Q ground his teeth, eyes growing heavy with lust. He stood perfectly still, not uttering a word. His power, his rage, filled the library, threatening.
“Tell me…” I murmured. “Speak to me…”
Q sucked in another shuddering breath as I stood on tiptoes, licking his bottom lip.
He softened. The ridges of muscle at the base of his back trembled, leaning into me. “I will never get enough,” he whispered. “C'était la plus grosse erreur de ma vie à te renvoyer à lui.” It was the biggest mistake of my life sending you away.
Effervescent happiness. Complete sublime joy.
“You’re willing to keep me? To hell with the police?” I licked the seam of his lips, capturing his ragged sigh.
“There was no deal with the police. They congratulated me on saving such a strong slave.”
Time froze. What?
I pulled away, crying out as Q snapped, “You can’t tease and expect to get away without paying.”
Arms tightened around me, plucking me from the floor as if I weighed nothing. Q carried me to the desk, swiping the contents off in one swift move. Pens clattered, papers fluttered, and a laptop smashed to the floor.
Practically throwing me on top, he pressed hips violently against mine.
Heat smoked and words disintegrated to cinders, but I clung to lucidity.
I arched, clawing his forearms. “Stop… what do you mean?” My body swept control away, but I needed to understand. What the hell did he mean?
Q groaned, thrusting his hard cock. I automatically wrapped legs around him, thrilling, filling with lava and need.
“The police know what I do. Once the girls are…better… they find their loved ones and return them.” His eyes snapped closed as he thrust again, body shuddering with desire. He chuckled darkly, bowing over me. “They’ve been meddling in my love life since I was sixteen. They thought you were different. Hinting that I’d touched you, rather than helped you.” Eyes burned me with hot jade. “It freaked me the fuck out. They saw the truth and I knew I had to get rid of you before I killed you, or worse… turned you into what other sick masters do to their slaves.”
He stopped thrusting, the sudden silence chilling me.
“Don’t you see? I cared too much to do what I wanted. I made a promise. I won’t ever break that vow again.”
My world shifted, turned from round to flat. Black and white became colour, night became day.
Finally.
The puzzle of Q Mercer made sense; I fitted the final piece. I wanted to hug and bite and slap and fuck him to death. He gave me up because he cared for me. Even though he swore he never could.
I laughed. Men. Glorious stupid, egotistical men.
My man.
Mine.
He stared deep into my eyes, not moving apart from a small pulse of his hips, barely detectable. I rocked, moaning as the seam of his fly teased through my dress.
“Break your promise. Now. With me.”
Q shook his head, even as hips pressed harder. “I can’t ever let myself free.”
He groaned as I shot up and kissed him. Wrapping arms around his neck, I threw my entire being into the kiss.
He fought for a millisecond, before kissing me back, plunging tongue deep and violent, taking possession completely. Brain muddled, breathing caught, and I no longer thought. I only felt.
I nipped at his lip, fighting his tongue with mine. We fought our wordless battle, hearts racing to the same beat.
He broke the kiss. Instead of lust and unbridled need, he was… sad, remote.
I spread my legs further. No way would I let him over think this. He hissed as I arched my back, purring against his rigidness. “I need you—I need you to hurt me.”
Something dark thickened the air, and I hid my smile. Quincy was losing to Q. Black desires slowly tearing at the cage he locked himself in. I’m winning.
“You need me? Or you want me?” he growled, mouth pursed as he thrust hard.
I trembled and writhed, taunting, dangling the wanton little slave in front of a diabolical master. I panted, “Is there a difference?”
In my mind, there wasn’t. Both were important. Life and death important with how my body heated and summoned for release.
He grabbed my nipple through the silkiness of the dress, twisting, dragging another cry from my throat.
“Do you need me as a man, or as your master?” he bit the words into pieces, a vein on his neck stood out as he unzipped his pants, pulling his straining erection free. “Is this what you’re begging for, esclave?”
