Remorse settled heavily. “Brax, I’m so sorry.”
He laughed lightly. “Nothing to apologise for, Tessie. I knew we were different ever since you pulled out your vibrator. I’m not comfortable with that sort of thing, and I think I knew we’d go our separate ways that night. It hurt so much at the time, but now… I might be able to breathe with the thought of only having you as a friend.”
His acceptance let my heart fly free; I threw myself into another hug. “Stay in touch.”
Brax hugged me with endless comfort and kissed my cheek goodbye.
Our two year relationship ended on a friendly note, and I wished Brax the world.
Half an hour later, I strode from the apartment, wearing Q’s grey dress.
No belongings.
No trivial items that meant nothing.
Just me, my passport, and note from my master.
With a heart-winging smile, I left my world behind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kingfisher
‡
The flight to Paris took forever.
The train to Blois an eternity.
The moment I arrived in the village where I ran from Franco, a rainbow of feeling settled. Residual fear from the rape. Excitement at being so close to Q. Nerves at not knowing how he’d react. What if he hated me completely? What if he sent me away again? Stop those thoughts. One thing was for sure, Q would hear me out before he tossed me away again. He lived in the darkness? Well, I was about to bring hell on him if he didn’t listen.
Deciding to shed memories of running, with recollections of returning, I strode into Le Coq and approached the same woman. The roosters on the walls no longer wanted to peck my eyes out. They looked fat and content.
The women who didn’t believe I’d been kidnapped gawked as I approached the counter. My skin pricked with phantom panic from the rape, but I forced it away. It didn’t define me. It was over.
Her mouth hung open, watching with incredulous eyes.
“Bonjour. I’m looking for the Moineau residence. Quincy Mercer’s estate.”
Her jaw dropped further showing unhygienic teeth. “You…you came here claiming he kidnapped you. Now you want to go back?”
I smiled bright. “Yep. Makes sense, huh?” I didn’t elaborate, and tried not to laugh. I couldn’t stop bubbles of tentative happiness. I was doing something just for me. It was liberating.
She glared for ages; I didn’t think she’d answer, but finally she called into the kitchen, summoning a scruffy boy with hands covered in soapy bubbles. “Emmène la, à la résidence Mercer.” Take her to Mercer’s estate.
I basked in the lyrical language of French. I’d missed it. I’d grown to love France and its language. Living back in Australia with the twangy accent and heat had never fit. Australia was bright and brash and wonderful. France was chic and refined and smouldered with passion.
The kitchen boy nodded, pushing a black cowlick from his eyes. I thanked the woman and followed the boy to a white van in the back alley. The same alley where I bolted from Franco.
I suffered a pang of terror at the thought of getting in the car with a stranger. I wouldn’t survive a repeat of Brute and Driver, but I steeled myself.
We didn’t say a word as we drove. Rolling hills and patchwork countryside flurried my heart erratically. Every mile, I was closer to Q. Every mile, I felt more and more confident. This was where I belonged. This was home.
We turned and drove through huge, imposing gates and the sound of gravel pinging beneath the car made sweat pool in my lower back. Nerves skittered, my mouth dry with worry.
Q’s pastel mansion came into sight, along with the horse fountain splashing with tiny rainbows in the mid-afternoon sun. Spring gave way to summer, and Q’s immaculate gardens rioted with colour. Butterflies fluttered while birds winged. An innocent paradise where a beast lurked. A beast that liked delicate things, but would never kill.
The young boy smiled as we pulled to a halt outside imposing pillars and cherub plasterwork. My heart firmly lodged in my throat. I couldn’t move. What am I doing?
“Nous sommes arrivés.” We’re here. He waved for me to exit.
I stared at the mansion, with everything bared. I can’t do this. Yes, you can. But what if… what if he refused to see me, or moved onto another slave… or…
The front door swung open.
I ducked in the seat, cowardice taking me hostage.
A very surprised Suzette stepped out, peering through the van’s windows. I tentatively waved; her mouth fell open.
