Twisted Together

by Pepper Winters

  My body gave way from substance to molten, and I arched my chin to kiss him. I wanted to shed my skin and fly. I wanted to free my soul, so Q could see just how much I loved him. My note wasn’t enough to describe how much he’d changed my life. He was more than healing acid—he was my blood. We shared the same heartbeat and if he died I had no doubt my life would cease, too.

  Q’s eyes drifted closed. His tongue licked my lips, changing the kiss from sweet to sultry. He gathered me in his arms, bruising my spine with his fierce embrace. His taste drugged me. All I wanted was to be naked and beneath him.

  Safe. I wanted to be safe.

  Breaking the kiss, I whispered, “Where are you taking me this time?”

  Q laughed softly. “Always so inquisitive.” Kissing the tip of my nose, he murmured, “I’m taking you on that date, esclave. Our very first one, and I expect to get to second base.”

  I moaned as his hand cupped my breast, rubbing his thumb over my nipple. “You’re already at second base.” My breath was as soft as the wispy clouds outside.

  His mouth trailed along my jaw and down my neck, licking exquisitely softly. “So I am.” His touched turned firm, massaging my breast, unfurling desire in my core. “Stop being so damn easy to seduce.” Teeth replaced his tongue, turning soft to sharp.

  “I can’t help it. I’m completely helpless against the man I’m going to marry.”

  His arms banded tighter; a low growl bubbled from his chest. “Fuck, I love hearing you say that. Say it again.”

  I smiled, shivering in his arms. “The man I’m going to marry.”

  “And after we’re married, how will you address me?” His lips trailed fire over my collarbone.

  “You’ll be my husband. My maître husband.”

  He bit me, his large body trembling. “I like the sound of that.”

  My insecurities broke my self-control. “And you’ll be mine forever, Q. Won’t you?”

  He pulled back, scowling. “A marriage is forever, esclave.”

  I nodded, forcing my eyes not to show my true concern.

  A marriage maybe forever, but a human body was not. And Q seemed to think he was immortal.

  But I knew the difference. I’d hurt him. I’d scarred him.

  The invincible master bled…he could be killed.

  Rome.

  A honeymooner’s dream. Or, in our case, a crescent moon.

  My mouth fell open as Franco opened the car door, granting me his large hand to climb out of the vehicle. Someone needed to slap me. I’d left reality and stumbled straight into the pages of my own fairy-tale.

  The hotel soared upward as well as outward. I couldn’t see where it ended or begun—arched windows with Juliette balconies stood like perfect soldiers in a battalion of architecture. Pillars and porticos with dark brick, alabaster marble, and a red carpet leading to a lobby accepted me like royalty. And through the green-tinted glass of the entrance, the largest tiered chandelier I’d ever seen screamed fortune. The hanging crystals looked like an upside down wedding cake—if such a cake existed with fifty layers and thousands of jewels, all hanging from a colossal ceiling with Pegasus, Hercules, and Zeus immortalized by the finest painting imaginable.

  Zeus’s lightning bolts struck guests milling below, while cupid and his fellow cherubs shot heart-arrows like rain.

  A party of three ladies entered the lobby, ignoring me on the curb gawking like an idiot. Each woman had a model-perfect Italian man trailing after her—their arms full of Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and Prada bags.

  Franco’s finger pressed beneath my chin, snapping my jaw into place. “Showing your tonsils to the clientele isn’t the best first impression.”

  I shook myself, waking up from the stupor of obscene wealth. I pointed at the ceiling where the lights spilled onto the night-shrouded sidewalk making me feel like an imposter for ever thinking I could stay there. “Look at it. It’s breath-stealingly beautiful.”

  “No, that’s you. This is just a cleverly designed hotel meant to lure men like me to spend exorbitant amounts of money.” Q brushed against my shoulder, glowering at Franco for touching me.

  A look flashed between them, adding to the smudge on my heart, stealing some of my wonder-filled joy.

  Franco’s eyes were flat and distrustful of everyone in every direction.

