WE’D DRIVEN FOR over an hour.

Past patchwork countryside, furrowed fields, and sedately grazing animals, and Q hadn’t said a single word.

When I’d finally braved leaving the bathroom—wearing a grey woollen dress, turquoise scarf, and hair dried and soft around my shoulders—I’d expected Q to pounce on me. I feared he’d strip me, bind me, and force me to ruin my surprise before we’d even left the estate.

However, my cunning ploy worked.

I knew Franco wouldn’t be able to make him see reason. But Frederick could. Frederick had the same sort of power over Q that I did. We both held keys to his temper, only in different ways.

Somehow, he’d managed to convince Q to wait for me in the Aston Martin with some classical French opera throbbing through the speakers and my secret picnic shoved in the back. The expensive car was too small to include our luggage. Our clothing had been sent with our guests via helicopter. The same helicopter Q had fucked me in on the way to his office for the first time.

Our last time together before I was taken again.

Biting my lip, I glanced out the window. Snow lay in banks here and there, but the sunshine had burned off the lighter frosting. Icicles still glittered on the trees in the shade. However, the inside of the car was toasty thanks to the heated leather seats and warm breeze from the vents.

Another few miles passed, and still, Q didn’t speak. His hands remained tight around the steering wheel only moving to shift gears or hurl us around a corner.

I didn’t mind he drove fast even if ice decorated parts of the road. I trusted him.

I just wish he trusted me.

He didn’t trust me enough to agree to a surprise, and he didn’t trust me to say what was eating him. Because something was and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

I jumped as soft fingers caressed my neck.

Whipping my head around, Q’s jade green eyes smouldered. “Let me see it.”

My heart pattered, but I knew what he meant.

Slowly, I unravelled the scarf from around my throat and tilted my chin so he could see. Slipping my hair over my shoulder, the full mark was visible.

Inhaling raggedly, Q traced the brand he’d seared into my flesh so many years ago. For many months, it’d remained red and ugly. Now, the skin had silvered, and it looked like a birthmark rather than violent ownership. The Q with a sparrow for the tail marked me forever as his.

My eyes dropped to his jacketed chest, wishing I could see the brand he’d let me sear onto him in return: the birdcage dangling from a capital T. His had also silvered, becoming tangled with tree branches and sparrow feathers of his tattoo.

Unless the sunlight hit my scar correctly or Q willingly pointed out his, no one could tell we’d permanently signed ourselves to the possession of another.

Taking another rattling breath, Q continued to drive with one hand and caress my brand with his other. If he’d had a bad day, or we’d argued, or things just weren’t entirely perfect between us, he found his way back to me by seeing proof that I was his. Not just in the past or now but in our turbulent future, too.

Placing my hand over his, I kissed his fingers.

His eyes narrowed.

The scent of desperation and desire braided around us.

Clutching my hand, he made a sharp left turn, veering off the road and onto a gravel path. I never looked away from him as he navigated at dust-cloud speed down the track and slammed the car into park the moment we reached a shaggy field with a falling down barn and rusted tractor.

His fingers became claws, locking around my neck and yanking my face to his.

I sucked in a breath as his lips claimed mine and he kissed me hungrily, viciously, so damn possessively. I forgot we were in a car on private land in the middle of the French countryside.

My thighs clenched together as I grew wet. My breasts grew heavy and ached, and I couldn’t stop my hand as it crossed the handbrake and rubbed his hard cock through his silky slacks.

“Esclave…” His lips turned to teeth, nipping their way pleasurably and laced with warning down my neck to my brand. His tongue lapped the silver sigil, tension slowly seeping from his body.

He breathed calmer; a soft chuckle left his lips. “God, I’m a fucking ass.”

Relief made me puddle in the seat. “Not at all. I knew you’d have a hard time agreeing to this.”

