Tears of Tess (18 page)

I
was wrong.

Hot,
terrible anger boiled as I bolted up the steps two at a time. I’d show him. I
didn’t think of the consequences, focused only on what would make me feel
better.

Slamming
the door, I headed straight to the wardrobe, and wrenched open the doors. Racks
of designer dresses and Victoria’s Secret lingerie beckoned with style. Fingers
itched to attack the clothes, to take my wrath out on innocent fabric. I may
not be able to hurt Q physically, but I could hurt his wallet.

I
yanked the first item—a delicious amethyst dress—off its hanger and tore the
neckline with my teeth. My heart raced as I gnawed on the silky fabric. It took
a few attempts, but I managed to cut it enough to rip it with my hands. It cracked
like a lightning bolt and split in two.

The
next victim hung on a padded hanger—a cream blouse with prancing black horses.
It ripped with a loud snarl. I tossed it to the floor, joining the growing
cemetery of clothes.

In
a rampage, I grabbed the bras and tore the straps off. They joined the
graveyard. Next, I found a drawer full of impractical nylons and laddered them
with nails and teeth.

I
panted, loving the fierce retribution in my veins. It may only be clothes I
ruined, but it gave me an outlet. My skin shone with sweat as I reached for
another blouse.

I
froze as the door slammed open.

Q
stood, fists balled at his sides, posture hard and unmovable. Eyes darted over
the pool of ruined clothing. His jaw clenched before glaring at me with every
unspoken command possible.

My
legs wobbled, wanting so badly to hit the floor, to grovel for forgiveness. I
didn’t know this owner standing in the doorway. No remnants of the man who
fingered me in both pleasure and pain last night resided in his gaze. I pushed
too hard. 

Oh,
fuck.

I
hunched, crumpling the grey blouse in my hands. Fear gripped, turning me into
an autumn leaf. 

Clearing
his throat, he cricked his neck. The force of his temper buffeted like a slap
to the face. “Care to tell me why you’re ruining three thousand euros worth of
clothing?” He purred with undisguised lust, and barely held restraint. Face
tense with outrage, smouldering need in his eyes.

My
body took control as blood boiled to lava. Attraction rolled through my belly
and I wanted to punch myself for how wet I became. I had no self-control. He
was right to treat me like a slave. I was nothing but a sex hungry woman who
didn’t deserve Brax’s adoration. Who only deserved to be beaten and taken. I
was so fucked up, I couldn’t get wet with gentle kisses from a man who loved
me. But, put a man who wanted to hurt in front of me, with fucking on his mind
and bondage in his thoughts, and I unravelled like the slut I’d become.

Tears
erupted, and Q growled. “No point crying. You knew I’d be furious, yet you did
it anyway.” He stalked forward, kicking the door shut. He stopped a metre away.
“Tears won’t save you.”

I
sniffed, straightening my back. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting
I cried because of my torment, cried with hatred for a traitorous body. Fear smothered,
but the unmasked need swimming in my blood scared me a hundred times more. Would
I have reacted this way for any man who bought me? Or was Q different? An
unwilling aphrodisiac to my sinful body.

My
voice came out whisper-soft. “I won’t allow you to dress me like an object. I
refuse.” I didn’t mention most of the items were gorgeous, exactly what I
would’ve chosen given a bigger bank balance. “I’m human, too. Not an object for
you to play with.”

He
chuckled. “An object who’d rather be naked the entire time? That can be
arranged.”

My
heart bucked. I dropped my eyes. “No.”

“No?”
He inched closer, bringing inferno heat. His entire body rippled with lustful
fire. “You say no after destroying things I bought for you?”

“Does
it hurt for you to see things damaged?” I dared look in his eyes and his
nostrils flared. “Because if it does, then you’re hurting me. I have
feelings—same as you!”

His
hand lashed out, grabbing the nape of my neck. Dragging me closer, I collided
against solid muscle, and breath exploded from my lungs.

“You
think you’re like me? You’re not,” he snarled, right before his mouth smashed
against mine and his tongue darted past my lips. I punched him, but he didn’t
stop. If anything, it amplified him from ruthless to out of control.

