Tears of Tess Read online

  He grunted as he stepped back, but it wasn’t enough. Landing on me again, his weight pinned my body. Breath hot on my cheek as he rubbed his five o’clock shadow along my jaw. “Don’t fucking push me. What are you?”

  Not this again. In a moment of lunacy, I tried to head-butt him.

  His eyes flared wide and lips twitched. The look of alpha possession overshadowed for a moment with sheer amazement. He rammed his thigh between my legs, rubbing against overheated flesh. Even through denim every part of him awoke every part of me and I ached. I burned. I wanted.

  “You made me say it last night. You broke me. I won’t do it again,” I seethed.

  He growled, moving his thigh. He cupped with me forceful fingers. My head wanted to crash against his shoulder in servitude, but I couldn’t. This was wrong. God help me, I’d broken myself with battling two conflicting things. Run. Fuck. Run. Fuck. The trance sent wetness gushing from me. I’d never been so turned on and never hated someone more.

  “I’ll gladly break you again to hear you say it.” His hands captured my wrists, slamming them above my head against the door. Holding me with one hand, his other went back to my jeans. With nimble fingers, he undid my fly and somehow managed to wriggle his hand inside the denim and knickers.

  I bucked as a finger pressed deep inside. No soft requests or gentle foreplay, a straight finger fuck.

  “Say it,” he ordered. My eyes snapped closed as he hooked his finger, pressing against my g-spot. “Your body drips for me, esclave. I’ll let you have me, if you say it. Say you’re mine.”

  Another finger entered as fierce as the first and legs turned to jelly. He held me upright by my wrists and fingers rode me deep. I’d never been touched so totally before. Brax… he wasn’t a lover of foreplay… Stop thinking about Brax. Especially now. This would break his heart.

  My mind cracked into shards. I struggled to fight the insane urge to submit; I could never submit. Lifting extremely heavy eyelids, I snarled, “Mine. Not yours.”

  He flinched as if I’d struck him, eyes flashing with a feral edge. “Wrong answer.” He ducked and threw me over a shoulder, just like the captor in Mexico. All residual fear rushed to haunt me and my body no longer hummed. It burned for freedom. To end this, to run.

  Q dropped me on the bed, immediately yanking my jeans off. I couldn’t stop it. One minute they were on, the next they lay discarded with the other torn clothes.

  He climbed on top and I kicked. My knee connected with rib cage and he winced, but a hand grabbed my side, pressing my own broken rib. Everything oozed to greyness with pain. It gave him time to undo his tie and wrap it tight around my wrists.

  My heartbeat thrummed in my arms, hating the tight restriction. Shoving my wrists above my head, he pinned me down, trying to wedge between my legs. I fought like an alley cat. Our legs battled, feet grappled with the sheet, and for a moment, I might’ve won. I lost with one misplaced kick.

  Within moments, I lay spread-eagled with him panting above. Smouldering, unwanted lust ignited. Misplaced lust. Lust that drove me mad with confusion and hatred.

  Eagerness and longing flamed his face. His smell of sin, citrus, and sandalwood dazzled my senses, flaring every part. My core clenched as Q rocked, breathing hard and rattling. Somehow, the synapses of my brain hardwired to his scent.

  Oh, God. He successfully owned one of my senses! Smell. I couldn’t let him take more.

  Howling, I bit his shoulder. “Let me the fuck go!”

  He reared back, rage and hard-edged respect in his eyes. Did he respect I fought? Did it turn him on so damn much? Sick, sick bastard.

  He raised a hand as if to strike me.

  I fought the urge to curl into a little ball, and stared into his turbulent gaze. “Do it. Hit me. At least the pain will leave a physical mark you’ll have to see every day.”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it. His hand hovered, before cupping my cheek. He ran a trembling thumb across my lips. “Say it.” Something raw blazed in his gaze, imploring on some deep, psychological level. He seemed desperate to hear me admit I was his.

  He reached between us, stroking my clit through my knickers. All the fireworks that’d been smouldering, sparked to life. An orgasm gripped my muscles with sharp ecstasy; I threw my head back.

