His biceps rippled, holding my weight, only to spin me around and smash me against the opposite wall.

I clawed at his back, hoping to enrage him enough to use me fast and hard. Fast because as much as I wanted him, I wanted it over quickly. Fast was good—fast hid everything slow would reveal.

His tongue lashed out, taking complete possession of my mouth. I squirmed closer, pulling his hair, forcing him to hurtle toward violence.

He growled as I reached down and grasped his cock as hard as I could.

“Fuck.” His hips pistoned, crunching my wrist between us. My mouth opened in a silent scream but Q used the advantage to kiss me harder, deeper, wider.

“What are you?” he grunted, rocking into me.

“You’re worthless. You belong to us. Withdrawal will make you do anything, obey anyone. You’re ours.”

My body jolted; I pressed harder against Q wanting to run from the abysmal thoughts.

“Answer me, esclave.” Q’s touch bruised, but he didn’t raise his palm or reach for his belt.

“Je suis à toi.” I panted. Revelling in the freedom of the phrase, I repeated, “Je suis à toi, Q.” I’m yours.

“Just like I’m yours.” His passion poured down my throat to my heart, heating me, protecting me. His lips crushed mine, and his arms bunched, pulling me away from the wall. Blindly, he carried me, but a second later we crashed into a sideboard.

The hard wood smacked into my thighs; Q swore under his breath. With glazed eyes and need glowing on his face, he swiped an angry arm behind me, knocking off expensive porcelain and a vase holding cascading lilies.

The flowers teetered then committed suicide on the marble floor below. The tinkling of splintering glass and china mixed with our heavy breathing. Cold water splashed my legs, soaking into my jeans.

Q didn’t give me time to look at the mess. His lips found mine, drowning me in his hunger. Hoisting me higher, he placed me on the sideboard, scooting me to the edge for easy reach. His lips tore from mine, his eyes latching onto my chest.

Bending over, he took the delicate material of my singlet in his mouth and tore it with his teeth. Once torn, he grabbed the neckline and ripped.

The cotton didn’t stand a chance, shredding like gossamer to follow the same path the flowers had. I moaned as his mouth latched onto my nipple through my bra. I fought the anxiety in my blood, waiting for the sharp nip of teeth—knowing the slight onset of pain would undo all my wetness, turning me from willing to pretending.

“You taste so good. So fucking good,” he growled, his fingers fumbling at the clasp. The hook sprang free, and Q jerked it off my body to toss over his shoulder. His eyes darkened from pale to smouldering. His jaw clenched as every muscle in his body locked into place. “Goddammit, you’re too fucking perfect.”

Reaching for me again, he pushed me back to taste. He manhandled me exactly how he wanted—using me like the perfect toy—his toy.

Every pull and suck of his mouth sent fire whooshing through my veins and into my core. Every lick and tease of his teeth made me forget.

Forget the voices. The pain. The suffering.

He became my entire world.

His lips left my nipple, leaving me cold and wet. His eyes charred my every thought.

With ruthless fingers, he attacked my jeans button. His knuckles brushed my clit through the material, sending a bolt of pleasure clenching my body.

Yes!

So long since I felt such inhibition. He granted immunity from everything but the selfishness of sex.

The zip released with one yank, then Q’s fingers looped around the waistline.

He pulled. Hard.

I almost fell off the sideboard.  Bracing my hands on the smooth wood, I arched my hips, giving him room to tear them down.

My thighs were moon-white, marked only by remnants of kicks and torture. They were only faint shadows but Q’s eyes narrowed. Tracing the fading bruises, his face filled with harrowing rage. “Jamais. Ils ne prendront plus jamais ce qui est à moi.” Never again. Never will they take what's mine.

My heart sank further into my body, hiding from his temper; it came alive again as a burst of tenderness softened his features.

He leaned over, descending his mouth to the sensitive skin of my hip. With a slice of sharp canines, he decimated the scrap of lace.

My mind whirled as I sat fully naked before him. Q froze, drinking me in.

“Destroying my clothes again?” I breathed. Loving his lust—the ferocity and abandonment. He was loving me like I needed him to: full of passion and no pain.

“It’s only fair seeing as you destroyed my fucking heart.” He kissed me, making me swallow his words.