He pulled back, his eyes flickering from my lips to my eyes. To so many, Q wouldn’t make sense with the way he needed constant reminders that I meant what I said the day I returned to him. That we weren’t living a lie. That I was his, through and through. But to me, I got it.

Because I had my own insecurities.

I feared that one day my submission in the bedroom and my fight in every other facet of our life wouldn’t be enough. That one day, he’d find another slave girl—rescued from abuse and a life of pain—and find her brokenness more desirable than my unflappable strength.

We were convinced of our love for one another. Yet so distrusting of it, too.

I supposed that wasn’t healthy—that we demanded so much of each other when after years together we should've settled into a more relaxed acceptance. But who was to say what was healthy and what was not. Some people didn’t like sex. Others did. Some people liked vanilla. Others liked blood-play and violence.

There was no right or wrong.

No guidebook on how to be a perfect wife or husband. And if there was, it ought to be ripped up because no one could know what another truly needed. Each relationship was its own mess full of faults and flaws, fighting every damn day to be worthy.

Q didn’t ask why I’d made him do this. He didn’t try to pry my full intentions. Instead, he let me go and cocked his head, gesturing at the boot. “Was it my imagination or did I see a wicker basket in there before we drove off?”

I forced an annoyed scowl on my face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I’m not supposed to see a lot of things. Yet I do.”

I knew he spoke of other secrets I’d tried to hide. He always sniffed them out like the beast he said he was. Only, it was rare for me to have secrets. After all, he was the one keeping one from me. “That works both ways,” I whispered. “You’re keeping something from me, Q. I want to know what it is.”

He froze, locking into his seat. His eerie calmness resembled a poised hunter deciding if he should strike or run. “What the fuck does that mean?”

I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t meant to bring it up. Now was not the time. I retied my scarf around my neck. “Don’t worry about it. Plenty of time to argue later.”

“Argue?” His eyebrows knitted in an angry stitch. “You’re expecting to fight with me?”

“No, but in order for you to tell me, I either have to make you so angry you just blurt it out, or cajole you so I can read between the lines while you’re softer.” I threw him a tight smile. “You might know me, Q Mercer, but I know you too, and I know when you’re keeping something from me.”

Opening my door, I unbuckled and leapt into the crisp afternoon. “But you’re right. There was a picnic hamper in the back. Full of delicacies from Mrs. Sucre. Let’s stop to eat…then we can keep driving. We still have a few hours to go.”

Not waiting for him, I popped the boot and manhandled the picnic basket into my arms.

The sound of his door slamming gave me a second head start before Q caught me and wrenched the basket from my grip. “Give me that before you hurt yourself.”

I stuck my tongue out. “It’s only a damn basket. I think I can carry it—”

“Wrong. It’s a job I should do for you. Stop trying to do things that render me completely useless, esclave.”

Whoa, what?

I trotted after him as he strode toward a sunny patch in the waving grass. “I don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot, Q. That isn’t what marriage—”

“Putain, tu-testes ma patience.” Fuck, you test me. Q dumped the basket, spinning to grab my shoulders. “I’m not waiting on you hand and foot. I’m being your husband.”

“Well, as your wife, I sometimes want to do nice things for you, too. To show you how much I care.”

His face tightened with a mixture of lust and love. “And I love you, Tess. So stop taking away the small chances I have to be a gentleman so it at least makes it a little easier to be the monster you so desperately need.”

“I need?”

He clenched his jaw. “If you didn’t need pain, then I would’ve found a way to kill that part of myself a long time ago. I would’ve found a way to be better by now. But you keep making me worse by enjoying it so fucking much.”

He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d stabbed a pair of scissors into my heart. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m forcing you to be like that? That I make you hurt me against your wishes?” I snorted with derisive laughter. “As if, Q. You love it. You need it. If you didn’t have my pain, you’d never get off.” Closing the distance between us, I grabbed boldly between his legs. His throbbing erection justified my actions as I squeezed. “There…I’m in pain right now, and you’re hard.”

