Je Suis a Toi (Monsters in the Dark #3.5)(10)

“Your wish is my command, esclave. Just like always.” With a knife—where the hell did he get the knife?—he reached up and hacked through the dense rope imprisoning me. The instant it snapped free, I tumbled into his arms. His cock slipped out as he swung me to the floor and shoved my shoulders.

I tripped and soared to my hands and knees.

He was rough, and I f*cking loved it.

The moment I was sprawled like a dog in heat, Q slammed to his knees behind me. The clink of his belt sent heat waves and intense desire. Would he spank me or was he too far gone?

His cock speared into me as his hand fisted my hastily plaited hair.

Too far gone.

My lips spread into a victorious smile as my master and keeper drove into me from behind. His clothed chest cloaked my back as his hips jacked faster and faster into mine. “You’re such a filthy girl. Tell me. Do you like me f*cking you like this?”

“Yes. Yes. God, yes.”

“How much more can you take, Tess? How much harder do I need to f*ck my wife?”

The words f*ck and wife caused me to convulse.

Q laughed, slapping my ass as his pace turned frenzied. “Not much longer I think, my dear esclave.” His rhythmic taking matched mine in every possible way. He was so fast but so fluid. Hitting the top of me every time he filled me. He forced my body high and needy.

“Ma?tre…” My knees splayed, and my elbows gave up. My cheek smashed against the floor, pinpricked with hay and debris as Q never stopped. Heat exploded as blood smeared down my face. His fingers left bruises on top of bruises as he yanked me back over and over.

I couldn’t hold off.

I came.

I came.

I came.

And when I thought I’d finished, I came again on the smoke of the first, this one even tighter and dreadfully unforgiving.

Q followed me.

His growling grunt speared my heart as his cum flooded inside. Spurt after spurt, he marked me internally just as he had externally.

As we collapsed together on the floor, him on his back and me on his chest, I struggled to rearrange my heartbeat from manic to calm.

The ooze of his release dribbled down my thigh, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t cold even though plumes of our breath decorated the air. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

I didn’t want to move or speak, but I couldn’t stop one resounding repetitive question from ruining the moment…

What is he keeping from me?





WOULD THE HIGHS and lows ever stop?

I thought I’d outgrown this. I thought the night of our wedding and the day of our vows had cured me of this ridiculous flip-flopping of happiness and hatred.

She made me so f*cking happy.

But also made me hate myself.

I couldn’t look at her as we ate chilled caviar and rosemary roasted chicken on a blanket in the farmer’s field. If the farmer returned in time to see the scuffmarks in the dusty, hay-riddled barn, he might have some indication that two people had just f*cked in there.

More than f*cked.

Fought with their souls and punished with their bodies.

My cock still twitched from residual insanity from my release. Tess always made my orgasm so much stronger. She drew the darkness from me even when I did my best to forbid it.

I wasn’t the master.

She was.

Curse her to hell.

I’d wanted to be gentle. I’d wanted to make love to her rather than f*ck her like an animal. Because I meant what I said. What if the reason for my frustration was because of my own issues? What if I was the one with the problem, and I was taking it out on her?

I swallowed those thoughts before I could rage again.

Swigging a mouthful of tart champagne, I reached across the small distance and caressed her raw, scratched cheek.

We sat bundled in a thick blanket that Mrs. Sucre had stuffed in the hamper, keeping us warm from the winter frost all around us. After we’d finished our episode in the barn, I’d cared for her like I always did.

Taking her so brutally meant I had to put her back together again. I’d used the wet wipes from the car glove box and cleaned the small cut on her cheekbone from the sharp hay stalks. I’d dabbed antiseptic cream on the wound and kissed her over and over again.

She tolerated my ministrations, more for me than for her. She knew my ritual of checking—to see how far I’d gone when I lost control—was entirely for my benefit. She was so strong in that respect. She let me abuse her—begged me to abuse her—and then required no aftercare whatsoever.

When she’d first refused to bow at my feet the moment Franco pushed her through my front door, I’d known. Known she wasn’t just my equal but my empress. Someone I would gladly worship because she had more strength and courage in one little finger than I did in my entire f*cking body.

My eyes drifted to her tartan-blanketed form. Beneath her dress, I knew her hips were decorated with finger marks and a few strands of blonde littered the barn floor from where I’d jerked too hard.

Apart from her cheek, I hadn’t drawn blood. However, she had. She’d bitten through her bottom lip, making it puffy and red and so f*cking kissable I contemplated a second round with her spread-eagled over the bonnet of my car.

Get a f*cking grip, Mercer.

We’d been married for years. Would wanting her never go away? At this rate, I’d end up in an early grave from my heart popping with pleasure while inside her.