Twisted Together
Page 12

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 c**k as hard as I could.
“Fuck.” His h*ps 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 f**king 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 f**king 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 cl*t 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 na**d 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 f**king 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 f**kedupness that made me his.
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 c**k sprang free, glistening with pr**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 pu**y 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 h*ps into my hand, forcing his length back and forth. Every ripple of hardness, every ridge of his perfectly made c**k 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 pu**y, 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 f**king 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 c**k 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 c**k 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 c**k 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 f**king deep,” Q groaned.
My h*ps 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 cl*t 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 f**ked me. Hard and strong and delicious.
My pu**y squeezed, intent on one thing, leaving me floundering.
Q’s hands latched onto my hips, holding me firm, allowing him to thrust harder.
My br**sts 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 c**k 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 pu**y 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 f**ked 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.