Monsters in the Dark

by Winters, Pepper

  Q muttered, “No honeymoon. Not yet.”

  Franco rearranged his face from kind and open to cool and professional. Ignoring me, he looked at Q. “Where to then?”

  Take her back to Australia. I’m done. The snide cruel voice in my head answered on Q’s behalf, filling me with damp iciness. Oh, God. I had to get the negativity under control. I had to find a way to clear my mind.

  Q glanced my way, his mind elsewhere. Finally, he answered, “Just drive for a bit. I’m still thinking. I want something impersonal.”

  Impersonal? First he took me to an island that obviously meant a lot to him, then he wanted to take me somewhere that meant nothing. Trust in him, Tess. I had to keep my chin high and my heart believing.

  “Sure thing.” Franco nodded, putting the glass back up.

  Q looked out the window without a sideways glance.

  I wanted to go to him. I wanted his arms around me, so I could focus on what was real and not what was in my head. My mouth opened, spilling an unauthorized question. “Why couldn’t we have stayed on Volière? Even if you don’t want to get married, surely it was a good place to spend time together?”

  Q didn’t turn around. It took a moment for him to reply, as if sorting through the words to make sure he said nothing wrong. “I want the impersonality of somewhere we’ve never been. I want somewhere on neutral ground.” He kept staring out the window, brooding. His hands curled on his thighs, saturating the atmosphere in the car with energy and frustration.

  I ignored the splinters in my heart. “For what?” He wants somewhere where no memories exist for either of us. It made sense—I supposed.

  “I don’t know yet,” Q muttered.

  I couldn’t help the quick intake of breath or the tickle of tears. Why the fuck was I so weak? I hated being weak. I wanted to be strong again—to understand why Q had done what he did. I wanted to have the strength to allow life to guide me without being terrified of what was around the corner.

  Anger filled me; I smashed my stinging eyes. Twisting my body, I tried to see through the swimming tears, focusing on the passing view.

  Rustling sounded as Q shifted. “I’m making this up as I go along, esclave. I’d forgotten how overgrown that hovel of an island is. Someone needs to go in with a chainsaw.” His accented voice that normally radiated with honesty dulled with the lie.

  I looked over. He smiled, softening the brutality of such a fib. “Please, Tess, let me do what I need to do.”

  The anger hadn’t left my veins. I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight. I wanted to prove I still had the guts to stand up for something I desperately wanted. And I desperately wanted to be married to Q. If I hadn’t let the memories take me hostage, I could’ve been Mrs. Mercer in a few short hours. Now, I might never wear his name.

  “You said you liked it wild. You deliberately left it untouched.” A thought came to me, I asked, “Why did you buy it in the first place? There must’ve been a reason.” Images of him sending women to heal and recoup there filled my mind. Maybe he hadn’t bought it for himself but for another.

  As much as I wished I could read his secrets and unravel his past, I couldn’t. Q was still an enigma. I wanted to pledge my life to his even while we fumbled in the dark.

  I didn’t think he’d answer, but quietly he replied, “I had a crazy notion I would retire there.”

  I sat taller, twisting my hands in my lap. “You wanted to retire on Volière?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to picture him bumbling around on an island as an old man all on his own. But he wouldn’t be alone. He would’ve found someone worthy if I hadn’t been sold to him. He would’ve fallen in love—eventually. A man like Q deserved to be loved unconditionally.

  Still not looking at me, Q admitted, “A few years ago, I was dealing with a lot of shit. I had more slaves being rehabilitated than I could keep count of. The pressure of dealing half in the light and half in the fucking dark messed me up inside. All I wanted was peace. Serenity. Somewhere no one could find me. It seemed the perfect place.”

  I understood his need for a bolt-hole. Somewhere he wouldn’t be judged or be a stranger in his own home. Keeping my voice low, so as not to shatter the gathering softness between us, I said, “That’s a good reason.”

  Q looked over, his pale eyes delving into mine. “A good reason but no longer valid. I’ll never retire there. Not now.”