He shoved me away. “You’ve turned me into a fucking sadist.”

“Wrong, you were always one.”

“Then I’ve turned you into a masochist, and I don’t know how to turn you back.”

“Wrong again. I was always one. We haven't changed. We’ve accepted ourselves. I thought you were happy with that!” I rubbed at the smarting agony in my chest. “Are you…is that what you’re hiding from me? You don’t…want me like that anymore?”

The thought of never having the exquisite highs of a hard fought release or the delicious sensation of his teeth breaking my skin as we shed our cloaks of humanity and fucked like animals hurt me more than I could say.

I loved Q. I would take whatever he gave me. But if he took away the very connection that brought us together…what would that mean for us?

I—I couldn’t look at him.

Turning, I stormed away, heading toward the barn and the wonky sanctuary it offered. Bolting past the ancient door hanging sadly on time-tarnished hinges, I managed to make it to the centre of the musty building before Q caught me and spun me around.

“Never say such blasphemy again, esclave.” His face swam with shadows and sin. “And never run from me in the middle of an argument.”

“Discussion. That wasn’t an argument.” I squirmed against his biting fingers. “And why can’t I run? You don’t like being ignored when you want answers? Is that it? Because I can tell you it sucks when the one you love keeps such—”

“Tais-toi.” Shut up. His lips slammed against mine. Metallic copper instantly tainted our kiss as our teeth clashed and everything else faded away.

Ripping his mouth away, he grunted, “Don’t run from me. Because it makes me want to fucking chase you and hurt you and teach you a goddamn lesson for ever thinking you had the power to leave me.”

My thoughts vanished.

My body took over.

Q had this power. He reverted me from intelligent woman to begging pet. I knew what was coming. I knew because I knew him.

And I wanted it.

So, so much.

I wanted it more than candlelit dinners and fancy getaways. I wanted it more than diamonds and feather beds.

I wanted it more than life.

I was an addict to his sweetly delivered agony. And he was the drug I kept returning to time and time again.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Move.” Q shook me in warning and stalked off toward a bench full of dirty farm supplies.

Breathing hard, I glanced around the space.

Any moment, the owner could appear. He could catch us. But that only added to the thrill.

The tethered hay bales and discarded animal halters gathered grime in the corners while sinister meat hooks dangled from the ceiling on chunky chains.

My heart raced as Q came up behind me, dragging a meat hook along the bar in the rafters with the aid of a pole. “Arms up.”

I obeyed.

Not because he wanted me to. But because I wanted to.

My breathing quickened as he bound my wrists with something coarse and thick, yanking my arms upward and fastening them on the hook above my head.

My weight didn’t transfer to my wrists, but my knees turned to jelly.

I never knew how far he’d go. When he lost himself to the dangerous haze, he forgot about things like clothes and consequences. He would sooner slice off my outfit to get me naked than worry about what to dress me in after he’d had his fill.

However, he didn’t find a knife and start hacking. He merely strolled around me with a sharp smile on his lips and threatening promises in his gaze.

“You think I’m keeping something from you, Tess?”

What? He wanted to talk? Now? I wasn’t prepared for that torment. My body was liquid. My heart a blazing inferno. All I wanted was physical demands and sky-cresting, pain-inducing pleasure.

I blinked. “Yes?”

My confirmation was a question.

He chuckled dark and low. “Suddenly, you’re not so sure?” Moving behind me again, he scooped up my hair, braiding it loosely so it wouldn’t get in his way.

Way of what?

What is he going to do?

I wished I could predict him. But after three years of marriage and months of submitting to his every command, I still had no idea what he’d make me do. Sex with Q was never boring. It made my mind work trying to guess what implement he’d use next.

I wasn’t disappointed.

Removing my scarf from around my neck, he remained behind me, bunching up my grey dress and tying the teal scarf around my waist so the material didn’t fall back down.

Winter chill licked around my legs.

I wore a garter belt and G-string, holding up black satin tights.

