. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t look away. Q brushed lips against mine ever so sweetly, repeating in English, forcing me to swallow the words. “You may not be mine, but I’m fast becoming yours.”

  Time froze.

  His confession tied me up, stole my mind. His drunken state let me see the depth of his feelings. Time began anew, sparkling with new possibilities. My body was no longer mine, it belonged to Q. Everything belonged to Q.

  “Goddammit, you don’t play fair,” I whispered, brushing away a tear that had the audacity to leak.

  Q rolled, propping himself on his elbow. One finger traced my nipple through the thin t-shirt. His deep French accent rumbled, “Esclave… I can’t…. I won’t…” he slurred.

  My hand reached on its own accord to cup his cheek. Clammy skin burned beneath my fingertips. He leaned into me as if I was a lifeline.

  I murmured, “What do you need, master?” My body knew. It had known all along. Q fought more battles than I did, and after his crazy drunk rantings, I began to understand just how deep he went. Just how much he suffered. “Tell me. Anything you want.”

  “I killed him. I killed him for doing things to girls I desperately want to do to you.” He sat on his knees, hazy with alcohol, but still focused, aware.

  He sucked in a breath. “Let me have one night where I can do anything I want. Submit to me completely, no more arguing, fighting. Become a perfect slave.” He lowered his voice, throbbing with intensity. “For me.”

  In his request, I saw black need—need so extreme it eclipsed my lust making it seem like a crush compared to a violent love affair.

  “You’re not just a possession, esclave. I could force you to do this, but I won’t.” He rubbed an unsteady thumb along my bottom lip. “I’m giving you a choice.”

  The connection between us strengthened, lengthened. By giving me the choice, he showed he cared as much as he may want to destroy.

  The rest of the world ceased to exist. The police didn’t matter. Brax didn’t matter.

  Q and I become our entire galaxy, and I revelled in the gift I was about to give him. The gift I was about to give myself.

  I dropped off the bed and fell to my knees. Bowing, I splayed my legs like every image I’d seen of a submissive before her master. I bowed further; hair curtained my face as I whispered, “Je suis à toi. Fuck me, master, act out your fantasies. Hurt me. Debase me. Make me yours.” Every word I uttered turned on a power inside unlike any other. The fact I willingly gave myself to him, to do whatever he wanted, unlocked new dimensions I’d been too chicken-shit to visit. I needed this as much as he did.

  Q unfolded himself from the bed, positioning himself in front of me. His breathing grew harsh and thick, chest pumping with exertion. He stroked my hair before fisting it, jerking my eyes to meet his. Everything about him smouldered: eyes, mouth, body. I could’ve come just with the pheromones he shot into the air.

  “You’ve made your choice. You can’t take it back. I take you up on your offer, esclave.” He pulled me upright by my hair. My scalp screamed, and I winced, holding onto his hands.

  When I stood, he said, “You can scream. You can cry. But I give you my promise I’ll stop if you say the safe word.”

  “What’s the safe word?” I didn’t need to ask. I smiled crookedly.

  Together, we murmured, “Sparrow.”

  With another look, singeing my soul, we signed our bargain. Q swelled with dominance and I burned with power of my own. A power I didn’t have a name for—power over Q.

  “You’re mine tonight.” Q kissed my cheek.

  “Yes,” I breathed, and just like that, I became Q’s whore. His doting, willing, eager little whore.

  Q vibrated with unbridled sexuality as he grabbed my hand and carted me from the room. I followed my drunken master down the rich corridor and up a set of private stairs only visible behind a wall panel.

  Circular steps led up and up, until Q pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a medieval-looking door.

  He practically threw me inside, before slamming it, and locking it with the same key.

  Eyes widened as I took in the cylindrical room. It would’ve been a tower, if the additions to the manor over the years hadn’t evolved and hidden it from view. It reeked of masculinity—a dark undertone sending hot need through my veins.

  A massive white rug rested in front of a ginormous fireplace. It was so big, I could’ve stood inside and not reached the mantle. Weapons and ancient paintings covered the walls, along with a bed three times the size of any other.