  My heart beat harder at the thought of the future. I loved that I had the privilege of watching him age. I’d love every year as his dark hair turned to salt and pepper and the faint frown lines by his eyes became laugh lines instead. I didn’t picture him hidden away on an island though—it just didn’t fit.

  I murmured, “No matter how hard I try I can’t visualize you sequestered on some wild oasis. You have too many people relying on you. You love your birds too much. Your…vocation. You’d miss France.”

  Q’s forehead furrowed. He gave the impression I’d guessed right on every account. He may be well travelled and crave silence and space occasionally, but he was a French man to the last drop of blood. He would miss the local cuisine, the language. He would miss the seasons, and the satisfaction of his unique charity.

  I would miss all of that, too. His life was now mine, and it couldn’t be more perfect. I couldn’t wait to help others, or be by his side while playing a real life game of monopoly. My university degree would be put to use, and I’d finally earn my place.

  He chuckled, shedding some of the stress in his eyes. “Stupid idea, right?” He picked a non-existent piece of lint off his trousers. “I thought it was the only place I would find what I was looking for. That I could stop lying to myself and running from a past I can’t forget.” He suddenly looked up, his gaze blazing with jade fire. “I’ve grown up since then. There is no running, only accepting. I found what I needed the moment you entered my life. And as much as I dislike that the chateau belonged to my father, I finally have the inclination to turn it from his to ours.”

  Ours.

  Ours.

  My lungs stuck together. “Ours?” I breathed.

  Q twisted his body to face me. “Yes. Ours. Yours. Mine. Ours.” He gently took my hand, squeezing hard. “I no longer need Volière. Next time I speak to Frederick, I’ll get him to draw up the papers to sell it.”

  I managed to suck in a reedy breath even as my eyes popped wide. “Just because you won’t retire there doesn’t mean you have to sell it.” I looked to where our hands were joined and couldn’t contain the sharp spasm of lust and love. “Keep it. I hate to think of that perfect wilderness being ruined.”

  Q chuckled. “You were there for a moment. You can’t have grown attached.” His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, turning the faint awareness into something tangible and throbbing.

  I licked my bottom lip, quickly becoming drunk on the thought of kissing him.

  Q stiffened; his fingers clamped fiercely around mine. His eyes remained on my mouth. “If you want me to keep it, I will.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Juste comme ça.” Just like that. His gaze flickered up, drawing fire and the beautiful wonderful feeling of want. I’d missed the flush; worried I’d be destined to be cold and lifeless inside. Q ran the pad of his thumb over my knuckles, sending shivers arching over my skin.

  My entire body grew heavy, lethargic, spreading with warm, scrumptious anticipation. What were we talking about? Ah, yes, Volière. “I’ll never get used to your wealth.”

  Q unwound my fingers from his, moving his palm to my hip. I jolted at the fierce shock of him touching me. Every second that passed the car fogged with whatever built between us. It dewed on my eyelashes, spreading lazy fronds through my heart.

  Q’s hand drifted down my side where the seat-belt fastened. With his eyes locked on mine, he pressed the button and released me. The car continued to drift forward through traffic, shuttling us to who knew where in our own private world.

  Tugging me forward, Q murmured, “Well, you better get use
d to it because it’s all yours. No pre-nups, no stupid documents or lawyers. As far as I’m concerned, every euro is yours.”

  He didn’t stop pulling until I slid into his lap. Every inch I travelled over his rock hard thighs, I struggled to catch my breath. I existed purely on the lust-filled cognizance budding between us. “I can’t take it.”

  I couldn’t take a penny from this man. Not after he’d given me so much. Even now he gave me so much in the form of remembrance—bringing my body back to life, filling me with liquid heat and joy.

  Q’s right. Getting married with the clouds hanging over our heads was a mistake. The clouds were building, thickening, filling with threatening thunder and lightning. The storm would ruin our fragile happiness in one strike. I didn’t want to risk losing this. Losing him.

  I’d already lost myself—still trying to wiggle through the bars of my captivity to grasp freedom. I would never be the fierce young woman I’d been. I had to find who I was now, before I could give Q everything.

  Q captured my hand, spinning the new ring on my wedding finger. The diamonds danced and pranced, set perfectly in wing-shaped gold.

