Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(37)

His hand lashed out, grabbing the nape of my neck. Dragging me closer, I collided against solid muscle, and breath exploded from my lungs.

“You think you’re like me? You’re not,” he snarled, right before his mouth smashed against mine and his tongue darted past my lips. I punched him, but he didn’t stop. If anything, it amplified him from ruthless to out of control.

Spinning me around, he trapped me hard against the door, grinding his hips into mine. In one fluid move, he kicked my legs apart with a foot. So quick, so sure.

My lungs couldn’t get enough oxygen as he kissed me harder than anyone had before. Blood mixed with his dark taste. Indents of teeth bruised my mouth, and thoughts disintegrated. I half-moaned, half-cried as he thrust his cock so hard against me, my feet left the floor.

Ending the kiss on the same brutal note, he panted, “What are you?”

I blinked, completely disoriented. Then fight returned; I shoved him.

He grunted as he stepped back, but it wasn’t enough. Landing on me again, his weight pinned my body. Breath hot on my cheek as he rubbed his five o’clock shadow along my jaw. “Don’t f*cking push me. What are you?”

Not this again. In a moment of lunacy, I tried to head-butt him.

His eyes flared wide and lips twitched. The look of alpha possession overshadowed for a moment with sheer amazement. He rammed his thigh between my legs, rubbing against overheated flesh. Even through denim every part of him awoke every part of me and I ached. I burned. I wanted.

“You made me say it last night. You broke me. I won’t do it again,” I seethed.

He growled, moving his thigh. He cupped with me forceful fingers. My head wanted to crash against his shoulder in servitude, but I couldn’t. This was wrong. God help me, I’d broken myself with battling two conflicting things. Run. Fuck. Run. Fuck. The trance sent wetness gushing from me. I’d never been so turned on and never hated someone more.

“I’ll gladly break you again to hear you say it.” His hands captured my wrists, slamming them above my head against the door. Holding me with one hand, his other went back to my jeans. With nimble fingers, he undid my fly and somehow managed to wriggle his hand inside the denim and knickers.

I bucked as a finger pressed deep inside. No soft requests or gentle foreplay, a straight finger f*ck.

“Say it,” he ordered. My eyes snapped closed as he hooked his finger, pressing against my g-spot. “Your body drips for me, esclave. I’ll let you have me, if you say it. Say you’re mine.”

Another finger entered as fierce as the first and legs turned to jelly. He held me upright by my wrists and fingers rode me deep. I’d never been touched so totally before. Brax… he wasn’t a lover of foreplay… Stop thinking about Brax. Especially now. This would break his heart.

My mind cracked into shards. I struggled to fight the insane urge to submit; I could never submit. Lifting extremely heavy eyelids, I snarled, “Mine. Not yours.”

He flinched as if I’d struck him, eyes flashing with a feral edge. “Wrong answer.” He ducked and threw me over a shoulder, just like the captor in Mexico. All residual fear rushed to haunt me and my body no longer hummed. It burned for freedom. To end this, to run.

Q dropped me on the bed, immediately yanking my jeans off. I couldn’t stop it. One minute they were on, the next they lay discarded with the other torn clothes.

He climbed on top and I kicked. My knee connected with rib cage and he winced, but a hand grabbed my side, pressing my own broken rib. Everything oozed to greyness with pain. It gave him time to undo his tie and wrap it tight around my wrists.

My heartbeat thrummed in my arms, hating the tight restriction. Shoving my wrists above my head, he pinned me down, trying to wedge between my legs. I fought like an alley cat. Our legs battled, feet grappled with the sheet, and for a moment, I might’ve won. I lost with one misplaced kick.

Within moments, I lay spread-eagled with him panting above. Smouldering, unwanted lust ignited. Misplaced lust. Lust that drove me mad with confusion and hatred.

Eagerness and longing flamed his face. His smell of sin, citrus, and sandalwood dazzled my senses, flaring every part. My core clenched as Q rocked, breathing hard and rattling. Somehow, the synapses of my brain hardwired to his scent.

Oh, God. He successfully owned one of my senses! Smell. I couldn’t let him take more.

Howling, I bit his shoulder. “Let me the f*ck go!”

He reared back, rage and hard-edged respect in his eyes. Did he respect I fought? Did it turn him on so damn much? Sick, sick bastard.

He raised a hand as if to strike me.

I fought the urge to curl into a little ball, and stared into his turbulent gaze. “Do it. Hit me. At least the pain will leave a physical mark you’ll have to see every day.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. His hand hovered, before cupping my cheek. He ran a trembling thumb across my lips. “Say it.” Something raw blazed in his gaze, imploring on some deep, psychological level. He seemed desperate to hear me admit I was his.

He reached between us, stroking my clit through my knickers. All the fireworks that’d been smouldering, sparked to life. An orgasm gripped my muscles with sharp ecstasy; I threw my head back.

“Oh, shit.” I didn’t want the orgasm—even though I did. I didn’t want it, as Brax never gave me one, and to me, that made our separation horribly final. As if Q sliced us apart, leaving me ruined for anything but roughness and savagery.