  “Oh, shit.” I didn’t want the orgasm—even though I did. I didn’t want it, as Brax never gave me one, and to me, that made our separation horribly final. As if Q sliced us apart, leaving me ruined for anything but roughness and savagery.

  Just as the bands of muscles exploded, Q stopped touching. He scrambled off, pulling me to a sitting position. My bound wrists drooped in my lap. I blinked, body resonating with the build-up of intensity, smarting for relief. My orgasm dwindled to nothing.

  I wanted to scream. He left me deliberately on the knife-edge of pleasure.

  “What is your name?” he demanded, as he undid his belt, tore it from its belt loops, and tossed it on the ground. The sound of the heavy belt buckle hitting soft carpet sent heartbeats racing ever faster.

  I refused to answer, but couldn’t look away as he undid his fly and untucked the crimson shirt. He left the royal blue jacket on, but unbuttoned it so the material flared to the sides.

  Placing himself in front, his crotch the perfect height to my mouth, he ordered, “Suck me.” Q’s gaze sent incandescent fire racing in my blood, but it didn’t match the horror I lived with. Suck him? I couldn’t. Not a man. A stranger. My owner. I’d rather bite.

  When I didn’t move, Q pushed his boxer briefs down, pulling his raging hard cock from its prison. The tip glistened with pre-cum, his scent of musk and darkness spelled around me.

  Fisting his thick length, he bit his lip, stroking. My stomach clenched; I closed my eyes. “Please—” I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  He inched closer, practically pressing his cock against my lips. “You can. And you will, esclave.”

  I tilted my head away, hyperaware of the dampness of pre-cum as he ran his hot erection along my cheek. His hand lashed out, fingers bruising my chin, keeping me in place. “Open. And if you bite, I’ll hit you so hard, you won’t wake up for days.” His voice rasped with excitement, but there was something else, too. Something I recognised, but couldn’t place. Heat blazed all emotions to dust.

  My body twitched as tears flowed. I needed help. I needed saving. Everything I felt suddenly boiled over, steaming with no outlet…then something happened.

  Everything… stopped.

  My mind shut down, body turned numb. Everything I battled… disappeared. I was left an empty shell—uncaring, blissfully vacant.

  Calm descended as I accepted obedience like a balm against the hardship of fighting. In that moment, I became what he wanted: his.

  Q didn’t seem to notice the epiphany I experienced, and when he tilted my head to take his cock, I let him.

  He pressed the back of my head, entering my mouth with his long, velvety length. He moaned as I deep throated with no revolt at all.

  I let him.

  He groaned, flexing hips as my lips created a suction around hot flesh. He muttered something in French, bending forward, almost brushing my hair with his chest.

  I let him.

  In my untouchable cocoon, I would let him to anything.

  He was male. I was female. That was all there was to it.

  My hands moved on their own accord, reaching for him. One hand cupped tight, smooth balls, while the other stroked his throbbing length.

  I floated on a cloud of indifference as I pleasured, touched, tasted. Nothing registered—neither scent, nor taste, nor sound. I was a robot, a perfect toy—my only purpose: to make him come.

  Why did I ever fight? This was so much easier. Almost drug like. Dreamlike. I wanted to laugh. Freedom. I’d found it, in my mind.

  Q stopped thrusting into my mouth; harsh fingers angled my throat to look up. I didn’t stop stroking, even as pale eyes delved into mine.

  I blinked, not caring. If
he wanted to rape me, so be it. If I was to be his for eternity, fine. He might own my body. He would never own my soul.

  “What is your fucking name?” he muttered, French accent warbling the curse. He should swear in French. It sounded better.

  I never dropped eye contact, still stroking, still working like a good wind-up toy.

  He growled, knocking my hands off his cock. They landed limply in my lap.

  Q stood, swaying slightly with his erection standing proud beneath the shirt, trousers puddled around ankles like shackles. My skin prickled with the force of his stare, but apart from that, nothing moved me. I didn’t care what he wanted. My name? I didn’t know my name.

  Oh, I had to answer. He asked a question. I had to obey. “Esclave. My name is Esclave.”

  He hissed between clenched teeth as I reached for his cock again, dragging a fingernail up the length, pressing hard against the slit at the top.