  “Knowing there’s a tracker in there—knowing I’ll always have you close, is the only reason why my migraines have given me a reprieve.” Q’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “You’ve cured me in so many ways, esclave, but you’ve ruined me in so many others.” He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles with barely hidden reverence.

  “How? How have I ruined you?” I tingled where our bodies touched. His arm rested around my back, holding me close while his chest and legs cushioned me like a living chair.

  Q chuckled, bringing his head up to nuzzle my throat. “In so many fucking ways. You’ve proven I’m not untouchable.” I shivered as the tip of his tongue licked me. “You’ve taught me how vulnerable I truly am.”

  My head fell back as he tugged on the ends of my hair, forcing me to arch in his arms. “You’re not vulnerable, Q. Not ever.”

  His teeth grazed across my neck and for a millisecond my heart raced with fear instead of lust. The sharpness of his teeth sent my lungs suffocating for breath.

  If only I needed pain like I used to. If only I could accept what he would give. There was no doubt Q would eventually want to hurt me. It was who he was. Who I loved.

  And when that day came, I would whimper and fight and pretend I loved every moment of it. I would force myself to come for him. I would train my body to accept and hide the stark reality that I no longer lusted for pain. He would never know. He never needed to realize my sacrifice or gift.

  The pinpricks of his teeth disappeared—soothed by a worshiping lick. “I am. Terribly.”

  I moaned as his large hand teased up my side, his thumb stroking me in ever widening circles.

  “You’re not. You’re the strongest, bravest—” My brain stopped working as his thumb found my nipple, whispering around it in perfect possession.

  Q’s breathing increased until hot puffs tickled my neck with temptation. The swirling of his touch scrambled my coherency and I let myself drift—let myself come undone by his control.

  “Pour la première fois de ma vie je suis vulnérable, parce que je suis tombée amoureuse.” For the first time in my life I'm vulnerable, all because I fell in love.

  Mouth. Hands. Tongue.

  Sounds ceased to exist. The hum of the tyres on the road faded; the stop and sway of the vehicle didn’t enter our realm of superb synchronicity. Every second brought a heavy blanket around us, drawing tight, shutting out the world.

  “They took you. Those motherfuckers took what I treasured the most.” His lips pressed against my throat, then collarbone, then shoulder. “They tore my heart out. You tore my heart out by making me care so much.” His voice wavered with a mixture of strength and weakness.

  My heart broke for him. I’d lived my own hell but Q had his own nightmares to bear. “Tell me…talk to me.”

  Touch. Breath. Lick.

  Q suddenly grabbed my knee, twisting me to straddle him. With my legs spread over his lap, he thrust upward, grinding his erection against the tight web of my jeans. The dark look in his eyes was possessed, consumed with the desire to be inside me—to join us while we were linked by this brittle connection.

  “I’m not ready,” he growled. “Not ready.” His face contorted with barely restrained violence; his cock twitched, craving me just as I craved him.

  He’d spoken the truth. The unwilling truth. Will we ever be ready to rip ourselves open and bring our devils to light?

  Lips. Heat. Mouth.

  I stiffened, trying to keep my thoughts from knotting into an incomprehensible ball. “Will you ever be?”

  I moaned loudly as his hand fisted my hair, holding my head tight and unmovable. His beautiful features flashed with rage so bright and vibrant, I sucked in a breath of pure terror.

  Q glared, wrenching all my fear and ghosts to the surface. “I’ll be ready when you are, esclave. A life for a life. A tale for a tale.”

  I didn’t have time to breathe before his lips descended on mine and my brain died an ambrosial death. His taste shot right through my heart, body, and soul, entering every molecule. He touched the nucleus of who I was, smashing through the chains, bulldozing through the wreckage of my tower, and picking me up in his ever strong arms.

  I found one piece of myself in that shattered wasteland of my psyche: I remembered the luscious taste of violence.

  Pulling. Sucking. Licking.

  Every slippery swirl of his tongue resonated and throbbed in my pussy.

  Q groaned as I went from submissive and obeying to needing and demanding. My arms wrapped around his head, gluing his mouth to mine, making sure he would never get free. My core melted, sending pinwheels and sparklers igniting in my blood.