  Pretending to be oblivious of the building tension, I said, “That may be so, but…Q. This isn’t even our honeymoon, and you’re spoiling me rotten. How will you top this when we finally get married?” Another question formed on my tongue, but I swallowed it back. Exactly how soon will that be? After Q’s rush to get me hitched, he’d gone ominously silent on the subject.

  Q looked over my head at Franco. “Check us in. You know what to do. We’ll head straight up.” With a quick scan of the street, Q grabbed my hand, dragging me from night-time to glowing lobby and toward a private elevator at the rear.

  A man in a tailored tuxedo bowed as we pushed the up button and waited beside a flower arrangement that looked like a living fountain of orchids, lilies, and ferns.

  “Ciao, Mr. Mercer. Very pleasant to see you again, sir.”

  Q nodded, taking in the man’s shiny black hair parted to the side, his white gloves clasped in front of him, and the spotless presentation of a body well-maintained for a man in his late fifties. “Merci.” His tone was cool and clipped; his body vibrating with a new rigidity I grew to recognise as self-preservation.

  The lift arrived. The man climbed inside and pressed the necessary floor. The doors closed, sliding upward to our floor. “Your room is available, as always. Would that be all you require, or should I have some canapés and champagne sent up?” The man smiled first at Q, then me. His eyes brightened as he took my hand, planting a dry kiss on the back of my knuckles. “Mi scusi. Sorry, madam. Excuse my rudeness. I am Alonzo, designated butler for all VIP guests.”

  Q tugged me away, planting himself between me and Alonzo. “Thank you for your service, but we won’t be needing—” Q cut himself off, a calculating look entering his gaze. The lift came to a stop, its doors opening to reveal thick white carpet and matching ivory floral arrangements at regular intervals along the long corridor. “Tess, head down to the left. Give me a moment.” He shoved me forward, giving me no choice but to stumble off the elevator.

  The doors shut, leaving me stranded, gaping like a fool. What the hell?

  Should I wait? Should I obey? I had no clue which room was ours and judging by the fancy keypads on each door it wasn’t a key I needed but…a fingerprint?

  Did Q chose this hotel for opulence or security?

  Just as I took a few hesitant steps down the corridor, the elevator doors opened again and Q strode out, collecting my elbow as he prowled over the carpet.

  I looked over my shoulder but didn’t see Alonzo. “What are you up to?” I asked, letting Q propel me forward.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He wrenched me to a halt, slammed his thumb against the small screen above the door handle, and opened it when a light flashed green. Pushing me inside, illumination automatically flashed on, drenching the huge open-plan space with warmth. Massive abstract artwork framed the walls while floor to ceiling glass brought the postcard perfect view of Rome into our bedroom.

  Fountains and cobblestone streets looked magical in the rising moonlight, while men and women held hands, making their way to dinner.

  Q came up behind me, slinking his hands beneath my grey angora jumper. I tensed, expecting him to spin me around and pounce. The bed beckoned, raised on a two-step pedestal with the most incredible painting of pinks and oranges above. Rose petals were strewn across the snowy sheets.

  My morbid thoughts turned the petals to blood. I quickly checked over my shoulder, making sure the door was closed.

  Then the view disappeared as Q wrenched my jumper over my head, and unhooked my bra, all within a second of each other.

  I slapped an arm over my exposed breasts, very aware of the ligh
ts being on and no curtains drawn, but Q spun me, grabbed my waist, and unceremoniously threw me over his shoulder.

  “Q! What the hell are you—”

  He spanked me, letting his fingers explore the seam of my jeans. Not saying a word, he stalked into the bathroom. The minute he carried me inside, he plopped me onto my feet, and unbuttoned my jeans. My eyes snapped shut as his knuckles grazed my clit, tugging on the thick denim until they rested at my ankles.

  His eyes fired with lust as his fingers hooked my knickers, stripping those off me, too. In exactly ten seconds of arriving in one of the most gorgeous rooms I’d entered, I was stark naked in a bathroom full of expensive cosmetics, the fluffiest silver towels, and a shower big enough for a team of sumo wrestlers.

  Q sucked in a breath, his face darkening as he rubbed the front of his trousers. “Goddammit, do you have to be so fucking tempting?”

