Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(36)

Before I could argue the word slave implied I should cook and clean, Suzette pushed me toward the exit, whispering, “Don’t argue. I can see the desire to stand up to him in your eyes. But remember what I said.”

The moment we were in the lounge, she rushed, “Have a shower, and dress in one of those beautiful gowns. He’ll love seeing you in things he bought.” Her eyes grew dreamy, as if match-making us made total sense. “Give him what he wants.”

Pulling away, I felt betrayed all over again. I hissed, “Give him what he wants? How about I tie myself up and present myself as the main course? That’s what he wants, isn’t it?”

Suzette pinched the bridge of her nose, throwing me an exasperated look. “His fantasies will be shared, I’m sure. It’s your job to let him show you without fear or guilt.”

My lungs squeezed together. “What? You think he suffers fear and guilt? Try the girl who’s been kidnapped! Holy shit.” The curse fell like a nasty bomb; Suzette frowned in disapproval.

“Just go and dress.” She shoved me toward the stairs and I ran.

I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but had no intention of obeying. She’d stepped over the line, implying her boss suffered more than I did. Fuck that. I’d show him how much I didn’t want to be there. I thought I could do it—pretend and pantomime. I thought I could become something slave-like and meek.

I was wrong.

Hot, terrible anger boiled as I bolted up the steps two at a time. I’d show him. I didn’t think of the consequences, focused only on what would make me feel better.

Slamming the door, I headed straight to the wardrobe, and wrenched open the doors. Racks of designer dresses and Victoria’s Secret lingerie beckoned with style. Fingers itched to attack the clothes, to take my wrath out on innocent fabric. I may not be able to hurt Q physically, but I could hurt his wallet.

I yanked the first item—a delicious amethyst dress—off its hanger and tore the neckline with my teeth. My heart raced as I gnawed on the silky fabric. It took a few attempts, but I managed to cut it enough to rip it with my hands. It cracked like a lightning bolt and split in two.

The next victim hung on a padded hanger—a cream blouse with prancing black horses. It ripped with a loud snarl. I tossed it to the floor, joining the growing cemetery of clothes.

In a rampage, I grabbed the bras and tore the straps off. They joined the graveyard. Next, I found a drawer full of impractical nylons and laddered them with nails and teeth.

I panted, loving the fierce retribution in my veins. It may only be clothes I ruined, but it gave me an outlet. My skin shone with sweat as I reached for another blouse.

I froze as the door slammed open.

Q stood, fists balled at his sides, posture hard and unmovable. Eyes darted over the pool of ruined clothing. His jaw clenched before glaring at me with every unspoken command possible.

My legs wobbled, wanting so badly to hit the floor, to grovel for forgiveness. I didn’t know this owner standing in the doorway. No remnants of the man who fingered me in both pleasure and pain last night resided in his gaze. I pushed too hard.

Oh, f*ck.

I hunched, crumpling the grey blouse in my hands. Fear gripped, turning me into an autumn leaf.

Clearing his throat, he cricked his neck. The force of his temper buffeted like a slap to the face. “Care to tell me why you’re ruining three thousand euros worth of clothing?” He purred with undisguised lust, and barely held restraint. Face tense with outrage, smouldering need in his eyes.

My body took control as blood boiled to lava. Attraction rolled through my belly and I wanted to punch myself for how wet I became. I had no self-control. He was right to treat me like a slave. I was nothing but a sex hungry woman who didn’t deserve Brax’s adoration. Who only deserved to be beaten and taken. I was so f*cked up, I couldn’t get wet with gentle kisses from a man who loved me. But, put a man who wanted to hurt in front of me, with f*cking on his mind and bondage in his thoughts, and I unravelled like the slut I’d become.

Tears erupted, and Q growled. “No point crying. You knew I’d be furious, yet you did it anyway.” He stalked forward, kicking the door shut. He stopped a metre away. “Tears won’t save you.”

I sniffed, straightening my back. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting I cried because of my torment, cried with hatred for a traitorous body. Fear smothered, but the unmasked need swimming in my blood scared me a hundred times more. Would I have reacted this way for any man who bought me? Or was Q different? An unwilling aphrodisiac to my sinful body.

My voice came out whisper-soft. “I won’t allow you to dress me like an object. I refuse.” I didn’t mention most of the items were gorgeous, exactly what I would’ve chosen given a bigger bank balance. “I’m human, too. Not an object for you to play with.”

He chuckled. “An object who’d rather be naked the entire time? That can be arranged.”

My heart bucked. I dropped my eyes. “No.”

“No?” He inched closer, bringing inferno heat. His entire body rippled with lustful fire. “You say no after destroying things I bought for you?”

“Does it hurt for you to see things damaged?” I dared look in his eyes and his nostrils flared. “Because if it does, then you’re hurting me. I have feelings—same as you!”