Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(71)

Q appeared, emerging from behind a palm-tree. He wore a white linen suit, no wrinkles marring his perfection. The grey shirt looked like a cold winter’s day, highlighting pale eyes. He held a black leather folder in his hand, pressing it against a thigh.

My ass stung as a fantasy of being hit with the file charged like wildfire.

I sighed, smiling slightly. Everything was exactly as it should be. My place in the world was by Q’s side. I accepted it. It’d been too long. My body warmed, melting, remembering his demands, the way he slapped me as he came. He said he wanted to make me scream. After two weeks of loneliness, I would let him—gladly.

Q came closer, shoulders tense, eyes strained.

I frowned at the stress lines on his forehead and mouth. His gaze met mine, but instead of the usual soft jade, they were faded, like watered down lime, throbbing with pain. I paused. I knew that look—I suffered myself.

Q had a migraine.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” He sighed, dragging a hand over his short hair, face strained and tired.

My heart sped up. He looked human. Wrecked. The cruel, confusing master was hidden beneath an overworked, hurting man. Tenderness rose; I wanted to care for him, take away his stress. There wouldn’t be angry dominance tonight, but I didn’t care. Seeing Q this way gave me another piece of the puzzle. It showed the depth of my own feelings. All the normal emotions where Q was concerned were gone: fear, awareness, heat… all hidden under the need to soothe.

Leaving the noisy birds in the aviary, I stepped closer and pressed a kiss ever so softly on the corner of his mouth. “You’re not well.”

His nostrils flared and he jerked back. “My well-being is none of your concern.”

I scowled, crossing my arms. “Your well-being is my concern. And I’ll tell you why. If you get sick, what happens to me? Where do I go? Who do I end up with?”

Q shifted, eyes going to the cage of birds. Shadows wrapped around him, and I tried to read his secrets. Why can’t he let me see all sides of him? What the hell was he hiding?

“I’m fine. Nothing will happen to me or you.” Anger blazed in his eyes.

I offered comfort, and he didn’t want it. I overstepped the boundary from scared slave to equal, and it pissed me off he didn’t let me.

I wheeled around, charging for the door. Bloody bastard. If he wanted to lie and wallow in pain, fine by me. Didn’t mean I had to stick around and worry. If he wanted me to stay in my little box of possession and didn’t want a woman who could help—awesome. I would.

“Wait!” He winced, dropping the folder. I glanced at the exit. I should leave. I no longer wanted to encroach on Q’s space, seeing as he didn’t want me.

Q moaned slightly, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m not used to slaves wandering around, rooting through my stuff.” He smiled slightly. “You’re inquisitive, I’ll give you that.”

I was insulted and happy at the same time. My feet turned, and I went to stand in front of him. Trying to seem cold and unaffected by his pain, I stooped to pick up the file, passing it to him.

He accepted it with a small nod.

“Did you take some painkillers? Should I find some for you?” I wondered where Suzette kept aspirin. Not that it would help—or at least it didn’t for me. The only thing to break a migraine was a head massage with menthol and a nap to dispel the pain.

Q shook his head, motioning for me to walk in front. I obeyed, striding through the over grown conservatory until we stopped in a small seating area next to a large pond, with a gentle waterfall.

Q groaned and slouched in one of the rattan armchairs, sighing heavily. He threw the folder on the matching coffee table, placing his legs on top. With another sigh, he stretched his long body, as if working out the kinks would help his headache.

I didn’t know what he wanted—if I should leave or stay, but an enterprising idea popped into my head. Q wasn’t as guarded as he normally was. If I stayed and offered support, he might spill something.

Sitting on the chair next to his, I watched while his forehead furrowed and eyes closed.

We stayed silent, listening to the gentle noises of flowing water. Q shifted, rubbing his neck with strong fingers.

I stood, moving behind his chair. I didn’t think how he’d react to me touching without permission. I didn’t let my mind linger on retribution, only the need to help. Do you really want to do this? If I cared, opened my heart to another side of Q, there would be no escaping new feelings for him. If I touched him, it was because I wanted to, not because I had to obey. The dynamics of our twisted relationship would shift toward gentler things.

Without his knowledge, Q would give me the very thing I needed to allow him to hurt and abuse me with sex. If he gave me soft, I could give him hard. His leaning on me gave the light I needed to temper the darkness I embraced.

Every thought clambered for space, and I paused trying to figure it out.

Q sucked in a harsh breath, slouching further in the chair. I made my decision. If I cared, he might open. He might see me more than a slave and more as… Tess.

Oh, my God. I wanted to tell Q my name. I wanted to hear him whisper it with love. To hear him order in his sexy, controlling voice. To yell my name when he f*cked me roughly. I no longer wanted to be unidentified.

What’s happening to me?

My hands dropped to Q’s head, fingers slinking through his pelt-like hair. I moaned with how soft it was. I swayed, wanting to smell, to drug myself with his citrus and sandalwood scent.