His hand twisted my neck, tilting me sideways to kiss me. His mouth crashed against mine, swallowing my moan, locking his arms around me. I couldn’t do anything but accept his brutal assault. I skipped from reality the moment he caught my tongue, sucking as if every inch of my mouth belonged to him.

I knew what I was letting myself in for. I knew Q wouldn’t take it easy on me. I also knew I never wanted anything more in my life.

Kicking my ankle, Q spread my legs, positioning his c**k right in the centre of my ass. Breaking the kiss, he growled, “Time for talking has ended, esclave. Now’s the time for f**king.”

He’d said something similar just before whipping me on the cross. A thrill shot through my blood; I melted.

A hand landed on my ass, bringing with it flames and thunder. I jolted in his arms, biting my lip against the pain. “I’m going to own every inch of you tonight. Including your mind.”

I couldn’t breathe. Even the purple clouds floating in my blood couldn’t stop one question blaring in my head.

Do I still want this?

Did I still want pain or had that been false bravado—making me believe my own lies.

Q’s hand came down again, striking me in the same place, igniting a bonfire. My eyes prickled with tears even as the fire from my skin slowly migrated into my blood, heating me, dissolving every inch of my past.

Yes. Yes, I do.

The knowledge sent my h*ps rolling, provoking Q as I wiggled.

He struck me again, lower this time, more thigh than ass, but it felt just as good. A stinging good—a pain I’d forgotten how to compute, but my body remembered. I gave myself over to it. I wanted to turn my mind off completely.

“Who f**king hurt you, esclave?” Q demanded, striking me again.

Huh? I blinked, clawing my way back to conscious thought. Looking over my shoulder, I locked with his wild eyes. It took a moment for the question to sink in, but then I knew. I knew what he wanted.

For the first time, I let myself get angry. Terribly, ridiculously angry. At them. I snarled, “They did.”

Q narrowed his eyes, breathing hard. “Who caused you agony?” His hand stroked my burning skin before slapping me again—the hardest one yet.

Uncomfortableness flared, along with a rush of pleasure. I filled with reckless, needy energy. “They did.”

“Who stole you from me?”

“They did.”

“Who taught you to run from pain?”

“They did.”

His hand lit up my ass, followed by his fingers tracing my crack. He dipped his touch between my legs, moving tortuously slow.

I panted and writhed, caught in the sparkly web of anticipation. Touch me. Stroke me. A whisper of a caress then Q removed his hand, teasing me to the point of rage.

“Who will make you love pain again?”

I wanted to demand he touch me, but I gave him what he wanted. “You will.”

“Who will grant you freedom with pleasure?” His fingers dipped again, feathering over the delicate skin. This time he granted me one stroke—one mind-blowing stroke across my clit.

His touch was a weapon. An aphrodisiac. I was wet. Slick. Desperate.

Q’s voice thickened to a growl. “Who will make you come while hurting you?”

“You will,” I gasped as his touch went lower, dipping between my folds, driving me insane.

“Who will make your body remember? Who will keep you safe?”

“You, Q. Just you.”

His hand disappeared. I moaned at the lack of stimulation, then cried out as he fisted my hair, wrenching my head upright. His lips found mine, his dark taste invoking a primal urge inside.

He stole my thoughts, my sanity. My hands shot behind me, digging my nails into his firm ass, yanking him forward to thrust against me.

His kiss was a hammer, his fingers a wrecking ball—with each one he smashed the remaining glass prison in my mind, making me his equal, but also keeping me firmly in the position of submissive.

A wash of gratefulness filled my heart. I was unbelievably lucky. So blessed. Q not only gave all of himself, he also made all my black desires come true. We truly were born for each other.

He panted in my mouth, rolling his hips, taunting me with the one thing I wanted most of all. His teeth captured my bottom lip.

And bit.

I cried out as my skin broke. A trickle of metallic fed from my mouth to his. Q seethed, seeming to increase in size until all I knew was him. The moment my blood hit his tongue, it was over.

No going back.

Only going forward into sin.

“God, I want to bite you, drink you. I want to drain you, so you live in me always,” he grunted, picking me up in one arm, hoisting me higher on the table. Only my tiptoes reached the floor while my br**sts squashed against the felt.

His nose tickled my spine as he kissed his way down to my tailbone. “Put your hands on the table, and don’t move.”

I trembled but obeyed. I ran my hands along the fuzzy fabric, relishing in the desire sweeping in my blood.

Looking over my shoulder, he smiled. It transformed his face from brooding to boyish until it was gone, replaced with a cocky smirk and possessive glint in his eye.

“Stay exactly like that, with your glowing ass ready for my pleasure.” With another spank, he disappeared into the darkness like a ghost.

I swayed a little, my tiptoes straining to keep still—exactly as Q demanded.

Not having his heady presence close by, the pixies and nymphs in my chest sent more dust through my body, tingling, warming until I shuddered with ideas of what would happen next.

Where is he?

I looked around the room.

I saw nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Nothing else mattered but the pool table, the darkness, and Q—wherever he was.

I loved the anonymity. The unknowing.

A metal clink sounded a few paces away, followed by a footstep.

Then silence.

We could be married for years, and I would never get used to how silently Q moved.

Slowly, goosebumps spread over my arms. It wasn’t nerves dancing on my skin but excitement. I wasn’t cold or terrified. I was weightless and buoyant, waiting for my master to return.

A hand landed on my waist making me leap upright. My heart bucked in surprise.

“Jumpy, Tess? Afraid of what’s coming next?” Q didn’t wait for my answer. He pressed my shoulder blades down, stalking around the pool table to the other side.

His eyes were the only pinpoints of light until he flicked a switch, bathing the apple felt with a golden glow. The chandelier above painted us with golds and burnt oranges from the tinted crystals.