The boy laughed, reaching across to open the door. I climbed out, frantically smoothing my grey dress, rubbing my cheeks, wishing I’d taken the time to present myself better.
A slight breeze sent a spritz of water from the horse fountain, dewing my skin, making me shiver.
Suzette and I didn’t move for a century.
I doubted any slaves returned once they were released. Then again, I was forcibly removed. I broke tradition by being unpredictable. Our eyes locked and I transmitted everything I felt in my gaze. Do you see how worthy I want to be? I came back for him. I came back for you. For this life. For everything he made me become.
Suzette inched forward, her black and white maid’s uniform sleek and pressed. Hazel eyes sparkled. “Ami? What… I don’t understand.” She stepped hesitantly. I closed the distance between us.
I resisted the urge to bowl her over in a hug. She covered her mouth as I smiled. “Bonjour, Suzette.” The sun burned through late spring haze, warming my skin. Whatever happened, I made the right decision. Q needed someone to fight. Q needed to be fought for.
I wanted to fight for him. I wanted to win him.
The pastel tones of the manor glowed with sun in pale greens, pinks, and decadent renaissance features.
I never wanted to leave.
Suzette squealed, launching herself into my arms. “You came back? Why would you do that? I thought you hated him, us, everything that happened. He threw you away. I thought you’d be plotting murder, not appearing out of the blue.”
I ignored the pang caused by the ‘throwing away’ remark. He didn’t. He did what the police told him. I wouldn’t hold a grudge… unless he kept being an arrogant asshole, then I’d punch him.
Squeezing her back, I breathed in her scent of lavender and cleaning products. My heart thudded with so many memories. Suzette had been difficult. So loyal to Q, and her hard friendship hurt sometimes, but she was fierce and she’d lived through much more than me.
My respect for her was a hundred fold.
Pulling away, I said, “I’ve had time to think. Q changed me, Suzette. He took the real me and set me free.” I smiled, remembering how fundamental birds were to Q. Speaking in his cryptic language, I added, “He opened my cage and allowed me to fly. I can’t help it if my freedom is here.”
She pulled back, a sly smile on her face. “You figured him out.”
Wrapping fingers with mine, she tugged toward the house. I put one foot in front of the other, focusing on breathing so I didn’t pass out. My heart hadn’t stopped thrumming since I boarded the plane. I felt sure it was nearing expiration.
“I had help from some drunken ramblings and Franco, but yes. I’m beginning to see him. I want to see more.” I looked around the massive foyer with its midnight blue staircase and huge works of art. My body spun with a thousand feelings; my stomach wouldn’t stop somersaulting.
She pecked my cheek, closing the door behind us, locking us into Q’s world. His domain. My future. “What day is it?”
I blinked. Crossing timelines and datelines muddled me. “Um, Sunday?”
A smile split her face. “It’s not a weekday.”
Oh, my God. My heart winged, soaring around the foyer. “He’s here,” I whispered. I couldn’t wait another moment. “Take me to him?”
Suzette grasped my hand, dropping her voice. “I’m so happy to have you back, Ami.”
I smiled. “You know my real name.
Call me Tess.”
She grinned. “Wait here.”
She flew up the staircase, leaving me all alone. I linked my fingers, lost. I was an intruder in this amazing home, asking a hugely successful man to stop being an asshole, and take me back. To show me his ruthlessness. His compassion. To give me the life I truly wanted.
A sound rustled from the lounge. I spun to face a woman in baggy track pants and a sweater three times too big for her. She walked with an air of rejection and sadness. The moment she made eye contact, she whimpered and fell to her knees, bowing.
Time screeched to a halt. I could only stare.
Fifty-nine.
My hands curled. This was slave fifty-nine. My replacement. Where had she come from? Jealously cramped my stomach, but I forced myself to relax. Franco said Q never touched other slaves. I was the first. His last. His fucking only if I had my way.
“It’s okay. You can stand,” I said softly, inching closer. Brown, straggly hair hung with grease, huge shadows ringed her eyes. Her wrists were brittle thin. Aura beaten and trodden. Everything screamed abuse.
