Monsters in the Dark

by Winters, Pepper

  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.

  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.

  With a war-cry, I smashed the cylindrical prison and prayed with everything I had left that I was strong enough.

  Strong enough to survive.

  Strong enough to survive Q.

  Chapter Four

  Quincy

  Stroke me, provoke me, adore me, I implore thee, take all of me, ensnare me, play me to your tune

  The release wasn’t enough.

  It’d been too quick, too tame.

  Even as I’d driven deep inside Tess, coming hard and fast, I knew it wouldn’t sate me for long.

  It wouldn’t sate me because it’d been normal. Fucking vanilla. Sex wasn’t what gave me pleasure and got me off. It was the dominance—the role-play, the mind games, the linking of masculine and feminine through bodily control.

  The one strike I’d delivered had been enough to send me over the edge, but not enough to stop the churning in my gut for more. I needed worse. I needed dirty.

  I sighed, throwing an arm over my eyes.

  Tess was still in the bathroom. She’d been in there for at least forty minutes.

  What the fuck was she doing?

  My eyes travelled around the suite. From the bedroom, I could see most of the lounge and part of the drawing room where dinner and business meetings were concluded. Each room took up a colossal amount of space with huge windows bordering the view of the seaside, colourful umbrellas, and lobster-red sunbathers.

  I threw myself back onto the covers, staring at the ceiling. The suite consisted of soothing shades of white: eggshell, alabaster, and chalk. I knew because the hotel stupidly provided a decoration guide complete with drapery design, carpet blends, and colour swatches.

  As if I’d come here for fucking decorating advice.

  I’d flicked through the magazine after rolling it up into a tube, testing it as a spanking device. I’d discarded it because the slick glossy pages were too heavy—it would bruise. And although I wanted Tess to pant and a few tears to be shed, I also hated the thought of marking her. Which twisted my gut with perplexity.

  I missed the straight forwardness of before. The joy at knowing Tess could take it. Now, I had no fucking idea what she wanted or even what I wanted.

  Did I want to hurt her?

  Yes. Fuck, yes.

  Did I want to make her cry?

  Yes. I loved her tears.

  Did I want to protect her and never lay another finger on her?

  More than anything.

  I would’ve castrated myself if it meant I could be free of the evil lurking in my blood. Tess didn’t deserve any of that. Tess deserved to be made love to. Not fucked. Not used by a man who had issues deeper than the fucking ocean.

  The door opened.

  Tess came out of the bathroom. I sucked in a breath as she made her way toward the bed. Her naked body was flushed and scrubbed. Droplets from the shower sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the window.

  My eyes dropped to the red outline of my hand on her thigh.

  Ah, shit. Seeing the mark tangled my conscience into further chaos. My heart raced in bitter regret, while my cock leapt with fucking joy. The blush. The thrill. The knowledge I’d put it there sickened as well as bewitched me.

  I wanted more.

  No, you don’t, you sick bastard.

  My eyes fell to the ugly yellows and greens mottling her skin. Fading abuse from other bastards like me who got off on abusing women.

  How can I be like them? How could I hurt the woman who owned my soul?

  I struggled to suck in a breath as Tess climbed gracefully on the bed, carefully avoiding my eyes. Every movement was understated, carefully
orchestrated as if she was invisible. Her hair was coiled upward while damp strands escaped, sticking to her neck. Her spine stood out, her collarbone a stark necklace. She looked so innocent and young.

  But strong. So fucking strong.

  I waited to see if she’d come to me. My arms throbbed to hold her. I wanted her to curl against me and let me guard her—I would be her protection so the nightmares would never find her.

  But she didn’t come closer.

  With a soft sigh, she reclined against a pillow, staring upward. Her eyes were large and lost. Her face tense and timid.

  My blood boiled. What had she been thinking about in the bathroom? Something had to have happened for her to become so withdrawn.

  It didn’t make sense. I hadn’t hurt her. I knew she’d enjoyed me taking her. She’d come. She’d wanted what we’d shared. I knew that with utmost certainty. Her release had milked my cock, telling me blatantly how much she enjoyed it.

  So why? Why the silence and sadness?

  Confusion itched my muscles, making my temper flare.

  “Plus de secrets, esclave.” No more secrets.

  Tess looked over, her eyes filling with warmth. “No secrets. Just tired.”

  Damn fucking lies.

  The large bed created a barrier between us. Lies filled the silence, secrets distanced us—pushing us further and further away.

  I’m done.

  Nothing would stop me from cracking open her mind and finding out the truth. I was done fucking waiting.

  Throwing myself off the bed, I prowled around the mattress toward Tess. My cock hung heavy between my legs, reminding me I had plenty more to give. I’d use it to break her. I’d drive her mad with wanting and then I’d ask. I’d demand to know.

  Tess’s eyes closed, either blatantly ignoring me or hiding yet more secrets.

  “Esclave. Get up,” I ordered.

  Her gaze flashed open; she sucked in a gasp. Her vision drifted down my chest, over sparrows and ink to latch onto my rapidly growing erection.

  It jerked under her inspection, begging for her wet heat.

  Tess froze; something flickered across her face but then was gone. For a split second clouds rolled over the sun, drenching her in shadow, painting her face with grief. But then the sun broke through, and she smiled.