  Q’s fingers threaded through my hair, grabbing a handful. He yanked my head back, lowering his face to mine; we breathed each other’s breath.

  I sat there, unmoving. I sighed, relief coursing through my heart. I no longer cared. I convinced my mind to leave, and it had. Everything that happened now didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stain my life, as it had been put on hold.

  His gaze swelled with urgency, commandments. Then softened, churning into unhappiness, grief. Before I could figure out the puzzle, blankness came over his features and he kissed me.

  His tongue plundered, and I opened wider, inviting him to take. I even licked him back, massaging his taste with my own. He groaned. It sounded tortured, as if he wanted to kiss but didn’t, like he fought against morals, choices.

  My heart stayed an even rhythm, never rising, even as his hand dropped to my breast and twisted a nipple. Like the obedient slave he wanted, I opened like a sun-warmed flower, pressing flesh into his palm, arching my back.

  He stumbled backward, as if I’d bit him, tripping over trousers. With angry jerks, he hoisted up his pants, wincing as he tucked his erection away.

  I cocked my head, wondering, but not caring, why he pulled away. I’d done everything right. “Did I not please you?” My voice was odd—dead, lifeless, robotic.

  Q froze, running hands over short hair. His darker skin whitened with what looked like fear. “What are you?” he demanded.

  I didn’t hesitate. I knew the answer. It was easy. “Yours.”

  He sucked in a breath, eyes flaring wide. He paced in front, never taking his gaze off mine. “You said you wouldn’t let me! You seemed so strong, unbreakable. You lied to me.” He bristled with anger. “I haven’t even fucked you, yet you’re broken.” Guilt etched his livid tone.

  I stayed unruffled, unworried. He raged because he broke me? Wasn’t that his goal? He should be pleased it took such little time. I thought I could last longer, but my mind no longer wished to fight. I refused to scream and cry when I found solitude and calm. Could he only get off on the sounds of distress?

  I had no answer so I dropped my eyes, staring at my bound hands, waiting.

  He stalked forward, undoing the tie around my wrists in angry movements. “You lied and I don’t like liars.”

  I shrugged. What was there to say? He owned me—he could call me what he wished. “I’m yours. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  He shook his head, temper flaring. “You’ve given up. You aren’t mine unless I make you mine!”

  My mind hurt. I couldn’t unravel that. I was his. Undeniably. He knew that. My body screamed it loud enough.

  “Take off your sweater.” His eyes dropped to the weight of my breasts under the jumper. Rather than excitement, fear, anticipation, I felt nothing—heavenly nothing. He towered above like the God of sex, his erection straining against his trousers, calling to me.

  I grabbed the hem and tugged the sweater over my head in one swoop. I stood and reached for his waist. His skin burned as I touched his hipbone.

  His breath came faster, looking hungrily at my bra. It was so nice not to feel. If Brax watched me the way Q did, I’d have hidden my stomach, worried about the birthmark in the valley of my breasts, worried if he loved me even with flaws. Here, I didn’t care.

  “Give me your bra.” He held out a hand, waiting. His jaw worked as I reached behind and unclasped the lacy cups. I dangled it between my forefinger and thumb, passing it to him. My nipples pinpointed and ached. His gaze thrilled my body, heating my vacancy into need.

  Not looking away, Q’s fingers latched around my hand, accepting the bra. His thumb caught my barcode tattoo; the burn made me wince. The tinkle of delicate silver summoned his eyes and he frowned.

  Brax’s bracelet.

  The void I floated in evaporated. Memories roared back.

  Brax.

  Mexico.

  Pain.

  Leather Jacket.

  My mind woke, latching onto things I wished I could forget. No. No, stay. Don’t go back.

  Q’s jaw tightened as I tugged my hand back, skin crawling. How did I come to be only in my knickers, standing in front of him? Everything was foggy; a dream I couldn’t quite grasp.

  Q snapped his fingers around my wrist. Leaning forward, he peered deep into my soul. His thumb played with the bracelet, sending the cool silver spinning. “Who gave you this?”

  My breathing accelerated; I gulped. Don’t answer.

