Tears rushed my spine. Sadness filled my heart.

Yes, it’s an issue. But no, I won’t tell you.

Stepping into the role of Old Tess, I murmured, “I want you. I need you to hurt me, Q. I need to remember.”

Q’s back snapped straight. With a fierce kiss, he dragged me the rest of the way to reception in a flurry of footsteps.

The woman behind the desk was gorgeous with long black hair, thick eyelashes, and moon-sized eyes. She radiated an aura of strength and independence—exactly the type of woman Q admitted he liked—someone who wasn’t broken. Someone who would fight him.

A sharp band of jealousy struck from nowhere as the woman smiled at my master, batting those ridiculously thick eyelashes. I watched Q carefully, trying to read how affected he was by her.

He didn’t even glance at her. Dropping my elbow, he snatched his wallet from his back pocket, yanking out a credit card. Handing it over, he ordered, “The best room you have available and a suite for a colleague.”

The receptionist’s mouth parted slightly as she took the credit card, eyeing Q with interest. Her smile encompassed coyness rather than professionalism. I welcomed the snarl in my stomach. I loved the ignition of rage. Adored my willingness to fight.

It was so different to hurting the women in Rio. This I would gladly start and end.

Something shifted in me. Something small but fundamental as I took back a piece of my life—acknowledging my urge to hurt another.

“Is there a problem?” I said, dragging the girl’s eyes to mine. I had the sudden need to smooth my hair. I wished I wore a tailored dress or some exorbitantly expensive jewels. I felt so ordinary next to Q. But he was mine.

Hands off, bitch.

Her smile froze, turning to brittle efficiency. “No. No problem.”

We both jumped as Q slapped the counter. “When I asked for a room, I want it now, not tomorrow.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, bending to look at the computer screen. The cattiness and female challenge between us faded as her interest in Q died a quick death thanks to his rudeness.

After a second, she said, “We only have the Presidential suite available.”

“Fine. Book it.”

“How many nights will you be staying?” She fluttered those obnoxious lashes in Q’s direction.

“Not sure. Keep it open-ended.”

Her eyes popped wide; I swallowed back my smugness. Q was dangerous. He was dark. But he was also the most generous, sexy, powerful man I’d ever met.

Happiness ballooned as Q glanced my way. He didn’t acknowledge me, but we were linked too deep. We belonged.

I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

“Um, well. We can’t just hold it. It’s four thousands euros a night. Should I book for the one night, or a week, or what?”

Q bristled, electrifying the air. “Charge me whatever you want but give me the keys.” His eyes fell on me, melting the ice in my blood, turning me into a flickering candle ready to burn.

Holy crap. It wasn’t often that I blushed. But damn, Q set my cheeks on fire.

The girl dropped her eyes, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

A moment later, Q fisted the old-fashioned key she held up, and dragged me like his hard-won prey toward the elevator.

“I’ll keep the other key here for your colleague. Oh by the way, dinner is included in the room rate. I’ll advise your butler to confirm your menu selections,” the woman called after us.

Q slammed to halt, spinning back toward her. “If anyone interrupts us, I’ll have this entire hotel bulldozed to the ground. No dinner. No reservation. No menus. Nothing.” A smile decorated his face, struggling to project a businessman rather than a beast. “Merci.”

I didn’t say a word as we rushed to the elevators. He punched the ‘up’ button. His fingers tightened around mine until mini-heartbeats pounded in time with my fear.

The lift pinged. We entered.

One second.

Two seconds.

No one else entered.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

The doors closed.

The lift hadn’t moved before Q launched himself at me.

Grabbing my hips, he hoisted me upward, slamming my back against the mirrored panelling. Instinctively my legs wrapped around his body, joining us tightly together.

The second Q rested between my legs, he thrust upward, grinding himself violently against me. His glowing eyes captured mine, his mouth tightening into a grimace. “Fuck, I’m hard. Can you feel it? Fucking hell, Tess. Qu'est-ce que t’es en train de me faire?”

What are you doing to me?

The air no longer held oxygen, only need.

I bent my head to kiss him, but he denied me his lips. Tilting my face, I managed to find his cheek, then throat, then ear. Tracing my tongue around the shell and fleshy lobe, I murmured, “You need to be in me. I need you to be in me.”

He growled, driving up harder. The beads of my spine throbbed against the unforgiving mirror.

“You have no fucking idea, esclave. Needing you frays my patience. Needing to come makes me insane. I’m running out of control.” His voice dripped with black desire—stealing thoughts straight out of my head.

My ears roared with blood; I grew wet with every uncontrolled and savage thrust. I relished the melting, hoping against hope I remained turned on. Fear had no place here. Not while I had the man who’d saved my life between my legs.

Q’s anger switched to feral desire. I latched onto his strength, keeping myself locked in delectable lust.

I moaned as Q fisted my hair, giving him access to my throat. His wet mouth covered the sore brand and the stinging pain of an unhealed wound sent a tangle of terror through me.

I wanted to be with him—more than anything. I wanted to feel him inside me. I wanted to hold him close and have his body blanket mine. I wanted to feel safe.

“Hit her, puta. Kill her, puta. Obey us!”

“Goddammit, esclave. I need you. I need—” Q’s breathing was ragged, harsh. His hand dropped from my hair to my breast, cupping me with vicious fingers. Sensitivity erupted to agony; I bit my lip, scrambling to keep hold of desire.

I’m not strong enough.

My eyes squeezed. I willed my body not to expose me.

In some far away universe, the elevator doors opened.

An embarrassed cough.

It sounded out of place to the heavy breathing and absorbed world we lived in.

Q twisted his head. “Ah, fuck me,” he grumbled. His hips withdrew from mine and the violence of his touch receded to let me slither down his body and land on my feet.

An elderly man in an immaculate tuxedo, bowed. His black eyes looked flustered, shining with wry amusement. “I believe you booked the Presidential suite. I’m the butler, Andre.”

I gawked, unable to act normal while so much intensity bubbled in my blood.

Q however slipped into egotistical businessman, dragging me from the lift. “Yes, we’re staying in the suite. No, we don’t need anything. You’re dismissed for the rest of the night. Thank you for your time.”

The butler bowed again, his lips turning up ever so slightly. “I’ll be on extension 232 if you require anything.” Entering the lift we’d just vacated, he smiled. “Good day to you both.”

The doors shut but it didn’t cut off the small peel of laughter.

My heart hadn’t had time to stop racing; my hands shook. Once I entered that room, I could no longer be weak. I could no longer indulge in the horror and memories drowning me.

Q believed I was the perfect masochist to his sadistic needs.

I am that girl.

I am.

“Nosy old bastard,” Q muttered, fishing the key from his pocket. The entire floor housed the Presidential suite. There was only one door, and Q attacked it with the key. It swung open thanks to a well-placed kick.

I laughed softly. “He didn’t exactly want to see two people groping each other. Hazards of the job I can imagine.”