I nodded, unable to look away from his huge, delicious hard cock. “Yes. God, yes.”
Fingers bunched my dress up my thighs, and he pushed aside my knickers. His finger disappeared inside with no gentle foreplay, but I was drenched for him. I bowed around his touch, whimpering with gratitude. So long. So, so long since I felt such rhapsody.
He smeared wetness over my clit. My legs bound tighter, squirming away from the sharp edged pleasure. “Q… Master.”
Never breaking eye contact, he curled fingers around my bird tattooed wrist, locking me in his dominance. His touch oozed sexual prowess, bending my will with nothing more than pressure.
“Do you promise to tell me if I go too far? Do you promise you’ll never let me take away your spirit, your fight, your strength? You promise you’ll always stay strong.” His finger speared deep, stroking my g-spot.
My mind shot blank. He wanted me to promise? Fine. I could promise. I came here to give him everything. If he needed it in blood, I would sign. I would autograph any contract, if it meant Q gave me himself entirely.
His finger thrust, pressing incredibly deeper, dragging dark needs to the surface; I clenched, hungry, desperate for more. “Answer me, esclave,” he rasped.
I looked deep into his eyes, imprisoning both of us. Irises were dark and smitten, lids heavy with lust. “I vow to fight you to the death before I let you break me.”
Q withdrew his fingers, reaching over my head for a letter opener. The sharp glint of the blade sent my heart winging wild.
“I’m a businessman, Tess. I don’t take promises lightly.”
I scooted up, pushing my dress to cover myself. My body vibrated for his touch, but I saw how important this was to him. My chest ached. Q was going to agree to keep me. To allow me to share his world. I waited in thick anticipation. I would do anything to put his mind at rest.
“You’re asking me to treat you like a slave, but also share my life with you?” His face was closed off, becoming perfectly Q again. “To allow me to control you, but also be an equal?”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
Eyes flashed and his fingers tightened around the letter opener. “I almost came to steal you back, you know.”
My heart kicked into a higher gear; I fought the soft smile. “You did? Why?”
He snorted, smiling wryly. “You know why. It’s been complete and utter hell. J'aitais malheureux sans toi.” I’ve been miserable without you. Sighing heavily, he added, “The other girl, Sephena, arrived from some sadistic prick in Tehran a week after you left. All I could think about was you. You bowled through my front door, spitting, and so proud.”
He cupped my jaw with angry fingers. “She was carried in by Franco because she passed out from fear of a new master, completely different to your ferocity.”
He bowed his head, glaring at the blade in his hand. Determination and acceptance settled in his gaze. “You must never ever let me break you so completely. I need your fire, your temper. Your unbreakable will.”
I slid off the desk, standing on crinkled paperwork, no doubt for another building merger. “I’ve already given you my promise, and you didn’t have to steal me. I returned.”
He swallowed, and his face cleared from confusion and misplaced desires. Vivid excitement gleamed. He stood taller, light tempering his darkness as finally he understood what I offered. Finally understood I was powerful enough to stand up to the beast he liv
ed with and collar it. I would let it hurt me, but never ruin.
“I’ll try and give you what you want in return for two things.” He tugged a blonde strand, bringing me forward to plant a harsh kiss on my lips.
“You only have to ask.”
He murmured against my mouth, “I want you to work for me. I know you finished your exams. You’re qualified.”
I looked up, mouth gaping open. Two things bowled me over. One, he trusted me to work in his multi-billion dollar company, and two: he’d spied on me. My soul flew. He hadn’t let me go after all. I’m happy he stalked and spied. Damn right, I was. Ecstatically happy.
“And the other?”
“Two others actually.” He straightened, bracing himself. His face thundered with temper, rolling with heavy clouds. “If you ever sleep with another man again, I swear to God, I won’t be responsible for what I do. You went home to that boy Brax. You shared his bed for a month. That was the worst kind of torture, and I refuse to do it again.” He breathed hard, shaking his head, eyes haunted.
