Tears of Tess

I somehow tapped into a kickass actress, coaxing a tear to fall. “I don’t want this.”

His nostrils flared. Unwrapping fingers from his cock, he captured a tear on a fingertip. He stared at it, then me, indecision searing in his gaze. The night reclaimed him, shadowing his face. He licked the salty tear. “You’ll be crying more before I’m finished with you.”

I began a file on what turned my master on. Tears was one, struggles another. What was his ultimate undoing? I wouldn’t stop until I found out.

Tears shed again, forcing myself into the headspace of hating him, just like when I first arrived. Before he saved me, killed for me. Q didn’t want a meek slave. He loved my unbrokenness.

Another puzzle locked into place. Was that what Suzette meant when she said Q didn’t touch her because she was ruined? He touched me, because I fought—I was strong. He couldn’t f**k an injured… yet he wanted… what did he want? To tame me? To parry? Something in him wanted to be accused of being a ra**st, of being sick and twisted, because that’s how he honestly saw himself.

Q flicked a tongue over my cheek, catching tears. I gasped and wriggled, biting my lip as our na**d bodies slid against each other. My ni**les sprang to an all new hardness, budding with excitement.

His head bowed, forehead to forehead. I breathed him in, gluing myself to the post, making sure no part reached for him. That would ruin the game. I couldn’t forget, I didn’t want this.

“Ah, esclave. Tu m'excite au-delà de la croyance.” You excite me beyond belief. Fingers shot between my legs, plunging deep. My knees trembled as his hand rocked, hard.

I whimpered, body reacting—swelling, melting, needing. I was ravenous for whatever Q gave. I wanted him so badly, but I wanted to fight just as much. The act of saying no did strange things to me, turning sex from mediocre to knee-wobbly and carnal. I became a hungry, libido-driven woman; only Q could scratch my erotic itch.

Q murmured in French, dialects swallowed by the silent night-shrouded room. I panted, but it sounded hushed, like a dream.

His finger was the ultimate ownership. Palpitating my core, he sucked in a breath as I thrust, needing more

I couldn’t help it. I moaned.

He pressed his c**k against my hip, smearing glistening pr**cum on me. His erection was hot, hard, and tempting beyond belief. His breathing matched mine in roughness. “You can’t lie. Not now. Not when your body blares the truth.” He moved his fingers, stroking inner parts of me, throbbing with the need to release.

He was right, I couldn’t lie and I cried harder.

I wanted to scream: f**k me, I’m yours. Instead, I said, “Get your fingers out of me.”

“Shush, ma belle. You want this.” His voice rippled with sensuality. I wondered how much he acted, too. Had he tamed himself on my account? How much darker would he go?

Q stroked harder, withdrawing more moisture between my legs. My br**sts ached to be touched, mouth empty, needing kisses, but my heart blazed so full, I thought I might disintegrate into fiery fragments.

Q stopped suddenly, withdrawing. “I’m the only one who can give you what you truly desire.” Fingers dug into my cheek, spreading my scent. “But I refuse to take it.” He stepped between my legs, positioning his c**k where I wanted him most. He rubbed with the tip, earning a pant and a cry.

I rocked, imploring him to take me. I trembled with need so extreme, it set my teeth on edge.

“Give it to me, or you’ll become nothing.”

My eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you everything you ask for. There’s nothing left to give.”

Pulling back, he stared, unfettered, eyes blazing with overpowering lust. He stepped away, dragging a hand over his short pelt of hair.

My h*ps moved toward him on their own accord, searching, wanting. Mortified, I pressed against the post, hoping he hadn’t seen.

But he did; his lips quirked. “Always lying.”

I said nothing.

Q paced. “I’ll f**k you anyway you want, if you give me what I want.”

Delicious anticipation filled, but I frowned. “What do you want?”

“I want to own all of you, esclave. Including your name.”

My heart raced. Truth rang in his words. He would deny both of us because he wanted to know my name. I didn’t have to fake the answer: “You’ll be dead before that happens.” I was furious with him.

He chuckled—it sounded positively light-hearted compared to the tension charging around us. “No one will be dead, but I might die of pleasure by having you.”

I ignored the thrill, staying in character. “Bastard.”

His mood shifted to commanding, dominating. “You have no idea.” He laughed but it held pain.

My breath hitched. I tried my rusty French. “Je ne suis pas à toi.” I am not yours.

Grinding his teeth, he reached up, undoing the knicker restraints. Pulling my body roughly away from the bedpost, he threw me on the mattress. “I dare you to say that again, esclave.” Folding himself over me like a living cape, pressing down, almost suffocating me in the covers. My stomach twisted and a small mewl escaped. The overbearing action of lying on me, both thrilled and terrified.

Lips kissed a trail along the back of my neck, all the while fingers tickled the inside of my thigh, moving higher, higher.

Each millimetre he travelled set my blood to boil. I didn’t understand how one touch made me shiver with need. Was it Q’s domination? The knowledge I couldn’t stop him? It couldn’t be. The rape cured me of that ridiculous fantasy.

Somewhere in my mind, I knew Q meant me no harm. He wanted me and I was his; there was nothing wrong with him taking me—anyway he chose.

“Spread your legs,” he demanded.

I instantly complied. Fingers found my entrance, stroking. Q’s breath hitched as he forced two fingers inside, stretching, bruising, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more. An orgasm teased, on the brink of release. So close, so fast. I wanted it desperately.

Q seemed to sense my urgency and slid off. Kneeling behind, hands curled around my ankles possessively, spreading my stance even more.

I cried out as his tongue licked up my leg, moving with delicious wet pressure, heading to the one place I ached.

When his tongue found me, sucking my cl*t with the finesse of an experienced lover, my h*ps bucked over his mouth. I’d never been so needy, so possessed with yearning. I never wanted to think again. This was true freedom—right here, with my master kneeling between my legs.