  I bruised us. I tasted the almost foreign flavour of metallic from my teeth slicing my bottom lip. I kissed him harder than I’d ever kissed before.

  Our breathing tangled, our hands became separate entities as we groped and stroked and pinched.

  I’m ready, I wanted to say. I’m ready to share my tale just so I can learn yours. I want to know you. Every part of you. I want to own you.

  Q forced my mouth wider, his tongue almost choking me he kissed so deep. I duelled him, waging a battle, trying to win the war on who would break and speak the loathsome truth first.

  My jaw ached, my nipples screamed to have his mouth sucking. My pussy twinged and throbbed for him to fill—to turn me from empty to full.

  I was ready. I was strong. I wanted to talk.

  The indecision and unknowing had to stop. We’d cinched our lives together—it was time we started trusting and pulled the ends of our connection tight, stitching ourselves together forever.

  I panted as Q broke the kiss. Crashing back to earth, I noticed how wild and enthralled we’d been—how transcended from mortal bodies the kiss had taken us. Q sucked up all the energy in the car, consuming me. All I could see was him. Not the wondrous view, or the quaint buildings streaming past the window. Just him. Always him.

  My jeans were unbuttoned, Q’s hand half in my knickers, trying to touch me. My own hand cupped his cock through his trousers; my fingers white from squeezing him so hard. Q’s lips were red and wet while his hair stuck up in all directions.

  He’d never looked so sexy or tempting.

  Never breaking eye contact, Q reached behind me to the intercom button. With a smile dancing on his lips, he growled, “Take us to the closest hotel, Franco. I need to do something rather urgently.”

  * * *

  I was hot then cold.

  Excited then afraid.

  Turned on then repulsed.

  My heart went from thrumming with life to a lump of unmovable muscle.

  The thrill of wanting, craving, panting for Q to deliver what he’d started in the limo wouldn’t stay constant. Confusion doused me, hesitation chilled me.

  Franco pulled the car to a halt outside some
huge fancy hotel. All whitewashed and pristine, it glittered with mocking purity. I instantly hated it. I felt too dirty, too messed up to enter such an immaculate establishment. I missed Volière. It was chaotic and unkempt and forgiving. The polar opposite of this place.

  Q hastily smoothed his trousers, running a hand through his hair to hide the obviousness of what we’d been doing.

  We were here. We were about to go somewhere just the two of us. Q would take me in his way. He would hurt me.

  I bit my lip, looking out the window. I couldn’t let him see my desire swiftly becoming fear.

  “Do you know why you’re tied up?” Leather Jacket’s voice hissed in my ear. “It’s so we can do what you did to those girls but ten times worse.”

  Oxygen. I suddenly couldn’t get enough.

  Stop. This is Q. The man you would die for. Does it matter the thought of a belt or whip terrifies you? You’re doing this for him—not you.

  The pep-talk granted me enough sanity and peace to suck in a much needed breath.

  Franco shut off the engine, then came to open my door. Sunshine bounced inside, taking with it the remaining dark awareness ebbing between Q and me.

  I looked at Q briefly, suffering a full body jolt. His eyes were hooded, turbulent; his chest rising and falling with power. His entire soul reached across the car to touch me, warn me—threaten with just how much he needed me alone.

  Franco took my hand, helping me from the car. Q’s eyes dropped to where Franco held me; his jaw clenched. He didn’t like anyone touching me—least of all strangers—but he smothered his temper, allowing Franco some leniency.

  “Ready to go?” Franco asked, tugging my fingers. Breaking eye contact with Q, I allowed Franco to guide me from the vehicle. His large hand was warm and dry, effortlessly hoisting me upward.

  “Thank you,” I said, letting him go the moment I stood.

  Franco stared, his bright green eyes probing mine. His lips parted as a thought flashed across his face. Leaning in, he said quickly, “I’ve never spoken about what Q did to find you, but you’re stupid to let the fear keep you hostage. If you saw what he’s capable of….You wouldn’t be fearing anyone but the monster in your bed.”