Q pushed my hands away, unbuckling in one fast pull.

I swallowed hard as he tore the belt free.

A moment hovered between us.

A moment where his eyes asked questions, and I kept mine from answering.

A moment where he ran the leather through his fingers, deliberating whether to use the still-warm belt as foreplay.

 I fought the tremble; tussled with the truth.

If he chose to use it, I would accept. If he wanted it, I would obey.

Then the moment ended and Q hurled it away—his body twisted with the effort. His chest heaved as if the action drained his self-control beyond endurance. The heavy buckle crashed into something breakable in the distance, sending more noises of breaking china.

“I don’t have time for games. I need you on my cock. Now.”

With a furious jerk, he pulled off his trousers, underwear, and shoes in one swipe. His cock sprang free, glistening with pre-cum, beckoning with silky steel and promise of oblivion.

My mouth fell open at how gorgeous he was. How perfectly made and achingly divine.

Every muscle twitched with longing, sending euphoria waltzing through my veins.

My pussy throbbed; my breathing accelerated. I welcomed back the joy of wanting to come.

I needed to take back this part of my life.

I was ready.

I swayed forward, biting his shoulder only to receive a mouthful of cotton. My eyes were endlessly heavy as I looked up. “I need to see all of you.”

Q clenched his teeth but allowed me to grab the hem and draw his t-shirt up. Up, up, revealing clouds, barbwire, and sparrows.

Every feather, every swirl of ink imprinted itself onto my heart. His tattoo encapsulated him like nothing else ever could.

“Q—” My hand lashed out, tightening around his erection. Images of eroticism and passion filled my mind as his heat scorched my palm.

His head fell back as a groan wrenched from his lungs.

My teeth ached; my blood hummed for connection.

Fill me!

My other hand dropped between his legs, cupping his tight balls. His eyes flared wide as I rolled the delicate heaviness in my fingers, wanting to bring him to his knees and serve him.

He thrust his hips into my hand, forcing his length back and forth. Every ripple of hardness, every ridge of his perfectly made cock sent my cells exploding.

“Do you want me, Tess?”

I bit my lip, nodding, transfixed by the velvet iron in my fist.

“It’s yours, esclave. What do you want me to do with it?”

His transfer of ownership sent a flush of untainted happiness. “I want you deep inside me, maître.”

His eyes snapped closed. “Fuck, I love hearing you say that.” He cupped my pussy, his grip hard and possessive.  “Never forget it.”

My neck couldn’t hold the sudden density of my head. I cried out as one long, loving finger slipped inside me. Just one. Only one.

But I wanted to fucking explode.

“How much I’ve missed this. Missed your taste. Your sweet, sweet cunt,” Q murmured, his eyes luminous with lust.

“Q—take me. Please—I beg you.”

“You beg me?”

“You’ll beg for more. Withdrawal is a bitch, and you’ll beg, pretty girl. You wait.”

I shook my head, scattering the thoughts.

“Yes. Fill me. Take me. Please—”

His cock lurched in my hands as I ran a thumb over the slippery tip. The slickness of his arousal turned me on beyond belief.

His finger withdrew, lulling me into a haze, then he thrust two fingers deep—stretching me with ownership.

The brief moment of slowness shattered as Q wrapped an arm around my shoulders, bringing me closer. His cock rippled in my touch, demanding something…demanding more.

His fingers massaged me deep, drawing more wetness and pinwheels of passion to radiate in my blood.

“Put my cock in you, esclave. Do it.”

The sideboard put me at the perfect height; Q was so close to entering me.

Q removed his fingers, smearing the glistening liquid over the head of his erection. Seeing him touch himself was the final push I needed.

I wasn’t Tess.

I wasn’t a survivor or murderer or slave.

I was a woman drunk on the need to come.

One entity. One goal. One destination.

“God, I need to be inside you. So deep, so fucking deep,” Q groaned.

My hips rolled forward as I guided the tip of him to press against my entrance. We both shuddered at the first connection.

Lifting me up with one arm, he positioned himself closer, spreading my folds with the thickness of his cock. With eyes locked, we froze at the temptation of sex. The room dripped with anticipation.

I bit my lip as he pushed forward, stretching, taking.

He stopped halfway. His eyes glittered, looking at where we joined. The basest of human acts, the rawest form of love.

Then the slowness and time for words disappeared as Q pulled back and with his face tightly controlled thrust hard.

One savage thrust filled me to the brim and something unlocked inside. The bricks of my tower scattered further as confidence filtered through my previous dread.

Tears sprang to my eyes—not because of pain or weakness but because of pure paradisiac joy.

Joy of being taken. Joy of belonging.

Q reeled off oaths under his breath, jerking me closer, pressing deeper.

I went floppy in his arms, focused only on him. His pelvic bone pressed against mine, rubbing my clit so perfectly an orgasm sparked from nowhere.

No build-up. No warning.

“Oh, God.” I grabbed his neck, needing something to hold onto while the cyclone of pleasure built in my core. Q groaned as he fucked me. Hard and strong and delicious.

My pussy squeezed, intent on one thing, leaving me floundering.

Q’s hands latched onto my hips, holding me firm, allowing him to thrust harder.

My breasts bounced as my body rocked on the wood. I leaned backward, bracing myself against the wall as he pulled my legs to wrap around his body.

The moment my legs locked around him, he surged upward. His cock hit places that acted as a trigger to the fiercest cyclone in history.

Tightening, swirling, building, sparking.

My mouth parted as a ragged moan erupted from my lungs.

“Fuck, yes,” Q yelled, his fingernails digging into flesh. He drove harder, stroking my pussy until every inch of me thrummed like an entire chorus of typhoons.

There was no pain.

Nothing but sweet, sweet pleasure.

I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it.

I didn’t ask permission or delay.

I gave myself over to the unravelling storm inside.

I came.

Every band of release made me shudder in his arms, and I was only vaguely aware of the world outside.

Q fucked harder, growling louder.

I didn’t care about anything but the intense waves of pleasure wringing me dry.

“Goddammit, Tess. Fuck it. Take me.” His voice was far away. I became nothing more than a vessel for him to come into. My soul was elsewhere, living in prolonged bliss. My thoughts were dust and ash.

Pain.

A flash of horrendous pain.

My eyes flew open. The wondrous storm switched to angry squalls—lashing me with darkness and hell.

I was ice cold.

I was terrified.

Q planted both hands on the sideboard, driving into me almost possessed. All I could focus on was the blooming red handprint on my thigh where he’d spanked me.

And then he came.

Rhythmic spurts, shuddering muscles, lust so violent it looked otherworldly on his anger-flushed face.

He’d hit me to come.

He’d needed to punish me to find release.

He took his pleasure from my pain.

The bricks I’d tried so hard to destroy lurched into formation. The foundation of the tower went from rubble to stacked in a blink.

My tower wanted to claim me again. It wanted to save me.

The pain made me want to hide.