Je Suis a Toi (Monsters in the Dark #3.5)(7)

He pulled back, his eyes flickering from my lips to my eyes. To so many, Q wouldn’t make sense with the way he needed constant reminders that I meant what I said the day I returned to him. That we weren’t living a lie. That I was his, through and through. But to me, I got it.

Because I had my own insecurities.

I feared that one day my submission in the bedroom and my fight in every other facet of our life wouldn’t be enough. That one day, he’d find another slave girl—rescued from abuse and a life of pain—and find her brokenness more desirable than my unflappable strength.

We were convinced of our love for one another. Yet so distrusting of it, too.

I supposed that wasn’t healthy—that we demanded so much of each other when after years together we should've settled into a more relaxed acceptance. But who was to say what was healthy and what was not. Some people didn’t like sex. Others did. Some people liked vanilla. Others liked blood-play and violence.

There was no right or wrong.

No guidebook on how to be a perfect wife or husband. And if there was, it ought to be ripped up because no one could know what another truly needed. Each relationship was its own mess full of faults and flaws, fighting every damn day to be worthy.

Q didn’t ask why I’d made him do this. He didn’t try to pry my full intentions. Instead, he let me go and cocked his head, gesturing at the boot. “Was it my imagination or did I see a wicker basket in there before we drove off?”

I forced an annoyed scowl on my face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I’m not supposed to see a lot of things. Yet I do.”

I knew he spoke of other secrets I’d tried to hide. He always sniffed them out like the beast he said he was. Only, it was rare for me to have secrets. After all, he was the one keeping one from me. “That works both ways,” I whispered. “You’re keeping something from me, Q. I want to know what it is.”

He froze, locking into his seat. His eerie calmness resembled a poised hunter deciding if he should strike or run. “What the f*ck does that mean?”

I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t meant to bring it up. Now was not the time. I retied my scarf around my neck. “Don’t worry about it. Plenty of time to argue later.”

“Argue?” His eyebrows knitted in an angry stitch. “You’re expecting to fight with me?”

“No, but in order for you to tell me, I either have to make you so angry you just blurt it out, or cajole you so I can read between the lines while you’re softer.” I threw him a tight smile. “You might know me, Q Mercer, but I know you too, and I know when you’re keeping something from me.”

Opening my door, I unbuckled and leapt into the crisp afternoon. “But you’re right. There was a picnic hamper in the back. Full of delicacies from Mrs. Sucre. Let’s stop to eat…then we can keep driving. We still have a few hours to go.”

Not waiting for him, I popped the boot and manhandled the picnic basket into my arms.

The sound of his door slamming gave me a second head start before Q caught me and wrenched the basket from my grip. “Give me that before you hurt yourself.”

I stuck my tongue out. “It’s only a damn basket. I think I can carry it—”

“Wrong. It’s a job I should do for you. Stop trying to do things that render me completely useless, esclave.”

Whoa, what?

I trotted after him as he strode toward a sunny patch in the waving grass. “I don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot, Q. That isn’t what marriage—”

“Putain, tu-testes ma patience.” Fuck, you test me. Q dumped the basket, spinning to grab my shoulders. “I’m not waiting on you hand and foot. I’m being your husband.”

“Well, as your wife, I sometimes want to do nice things for you, too. To show you how much I care.”

His face tightened with a mixture of lust and love. “And I love you, Tess. So stop taking away the small chances I have to be a gentleman so it at least makes it a little easier to be the monster you so desperately need.”

“I need?”

He clenched his jaw. “If you didn’t need pain, then I would’ve found a way to kill that part of myself a long time ago. I would’ve found a way to be better by now. But you keep making me worse by enjoying it so f*cking much.”

He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d stabbed a pair of scissors into my heart. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m forcing you to be like that? That I make you hurt me against your wishes?” I snorted with derisive laughter. “As if, Q. You love it. You need it. If you didn’t have my pain, you’d never get off.” Closing the distance between us, I grabbed boldly between his legs. His throbbing erection justified my actions as I squeezed. “There…I’m in pain right now, and you’re hard.”

He shoved me away. “You’ve turned me into a f*cking sadist.”

“Wrong, you were always one.”

“Then I’ve turned you into a masochist, and I don’t know how to turn you back.”

“Wrong again. I was always one. We haven't changed. We’ve accepted ourselves. I thought you were happy with that!” I rubbed at the smarting agony in my chest. “Are you…is that what you’re hiding from me? You don’t…want me like that anymore?”