I threw myself against him, kissing, climbing him. He crushed me, teeth bruising lips as if he wanted to replace all my thoughts with only him. He didn’t need to try. He did it effortlessly. When I could breathe again, I muttered, “That goes for you, too. No other women. I’m the one you whip and fuck.” Flashing him my tattoo, I said, “This little bird belongs in your cage. No one else.”
He groaned, backing me against the desk again, rocking. I leaned back till my shoulders pressed hard wood. I grabbed his tie and forced him to fold over, warming me. His naked chest teased between the unbuttoned shirt and I ran fingers up his back, hissing as he bucked into me. Not caring I was wanton and brash and horny and all manner of hot, bothered things. It had been so long; I needed him so bad.
Q nodded. “Sounds like a fair trade.”
I smacked him lightly. “And your last condition?” I panted as his lips trailed down the side of my neck, disappearing between the valley of my breasts.
Q bit my nipple through my dress and jagged lightning erupted through my belly. “I want to commit murder.”
My heart stopped beating.
“I’m going to put the bastards down who hurt you. I’ll personally make sure
their entire operation is burned to the ground.”
I jerked back, looking into furious eyes. I couldn’t breathe. He wants the same revenge I do. I didn’t even have to ask. He saw deeper than he even realized. However unconventional our relationship, it rang with rightness. Q spoke to me on a much deeper level than man and woman.
I fully believed I was made for him and he was made for me. Two halves of the same fucked-upness. Two souls from the same twisted desires, unable to fully be free until we found each other.
Throwing my arms around him, I breathed deep his heady scent of citrus and something darker, something pulling energy from my body. Transcending my soul from my mortal shell, ready to be claimed and taken.
“You’re the one, Q Mercer. You were always the one.”
Q blushed. The first time I’d ever seen shyness on a man so strong and bold. Pink tinged his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, melting me into a puddle. Will I ever get used to how much he means to me? Do I ever want to? I wanted to live my life in seventh heaven. Constantly in awe. Constantly needing.
Q gritted his teeth, pulling the letter opener through a fleshy palm. A small line of blood welled. With his other palm, he grabbed my hand, locking eyes as he sliced my skin the same way.
The burn was nothing. I welcomed it. I knew what Q wanted to do. It made complete and utter sense. Anyone else wouldn’t see how much I needed to mix our essence, our life force. But he did.
This was a contract between two monsters fighting in the dark. Our blood was basic ink for such a deal—a deal of pain and endless pleasure.
We clasped hands and sonnets and thunder and every element in the universe shot through him to me. I shivered as Q growled, “I promise to protect you, ravage you, hunt those who hurt you, and give you the life you deserve. My fortune is yours. My secrets are yours. And I will give you the corpses of the men who hurt you.”
My body hummed with the pact we made.
“I promise to fight you every hour of every day.”
His lips curled in a cruel smile. “Welcome to my world, esclave. I fight my desires every second.”
Unlatching our grip, he smeared our combined blood on my tattoo. “You’re the first bird I released who came back. The only bird.”
Tears glassed my vision as I caressed his cheek. “I was always running to you. I just didn’t know it. My freedom is in your captivity, Q. I fly when I’m with you.”
He licked his lips, worshipping awe and rapture in his gaze. “Je suis à toi.” I am yours.
I shook my head. “Nous sommes les uns des autres.” We are each other’s.
*Q Mercer*
*Twenty years ago*
Silence was my friend. Always had been. Probably always will be.
Somehow, the air carried me, killing any noise I made, turning me into a shadow. I moved with stealth—a ghost—a phantom. Never a peep—never a sound.
My parents lost me for two days once, and I never left the house. I disappeared inside the huge, rambling mansion we called home, drifting from room to room. Stealing food from the kitchen and camping inside giant, unused fireplaces.
Secrets were hard to keep hidden from a silent, inquisitive eight-year-old. I saw the truth of what went on, and it made me sick to my stomach.