  The harsh want in his voice shoved away my annoyance, layering me with heavy attraction. His chest rose and fell; the top of the ‘T’ branded above his heart teased me with the three open buttons of his shirt. I needed him to touch me. Now.

  I kicked my jeans and knickers away, loving the heat building in my core. I loved the power he granted. The power of being naked in front of him with his body locked into position, calling to mine with a need past all realm of intellect.

  “Why do you make me wet every time you look at me like that?” I countered his question, focusing inward on the trickle of dampness inside.

  “It’s only fair you’re wet, Tess. Because I’m so fucking hard I could hammer a nail right through marble.” His eyes feasted on my skin; his hand grasped his cock roughly, angrily.

  We devoured each other, separated only by a metre. A stupid, silly little metre that I wanted eradicated.

  I took a step toward him.

  The motion snapped him back into whatever whirlwind idea he currently chased; he moved away. Holding up a hand, he ordered, “Va dans la douche, esclave.” Get in the shower.

  I shook my head, heat prickling my skin. My gaze fell to Q’s trousers, licking my lips at the bulge of his desire. “Come in with me,” I murmured, stepping toward him as he kept inching away.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off my naked skin. “No. If I do, we’ll never get to dinner.”

  Running my hands up my waist, cupping my breasts, I taunted, “I’m not hungry for food, maître. Who needs dinner when I can suck on you?”

  He groaned, his step faltering. His hand abandoned his cock, fumbling with his top button. “Fuck, you don’t play fair.”

  I might not be playing fair, but I was winning.

  Taking another step, I basked in how hyperaware my skin was. His intense stare stroked me, making me hum, smoulder. My tongue wanted to lick him, my mouth wanted to suck him, my body wanted to ride him, and my mind wanted to explode into a gazillion pieces of bliss.

  Q dragged the zipper down, teasing me with black boxer-briefs, barely concealing his raging erection. My tummy clenched, and my hand fell between my legs. My head was suddenly too heavy as I tantalized myself, panting to taste him.

  Q looked up, latching eyes with me. Anger ticked his jaw, or was it tightly restrained need. “Tess?”

  “Yes…” I whispered, totally absorbed in fantasies of what I would do the moment Q got naked.

  He stormed toward me, grabbed my wrist, and jerked my fingers away from the slickness of my core. His face contorted. “I told you that is mine. Not yours. You think you’re winning. But I can deny you—I have enough self-control.”

  My hand lashed out, gripping him through his open fly. His cock leapt in my palm, intensely hot and eager. “Are you sure about that?”

  He grunted, pushing his hips into my hand, before slapping my touch away. Wrapping his fingers around my throat, he murmured, “If you keep up your little game, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. Obey me. Get in the fucking shower.” His lips slammed against mine in a cruel, brutal kiss. I cried out as bruises became an addiction and pain became an obsession. I needed him. It wasn’t fair—he started this by undressing me. He had to finish. I had to come.

  Q tore his mouth from mine. “Wash, so I can take you out on a date.”

  I shivered, fascinated by his perfect lips, craving them between my thighs. I wanted what he’d given me last night. I wanted to be bitten, dined upon—his banquet of choice forever.

  Words vexed me—they skipped and darted from my mind as lust clouded—making me mute and needy. “And…and if I don’t?” I cupped his balls through his boxers.

  Q shuddered, dragging me closer. His proximity sent fireworks detonating in my stomach. “If you don’t, I’ll fuck you against the window. Everyone on the street will see you writhe for me. Strangers will see you come.” Imprisoning my jaw, he growled, “Do you want that? Are you a secret exhibitionist, Tess, because I’d gladly show off what I have in my bed. I’d happily sink deep into your heat and mark you in front of men who will never know the extreme fucking joy of being inside you. I’d love to thrust hard, smashing you against the glass, knowing husbands of other women got hard seeing how incredible you are—how responsive you are—how damn fucking sexy you are.”

  Oh. My. God.

  My heart stopped beating. I lost complete control over my thoughts and senses. The mental images Q painted set my blood blazing with gasoline. His voice was so powerful I felt the bite of chill from the glass on my nipples. I could feel the slimy surface, scrambling for purchase as Q pounded into me.