The tops of my thighs were exposed and the low heels I wore suddenly weren’t sexy enough for the saucy lingerie I revealed.

Q came to my front, biting his knuckles as a fireball of lust painted his face. “Fuck, I’ll never get over how much I need you. How much your body calls to mine. How much your mind challenges me. How much your fight begs me to snuff it out.” His eyes darkened from green to demanding grey. “Even now that doesn’t scare you, does it, sweet Tess? Knowing that the entire time I’m fucking you—the entire time I’m cock deep in your pussy, and my hand is around your throat, and my teeth are in your flesh—I’m battling the urge to strangle you and make you bleed.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I was nothing but memories and wetness, coming unhinged by his dirty, damning words. I didn’t comprehend him in English. I heard him in my soul.

Wrapping his hand around my neck, he squeezed. “And the only thing that stops me from going that final distance—that awful, sinful distance—is how much I fucking love you. How much I worship the ground you walk on. How much I would die knowing that if I ever hurt you, I wouldn’t be able to live another day. Je me tuerais si jamais j’allais trop loin.” I would kill myself for ever going too far.

His mouth smashed against mine. Our kiss defied logic and sensibility. He pushed; I yielded. He bit; I sucked. He gasped; I breathed.

My legs well and truly gave up standing. I fell in my bindings, letting him jerk my dangling body into his, allowing him to hoist my legs around his hips and scream into his mouth as he fumbled with his belt and trousers and shoved aside my knickers.

The only warning I had that he planned to take me so fast, so quick, so uncharacteristically raw was the briefest gush of icy air on my exposed pussy before his hand brushed my clit and the smooth crown of his cock impaled me.

I groaned and came apart as he tore right through me like a sword. He didn’t stop to make sure I was okay. He didn’t wait for me to adjust to his size or depth of penetration.

He merely clamped my hips and forced me to accept him.

He did what I needed him to.

I didn’t need soft words and kind concern. I didn’t need sweet sincerity.

I needed a man. A monster. A master to fuck me. I needed him to take away my choice because then I could give in. I could stop thinking. I could be nothing more than Tess with her Q and scream and cry and beg and pant and thrust and thrust on the majestic cock of my saviour and husband.

“Fuck, Tess.” Q’s fingers bruised my hips as he jerked me up and down on his length.

My wrists burned from the rope. Circulation ceased in my fingertips. My eyes were hazy and struggled to focus, but my body…it was alive. It was burning and crashing and so damn awake, I felt every twitch of his cock inside me, every restraint he held, and every growl he swallowed.

“You love it like this, esclave. You love me filling your naughty cunt. You love me taking you when you don’t know if you want me. You love being denied the right to tell me how you want it.” He thrust harder, making the barn echo with the slams of our naked hips. “N’est-ce pas?” Don't you?

I nodded. Or at least, I thought I nodded.

I bit my lip, drawing blood as insane overwhelming sensation coursed through me.

I wanted to be naked. I wanted his teeth, his fingernails, his whip and punishment.

But all I had of him was his cock. He stood rutting into me, the perfect businessman. His hair slicked back, his shirt crisp, his woollen coat sublime.

To an outsider, he looked so collected and calm. So normal.

But they didn’t see what I did.

They didn’t have access to his eyes. His soul.

Bouncing in his hold, I glared into the jadey depths. The cage inside him was open; his beast unchained. If we were at home, we wouldn’t leave our bedroom for hours while he fucked me and hurt me and tried to hurt himself in return.

He’d adore me, and we’d come. By God, we’d come.

But then he’d care for me, soothe me, bathe me, and cuddle me like any gentle lover. He’d give me the best safety he could offer all while he beat himself up for ever going too far. He’d love the bruises he inflicted while wanted to bleed himself dry for causing them.

It was good that here we had to be fast.

There was no time for games. Only the barest form of lovemaking.

“God, Q…don’t stop.”

