Q lassoed my wrist, yanking me into the room. With a dark smile, he slammed the door and spun me against the wall. The second my back hit resistance, Q froze. His eyes fixed me in place, adding more bubbles to my blood.

I forced myself to relax. Give in. I had to trust him and let go completely.

Don’t tense.

I had to trust in my strength to survive whatever he would do.

He can’t know.

Our breathing accelerated, filling the suite with overwhelming tension. Q raised his arm, slowly, so, so slowly, dragging out the anticipation until I quivered against the wall.

“Where were we before we were interrupted?” His eyes fell to my brand, his jaw locking. Something animalistic flickered over his face, transforming him into something far scarier than human. “Seeing my mark on your skin—it does things to me, Tess. It affects me here.” He thwacked his chest with a fist. “It calms me here.” He tapped his temple.

Q was so strong and invincible but beneath it all he was insecure—just like me. He needed daily affirmations that I wouldn’t leave. That I wouldn’t lock him out like before.

We were the same.

We need to talk.

Q reached forward, running his fingertips along my jaw. In their wake, he left me on fire. My heart scurried faster and faster, hurling itself to its doom.

“So many things I want. So many things I need to do.” Q’s fingers trailed down my throat, making their lazy way to hold my neck hostage.

My hands balled by my sides; my breathing turned fast and reedy. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.

He’s going to hurt you. Spank you. Bite you.

The panic was worse than the pain and out of nowhere a familiar tug happened deep inside. A tug of promise—a shelter where I’d once hidden.

The tower.

Horror shoved away the first brick sliding into place. No!

Never again would I shut myself off. No matter what I went through I couldn’t go back into that circular prison. I wouldn’t find my way out again.

Q’s fingers squeezed, reminding me of the day he’d strapped me to the cross and waited to see how far I’d let him go.

I couldn’t stomach the stretching tautness. If I let Q draw out the connection, he’d taste my reluctance.

I did the only thing I could.

I threw myself at him.

Q’s fingers broke away from my throat, falling to his side as I jumped on him. He grunted as my body weight knocked his balance, making him stagger backward.

I was the one taking. I was the one reclaiming our relationship and even though I knew pain would be forthcoming, I relished the power at the surprise in Q’s eyes.

But then it was gone. Replaced with fierce lust and unfathomable possession.

“Fuck, Tess.” That was all Q managed before I slammed my mouth against his, shutting him up. He groaned as I wrapped my legs around him just like in the lift.

His biceps rippled, holding my weight, only to spin me around and smash me against the opposite wall.

I clawed at his back, hoping to enrage him enough to use me fast and hard. Fast because as much as I wanted him, I wanted it over quickly. Fast was good—fast hid everything slow would reveal.

His tongue lashed out, taking complete possession of my mouth. I squirmed closer, pulling his hair, forcing him to hurtle toward violence.

He growled as I reached down and grasped his cock as hard as I could.

“Fuck.” His hips pistoned, crunching my wrist between us. My mouth opened in a silent scream but Q used the advantage to kiss me harder, deeper, wider.

“What are you?” he grunted, rocking into me.

“You’re worthless. You belong to us. Withdrawal will make you do anything, obey anyone. You’re ours.”

My body jolted; I pressed harder against Q wanting to run from the abysmal thoughts.

“Answer me, esclave.” Q’s touch bruised, but he didn’t raise his palm or reach for his belt.

“Je suis à toi.” I panted. Revelling in the freedom of the phrase, I repeated, “Je suis à toi, Q.” I’m yours.

“Just like I’m yours.” His passion poured down my throat to my heart, heating me, protecting me. His lips crushed mine, and his arms bunched, pulling me away from the wall. Blindly, he carried me, but a second later we crashed into a sideboard.

The hard wood smacked into my thighs; Q swore under his breath. With glazed eyes and need glowing on his face, he swiped an angry arm behind me, knocking off expensive porcelain and a vase holding cascading lilies.

The flowers teetered then committed suicide on the marble floor below. The tinkling of splintering glass and china mixed with our heavy breathing. Cold water splashed my legs, soaking into my jeans.

Q didn’t give me time to look at the mess. His lips found mine, drowning me in his hunger. Hoisting me higher, he placed me on the sideboard, scooting me to the edge for easy reach. His lips tore from mine, his eyes latching onto my chest.

Bending over, he took the delicate material of my singlet in his mouth and tore it with his teeth. Once torn, he grabbed the neckline and ripped.

The cotton didn’t stand a chance, shredding like gossamer to follow the same path the flowers had. I moaned as his mouth latched onto my nipple through my bra. I fought the anxiety in my blood, waiting for the sharp nip of teeth—knowing the slight onset of pain would undo all my wetness, turning me from willing to pretending.

“You taste so good. So fucking good,” he growled, his fingers fumbling at the clasp. The hook sprang free, and Q jerked it off my body to toss over his shoulder. His eyes darkened from pale to smouldering. His jaw clenched as every muscle in his body locked into place. “Goddammit, you’re too fucking perfect.”

Reaching for me again, he pushed me back to taste. He manhandled me exactly how he wanted—using me like the perfect toy—his toy.

Every pull and suck of his mouth sent fire whooshing through my veins and into my core. Every lick and tease of his teeth made me forget.

Forget the voices. The pain. The suffering.

He became my entire world.

His lips left my nipple, leaving me cold and wet. His eyes charred my every thought.

With ruthless fingers, he attacked my jeans button. His knuckles brushed my clit through the material, sending a bolt of pleasure clenching my body.

Yes!

So long since I felt such inhibition. He granted immunity from everything but the selfishness of sex.

The zip released with one yank, then Q’s fingers looped around the waistline.

He pulled. Hard.

I almost fell off the sideboard.  Bracing my hands on the smooth wood, I arched my hips, giving him room to tear them down.

My thighs were moon-white, marked only by remnants of kicks and torture. They were only faint shadows but Q’s eyes narrowed. Tracing the fading bruises, his face filled with harrowing rage. “Jamais. Ils ne prendront plus jamais ce qui est à moi.” Never again. Never will they take what's mine.

My heart sank further into my body, hiding from his temper; it came alive again as a burst of tenderness softened his features.

He leaned over, descending his mouth to the sensitive skin of my hip. With a slice of sharp canines, he decimated the scrap of lace.

My mind whirled as I sat fully naked before him. Q froze, drinking me in.

“Destroying my clothes again?” I breathed. Loving his lust—the ferocity and abandonment. He was loving me like I needed him to: full of passion and no pain.

“It’s only fair seeing as you destroyed my fucking heart.” He kissed me, making me swallow his words.

With strong hands he spread my knees, placing himself between my legs. I fumbled with his belt, cursing the rush of nostalgia and regret. I missed the lust at the thought of him using the leather. I missed the fuckedupness that made me his.