Is this how they all arrive? Was that why Q seemed so surprised, so intrigued by me? I refused to bow. I swore. I hissed.
My breathing stopped.
I saw myself how Q did that day: a fighter through and through. A woman not stomped into depression or servitude. A flash of brightness in a world of sadness. I was the polar opposite of this poor girl.
I dropped to my knees, holding out a hand. She scuttled away, trembling.
I stood, backing up. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”
“Sephena. Stand up.”
My body clamped and clenched and melted. His voice. Him. Master. Controller. Sexy as hell control freak.
I shivered and spun. Facing my master. My chosen fate.
Q stood halfway down the staircase, pale jade eyes blazing with a mixture of amazement, lust, and anger.
The air arched and crackled, tension flooding the space. Goosebumps erupted and nothing else existed but him.
The huddling girl shuffled beside me, climbing to unsteady feet. I tore my eyes from Q as she bowed and went to him.
I followed, drawn like a magnet to Q’s power.
Q only had eyes for me; he moved silently down the stairs. His black pin-stripe suit, with aubergine shirt and faded grey tie, whispered with every step. His polished dress shoes shone against blue carpet. I drank in everything about him.
There were lines around his eyes that weren’t there before. The knotted tension in his shoulders. His whisper-thin control frayed, showing a less than perfect posture.
He stopped two steps above, glaring. “Qu’est ce que tu fais ici?” What are you doing here?
I waged the battle to swoon at his voice. My sense of hearing, so completely owned by him, ordered me to worship. To climb his magnificent hard body, and never let him pry me away again.
I licked my lips, smouldering with need. The spark between us couldn’t be denied. It burned like a tripwire, waiting to explode.
The entire time I lived with Brax, I had no interest in sex. Now, I would die if I didn’t have him. Legs trembled, body flamed, and wetness melted unashamedly. Q erupted all my longing into a fireball, incinerating my insides.
Poor Sephena was completely ignored.
“I came for you,” I whispered. “On my own accord.”
His nostrils flared, mouth parted. That mouth, oh, how I wanted to kiss it. Tongue him. Have it all over me.
“Sephena. Go and find Suzette. She’ll show you where the swimming pool is.” He softened the hard edge in his tone. “Remember, you’re free to do whatever pleases you.” Q stressed the word free. I fell a little more.
The girl didn’t show surprise, but I sure did. How did I not know Q had a swimming pool? What other surprises would I find? I would make sure Q kept me so I could find out. I wanted to help in every part of his life. He needed someone.
I blinked, realizing just how lonely he was. A parade of broken women, sharing his home, never finding solace in them.
He worked and slept and worked some more.
The moment Sephena disappeared, I balled my fists. “We need to talk.”
He bared his teeth. “We don’t need to do anything. I sent you back. What the fuck are you doing here?”
My palm itched to slap him, to knock some sense into him. Was he clueless to the pain he caused? Or so suffocated by his own, he couldn’t think straight? Everything I planned to say flew out of my head; I folded to the floor.
A submissive talking to her dominant. But I wasn’t a submissive. I was the woman who would steal Q, just like he stole me. He had no choice. I wasn’t going to give him one. “Master…Q…Quincy…”
He sucked in a huge gust of air, suit rustling as he shifted.
“My name is Tess Snow. Not Sweetie, or Tessie, or Honey. I’m a woman only now realizing what she’s capable of. I’m no one’s daughter. I’m no one’s girlfriend. I’m no one’s possession. I belong to me, and for the first time, I know how powerful that is.”
I stared at the marble, laying my heart at his feet. “I came back for the man I see inside the master. The man who thinks he’s a monster because of his twisted desires. The man who rescues slaves and sends them back to loved ones. I came back for Q. I came back to be his esclave, but also to be his equal.”
My voice trailed off as my throat clogged with passion. “I came back to be your everything… just like you’re becoming mine.”
My heart thudded like a drum, roaring in my ears.
He stepped closer.
