I COULDN’T STOP looking at my tattoo.

Not when Q unbound my wrist and ankles. Not when he ordered me to stand at the end of the bed and strip. And definitely not when he secured my legs to the four-poster frame while I stood in a wide stance with my hands on the mattress.

The see-through covering over my new inscription protected and smeared his inked promise but the black calligraphy had seeped into my blood and scripted on my heart, too. The black lettering looked like delicate filigree, ready to be hidden, once healed, beneath my glittering wedding ring.

Q’s gorgeous cursive had well and truly marked me as his. I felt more like his wife than I ever thought possible and I wanted to create something with him. I wanted to treasure and cherish every single moment we had left together because life was way too damn short.

“Are you ready?” Q purred behind me.

After stripping off my underwear, he’d inspected my bare pussy, ensuring I’d obeyed his commands to shave every inch. It wasn’t often he wanted me completely nude, but I understood why tonight.

That magic wand he’d purchased was the devil and God all in one. The softness of the vibrating head against the swollen wetness of my clit had spun me so tight and hot, so fast and strong; I worried that when I did come, it would cleave me in two.

I didn’t want to die via orgasm. Especially now Q had written ownership on me with his own hand.

“I asked, are you ready, esclave?” He swatted my behind.

He couldn’t hide his tremble or erection. The large mirrored wardrobe to my right showed a kinky, erotic scene. Q had stripped, too. He stood with a lambskin flogger in his hand while every inch of him was deliciously naked.

His cock speared in front, just as bare as I was. He’d shaved to match.

I shivered in anticipation of our slick skin sliding and slapping and fucking and taking.

My head lolled as desire made everything so heavy and tender. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

“Ten strikes for being such a good wife. If you deserve more afterward, I’ll give them to you. But for now…I’ll go easy.”

I nodded, placing my cheek on the mattress. My fingers curled into the soft sheets, activating the burn of my tattoo.

The first whistle of the flogger reached my ears just before the sharp bite punished my ass.

Q sucked in a harsh breath, growling in his chest. “Count for me, Tess.”

“One.”

He’d struck me so many times; my body no longer fought the sting. It slipped and liquefied, swirling down and down into the sensual darkness inside my mind. Q could whip me for hours, and I would love every strike because he could hurt my mortal body but not my immortal soul. That latched onto his, making love without boundaries all while our outwardly forms punished each other.

Q raised his arm again.

The flogger lacerated the air, landing on my skin. “Two.”

He didn’t pause, punishing me quickly.

I shuddered. “Three.”

Another. “Four.”

And another. “Five.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

My legs grew weak, and I gave more and more weight to the mattress. My clit throbbed, and if he angled the flogger between my legs, I would come within a splinter of a second.

The whistle came again. “Nine.”

And a final time. “Ten.”

Q huffed hard as he threw away the whip and fisted the blindfold from last night. His skin blazed while his eyes shot black with monsters. He was so fucking hot. So primal and proud and strong. Sometimes, I deliberately angered him just to see the different pigments of rage upon his skin and hear the different tones of abuse in his voice.

I loved his madness.

I loved our crazy, wonderful life.

Somewhere in the room, the soft chime of midnight heralded Q’s birthday.

“Happy birthday, maître.” Wriggling my ass, I implored. “I think the only way to bring in such a day is to be cock deep in your very willing wife.”

Q lashed the blindfold from behind me. Instead of going for my eyes, he looped it around my throat.

He’d asphyxiated me before. He’d taken me to the edge of unconsciousness more times than I could count. Sometimes, instinct bellowed over my trust of him, demanding I scream my safe word.

But I never did.

Because Q, no matter his low thinking of himself, was so much more than just a monster.

He was a lover.

A protector.

A giver and friend.

He was so much.

However, he wants more.

But what?

What more could he give me?

What more could I give him?

“I agree with your offer, esclave.” Q’s cock wedged against my ass as he tightened the blindfold around my throat. “How much do you want me to fuck you?”

