Tears of Tess

I fought.

Wriggling, I tried to buck him off. “Let me go!”

Fingers tightened in answer, pinning me harder in place. I turned feral; my hands grabbed a heavy pool ball and tried to smash his head behind. “Motherfucker, take your hands off me.”

Q moaned, sounding tortured and lost, but didn’t say anything. Heavy breathing disrupted the quiet tranquillity of the den.

His silence disconcerted me. I had no clue what he thought, or planned. The quiet amplified other senses, heightened my pain in bruises, and the worst horror, the wetness between my legs.

If Brax ever did this—treated me with such ferocity—I’d have come in a moment. I read the mind turned sex from good to great. Being forced would ruin me, so why did my body ignore my fear and soften?

I’d gone from fighting to primed, ready, even as my heart stuttered and panicked.

Q seemed to sense my acquiescence. He rocked gently, causing more heated blood to rush. He sucked in a breath, then a soft, slightly trembling hand landed on my hair, stroking, petting. Ever so slowly, he tucked blonde strands behind my ears, worshipping me with touch.

My heart unwound a little, soothed by gentleness. He forced me to surrender and accept his warped kindness.

Minutes of stroking turned my bones to molten and his touch dropped to caress my shoulder, my spine, never more than a whisper, but threatening just the same.

I expected roughness, yet he showed tenderness. How could I compete with that? Stay strong and fight when every animalistic part reacted to him.

I whimpered as fingers trailed down my ribcage, slinking to the side and the swell of a breast.

He hummed in his throat, a sound full of restraint, but also a warning. Slowly, fingers stroked, running circles over a tender breast, arching closer to my nipple with every touch.

My ni**les tightened, puckering with need. The knowledge he was about to touch me so intimately made me pant. My reaction flared Q, and he fisted a hand in my hair, tugging my torso off the felt. His h*ps kept mine pinned between him and the table.

I yelped as my scalp smarted, but at the same time pleasure radiated, fiery and hot. My entire body burned.

One hand cupped my breast, squeezing a nipple. His hot mouth descended on my neck, biting with sharp teeth.

I couldn’t control my body, but I didn’t want him thinking I wanted this. I didn’t. Not at all. “Stop. Please, don’t.”

I squeezed my eyes, wishing my mind could fly free from the overwhelming guilt crushing my soul. Guilt for reacting. Guilt for desperately wanting more. Guilt for wanting to kill him.

Q murmured something in French. Minty breath drifted over highly sensitive skin. His hand kneaded my breast, firmer, harder than Brax ever did. He rolled my nipple between dexterous fingers and an unwilling moan crawled up my throat.

Q tensed, pressing a hard c**k firm against my ass. “Putain, I want you so f**king much.”

He pinched my nipple and the flair of pain twisted my stomach. The pinch signified something—a claiming. “What is this?” he whispered darkly.

Q no longer bound himself to whatever rules he played by. Knowing sent aching need between my legs. I tried to stop lust from swarming, fogging, but I couldn’t.

I couldn’t breathe. Brax’s blue eyes filled my mind. What was I doing? Brax would hate me for eternity if I let this happen. It didn’t matter if I had no choice… I couldn’t return to him after being used by another. Tears bruised, hating my weakness, hating my body.

Q bit my neck again, pressing lips along my collarbone, his expensive suit rasped against my back. “Tell me, esclave. What am I touching?”

My mind whirred with white noise, detaching itself. He may use my body, but my soul wouldn’t be broken. I’d remain untouched. Untouchable.

When I didn’t answer, he thrust against my ass, making me cry out. “What is this?”

“M—my nipple.”

He bit the shell of my ear, breath gruff and loud. “Wrong. This is mine.” He let me go and I breathed in relief, then froze as he touched my ass. Fingers sent fiery trails along my skin in agonisingly soft strokes, working inward, working down.

Legs trembled, breathing quickened, and my traitorous body preened, softening for more.

Q murmured, “Your skin is so soft here.” His touch fluttered higher, inching closer.

A tear oozed and dripped onto the felt, turning apple to forest.

Q sucked in a breath. “I’m hurting you so much you need to cry? Have I hit you? Beat you?”

I shook my head, unable to answer.

His touch went from fluttering to branding. I gasped as an invasive hand cupped between my legs. Embarrassment, need, desire, loathing, all shot through my heart.

One fingertip brushed against my entrance through damp knickers. “So wet, ma chérie.” He ran his nose down my neck as his fingertip found my clit. I bucked in his arms. His chest strained against my back. “Your body doesn’t lie. It likes it. It likes me.”

“I may not be able to control my physical response, but don’t confuse anything with me liking you,” I half-panted, half-snarled. “I won’t. Ever.”

He chuckled, sending vibrations. “So determined to fight? Fine.” In a sharp move, he grabbed the back of my neck and pushed me toward the pool table again. Bent over, a finger moved firmer against my core. “What is this?” he whispered.

My cheeks flared with heat; I wished to be far, far away.

“Answer me, esclave.”

“My vagina.”

He chuckled, cupping harder. “Wrong again.” Expert fingers worked the sides of my knickers, easing them to the left, exposing me. Everything inside tightened, wound, twisted. Oh, God.

Why was this happening? Brax. I didn’t want to replace memories of him with this monster who thought he owned me. Don’t think. Tears slipped silently.

The smell of sandal wood and citrus filled my nose as Q settled over me. He didn’t touch, which made it worse. His fingers were there; the heat of his skin blazed against my thigh. Anticipation drove me wild as much as it killed, knowing what was to come.

Q fisted my hair, tilting my head to the side. His mouth descended on mine, a tongue opening the seam of my lips effortlessly, despite clamping shut. The moment his tongue entered my mouth, a finger plunged into me, hard and fast.

“Oh, God.” My mouth opened wide; I trembled with the onslaught—the act of ownership. He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t sweet.