“Tu crois que je pourrais m’arrêter?” You think I could stop? He yanked me forward, impaling even more length and heat into me. “You think I could fucking stop with my cock inside you and your taste on my lips.” His face shredded into a fierce snarl. “Fuck, Tess. I can’t ever stop. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” He thrust into me harder and more brutal than the last. “I don’t want to. I won’t ever want to. Yet I should. What if I’m causing it? What if I’m the problem?”

His question filtered through the dark subspace in my mind.

What problem?

I clutched for understanding, but an orgasm spindled, demanding precedent.

I wanted to know what he meant. I needed to know what demons hounded him.

But I was in the darkness with him, and I needed more. I needed that final flare of blackness to orgasm. Only then could we talk without the angry tempest billowing between us.

Q understood.

His seductive mouth spewed more torture. “You’re such a dirty, filthy girl. You tricked me into the countryside so you could, what? Fuck me in a stranger’s barn?”

My eyes snapped closed as I let him manipulate and guide me; let him corrupt and beguile me. He knew words were my undoing. He knew how much I adored him saying such crude and disgusting things because afterward, he’d shower me with proverbs and promises.

“Yes…don’t stop.” My pussy fisted him as his cock grew thicker and harder inside me.

Talking dirty might work for me, but my God, it worked for him, too.

It’d taken a while for him to relax into it. To use verbal as well as physical tools. But he was eloquent at it now. The best I’d ever heard.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. So open and wet and obsessed with how my cock feels. Tell me that you like me fucking you. Tell me that if I cut you down right now, you’d get on your hands and knees and let me fuck you like the beast I am.”

The image flowed through my mind.

Him rutting behind me.

My knees bloody on the messy barn floor.

Yes!

The first wave of an orgasm threatened to wash me away.

Q chuckled, feeling it, understanding without me telling him that was exactly how I wanted to finish.

“Your wish is my command, esclave. Just like always.” With a knife—where the hell did he get the knife?—he reached up and hacked through the dense rope imprisoning me. The instant it snapped free, I tumbled into his arms. His cock slipped out as he swung me to the floor and shoved my shoulders.

I tripped and soared to my hands and knees.

He was rough, and I fucking loved it.

The moment I was sprawled like a dog in heat, Q slammed to his knees behind me. The clink of his belt sent heat waves and intense desire. Would he spank me or was he too far gone?

His cock speared into me as his hand fisted my hastily plaited hair.

Too far gone.

My lips spread into a victorious smile as my master and keeper drove into me from behind. His clothed chest cloaked my back as his hips jacked faster and faster into mine. “You’re such a filthy girl. Tell me. Do you like me fucking you like this?”

“Yes. Yes. God, yes.”

“How much more can you take, Tess? How much harder do I need to fuck my wife?”

The words fuck and wife caused me to convulse.

Q laughed, slapping my ass as his pace turned frenzied. “Not much longer I think, my dear esclave.” His rhythmic taking matched mine in every possible way. He was so fast but so fluid. Hitting the top of me every time he filled me. He forced my body high and needy.

“Maître…” My knees splayed, and my elbows gave up. My cheek smashed against the floor, pinpricked with hay and debris as Q never stopped. Heat exploded as blood smeared down my face. His fingers left bruises on top of bruises as he yanked me back over and over.

I couldn’t hold off.

I came.

I came.

I came.

And when I thought I’d finished, I came again on the smoke of the first, this one even tighter and dreadfully unforgiving.

Q followed me.

His growling grunt speared my heart as his cum flooded inside. Spurt after spurt, he marked me internally just as he had externally.

As we collapsed together on the floor, him on his back and me on his chest, I struggled to rearrange my heartbeat from manic to calm.

The ooze of his release dribbled down my thigh, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t cold even though plumes of our breath decorated the air. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

I didn’t want to move or speak, but I couldn’t stop one resounding repetitive question from ruining the moment…

What is he keeping from me?