Tears of Tess

He accepted it with a small nod.

“Did you take some painkillers? Should I find some for you?” I wondered where Suzette kept aspirin. Not that it would help—or at least it didn’t for me. The only thing to break a migraine was a head massage with menthol and a nap to dispel the pain.

Q shook his head, motioning for me to walk in front. I obeyed, striding through the over grown conservatory until we stopped in a small seating area next to a large pond, with a gentle waterfall.

Q groaned and slouched in one of the rattan armchairs, sighing heavily. He threw the folder on the matching coffee table, placing his legs on top. With another sigh, he stretched his long body, as if working out the kinks would help his headache.

I didn’t know what he wanted—if I should leave or stay, but an enterprising idea popped into my head. Q wasn’t as guarded as he normally was. If I stayed and offered support, he might spill something.

Sitting on the chair next to his, I watched while his forehead furrowed and eyes closed.

We stayed silent, listening to the gentle noises of flowing water. Q shifted, rubbing his neck with strong fingers.

I stood, moving behind his chair. I didn’t think how he’d react to me touching without permission. I didn’t let my mind linger on retribution, only the need to help. Do you really want to do this? If I cared, opened my heart to another side of Q, there would be no escaping new feelings for him. If I touched him, it was because I wanted to, not because I had to obey. The dynamics of our twisted relationship would shift toward gentler things.

Without his knowledge, Q would give me the very thing I needed to allow him to hurt and abuse me with sex. If he gave me soft, I could give him hard. His leaning on me gave the light I needed to temper the darkness I embraced.

Every thought clambered for space, and I paused trying to figure it out.

Q sucked in a harsh breath, slouching further in the chair. I made my decision. If I cared, he might open. He might see me more than a slave and more as… Tess.

Oh, my God. I wanted to tell Q my name. I wanted to hear him whisper it with love. To hear him order in his sexy, controlling voice. To yell my name when he f**ked me roughly. I no longer wanted to be unidentified.

What’s happening to me?

My hands dropped to Q’s head, fingers slinking through his pelt-like hair. I moaned with how soft it was. I swayed, wanting to smell, to drug myself with his citrus and sandalwood scent.

He froze, hands covering mine. “What are you doing, esclave?”

Tess. My name is Tess.

I added pressure, massaging his scalp with firm strokes. He shuddered under my touch. “Helping rid your headache.” Sliding fingers lower, cupping the base of his skull, I leaned forward and brushed his ear with my lips. “If you’ll let me?”

Q sucked in a breath, chest straining against his suit. My knees locked as lust kindled hot and twisty in my belly.

He squeezed my hands, bordering on pain, before falling away, granting permission.

The thrill at being allowed made me lightheaded. I pressed harder, swirling with pads of my fingers, adding a touch of nail.

Q moaned, eyes drifting closed as I ran my fingers down to his upper neck all the while pressing, coaxing, stealing the pain through touch. I ran hands from the base of his skull, all the way to the front of his forehead.

“Ouf, une sensation incroyable.” That feels amazing. He groaned louder as I circled around his ears, pressing fingers against his temples.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I cared for my master, and he liked it. Would he reward me?

I smiled softly. Q had won. He won the battle of wills by granting his vulnerability. I would give him my name, the next time he asked—not because he demanded, but because I wanted.

My back ached as I massaged, pressing, kneading. I kept going—as long as he needed.

Eventually, he covered my hands again, ordering softly, “You can sit now. The pain has broken a little. Merci.”

I didn’t want to stop; standing over him gave a sense of ownership. With one last caress, I obeyed and perched on a chair.

He watched with half-lidded eyes. The lines on his forehead were diminished, and the tightness around his mouth less prominent. Eyes were still bruised, but weren’t glazed and unfocused.

We stared, lust sparking, both unable to look away. Q was the black storm cloud, sucking me toward him like I was a rapidly flying sparrow. The difference between his tattoo, and now, was I wanted to stop flying and let the cloud capture me.

“Thank you, esclave.” He dropped his eyes, sitting straighter in the chair.

A shiver danced on my skin, and I reached for the folder, giving myself something to do.

Q watched with unreadable eyes. I sneaked glances at him as I fiddled with the file. I changed our relationship by tending. As his slave, I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, let alone nurse him back to health. But the knowledge that my master—my angry, crazy, lusty master—let me care, made me wet and tingly.

My mind pretzeled, trying to figure out my feelings. Why did caring for Q make me powerful and content and lost, all at the same time?

Q didn’t say a word as I opened the folder, peering inside.

I frowned at the scrawling French text. I may understand spoken French with ease, but I wasn’t very good at reading.

Q inched forward, linking hands between open thighs. Just like he did when I first arrived and he secured the tracking anklet on me. My ankle itched, thinking about the device, funny how I’d grown so used to it. It was my safety blanket—the knowledge Q would always come for me—just like he said in my dreams.

He pointed at the top of the page where a logo stood out: a bird silhouette in flight with a background of sweeping skyscrapers. “Moineau Holdings,” Q said.

My heart rate quickened. I looked into his eyes. “Sparrow Holdings.”

He nodded, opening his mouth to answer, then stopped. He cleared his throat. “You said you knew about property. This is my legacy. I’ve procured over five hundred acquisitions in under twelve years.” His eyes glazed. “I took over when I was sixteen. It rules my life, but I’m thankful for what it gives me in return. What I’m able to do with the money.”

He never spoke like this. I couldn’t move, in case I broke the spell and he shut down.

Pride filled his gaze; for once, the aura of anger and self-deprecation left, suffocated beneath a powerful CEO who ruled an empire. “It used to be called Mercer Conglomerates when my father owned it.” Hate thickened his voice, hands curled. “The moment he died, I changed it. Not only the name, but the entire company’s structure.”