  I’d never thought of being watched before. I’d always been rather shy about my body, conscious of imperfections, but Q made it sound erotically delicious.

  I bit my lip, deliberating. How can you want people to see something so private, Tess?

  I didn’t have an answer, but my body melted, liquefied, burned at the thought of Q delivering his threat.

  A loud knock shattered the carnal awareness thrumming between us.

  The freedom of thought shattered, sending my mind reeling with fear. Who was there? Were we safe here?

  My instincts weren’t on high alert for myself—but for Q.

  “Fuck,” Q muttered. With a harsh hand, he pushed me away. “Get showered, esclave. Your outfit for tonight is here, and I personally want to dress you in it.”

  I didn’t remember the shower. I didn’t remember much of anything apart from the replay of Q having his wicked way with me against the windows in full view of strolling couples. I didn’t pay attention to the hot water licking over my sensitive skin, or the shakiness of my hand as I applied mascara or blow-dried my curls. And I certainly didn’t give power to my over-active instincts. I wouldn’t ruin tonight by being afraid of nothing.

  But I did remember striding into the bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel, and stopping dead at the sight of Q.

  Would he ever cease to amaze me? I’d never get used to how darkly handsome he was, with his widow’s peak, luminous pale eyes, and sculptured cheekbones.

  He was a festival for my eyes: black leather loafers, perfectly ironed grey slacks, crisp silver shirt, open blazer, and no tie.

  I couldn’t latch onto the seamless thoughts in my head.

  When is his birthday? I want to buy him a shirt that matches his eyes.

  Where did he get those clothes?

  It isn’t fair he’s so beautiful—I look like a homeless runway on his arm.

  I must’ve done something right to deserve him.

  The thought I decided to go with was: “Is there another bathroom in this suite?”

  Q shook his head, smiling wryly, enjoying my tongue-tiedness. “Yes. His and Hers. Now come here. I have a surprise for you.”

  I glided forward, noticing he’d drawn the curtains. I sucked in a breath as he hooked a finger around the knot in my towel. “It’s only fair I dress you, seeing as I stripped you before.”

  With a sharp tug, the towel unravelled, pooling at my feet. My blood scorched to have him, kiss him, but at the same time, I loved the tease—the know
ledge he was taking me out on a date, and I wouldn’t be able to ravish him until we got back.

  Guiding me toward the bed where two packages existed, he positioned me at the foot of the ginormous mattress, and opened the smaller box.

  I swallowed hard as he pulled out a matching set of purple lingerie.

  Purple.

  The same colour I’d bought in the hopes of seducing Brax. I swayed as every little change in my life sucker-punched me. It felt like a different universe where I’d laid my heart open and tried to be honest with Brax. It felt like a century ago I’d thrown away an innocent vibrator all because he’d been hurt and scared.

  Q leaned closer, diving into my eyes. “Tess…?”

  I forced the memories to fade, but there was one question refusing to disappear. I wanted to know the answer. I wanted to finally acknowledge how all my dreams came true in a way I’d never suspected. “If I said to you I used to have a vibrator and made myself come with the thought of some unknown master biting my shoulder and striking me with a whip—how would that make you feel?”

  I knew Brax’s response: I don’t have to fuck you to be a man, Tessie.

  I didn’t know Q’s and I wanted to. Desperately.

  Q’s forehead furrowed, holding out the lacy bra. “How would that make me feel?” His head cocked. “Is that a trick question?”

  I laughed quietly, hiding my nervousness. “No. I honestly want to know.”

  Q tossed the bra on the bed, before planting his large hands on my hips. “I’ll tell you how that makes me feel. It makes me fucking hard at the thought of you getting yourself off. I can picture your flushed cheeks, taste your wetness, hear your pants.” His head dipped, kissing my neck. “I adore the thought of you fantasising about the exact things I’ve done to you—almost as if you were always meant to be mine.”

  Pushing me away, he held up the knickers and dropped to his knee. I obediently stepped into the lingerie as he held it, shivering as he pulled them up my legs. “I should’ve had Alonzo buy something else for us tonight,” he murmured, positioning the lace between my legs.