Quintessentially Q

“Oh, and Mr. Murphy?” Q ran a fingertip over his bottom lip, deep in whatever thoughts he entertained.

The captain paused, his body poised. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m locking the connecting door.” His head tilted, body language projecting a simple warning. “We aren’t to be interrupted. Understand?”

The captain didn’t look at me this time, for which I was thankful. My heart raced a gazillion beats a minute, and I couldn’t suck down gluttonous breaths without swimming with need.

Q didn’t move a muscle, locked tight in his chair.

The captain nodded again. “No problem at all. I’ll see you in Paris.” He swung the fuselage door closed. The sound of the lock stole the ability to stand up. My knees wobbled sending me sprawling into a chair.

Locked inside a tiny space with Q for half an hour.

Oh, God. I’ll end up humping his leg, or worse, sitting on his face. I started to hyperventilate. I wasn’t strong enough to endure his punishment. I’d crack. No doubt. I’m already cracking.

The chair enveloped me in five-star comfort, but I could’ve floated in gossamer and clouds for all I cared—it would’ve still irritated my skin, set fire to my extremities. Just like the hated tight skirt and silky pantyhose. Every twitch, every movement, flared the whip marks on my thighs—a direct link to the burn between my legs.

I would never feel normal again. I descended into the realm of lunacy.

Lunacy.

That’s what I felt for Q.

Love and hate entwined so intrinsically, plaiting together into one sharp-edged, life-consuming feeling.

Q had created an entirely different emotion—one I’d never be free of: utter madness. I would never be free from the craziness of falling for a beast.

I dropped my eyes, realizing I stared at Q with my face projecting every racing conclusion.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, keeping his voice low and coaxing. If anything, it was worse than his normal volume. It whispered under my clothes, licking around my ni**les.

I clenched my thighs together, glaring at my hands in my lap. Tears bruised my eyes; self-pity made me shake. I’d never wanted an orgasm so much in my life.

The sound of heavy machinery cranking shook the helicopter. The rotor blades picked up speed within a moment.

“Tess…” Q shifted forward in his chair, linking his hands between his open thighs. The position was so like when he put the tracker on my ankle when we first met that I whimpered. Even that first meeting, I’d been wet for him. My body had no self-control toward this man. He made me weak. He made me dependant.

“Nothing. I’m thinking nothing.” My stomach swooped into my feet as we took off with an all-powerful soar. The helicopter acted as if it had wings, not metal blades keeping it airborne.

Q never took his eyes off me, frozen into position; the only thing that changed was his fingers. They grew white with how hard he clenched.

His proximity made me shiver and ache and scream inside. My body was swollen and driving me to the point of insanity with the need to release.

I’m sick. I must be. No person could make another exist in heightened flames of lust. I had a temperature, my mind consumed with my f**king obsession that was Q.

Q sucked in a breath before unlocking his unsteady hands and reclining into the chair. “Are you feeling okay, Tess?” His eyes were guarded, face closed to me, but his body fermented with tightly reined lust.

I snorted loudly, twitching in the chair, cursing the lashes on my thighs, hexing Q for leaving me this way. “What the hell do you think?”

Q didn’t move for a full minute. One torturous minute while our eyes locked and our minds connected and our subconscious bellowed at each other. Our minds made love, we ravaged, we ruined, all while not touching. But it wasn’t enough.

It accelerated my heart. It made my pu**y seep eager wetness. It pretzeled my mind into someone I no longer recognised, but it didn’t give me what I needed.

“Why did you tell the captain not to disturb us?” My voice was barely noticeable over the rotor blades, but Q heard me.

He stilled, surging with carnal tension. He watched me from a lowered brow, letting me trap myself, walk right into whatever web he cast. “Why do you think, esclave?”

Esclave. The one word that was hyperlinked to my pu**y.

My eyes snapped shut as a wave of my denied orgasm clutched my entire body.

Oh, f**k. Fuck me, I couldn’t do it.

“I’m done,” I choked, twisted with longing and fogged with confusion. “I’m going insane!” I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled, trying to find some relief from the ceaseless buildup.