Spinning
me around, he trapped me hard against the door, grinding his hips into mine. In
one fluid move, he kicked my legs apart with a foot. So quick, so sure.

My
lungs couldn’t get enough oxygen as he kissed me harder than anyone had before.
Blood mixed with his dark taste. Indents of teeth bruised my mouth, and
thoughts disintegrated. I half-moaned, half-cried as he thrust his cock so hard
against me, my feet left the floor.

Ending
the kiss on the same brutal note, he panted, “What are you?”

I
blinked, completely disoriented. Then fight returned; I shoved him.

He
grunted as he stepped back, but it wasn’t enough. Landing on me again, his
weight pinned my body. Breath hot on my cheek as he rubbed his five o’clock
shadow along my jaw. “Don’t fucking push me. What
are
you?”

Not
this again
. In a moment of lunacy, I tried to
head-butt him.

His
eyes flared wide and lips twitched. The look of alpha possession overshadowed
for a moment with sheer amazement. He rammed his thigh between my legs, rubbing
against overheated flesh. Even through denim every part of him awoke every part
of me and I ached. I burned. I
wanted.

“
You
made me say it last night. You broke me. I won’t do it again,” I seethed.

He
growled, moving his thigh. He cupped with me forceful fingers. My head wanted
to crash against his shoulder in servitude, but I couldn’t. This was wrong. God
help me, I’d broken myself with battling two conflicting things. Run. Fuck.
Run. Fuck. The trance sent wetness gushing from me. I’d never been so turned on
and never hated someone more.

“I’ll
gladly break you again to hear you say it.” His hands captured my wrists,
slamming them above my head against the door. Holding me with one hand, his
other went back to my jeans. With nimble fingers, he undid my fly and somehow
managed to wriggle his hand inside the denim and knickers.

I
bucked as a finger pressed deep inside. No soft requests or gentle foreplay, a
straight finger fuck.

“Say
it,” he ordered. My eyes snapped closed as he hooked his finger, pressing
against my g-spot. “Your body drips for me,
esclave
. I’ll let you have
me, if you say it. Say you’re mine.”

Another
finger entered as fierce as the first and legs turned to jelly. He held me
upright by my wrists and fingers rode me deep. I’d never been touched so
totally before. Brax… he wasn’t a lover of foreplay…
Stop thinking about
Brax. Especially now. This would break his heart.

My
mind cracked into shards. I struggled to fight the insane urge to submit; I could
never
submit. Lifting extremely heavy eyelids, I snarled, “Mine. Not
yours.”

He
flinched as if I’d struck him, eyes flashing with a feral edge. “Wrong answer.”
He ducked and threw me over a shoulder, just like the captor in Mexico. All residual
fear rushed to haunt me and my body no longer hummed. It burned for freedom. To
end this, to run.

Q
dropped me on the bed, immediately yanking my jeans off. I couldn’t stop it.
One minute they were on, the next they lay discarded with the other torn
clothes.

He
climbed on top and I kicked. My knee connected with rib cage and he winced, but
a hand grabbed my side, pressing my own broken rib. Everything oozed to
greyness with pain. It gave him time to undo his tie and wrap it tight around
my wrists.

My
heartbeat thrummed in my arms, hating the tight restriction. Shoving my wrists
above my head, he pinned me down, trying to wedge between my legs. I fought
like an alley cat. Our legs battled, feet grappled with the sheet, and for a
moment, I might’ve won. I lost with one misplaced kick.

Within
moments, I lay spread-eagled with him panting above. Smouldering, unwanted lust
ignited. Misplaced lust. Lust that drove me mad with confusion and hatred.

Eagerness
and longing flamed his face. His smell of sin, citrus, and sandalwood dazzled
my senses, flaring every part. My core clenched as Q rocked, breathing hard and
rattling. Somehow, the synapses of my brain hardwired to his scent.

Oh,
God. He successfully owned one of my senses! Smell. I couldn’t let him take
more.

