Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)(9)

He groaned, thrusting his hips against mine; the hardness of his cock, trapped in his boxer-briefs, speared against my belly button.

My heart twisted as my core melted. My mind spiralled into the darkness Q was so good at conjuring. I didn’t care it was socially wrong to share blood. I didn’t care that societies protecting women would be horrified with what I let Q do to me.

The world didn’t matter. This was us. This was our f*ckedupness learning how to live without guilt and shame.

Q nibbled his way up my neck, along my jaw, to my lips. When he kissed me, he didn’t hold back. His tongue swept deep, bringing with it the metallic taste of rust and a need so basic it threatened to steal my thoughts, unlearn everything I knew, and embrace a life of existing purely to be with Q.

His hands dropped to caress my body. Squeezing my hips once, he captured my right wrist and fanned my arm out, all the while f*cking my mouth with his sinful tongue. He pulled away when the back of my hand touched wood. His eyes were bright and pupils dilated. “Everything about you is mine. Do you deny it?”

Breathing hard, battling the urge to rub my * against his leg between my thighs, I shook my head. “I don’t deny it.”

With a sharp nod, Q reached over me to wrap a soft leather cuff around my wrist. With a fierce expression, he tightened it until I felt a faint heartbeat in my fingertips. A sharp burst of panic rose from nowhere, gripping my heart, making it flurry.

Q froze, staring at me unguarded. The lust sheening his face caused more wetness to trickle. I couldn’t run and the knowledge turned my body on beyond compare.

“You’re frightened.” His voice was so gruff, I barely understood him.

I opened my mouth to deny it, but why would I hide the truth? Q lived for the truth, he fought for authentic fear.

“You tied it so tight. I’m afraid I’ll never be free.”

He chuckled. “And you think you’re free when you’re not restrained? You don’t know me at all, esclave.” Capturing my left arm, he repeated the process until miniature beating hearts thrummed in my fingers. “You’ll never be free of me. I’ll never be free of you. It’s fate who decides, and fate gave us each other.”

Memories of our blood oath sprung to mind. “Nous sommes les uns des autres.” We are each other’s.

He sucked in a breath; his face danced with shadows caused by early morning clouds. The sun dappled the room in spotlights of warmth, but not this corner. In this corner only shade was permitted.

“Oui.” He bent to kiss me, but I kept my eyes wide open. Focusing on his sculptured cheekbones and how achingly lonely his gaze appeared. We never looked away as his lips worked mine, soft but dangerous at the same time. His tongue skirted the fine line of unbreakable discipline and uncontrollable passion.

His large hands cupped my face, holding me still as he bent his head to angle the kiss deeper. The back of my head hit the wooden cross, and I moaned as he pressed his entire muscular body against mine. His naked skin heated my own, feverish, hot as the devil.

Pulling away, Q breathed hard, sending his sparrow tattoo fluttering like crazy. The rolling black clouds and barbwire seemed to be particularly violent, devouring more birds, erupting more feathers, spiralling in their bid for freedom. Q expected me to fly away. I needed to find a way to prove I wasn’t going to.

A flash of inspiration hit, and I murmured, “You’re my wings. You made me fly.”

He froze, hands unmoving on my cheeks. His pale eyes seared into my soul.

Q wasn’t just my master in the bedroom. He was the master of my heart.

Finally, he whispered in his deep, accented voice, “You stole my loneliness. I may have given you wings, but you've become my gravity. I’ll never be free of your force.”

I melted. If my arms hadn’t been imprisoned by the cross, I would’ve thrown them around Q and climbed his body. I would’ve freed his straining erection from his boxer-briefs and pushed myself on top of him. I needed connection. I needed to bind us. Entwine us. Imprint and devour us.

Q seemed to feel the same way. His eyes morphed from deep and smouldering to bright and glittering. His composure tightened from tense to coiled. A predator, a wolf, a killer about to indulge in his prey. “No more talking, Tess.”

I shivered with the way he said my name. It held every inch of emotion that he couldn’t verbalize.

Q dropped to his knees, thudding against the thick white carpet. He tugged my left leg to line up with the cross and its buckle in one sharp move. I stumbled, relying on the cuffs around my wrists to grant me balance.

As his fingers worked around my ankle, sending spasms of intense awareness up my inner thigh, Q murmured, “One day, I’ll break you completely. One day, I’ll be strong enough.”

The thrill of his confession shot like an arrow through my heart. I wanted with all my soul to tell him I hoped to God he did, but I didn’t think he meant it like that. He didn’t want to break me until I was ruined—he wanted to own me completely. The difference was I didn’t think Q knew what he meant.

Or, maybe he did, and I was a stupid little girl. Nevertheless, I fell back into unwilling slave—the role that turned my master and me crazy. The role that guaranteed explosive sex, battle of wills, and deep satisfaction.

Gathering a deep breath, I hissed, “No. You’ll never break me.”