Quintessentially Q

His large hands cupped my face, holding me still as he bent his head to angle the kiss deeper. The back of my head hit the wooden cross, and I moaned as he pressed his entire muscular body against mine. His na**d skin heated my own, feverish, hot as the devil.

Pulling away, Q breathed hard, sending his sparrow tattoo fluttering like crazy. The rolling black clouds and barbwire seemed to be particularly violent, devouring more birds, erupting more feathers, spiralling in their bid for freedom. Q expected me to fly away. I needed to find a way to prove I wasn’t going to.

A flash of inspiration hit, and I murmured, “You’re my wings. You made me fly.”

He froze, hands unmoving on my cheeks. His pale eyes seared into my soul.

Q wasn’t just my master in the bedroom. He was the master of my heart.

Finally, he whispered in his deep, accented voice, “You stole my loneliness. I may have given you wings, but you've become my gravity. I’ll never be free of your force.”

I melted. If my arms hadn’t been imprisoned by the cross, I would’ve thrown them around Q and climbed his body. I would’ve freed his straining erection from his boxer-briefs and pushed myself on top of him. I needed connection. I needed to bind us. Entwine us. Imprint and devour us.

Q seemed to feel the same way. His eyes morphed from deep and smouldering to bright and glittering. His composure tightened from tense to coiled. A predator, a wolf, a killer about to indulge in his prey. “No more talking, Tess.”

I shivered with the way he said my name. It held every inch of emotion that he couldn’t verbalize.

Q dropped to his knees, thudding against the thick white carpet. He tugged my left leg to line up with the cross and its buckle in one sharp move. I stumbled, relying on the cuffs around my wrists to grant me balance.

As his fingers worked around my ankle, sending spasms of intense awareness up my inner thigh, Q murmured, “One day, I’ll break you completely. One day, I’ll be strong enough.”

The thrill of his confession shot like an arrow through my heart. I wanted with all my soul to tell him I hoped to God he did, but I didn’t think he meant it like that. He didn’t want to break me until I was ruined—he wanted to own me completely. The difference was I didn’t think Q knew what he meant.

Or, maybe he did, and I was a stupid little girl. Nevertheless, I fell back into unwilling slave—the role that turned my master and me crazy. The role that guaranteed explosive sex, battle of wills, and deep satisfaction.

Gathering a deep breath, I hissed, “No. You’ll never break me.”

Q snapped.

The barrier dropped once and for all. With brutal fingers, he spread my other leg and secured me tightly against the warm wood. Gone were the soft caresses. This was pure animalistic control. He stood in one quick move, grabbing the two pieces of leather hanging on either side of my hips.

Jerking them across my belly, he tightened them. He didn’t say a word, but we glared and dared and warred with our eyes. The room crackled with pent-up frustration, unkept promises, and a slight undercurrent of fear. Whose fear I didn’t know, but it added to the thick cloud of emotion engulfing us.

Q leaned forward, reaching behind my neck. Securing the last remaining strap, he looked deep into my eyes. “You’re going to be the death of both of us.”

True undiluted fear raced through my blood. The tightness of the strap across my throat signified complete submission. Something I never really gave, even though I let Q dominate me.

I may be a masochist, but I wasn’t a submissive, and that’s why Q needed me.

Once the strap was tight across my throat, and I was truly immobile, Q dragged his finger from the tip of my nose, down my lips, over my throat and br**sts, dipping past my ribs and belly right to my pu**y. He stroked my clit, once, twice, before moving lower.

I trembled with every millimetre he touched. The need to have him took over every thought.

His eyes tightened as his finger dipped inside me ever so slowly.

My jaw went slack and I moaned at the leisurely possession. His finger felt like pure ecstasy. I shuddered around his touch, sucking him deeper, my body begging for more.

Q growled, pressing harder until his knuckles connected against my core. “Fuck, you’re wet. Every time, esclave. Every time, you’re ready for me.” His voice held awed pleasure.

My h*ps tried to work, to entice him further, but the straps became the perfect prison.

He pressed deeper; I groaned as he curved his finger to stroke my g-spot. “You lied. You said I couldn’t break you. And yet, here I am breaking you, bit by bit. And you f**king love it. Your body screams the truth. When will you admit it?”