With strong hands he spread my knees, placing himself between my legs. I fumbled with his belt, cursing the rush of nostalgia and regret. I missed the lust at the thought of him using the leather. I missed the fuckedupness that made me his.

Q pushed my hands away, unbuckling in one fast pull.

I swallowed hard as he tore the belt free.

A moment hovered between us.

A moment where his eyes asked questions, and I kept mine from answering.

A moment where he ran the leather through his fingers, deliberating whether to use the still-warm belt as foreplay.

 I fought the tremble; tussled with the truth.

If he chose to use it, I would accept. If he wanted it, I would obey.

Then the moment ended and Q hurled it away—his body twisted with the effort. His chest heaved as if the action drained his self-control beyond endurance. The heavy buckle crashed into something breakable in the distance, sending more noises of breaking china.

“I don’t have time for games. I need you on my cock. Now.”

With a furious jerk, he pulled off his trousers, underwear, and shoes in one swipe. His cock sprang free, glistening with pre-cum, beckoning with silky steel and promise of oblivion.

My mouth fell open at how gorgeous he was. How perfectly made and achingly divine.

Every muscle twitched with longing, sending euphoria waltzing through my veins.

My pussy throbbed; my breathing accelerated. I welcomed back the joy of wanting to come.

I needed to take back this part of my life.

I was ready.

I swayed forward, biting his shoulder only to receive a mouthful of cotton. My eyes were endlessly heavy as I looked up. “I need to see all of you.”

Q clenched his teeth but allowed me to grab the hem and draw his t-shirt up. Up, up, revealing clouds, barbwire, and sparrows.

Every feather, every swirl of ink imprinted itself onto my heart. His tattoo encapsulated him like nothing else ever could.

“Q—” My hand lashed out, tightening around his erection. Images of eroticism and passion filled my mind as his heat scorched my palm.

His head fell back as a groan wrenched from his lungs.

My teeth ached; my blood hummed for connection.

Fill me!

My other hand dropped between his legs, cupping his tight balls. His eyes flared wide as I rolled the delicate heaviness in my fingers, wanting to bring him to his knees and serve him.

He thrust his hips into my hand, forcing his length back and forth. Every ripple of hardness, every ridge of his perfectly made cock sent my cells exploding.

“Do you want me, Tess?”

I bit my lip, nodding, transfixed by the velvet iron in my fist.

“It’s yours, esclave. What do you want me to do with it?”

His transfer of ownership sent a flush of untainted happiness. “I want you deep inside me, maître.”

His eyes snapped closed. “Fuck, I love hearing you say that.” He cupped my pussy, his grip hard and possessive.  “Never forget it.”

My neck couldn’t hold the sudden density of my head. I cried out as one long, loving finger slipped inside me. Just one. Only one.

But I wanted to fucking explode.

“How much I’ve missed this. Missed your taste. Your sweet, sweet cunt,” Q murmured, his eyes luminous with lust.

“Q—take me. Please—I beg you.”

“You beg me?”

“You’ll beg for more. Withdrawal is a bitch, and you’ll beg, pretty girl. You wait.”

I shook my head, scattering the thoughts.

“Yes. Fill me. Take me. Please—”

His cock lurched in my hands as I ran a thumb over the slippery tip. The slickness of his arousal turned me on beyond belief.

His finger withdrew, lulling me into a haze, then he thrust two fingers deep—stretching me with ownership.

The brief moment of slowness shattered as Q wrapped an arm around my shoulders, bringing me closer. His cock rippled in my touch, demanding something…demanding more.

His fingers massaged me deep, drawing more wetness and pinwheels of passion to radiate in my blood.

“Put my cock in you, esclave. Do it.”

The sideboard put me at the perfect height; Q was so close to entering me.

Q removed his fingers, smearing the glistening liquid over the head of his erection. Seeing him touch himself was the final push I needed.

I wasn’t Tess.

I wasn’t a survivor or murderer or slave.

I was a woman drunk on the need to come.

One entity. One goal. One destination.

“God, I need to be inside you. So deep, so fucking deep,” Q groaned.

My hips rolled forward as I guided the tip of him to press against my entrance. We both shuddered at the first connection.

Lifting me up with one arm, he positioned himself closer, spreading my folds with the thickness of his cock. With eyes locked, we froze at the temptation of sex. The room dripped with anticipation.