Shoes appeared in my line of vision. His voice echoed dark and thick. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”
I lifted my head, boldly wrapping a hand around his ankle. “I’m offering you my pain. My blood. My pleasure. I’m offering you the right to whip and fuck. To debase and harm. I’m offering to fight your needs with my own. I’m willing to join you in the darkness and find pleasure in excruciating pain. I’m willing to be your monster, Q.”
I dug nails into his trouser leg, voice aching with truth. “We’re the same.”
With a snarl, he yanked his foot away, prowling into the library. I looked after him, shocked. Damn, he was hard work.
I stood and followed, locking the huge glass door behind us, flicking the switch to turn the glass from see-through to opaque. Privacy descended and tension threaded between us, exploding into the realm of scary with need. I could see it: hot ribbons of crimson lust, glittering with stars of want and intoxication.
Q bent over his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. The dark room whispered of sin, compelling wrongness. Books full of erotic stories looked down from dust-free shelves, encouraging me to finish what I started.
I returned to Q. But he had to work, too. He owed an apology, an explanation. He owed me his heart.
Q whirled away, pacing, running a hand over short hair. Eyes flickered to me and I tried to read the burning feelings in his gaze.
“You can’t force me to leave, as I came on my own freewill. This may be your house, Q, but you don’t have the strength to throw me away twice.” I hoped to God I was right.
He growled under his breath, prowling, never stopping.
Standing in the centre of the room, I watched. Letting the beast roam, expelling excess angst. While he paced, I talked.
“That night, before you sent me away, was the best night of my life. The marks you laced me with lasted a full week. Every time I looked in the mirror, or touched a bruise in the shower, I grew slick for you. You visited my dreams. I woke to aching wetness and an empty heart.”
My skin grew hot, remembering how many wet dreams I enjoyed under his brutal demands. I loved how his fingernails left faint scars on my ass. “Flashes of memories haunted me at the supermarket, at university. I could never escape you.”
He stopped pacing, his gorgeous, angled face frozen in need.
I tiptoed closer, murmuring, “I ached for you to dominat
e. I throbbed for you to fuck. I missed you. I missed the man I know is in there, but you never let me see.” I held up my wrist.
His eyes flashed down and he grabbed me, lightning quick. “Merde.”
I stifled a moan as fingers kissed the bird fluttering in its prison of barcode, whispering over the number fifty eight.
“Why?” His voice was tortured, wavering and gruff.
“Because you set me free.”
Eyes locked on mine, angry. “You’re insane. I warped your mind. After everything I did… everything you went through because I kept you. How can you speak such lies?”
I cupped his cheek, wincing as sparks zapped my fingertips. I couldn’t touch him without pain. It seemed only fitting.
“It’s not a lie. You showed me who I truly am.” My heart grew warm with steel and iron. “I’m strong enough to fight you. I want to give you everything, but only if you give me what I want in return.”
“You really are insane. I hurt you—you should run and never come back.” Fingers lassoed around my wrist, tugging me closer. “I’m not something you can tame. I’m not a man who will sprout poems and treat you nice. I’m. Not. That. Human.”
I swallowed hard, buffeted with Q’s temper and rage. “Did I ask for poems and niceties? No! If I wanted those, I would’ve stayed with Brax.”
Q froze, nostrils flaring. Hardness etched lines around his mouth. “Don’t mention that name to me again.” His icy cold voice scattered goosebumps on my spine.
I’m losing. He’s not seeing.
I slapped him.
My palm smacked satisfyingly against rugged five o’clock shadow. He reared back in shock, then his whole deposition crouched into hunter—killer—monster. “You go too far. Leave before you regret it.”
I wanted to stomp my foot like a child. Throw a terrible tantrum to get him to open his eyes. Forcing words between clenched teeth, I said, “I want you. I want your complexities, your shadows. I want your whips, and chains, and brutality. Listen to me! I’m willing to give you a slave who will never break, if you give me what I want in return.”
Q cocked his head, finally some shred of amazed compression glowed. “And what do you need in return?” he murmured, so close I breathed his question.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 279