  Q’s domain.

  The décor screamed hunter; an insight into his wishes, desires to ravage and ruin. The huge room announced how much he loved to control and dominate. He brought me here to do anything he wanted. How many other girls have been in his space?

  I scowled, ignoring those thoughts. Tonight was about Q and I. Past and future didn’t belong in this exquisite present.

  Sitting at the end of the monstrous black-covered bed was a mirrored chest. Studded with silver rivets, it reflected my tussled hair and trembling form.

  My heart raced, absorbing so much at once.

  Q came up behind and slapped my ass. “Stand in the centre of the room.” The scent of alcohol warned Q’s inhibitions were completely gone. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed until he was sober.

  When I didn’t move, Q grabbed my throat, sending arcs of fear and want through me. “Obey, esclave.”

  He let me go and I scampered to the centre of the room. My feet sank into thick, silver-white strands of the carpet. Facing the magnificent fireplace, I noticed carvings of foxes hunted by hounds, and deer impaled on spikes. At first glance, it was pretty and fanciful. But when studied, it writhed with hunger to kill and maim.

  A sliver of terror darted down my back; I looked behind for Q. He stood by the wall, pulling on a lever.

  Tinkling sounded from above, and I craned my neck as chains with leather cuffs descended.

  My throat closed. He wanted to restrain me like he had in the sparrow room. Panic flared, turning my heated blood into a volcanic eruption.

  Q’s hot form pressed behind mine. I trembled as he rubbed his erection against my ass. “Put your hands up, esclave.”

  I agreed to do anything he wanted, but I didn’t have the courage to go through this again. All I could think about was the Russian and his knife.

  Shaking my head, I whimpered, “I’ll do anything but this.”

  He sucked in a harsh breath. “You’re disobeying?” His tone held nightmares. “I’ll punish you if you don’t put your arms up immediately.”

  I bit my lip. The force of the command buckled me, and I slowly raised my arms. Everything Q was about to do would put my entire mind set to the test. I would either fall head long into love, or break completely. I wanted this to hurt. I wanted to feel every inch. I wanted to remember it for the rest of my life. And if it meant tying me up again, so be it. Perhaps it would replace the memories of the Russian and his knife, just like Q replaced the rape with himself and the shower.

  My eyes fluttered closed as Q secured my wrists in the leather cuffs. When the last buckle was tight, I whispered, “I have one request, if I may, master?”

  Q pressed his face against my neck, licking the bite he’d given earlier. “One request and no more. Make it count.”

  I trembled and opened the remaining barriers inside. This request was for me. Only for me. “I want you to call me Tess.”

  He froze, cock hard against me, chest against my back. A minute ticked past before he murmured, “You want to link your name to this? But you fought so hard to keep it from me.”

  I nodded, swallowing as he rocked his hips once, causing me to swa
y forward in the bindings. “I know. But I want you call me by my name. I want to know you own me.” My core clenched and I moaned as Q found my breast, twisting my nipple so hard it erupted into flames.

  “As you wish, esclave. Every time I call you Tess, remember I can do anything I want to you. I fucking own you.”

  “Yes.”

  “After tonight, every time I say your name you’ll get wet for me. I not only own your body but your identity, too. Do you deny it?”

  “No, I don’t deny it. I’m yours. Through and through.”

  With another twist of a nipple, Q strode toward the fireplace. I stood meekly in my cuffs, watching.

  He didn’t load the fire with logs or fumble with matches. One click and gas flames roared, immediately searing.

  Q faced me, running hands over his head. He shed the remaining tipsy haze, cloaking himself with sovereignty. Stalking forward, he pulled silver scissors from a pocket.

  I gulped and didn’t say a word as he stopped a breath away. Snipping the scissors once with a tight smile, he grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and cut.

  The blade tickled my stomach, up between my breasts, until the collar broke apart and it hung in tatters. Q clenched his jaw, cutting away my bra and shorts. With a hot look beneath heavy eyes, he snipped my knickers and watched as they fluttered to the floor.

