Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(32)

My cheeks flared with heat; I wished to be far, far away.

“Answer me, esclave.”

“My vagina.”

He chuckled, cupping harder. “Wrong again.” Expert fingers worked the sides of my knickers, easing them to the left, exposing me. Everything inside tightened, wound, twisted. Oh, God.

Why was this happening? Brax. I didn’t want to replace memories of him with this monster who thought he owned me. Don’t think. Tears slipped silently.

The smell of sandal wood and citrus filled my nose as Q settled over me. He didn’t touch, which made it worse. His fingers were there; the heat of his skin blazed against my thigh. Anticipation drove me wild as much as it killed, knowing what was to come.

Q fisted my hair, tilting my head to the side. His mouth descended on mine, a tongue opening the seam of my lips effortlessly, despite clamping shut. The moment his tongue entered my mouth, a finger plunged into me, hard and fast.

“Oh, God.” My mouth opened wide; I trembled with the onslaught—the act of ownership. He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t sweet.

“This is mine. Everything is…”

I knew what he wanted. The word balanced on my tongue but I swallowed. I would never say it.

“Mine,” he growled. With no warning, he inserted another finger and f*cked me, plunging deep and fast, my body quivering with hunger. My breath was harsh, too fast. I’d never been taken so completely. Nothing else mattered but his fingers inside, and the relentless rhythm he set. The sharp banding of an orgasm sparked in surprise; I moaned. I couldn’t climax. That would be the ultimate betrayal.

I bucked, trying to remove his fingers, but he pressed harder, grinding his cock into my ass. “Merde, you’re so wet. Wet for me.” Surprise layered his voice, almost reverent. Had he never made a woman wet before? That couldn’t be true, not with the expert way he dragged repulsive need from me. I hadn’t gone Stockholmy—I hated him, knew what he did was wrong, but my body, shit, my body didn’t care.

Q gave me something I needed since I’d started dreaming of sinful things, started looking at images online of men f*cking women with a fine edge of violence.

Q rocked his hips again, and I rocked back, against my will. He sucked in a breath, tickling my neck. Even as I fought to get free, my core rippled with pleasure. His dominance created an unwanted, potent cocktail in my brain. I don’t want this. Stop!

His fingers thrust inside, drawing more moisture from my body.

He sighed heavily, working a knee between my legs, splaying me wider. I lost balance and his fingers slipped out, gripping my hip.

His legs bent, and he grinded a trouser-covered erection against my wetness. He rocked, hard as steel and hot as a branding iron.

Little stars exploded behind my eyes. Only fabric stopped him from taking me. I hated every thrust. “Please…don’t,” I cried. Tears ran uncontrollably, joining the stain below.

He struggled to talk, deep and ruff. “You chose option one. Remember?”

Pressing an elbow into my back, he fumbled behind me. Hips disappeared as he unzipped his fly. The sound of metal teeth unzipping terrified me and I snapped. My body may want this, but I sure as hell didn’t.

I jerked upright, ignoring the pain of his elbow. I feinted to the side, kicking his kneecap. His leg gave out, but he caught himself on the edge of the table. “Don’t fight. You’ll only make it worse.”

How many times had I heard that? And every time it turned out to be the truth. But I couldn’t not fight. I’d never be able to live with myself.

I breathed so hard my lungs ached. I looked frantically for the stairs. Where the hell were the f*cking stairs?

I made to run, just as Q recovered. He lurched and wrapped arms around my heaving chest, dragging us to the floor. We landed in a pile of limbs, my rib screaming. Q’s fly was undone, trousers hanging precariously on his hips. My knickers were bunched to the side and oversensitive flesh swollen, needing a release. No! I’m not turned on. I’m not broken. Not yet.

Manic possession scorched his eyes, and I slapped him. Q reared back, lips twisted. Violence bristled as he slammed me down, securing himself above.

I froze, locking my knees together so he couldn’t settle between my legs. He clutched my chin, forcing me to look deep into his gaze. “What are you?”

I squirmed, hating the hunger in his voice, echoing the budding need in mine. I was sick to think I ever wanted this with Brax. But I never wanted this with Brax. I wanted light role-play, tame bondage, nothing like this. Please, not like this.

Q shocked me silent as he kissed my throat. He lingered, breathing deep. My stomach flipped. Pulling back, shock resonated in his face, as if he hadn’t meant to resort to being gentle.

A conflict of emotions skittered in his eyes, dampening undisguised lust, twisting it into something else. He sounded regretful, “Say it, and I’ll let you go. I won’t hurt you. I won’t rape you. Not tonight.”

I bit my lip. If I said it, I threw myself at his mercy, but if I didn’t say it, I’d be raped and I couldn’t handle that. Not after the trauma of everything. Not after my entire world dumped me and left me bereft. Especially not with my body being enemy number one.

“Esclave, say it.” His mouth tickled my ear again, words vibrating through flesh.

My fight drained, the will to disobey unspooled into meekness. “Yours,” I breathed, sick to my stomach, wanting to scrub my mouth out.