I bared my teeth, my body was a molten volcano, every blood cell erupting. “Never.”

He chuckled. The dark sound echoed in my ears, down my neck and spine. “Never is a long time.” Easing out of me, he quickly inserted two fingers, stretching me wide, coaxing my body to accept him, regardless of the sudden intrusion.

My head fell forward, and all I wanted to do was surrender. To let Q do whatever he wanted to me; to bask in the onslaught of sensations. But for Q to let go, I had to pretend. Pretend he scared, hurt, and horrified me. I didn’t want to think how that troubled me—how I didn’t understand why Q needed it that way.

For once, I didn’t like the role play. I wanted him to know how much I needed this part of him, to let him know it was okay with me. More than okay—I lived for it. I wanted to scream for him to hit me, f**k me, debase me, but I couldn’t because permission wasn’t what he sought. It was the hunt, the chase, the crime of causing agony.

Q took a step back. My thoughts screeched to a halt as he paced away, heading toward the mirrored chest.

He took his sweet time choosing from the scattered remains on the carpet. I craned my neck, trying to see, but the strap around my waist and throat pinned me in place.

Finally, he stalked back, looking chiselled and determined in his black boxer-briefs. His hands stayed behind his back, obstructing whatever torture equipment he planned to use.

“As much as I want to scar you, etch my name into your belly so you’ll always know who you belong to, I’m not ready. When I break your virgin skin, I won’t stop, and I don’t want to live with yet another addiction.” His eyes flared as if he hadn’t meant to confide those thoughts. His face darkened as he cleared his throat. “I’m giving you a choice. Sharp pain or radiating pain.”

I blinked, trying to figure out the riddle of what toys Q had behind his back.

When I didn’t answer, he growled, “An answer, esclave, or I’ll use both. Believe me, I want to use everything on you all at once, but I’m not a murderer.” He lowered his voice. “Well, not a murderer of women at least.”

The image of Q shooting a man in cold blood slammed into my head—the night he found me, being raped and defiled by Driver and Brute. I hung my head, voluntarily choking myself on the strap, trying to forget.

“Was that a beg, treasure? You want me?”

“I think she’s asking you to f**k her. Better give her what she wants.”

My body went numb at the memory of being taken by force. The pain, the sounds of him rutting like a f**king beast inside me.

Make it stop. Make it stop!

“Fuck.” Q closed the distance between us in a split second, and captured my chin. “I’d kill him a thousand times over for what he did, but I refuse to let you think about him.” Q kissed both of my eyelids, murmuring, “You promised you’d only think of our night together. Purge that f**king bastard from your mind. Or I’ll whip it out of you.”

Q’s odd mixture of sweet and harsh halted the memory and shoved the rape out of my mind, but I couldn’t rid myself of the metallic taste of Driver’s fingers in my mouth.

I needed Q to whip me; to force me to obey and burn the memories to dust.

“Hurt me, maître. Make it disappear. I want sharp pain. I want you to slice the evil free.” My breath caught, and my body shook with the beginnings of real fear. I offered myself to Q to help free me once and for all, but I also permitted him to truly hurt me. He wouldn’t hold back—not now.

The wetness between my legs increased and my teeth chattered as Q sucked in a breath, dropping one of the items in his hands. It slithered against the carpet, lying like a dormant snake; any moment it would raise its head and strike with deadly fangs.

Q held up his other arm, showing me what he intended to use. My heart rate exploded.

In his palm lay a cat-o’-nine-tails. The intricate whip handle exploded from one thick cylinder into nine pieces of lethal leather. Each strand was woven with tiny silver beads along the length.

Adrenaline washed over me. My skin flushed, and I wiggled in the bindings. It looked painful. It looked cruel. It looked like it would pulverize my thoughts and turn my body into a crisscrossed canvas of agony.

I tried to stay calm, tried to keep my heart from galloping out of control, but shit, I couldn’t. The whip was too dangerous.

My eyes flew to his. “No. I can’t. It’s too much.”

Fear swarmed thick and fast as Q smiled thinly, shaking his head. “If this is what it takes to eliminate that cocksucker from your brain, so be it.” He stepped away a little, letting the whip dangle.