  I stood in naked glory, spreading wings of fearful happiness.

  Gathering the ruined clothing, he threw them in the fire. The smell of burning filled the room and the drunken lust on Q’s face magnified to desperate proportions.

  I couldn’t stop how fast I breathed, and hated when Q disappeared behind me. I heard the sounds of latches being undone and a heavy lid creaking open. Things tinkled and clanked sending imagination into overdrive. I strained to look over my shoulder, mouth hanging open at the toys and apparatus in the mirrored chest.

  Silence descended, apart from the hiss of flames; I grew more and more uncomfortable. Anticipation played with my mind. What am I doing? I don’t want this. I don’t want pain and humiliation. I should say the safe word and admit this was a huge mistake. I shouldn’t be chained, naked, allowing a man to do anything he wanted. He could kill me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  A slithering sound came from behind, and I tensed. I didn’t want to know what it was. Q paced behind, footsteps almost silent on the carpet. “Seeing as I’ve got you in such a compromising position. I’m going to use it to my benefit.” His voice was gravelly with sin.

  Oh, God. I wanted to ask what he meant, but he stopped directly behind, a few metres away. Why was he so far?

  “How long have you fantasised about being fucked? Tortured? Used completely?” He stressed the word fuck; it resonated with erotic waves in my belly. It had to be the most graphic, raw question anyone ever asked.

  But it was also a question begging for a lie. I couldn’t tell him that ever since hitting puberty I craved something I didn’t know. I gave myself orgasms to thoughts of domination and fear. I pressed lips together, not answering.

  Out of nowhere, my shoulder blade licked with the pain of a thousand bees. The snap and crack of a whip echoed around the room.

  I cried out, jerking in the restraints.

  He fucking whipped me! The pain radiated along my back, warm, hot, biting. My stomach tangled with regret. I didn’t sign up to be hit and abused. I signed up to be fucked ruthlessly. Tears erupted as another crack and kiss of agony landed. My spine screamed and the wetness between my legs increased.

  “Answer me, Tess. How long? How badly? I need to know.”

  I whimpered, hanging my head. “All along. My mind’s been sick for as long as I can remember. It horrifies me. I can’t control it. It ruined my relationship with a sweet man, all because I need to be fucked, rather than made love to.” The truth cascaded off my tongue in one seamless stream. “I need it. So bad you have no idea.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I have some idea.” The whip struck again, licking with agony.

  “Stop!” I cried, letting tears run free.

  “Does the whip make you wet? Make you desperate?”

  “Yes! Shit, yes. So much.”

  Q laughed, it was dark and edgy, and so full of need, my heart twisted. He needed to inflict pain—I couldn’t take that from him.

  The whip cracked again, but instead of tensing and bracing, I welcomed the lash. My body melted into acceptance and flesh became pliant.

  “Tell me your darkest fantasy,” he ordered, pacing, the slither of the whip trailing soft footsteps.

  I moaned, images flashed into my head of hair fisting, spanking, and bondage. He knew what I liked—he knew. But I didn’t know what he liked. I curled my bound hands. “Everything you do to me is a fantasy. I want to know yours. How dark do you want? How much further would you go?”

  Q hit lower, licking my lower back and ass. “You aren’t allowed to ask questions.” Every strike burned, but rather than cripple with abuse, it changed me. I became a phoenix with a flaming back, welcoming the whip’s kiss. My body accepted the lash, not on my back, but in my core. Heat cranked to bonfire.

  “Please, I need to know. Please…”

  Q stopped whipping. I didn’t think he’d answer, but his breath kissed my neck, whispering, “You aren’t ready to hear the depths of my depravity, esclave.” He spanked my ass with one firm, biting hand. I groaned.

  Even though the pain was multi-dimensional and I equally enjoyed and hated it, I tried to get free. It wasn’t the whip punishing—it was being held in perfect submission. I couldn’t retaliate. I couldn’t twist or run. I could only hang and accept whatever Q gave.

  Q backed up, murmuring, “Your skin is beautiful whipped, Tess, blooming pink and red. I think a few more colours are needed. Perhaps a deep maroon.”