“This much.” I bucked backward, standing on my tiptoes to slip up over his erection and position my pussy directly over his crown.

He jolted; the blindfold cut into my windpipe as shock and lust stole him. “Fuck, you’re too flexible for your own good.”

I arched my hips, forcing the tip of him to enter me.

The room littered with filthy curses from my French master. “Shit, Tess. Having you spread, seeing every inch of you, feeling your wetness while watching my cock disappearing inside your body—your body that’s red and welted and marked and tattooed with everything belonging to me—Christ, it makes me want to fucking come all over you.”

His body sandwiched mine from behind as his cock shot into me with one swift thrust.

I cried out, but no oxygen got past the blindfold. Softness teased my vision and lack of air made every sensation exquisitely consuming.

My body was so full. Too full. His hips punished mine, pulling out and driving back in.

His tight hold around my neck relaxed a little.

I sucked in a noisy breath.

His weight slipped to the side as he grabbed the magic wand and switched it on.

I moaned loudly, “Q, if you touch me with that—”

Too late.

He positioned the vibrating animal right on my clit just as he thrust deep and hard.

I didn’t stand a chance.

The earlier denial of my orgasm. The fear of what would happen when I let go.

None of it mattered.

I screamed.

And came.

My spine bolted into one electric rod of bliss. My inner muscles clenched greedily around him, over and over with mind-deleting pleasure.

I screamed and came for I didn’t know how long. My spread legs made the torture all the more painful. The thick control of Q fucking me made my entire body clench and shudder.

He turned the vibrating devil higher, pressing harder against my clit.

“Shit!”Another bomb arced down my spine and detonated through my womb into my legs and toes.

I sobbed as I crashed back to earth. But Q didn’t remove the vibrating nemesis.

“Q…please.”

“Another, Tess.”

“No.” I bit the sheets as he angled the device even harder against me. He bruised me both inside and out. Slipping the wand from my clit to my asshole, he held it against us. Torturing his cock as well as me.

“Fuck me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He bucked harder as the wand turned its magic on the sensitive flesh of his erection.

I rose again, screeching and trembling to another breath-wrenching orgasm.

He grew impossibly harder inside me. One hand held the blindfold around my neck while the other ran the magic wand over us—over his balls, my clit, his cock, my asshole.

I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t tell where the head of the machine was and where the echoes of vibrations began. All I could tell was the mattress was soaked beneath my cheek where I panted and drooled and my throat burned for a proper breath.

When Q pressed me deeper into the mattress, sandwiching my pussy against the wand and the end of the bed, I gave up again.

I screamed as every molecule exploded in my extremities.

His voice filled my ears. “Goddammit, esclave, you fucking undo me. Feeling you come around me. Knowing I could take your life and you would die right here in my arms because you love me and wouldn’t fight. Shit, that’s the worst kind of turn-on. The best kind of turn-on.”

His hips pistoned harder and harder.

I couldn’t hold on.

I came again.

And my undoing was his.

With more dirty curses, he followed me, slamming into me. Letting go of the blindfold to hold my hips, he forced me to take every damn inch of his huge size.

By the time we both came down from paradise, I couldn’t move.

Literally, I could not move.

It took us ten minutes to find the energy to stand and another ten to untangle the ropes and flop onto our sides to face each other on the bed.

Our breathing remained out of control, and our touches wracked and shook as we stroked and petted, turning violence into tenderness.

Finally, once our jagged, scattered pieces were glued firmly back into order, I murmured, “As much as I want to, I don’t think I can tattoo you tonight unless you want words as jittery and unreadable as a baby’s.”

Q chuckled, gathering me close and spreading me on his naked front. We stuck together with sex-sweat, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. “You’re excused until tomorrow.”

My eyes fell on the champagne bottle on the nightstand. “You brought dessert?”

His smile was wickedly sinful. “Oh, that’s for breakfast, esclave. We haven’t had dessert yet.” Spanking my sore ass, he ordered, “On your back, I haven’t nearly had my birthday fill of you yet.”