Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(42)

I was dumbfounded.

Oh, my God, he expected me to wear this? To dinner? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

The door burst open; I clutched the dress to my throat. The guard, with the bright green eyes, glared. His body, much wider than Q’s, intimidated. “Mr. Mercer sent me to make sure you dressed correctly.” His gaze slithered over me, and he puffed his chest. “Strip. I’ll help, if you require.”

I recoiled in horror. Q wouldn’t let his guard have me, would he? I didn’t think he would, but who knew. The air in the tiny room sucked into nothing. I breathed hard. “I need privacy.”

He shook his head. “No privacy.”

Gritting my teeth, I didn’t move. I deliberated screaming and ramming into him, but realistically, what would it achieve? Q proved to me, I had no power here. As much as it killed me, I had no choice.

My shoulders fell in surrender; his lips curled. I turned away, my hands shaking as I laid the dress on the bed and pulled the jumper over my head. My skin crawled, knowing the man watched.

I shimmied from my jeans, and left them on the floor. Reaching for the dress, I tried to figure out how to put it on when a heavy palm fell on my shoulder. “Take off your underwear. You aren’t allowed to wear anything under the dress.”

My entire body revolted, and I leaped away, running to the corner of the room. His touch didn’t infect me like Q’s. I didn’t warm or react; I tightened and crackled with unwillingness.

The guard snorted, holding up his arms. “I’m not going to touch you, girl. That’s the ma?tre’s right.” His eyelids dropped as excitement glowed. “However, the guests will also get a turn tonight.”

What? My ears rang. No. Please. Horrid realization buckled my knees. The dinner party—there would be no dinner. I was to be the main course. Betrayal settled deep in my heart. I hated Q, but never believed he’d be able to let another touch me. Not with the possessive edge surrounding him.

The guard held out a hand. “Give me your bra and panties. The guests will arrive any moment, and you’re to be in place before they do.”

My hands curled with the urge to punch his ruggedly handsome face—to make him bleed. But again, what would it achieve? Nothing. The result would be the same, just more painful.

I unclipped my bra and threw it. I refused to give him my knickers—those I kicked behind, wadding them against the wall.

He grinned. “I wouldn’t sniff them, if that’s what’s worrying your pretty head. Wouldn’t put it past the master, though.” He chuckled loudly, way too impressed with his joke.

Keeping my head high, I scrunched the dress and pulled it over my head. I had to wriggle to inch the clingy material down. The spun threads offered no protection from eyes or temperature, and by the time it encased me fully, I felt trapped.

I could only walk with dainty steps, and my breasts strained as filigree designs stamped patterns into my skin.

The train pooled around my feet, looking like a golden mermaid’s tail—a poor creature who didn’t belong. I related completely.

The moment I finished, the guard grabbed my tattooed wrist, carting me downstairs.





Finch



I bit my lip as we descended the stairs and entered an entirely new room. It reeked of sex and money and power. Quintessentially Q, his signature scent of lust and darkness permeated the air.

Crimson booths surrounded a tiny pedestal, round and high—for a priceless figurine or statue. Leather straps with cuffs dangled from the ceiling in the centre. Heavy drapery blocked large windows, and thick black carpeting silenced any noise.

The room was a decadent tomb.

The guard let me go, only for me to be caught by Q. Where the hell did he come from? I’d never get used to how silently he moved.

My skin singed beneath his touch; arcs of animalistic hunger scattered across my body. Q sucked in a breath. I wasn’t the only one this crazy need affected. I cursed my body for responding. I needed some serious counselling. I shouldn’t grow wet when a man who lived to make my life hell touched me. I shouldn’t have mixed emotions of hatred and need. I should just hate.

He jerked me against his chest, never looking away. “Esclave...” He ran his nose along my cheek, dipping to neck and collarbone. Hot breath increased heart flurries to a million a second. I wanted to run fingers through his hair, to press hips against his—but I swallowed the diabolical urges. That wasn’t what I really wanted to do. I want to slit his throat so I can run home to Brax.

Sharp teeth nipped my throat, stealing my balance.

It’d been a week since his last touch, but it might’ve been a minute or a millennium and I would’ve exploded the same. I hated him. He turned everything against me and it hurt, so much.

Walking me backward, lips on my neck and hands on my waist, he steadied us when I connected with the pedestal and tripped. Taking my hand, he helped me perch on the platform. He gazed up, face at chest height, lust glowing in lime coloured eyes.

Unexpectedly, he wrapped arms around me, dragging my breasts against his face. Keeping me prisoner, he licked through the holes of the dress, sending wet trails scorching.

“Stop,” I whimpered, cursing my trembling stomach and melting core.

To my surprise, he obeyed and stepped up, joining me on the podium. With a slight smile, he reached above and caught the leather cuffs.