  The crack gave a second warning, before an intense sting buckled my knees; I swung in delirium. The lash held pent up emotion. Fear overrode again. Gone were the tantalizing questions, this was pure violence.

  “This is for calling the police on me.” Q whipped hard.

  “This is for running away.” Another agonising kiss.

  “This is for making me so consumed by sin, I can no longer think straight.” Q grunted as he connected with flesh. I sobbed, wailing for him to stop. The crisscross burns stripped me to my soul.

  Q threw the whip at my feet, cradling me in his arms. “It’s okay… stop crying.” His linen suit rasped against my tender back as he soothed. The throbbing heat kept time with heartbeats. I sucked heavy lungfuls of air. Is it over? “You’re fucking with my mind,” I breathed through tears.

  Q’s hand headed down my belly, inching lower until he cupped me. “No, I’m fucking for your mind. I told you, I want to own you—body, heart, everything.”

  I moaned as he circled my clit, nibbling my ear. “Tell me. Did you like being whipped?” He thrust a finger inside with no warning, arms banding tighter as I bucked in surprise. “Tell me the truth.”

  I couldn’t think straight; I mumbled, “I didn’t like it, but I liked giving you what you need. It made me wet knowing you enjoyed it.”

  “You think you didn’t enjoy it… but your body bent to the whip. Listen to what it’s telling you. Let it be your master.” Q sucked in a breath, finger pulsing inside before withdrawing. He brought his hand to my mouth. “You’re wet. So wet. Suck my finger, Tess.”

  I opened, welcoming. My nose was stuffy from crying and I couldn’t get enough breath, but his taste of citrus mixed with me and the pain he caused branded with lust.

  I rocked into his erection, silently pleading.

  He stepped away, leaving me hanging like the captive I was. Q was wrong when he said being owned by him wasn’t romantic or sexy or fun. I’d never felt this way. This uninhibited. This free.

  The world went black as Q fixed a blindfold over my eyes, tying it securely. Fingers grazed my neck, sending goosebumps and shivers skimming over my nakedness. I grew too hot thanks to the fire and perspir
ation dotted my upper lip.

  “I’m going to take control of you now, Tess.”

  I nodded erratically, heart beating wildly out of control.

  Q grabbed my breast with one hand. Something sharp pinched on my nipple. I wished I could see what it was. Cupping my other breast, the weight of whatever he clamped dangled with an uncomfortable sensation.

  Q murmured, “J’adore tes seins.” I love your tits.

  The same pinching weight attached to my other nipple, sending shooting stars of need through an invisible link to my core.

  I pulsed in time to blood throbbing in my nipples and whip marks. I whimpered as pain blossomed as more blood rushed.

  Q grabbed the back of my neck, smothering my mouth with his. His tongue wrangled mine into yielding, our breaths mingled.

  I moaned, becoming drunk on the taste of him.

  Breathing hard, he stopped kissing me, and something soft and leathery danced along my stomach. I clenched, trying to figure out what it was. I hated the blindfold—the lack of eyesight. It made everything so much more aware, anxious, and sensitive.

  Q sucked in a breath. “Every welt I give you makes me so fucking hard.”

  I groaned as leather bit into my stomach, right on my pubis. I tried to double over but restraints kept me arched—available for whatever torture he planned.

  “You want to know how dark I’ll go? I want blood. I want you sobbing at my feet. I want you in fucking tatters. Does that scare you?”

  Another strike, this time just below my breasts. My rib injury flared with pain, and the nipple clamps jiggled as I twisted, trying to run. I couldn’t deny the tension of being completely at his mercy made my pussy throb, but I couldn’t understand why. Why did being a submissive turn me on? Why did inflicting pain turn Q on?

  My voice was barely audible. “Yes, it scares me. Deliciously terrifies.” My honesty shocked both of us. Breathing hard, I asked, “Why do you want to hurt me, maître?”

  Q lashed out, slapping my cheek with a gentle palm. It didn’t hurt, but tears oozed beneath my blind fold. “I revoke your permission to speak.”