Howling,
I bit his shoulder. “Let me the fuck go!”

He
reared back, rage and hard-edged respect in his eyes. Did he respect I fought?
Did it turn him on so damn much?
Sick, sick bastard
.

He
raised a hand as if to strike me.

I
fought the urge to curl into a little ball, and stared into his turbulent gaze.
“Do it. Hit me. At least the pain will leave a physical mark you’ll have to see
every day.”

He
opened his mouth, then shut it. His hand hovered, before cupping my cheek. He
ran a trembling thumb across my lips. “Say it.” Something raw blazed in his
gaze, imploring on some deep, psychological level. He seemed desperate to hear
me admit I was his.

He
reached between us, stroking my clit through my knickers. All the fireworks
that’d been smouldering, sparked to life. An orgasm gripped my muscles with
sharp ecstasy; I threw my head back.

 “Oh,
shit.” I didn’t want the orgasm—even though I did. I didn’t want it, as Brax
never gave me one, and to me, that made our separation horribly final. As if Q
sliced us apart, leaving me ruined for anything but roughness and savagery.

Just
as the bands of muscles exploded, Q stopped touching. He scrambled off, pulling
me to a sitting position. My bound wrists drooped in my lap. I blinked, body
resonating with the build-up of intensity, smarting for relief. My orgasm
dwindled to nothing.

I
wanted to scream. He left me deliberately on the knife-edge of pleasure.

“What
is your name?” he demanded, as he undid his belt, tore it from its belt loops,
and tossed it on the ground. The sound of the heavy belt buckle hitting soft
carpet sent heartbeats racing ever faster.

I
refused to answer, but couldn’t look away as he undid his fly and untucked the
crimson shirt. He left the royal blue jacket on, but unbuttoned it so the
material flared to the sides.

Placing
himself in front, his crotch the perfect height to my mouth, he ordered, “Suck
me.” Q’s gaze sent incandescent fire racing in my blood, but it didn’t match
the horror I lived with. Suck him? I couldn’t. Not a man. A stranger. My
owner.
I’d rather bite.

When
I didn’t move, Q pushed his boxer briefs down, pulling his raging hard cock
from its prison. The tip glistened with pre-cum, his scent of musk and darkness
spelled around me.

Fisting
his thick length, he bit his lip, stroking. My stomach clenched; I closed my
eyes. “Please—” I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He
inched closer, practically pressing his cock against my lips. “You can. And you
will,
esclave
.”

I
tilted my head away, hyperaware of the dampness of pre-cum as he ran his hot
erection along my cheek. His hand lashed out, fingers bruising my chin, keeping
me in place. “Open. And if you bite, I’ll hit you so hard, you won’t wake up
for days.” His voice rasped with excitement, but there was something else, too.
Something I recognised, but couldn’t place. Heat blazed all emotions to dust. 

My
body twitched as tears flowed. I needed help. I needed saving. Everything I
felt suddenly boiled over, steaming with no outlet…then something happened.

Everything…
stopped.

My
mind shut down, body turned numb. Everything I battled… disappeared. I was left
an empty shell—uncaring, blissfully vacant.

 Calm
descended as I accepted obedience like a balm against the hardship of fighting.
In that moment, I became what he wanted: his. 

Q
didn’t seem to notice the epiphany I experienced, and when he tilted my head to
take his cock, I let him.

He
pressed the back of my head, entering my mouth with his long, velvety length.
He moaned as I deep throated with no revolt at all.

I
let him.

He
groaned, flexing hips as my lips created a suction around hot flesh. He muttered
something in French, bending forward, almost brushing my hair with his chest.

I
let him.

In
my untouchable cocoon, I would let him to anything.

He
was male. I was female. That was all there was to it.

My
hands moved on their own accord, reaching for him. One hand cupped tight,
smooth balls, while the other stroked his throbbing length.

I
floated on a cloud of indifference as I pleasured, touched, tasted. Nothing
registered—neither scent, nor taste, nor sound. I was a robot, a perfect toy—my
only purpose: to make him come.