My mother knew, but did nothing, preferring Peach Snapps and Baileys to my father. And my father preferred slaves to his wife.
I was five when I first heard the screams. Guttural calls for help, full of distress and heartache, followed by a horrible groan of pleasure and ecstasy.
That was the first day I slipped into the forbidden room, and watched my father beat and rape a girl. Her ass blazed red as he pumped into her from behind.
My little heart raced. I knew I shouldn’t see this. I didn’t understand it. Something bad was happening, but I was too naïve to know. But, on some level, I knew exactly what it was.
My father hurt a woman who didn’t want to be hurt. She hadn’t been naughty like I was sometimes. All she did was cry and curl into a ball. Yet my father beat her with fists and whips. Enjoying her cries, he turned into a purple faced baboon with pleasure.
The scene scarred my brain for life, irrevocably changing me. I went out of my way to be kind and gentle to every living thing. The cook caught me, time and time again, feeding birds, mice, and other woodland creatures.
My mother fell more and more in love with fruity smelling alcohol, leaving me motherless, with a rambling drunk.
All while my father amassed a stable.
He already had a stable full of cars: Bugatti, Audi, Ferrari, and Porsches. He owned a barn full of thoroughbreds and world cup racers. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted humans. Girls. Possessions.
On my eighth birthday, he brought home his twelfth filly. She kicked and screamed, until he punched her so hard she passed out. A full wing of the house was barricaded for his new acquisitions. No member of staff was permitted.
But I knew secrets he didn’t. Hidden passageways in the walls—no lock could keep me out.
I watched from air ducting and wall cavities. My stomach twisted as I saw sick, foul acts committed against fragile women.
Rather than suffer boyhood excitement, a thrill of shame coated my life. I wallowed in guilt. My own flesh and blood ruined lives of others. Stealing their freedom and turning them into broken belongings.
I never loved my father, but day by day, my hatred for him grew. I hated that he’d created me. I wanted nothing to do with him. I wanted him gone.
On my thirteenth birthday, I broke into the stable while my father wasn’t there.
The girls all looked up with red-rimmed eyes and fright. I didn’t know why I went. To offer sympathy? Comfort? It seemed so stupid, standing there. I o
ffered to bring them anything they wanted—to steal food from the kitchen, anything to take that hopelessness from their eyes. But they wailed and hid; running from a scrawny thirteen-year-old boy.
Their fear stank, and I couldn’t stand to be there any longer. But I owed them something, anything—it was my father who ruined them—it was my place to make it right. “Please. I don’t mean to hurt you.” My balls hadn’t dropped; my voice sounded as high as their whimpers for help.
Not one of the girls came near me that day, but I saw their bruises, the shadows under their eyes, the haunting emptiness in their souls. I couldn’t stay away.
The next day I returned and uttered the one word I swore I never would. The word my father used a lot. “Esclave, obey me.”
Immediately, the girls stiffened, dropping to their knees. All twelve bowed, long hair, all different colours, kissing the ground.
That was the day I learned the word broken. They were broken. Completely. And I couldn’t stand it. With one command, they were mine, and I hated their weakness as much as I hated my father for creating such miserable creatures.
I ordered, “Crawl to me.”
Sounds of skin rubbing against carpet as the circle of naked slaves obeyed.
“Stop.” They did. Immediately. Total obedience.
Standing in a circle of women, I made a vow. I would help them. No one should be broken beyond repair. No other human had the right to steal their life.
I would become their saviour, and rehabilitate them back to sanity.
* * * * *
Three years passed before I got hold of an untraceable gun. Boarding school in London allowed me to mingle with rich, bored kids with mean connections. Criminals hung around the wealthy like flies to rotten meat, and I took advantage.
I earned a reputation for being closed off and angry. When really, I plotted constantly how to bring my father to justice. My family’s reputation preceded him and people feared me. Feared my power, my own legacy of a ruthless tycoon.
I did nothing to disillusion them. Fear was a powerful weapon—I knew. I saw how fear ruled my father’s women.