But the pain only amplified my desire, sending another throb pulsating through my body.

The helicopter blades whirred and wound the cabin with sexual tension. Q sucked in a breath, straining against his suit. He sat so still and looked so unaffected. It wasn’t fair. He came. He came all down my throat and all over my br**sts. It’s my turn, dammit!

I was too far gone—too consumed by a bodily need.

Scrambling out of the luxury leather, I dropped to the carpet and crawled.

I f**king crawled in a two thousand euro designer skirt, zeroing in on the one person who held my cure.

Q’s face shot to unreadable, pale eyes glowing in the morning sunlight from the window. His lips parted, sucking in a noisy breath. “Get up,” he growled.

I whimpered and shook my head, keeping my shoulders hunched as I traversed the small distance. Every whiplash, every bead bruise, every cell in my body throbbed.

He sat straighter, using the armrests to hoist himself upward. His fingers turned white around the leather, gripping hard. “Stop. Have I ever asked you to crawl or be any less than a woman?”

His face grew black with fury as I slowed and knelt between his open thighs. His body heat murdered the rest of my coherent thought. He wanted to own me? He possessed me in that moment.

I raised my eyes, fearful of what I would see in his. Then I jumped as he reached down and grabbed my triceps.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his fingers biting deep. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care because my master was touching me, and my body was too swept up in pleasure to be scared of Q’s wrath. He teased me, used me, and denied me this morning. I couldn’t be expected to work, or function as a human being without him saving me from this pleasurable agony.

Soaring high above patchwork farms, quaint villages, and thatched cottages, I bared my soul to him. “I didn’t mean to take control away from you. I wanted to give you pleasure. I wanted to show how much I care, how much I believe in you.”

Q shook, his face darkened further; his fingers turned to talons, cutting off the blood supply around my arms. “You took away my control. Do you know what happens to women like you if I lose it?” He shook me. “It’s the one thing I’ve been able to rely on my entire life, and yet you shattered it with my balls in your hands.” No other man had a voice like Q. Dark, dangerous, laced with a melodic French accent. Being reprimanded by him was pure audio perfection.

He stood suddenly, hauling me to my feet. I wobbled in his grip, staring into his turbulent eyes. “Pourquoi tu dois me pousser comme ça?” Why must you push me so?

“Because I need to break you to make you mine.” My voice thickened with strength. It was true. More than I knew.

Not caring that Q might make my punishment worse, I wriggled in his grip until his fingers loosened. The moment my arms were free, I reached for my top button and undid it with rattling fingers.

Q’s eyes dropped to my chest, absorbed by my jerky fingers.

My body was heavy, melting, sparking with the closeness, the threat of being taken. I would make Q f**k me. I would.

He didn’t try to stop me as I unclasped the remaining buttons and pulled the soft material from my waistband. I stood in front of him, shirt spread to reveal the black lacy bra with tiny diamantés on the straps.

With my pulse skyrocketing, I traced a cross over the swell of my breast, directly above my heart. “I give you my oath that I will obey you. I won’t force you to give me what you’re not ready to give.”

Q stopped breathing; his eyes locked onto my exposed skin. His wet tongue licked his lips, tasting me from head to toe without even moving. My eyes dropped to his trousers, a heady thrill heating me at the hard bulge straining against the material.

The helicopter banked to the left, sending us leaning into the curve. His gaze connected with mine and the lust simmering in his eyes changed from pale to glowing, burning, searing.

His hand shot out and captured my chin, holding me tight. His chest pumped and the cords of muscle in his neck shot into stark relief. “Esclave—” His voice positively stroked my pu**y, rippling over my skin.

My mind swam, and I rushed to finish what I wanted to say. “I promise to obey, but I don’t promise I won’t make your life hell. You swore you’d give me what I needed. You broke your oath because I need you now. I need you so much I can’t think straight. I need your tongue. I need your fingers, your cock, your voice, your scent. I need you all over me, in me, and around me.” I panted by the time I finished.