  But I didn’t need to answer. His face flashed with triumph, body settled into a taunting stance. “Someone you care about gave you this. Do you think I should let you keep it?” He tugged and the metal bit into my skin. Any more pressure and he’d snap it.

  Tess, go back. Leave and float. Who cares about a bracelet? He can have it. Brax can buy you another.

  My heart stuttered to a slamming halt. But if Brax died back on the bathroom floor, I’d never get another. It was the only thing I had left.

  Fight ruptured and I attacked. My nails swiped his cheek as I barrelled into him. I screamed as we fell to the floor. Q yelled something and snatched at my wrist. The silver tried to stay intact, but broke with a tiny clink, landing on the carpet beside Q’s head.

  Brax!

  I yelled and shoved. Q covered his face as I went savage, reaching for the ruined jewellery. Throat tight, I lunged, but Q was too fast. He rolled so I ended up beneath him on the grey carpet. He pinned my arms with effortless power that made me hate him more. How could I think I could beat him when he subdued me like an annoying butterfly?

  Licking his lips, passion raged on his face. “There you are. Don’t switch off again. I forbid it.”

  I was back to this horrible life, I fought. My hands curled and bucked, hating how my naked breasts jiggled as I tried to get free.

  Q grunted and sat up, straddling me, cupping my breasts. “What is your name?” His lips pulled back from his teeth as he twisted my nipples sending shocks of pleasure-pain through my system. “What is your name, goddammit? Tell me.”

  I glared with every dagger of hatred inside.

  Silence.

  My tongue knotted against ever saying my name again. It was mine. Not his. I never wanted to hear him say it. “Never!”

  Q shuddered with a mixture of unnamed emotion and slapped me. My eyes smarted as heat hurt with embarrassment, rather than pain. He fucking slapped me!

  “Merde!” he swore. Standing, he scooped the bracelet from the carpet and dangled it above. “This is mine. You are mine. Get that through your head if you ever want it back.”

  I scrambled to my knees, reaching for it. No, he couldn’t take it. It linked to my past, linked to Brax, to who I was deep inside—the tame, sweet girl who wanted nothing more than to belong.

  Tears caught in my throat. “I told you what you want. I’m yours. Please, give it back. I’m yours!”

  His powerful body tightened, buttoning his blazer with precise movements. The silver tantalized in his fingers before he shoved it into a suit pocket. “You say the words but you don’t believe it. I told you. I don�
�t like liars.”

  He turned and opened the door, fingers turning white around the doorknob. “Stay up here. Your punishment for not obeying is starvation. Good night.”

  Swiping his face, he left.

  *Wren*

  That night, I dreamed.

  I dreamed of red and passion and violence. Of being taken, owned, possessed—of Q filling me with hardness, fucking me over the pool table.

  I woke to my fingers sliding in my wetness. Toes curled and back arched as the orgasm Q denied me rippled with an intensity echoing in my teeth.

  My heart raced as I came back to earth, uncramping my feet. A damp spot formed below my ass and cheeks pinked with how wet I was. But lying in the dark, stomach empty, heart ruined, I found peace.

  My body no longer throbbed, and for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly.

  * * * * *

  Time slowed.

  Seconds crawled into unwilling minutes, turning into tomorrow and next week. Q didn’t come find me, and I never saw him return home from work.

  But I knew when he arrived, as the house filled with passionate music. Lyrics thrummed, stroking with warning. He lived in the same house as me—any moment he could come, but never did.

  Most of the time, music throbbed with French laments, but then one night, an English song rained from the speakers.

  Every second my temper frays, every moment my beast desires

  you think you can win, but you’re not consumed by sin

  delicate and sweet are no match for hell and ruin

  I don’t want you to see the depth of my blackness

  for there-in lie demons and nightmares

  don’t look in my eyes, the truth is not for you

  you should run, you should flee, you should hide away forever

  I couldn’t describe the loneliness aching in my bones. The song reached like a plea, freezing me with confusion.

  Ever since that night and the painful song, I couldn’t shake the feeling Q tried to tell me something in the music he played. But I couldn’t believe it, because if I did—what did that mean? I couldn’t feel sorry for my captor. I had to remain aloof, distant. Be that icicle—sharp and deadly.