Tears of Tess (34 page)

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 fucked
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.”

Silence
fell, and I didn’t want to speak, move, or bring any attention to myself. Q spoke
as if I were more than just a sex toy or belonging. He allowed me to see the passion
in his heart for a company I knew nothing about. He hinted at a wealth I
couldn’t comprehend, and a lifetime of servitude to a company he ran from a
teenager.

Q
bristled with anger, mentioning his father. Curiosity burned, and I wished I
knew what happened. Did his father beat him?

Blinking
away memories, he waved a hand at the folder. “Read it. I’d like to know your
thoughts on this particular acquisition.”

“What?”
I couldn’t stop my incredulous tone. I stared at the folder as if it stole my
slave status and flung me into an employee. I didn’t want to be Q’s employee, I
wanted him equally.
Then answer him… he’s asking you as a woman—he’s
seeing
you.

Heart
racing, I looked at the page, tracing the sparrow logo with a shaking finger.

Q
breathed hard, rubbing a temple. “I’m asking what you think,
esclave
.
You studied property feasibilities at university, didn’t you? Unless you lied
about that, too?”

His
dig at lying about my name irked.
I’m ready to tell you. Just ask.

Temper
filled me, slapping away my nerves. Q wanted my opinion, yet wasn’t prepared to
give me rights as a human. My eyes flashed. “You’re asking me? The slave you’ll
never let leave the house, or use a phone, or go on the internet. The girl you
accepted as a bribe.” Horror throttled and I finally knew what I’d been a bribe
for.

My
lips curled as I looked back at the folder. “I was a bribe for a building
contract, wasn’t I?” I frantically flicked through the pages, expecting it to
give answers. “The Russian gave me to you for something illegal.” My tone
blazed, self-righteous. “What did you agree to do?”

I
couldn’t think straight—I’d been nothing but a business transaction, yet Q shot
the Russian for hurting me. Where did his loyalties lie? To me—his
esclave—
or the people who made him a fortune?

Q
straightened, withdrawing the connection between us. “That is none of your
business. I’m asking about this merger. Not another.”

I
shook my head, unable to let it go. I finally had one answer, and the rest
started falling into place. “Is that why you have other girls? You accept women
as bribes to allow buildings and things you shouldn’t dabble in gain approval?”
I breathed hard; it all made sense. “What happened to the other girls?” My eyes
flew to the aviary, hidden behind foliage. “Why is it just me in this house?
Will you throw me away when you tire of me? Or wait till a better replacement
comes along?”

Q
glared, sparking with temper.

My
hands curled, and I wanted to slap him. “Tell me the truth! What will happen to
me?” The fear of the future crippled, turning my lungs into whistling, useless
things. I thought if Q came to care for me, he’d keep me, and I’d never have to
re-enter the world.

But,
once again, he spun a lie. I’d never be able to stay here permanently, as more
girls would arrive. More contracts would be signed. Some other slave would
spread her legs for Q to hit and fuck and rule.

Blackness
tinged my vision as panic rushed. If I used up my welcome, I would be cast out,
or killed, or sold to another.

Q
sat, deathly still, watching me break apart. He pinched the brow of his nose,
trying to find relief from the headache. “You have the wrong idea,
esclave,
and
I’m not in the mood to set you straight.”

 My
God, I was
so
happy I never told him my name. It would be worthless to
him. He didn’t care. I bet he called all his bribes
esclave,
because he
didn’t keep them long enough to learn their true personalities.

My
heart broke. I stood, holding out my hand. “I want my bracelet back. I want you
to let me go.”

Q
chuckled, wincing. “The bracelet is mine. Just like
you
are mine. I
thought you’d accepted that.”

 “Never.
You think
I
lie. Everything about you lies. I don’t want a master who
isn’t truthful. I deserve better.” The urge to hurt made me yell. “I want a
master who buys me! Not accepts me because he has no other choice.”

Eyes
flashed dangerously; he growled, “Take that back or I’ll make your captivity
long and full of hardship.”

I
wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. Somehow, the threat sounded like a lie. If he
meant it, surely he would’ve done untold terribleness by now. For two weeks, he
didn’t touch me, while I begged in my dreams for him to tie me up. The songs he
played about living with demons and uncontrollable urges were bullshit.

He
was a cold-hearted man who teased and cajoled, showing glimpses of the woman I
could become, before slapping me down to nothingness.

I
was done.

Q
tensed his jaw, standing in one fluid move. He slapped me so hard, my neck
snapped back. Tears gushed as I cupped my burning cheek. Fear chased away my
fight and I cowered.

Q’s
face raged with anguish and undeniable hunger. He rubbed his palm, smiling
darkly. “You can’t speak that way and not be punished,
esclave
.”
Grabbing the back of my neck, he jerked me forward. A tongue captured salty
tears. “First sensible thing I’ve seen you do.” His accent was low, exotic,
turning his praise into dark and sensual.

Despite
my pain and anger, his voice wrapped around my heart. I struggled with visions
of fighting harder, pushing him to the floor, straddling, begging him to deliver
on whatever sinful promise he hinted.

But
my fear of abandonment ruled stronger. I bowed my head. “And what is that?”

Q
let me go. “Recognise me. See me. I am your master.”

My
throat closed, fighting with injustice. He was my master, but for how long?
I
don’t have a choice in the length of my captivity.
I never did. I never
would.

He
would never see me as Tess. As a girl. A woman who refused to bow to anyone. A
woman who was more than just a fucking bribe.         

I
glared. “See
me.
I am not yours to torment.”

Our
eyes clashed, locking with a battle of wills. How many of these nonverbal fights
must we have? My breathing came hard as Q blazed with black desire. The air crackled
with monstrous urges; even the birds shut up.