Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark #3)(91)

I forced the memories to fade, but there was one question refusing to disappear. I wanted to know the answer. I wanted to finally acknowledge how all my dreams came true in a way I’d never suspected. “If I said to you I used to have a vibrator and made myself come with the thought of some unknown master biting my shoulder and striking me with a whip—how would that make you feel?”

I knew Brax’s response: I don’t have to f*ck you to be a man, Tessie.

I didn’t know Q’s and I wanted to. Desperately.

Q’s forehead furrowed, holding out the lacy bra. “How would that make me feel?” His head cocked. “Is that a trick question?”

I laughed quietly, hiding my nervousness. “No. I honestly want to know.”

Q tossed the bra on the bed, before planting his large hands on my hips. “I’ll tell you how that makes me feel. It makes me f*cking hard at the thought of you getting yourself off. I can picture your flushed cheeks, taste your wetness, hear your pants.” His head dipped, kissing my neck. “I adore the thought of you fantasising about the exact things I’ve done to you—almost as if you were always meant to be mine.”

Pushing me away, he held up the knickers and dropped to his knee. I obediently stepped into the lingerie as he held it, shivering as he pulled them up my legs. “I should’ve had Alonzo buy something else for us tonight,” he murmured, positioning the lace between my legs.

“What?” I breathed.

“A vibrator. I can’t get the damn image out of my head of watching you come and then using it on you all over again.”

I didn’t need wings. Q made me fly with words. He wasn’t unsure, or jealous at me seeking pleasure on my own. He wasn’t prudish or tame. He was perfect. He was mine.

And I never wanted to lose him.

“When will you marry me?” I blurted.

Cringing, I let Q thread my arms through the bra straps, then held up my hair for him to clasp it. The roles had changed—it wasn’t Q pushing me anymore but me pushing him.

Q didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the last box, lifting out the sexiest, demure dress I’d ever seen. A seamstress’s work of perfection with silk and netting in every shade of grey possible.

Silently, Q helped me into it. The sleeveless gown kissed just below my knees, cocooning my body like air.

He stepped back, nodding. “I’ll marry you when I’m damn well ready, esclave. But tonight, I’m taking you to dinner.”



“Chose anything you want.” Q smiled.

I looked at the menu again, frowning at Italian. Knowing French gave me a benefit—I was able to get the gist of the word, but I didn’t have Q’s aptitude for foreign dialects.

Carbonara with horse? No, that can’t be right.

Parmesan shredded with rabbit? Could be, but I didn’t want to risk it.

Placing the heavy menu onto the table, I said, “You order for me. I have no idea.”

Q chuckled. “You know, letting me order for you is a turn on. Knowing you trust me enough to give me control over what you eat makes me hard.”

I crossed my legs, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sharp clench at his voice. “Behave. You’re the one who wanted to do this. Not me. I would’ve happily dined on you all night.” In the safety of our hotel room.

Hearing how prolific Q’s business was on the news unsettled me. I didn’t want to be in public anymore. I didn’t feel incognito or unimportant. I felt watched.

His eyes narrowed, fingers gripping the menu harder. “You’re the one who has to behave, esclave. I’m more than happy to have you as my entrée.”

A waiter appeared from nowhere, interrupting the rapidly budding lust between Q and I. “You ready to order?”

I smiled, glancing around the fine-dining restaurant. It wasn’t large and each booth ringed the perimeter of the room—a red velvet curtain draped on either side of each seating area, giving patrons the sense of dining alone. The hypnotic piano and violin serenade plaited effortlessly with the ebb and flow of diner’s voices. Not to mention the amazing scents of garlic, herbs, and fresh pasta filling the space like a tastebud-tempting haze.

Q gave me a glance before reopening his menu and reeling off in perfect Italian.

My core tingled at the lyrical tone of the man I would marry. So accomplished. So distinguished. So very, very different behind closed doors.

The waiter nodded, jotting down what seemed like copious amounts of food. Once finished, he bowed, took our menus and left to relay the order.

Q surveyed the restaurant, his shoulders tense.

I leaned forward. “Exactly how much food did you order?”

He focused on me. “I ordered every starter available. I figured we can share and taste a bit of everything.” His gaze flashed on the word ‘taste’. I crossed my legs, trapping the ripple between them.

Something rubbed against my ankle; I jumped.

Q chuckled under his breath. “Subtle, Tess. Really subtle. How am I supposed to play footsies with you if you leap a f*cking mile?”

I laughed—I couldn’t help it. “Did you just say footsies?” I flung up the tablecloth, pretending to search. “Where’s my sadistic master—what have you done with him? He would never utter such a word.”

Q leaned forward, stealing my hand. His face darkened. “I’m right here, esclave, and you’d faint again if you knew the things running through my head.”