haven’t forgotten that so soon, have you?”
He
marched me through the lounge and into the dining room. Tossing me into a high
backed chair at a table set for twenty people, he breathed hard and leaned over
me. “You are mine. You are mine. Repeat that until it gets into your head. You
cannot disobey. Unless...” A glint of interest smouldered in his eyes. “Unless
you want to be punished?”
My
heart kicked into high gear, thrumming with hummingbird wings. I shook my head
hard. My tongue turned useless, incapable of speech. I’d never been so
overpowered by someone’s sheer will, but Q flattened me with his intense
demeanour. How could I hope to disobey when he only had to threaten with mere words
and I turned horribly docile?
“You’ve
forgotten how to fight, so soon?” His accent thickened and fingers captured my
chin, pressing painfully. A rumble sounded in his chest, and, fast as
lightning, he kissed me.
The
force of the attack crashed my head against the back of the chair, radiating pain
in my temples. His lips forced mine open, and a tongue darted into my mouth,
stealing my will, my fight. He stole everything with one touch.
Growling,
his tongue plundered mine ruthlessly, out of control. Fingers trailed from my
chin to throat, circling possessively; an unspoken threat that he could kill me
and no one would know or care. I was his—to do with how he pleased.
I
moaned and scratched his face with ragged nails.
He
jerked back, breathing like an angry bull. His lips glistened from ravaging my
mouth, leaving the taste of rich coffee and something darker—a promise of more.
He
glared, swiping his cheek with a shirt cuff. It came away with a drip of
crimson. His body tensed at the sight of blood.
My
heart swelled with pride. He may be able to molest me, but he wouldn’t stay
whole while he did.
Grabbing
a napkin from the table, he patted his cheek. “You will obey. Don’t make me use
you like any other buyer would do.”
“Isn’t
that what you mean to do anyway? Rape and ruin me?”
Throwing
the napkin down, he stalked back to his chair at the head of the table. The
discarded newspaper crackled as he placed hands in front of him. Every move was
precise, calculated, as if he knew every nuance illustrated domination.
Four
place settings separated us, giving a sense of space. I breathed easier,
wishing the taste of darkness and sin would leave. Why did he have to kiss me?
A kiss meant intimacy and romance, but that kiss—it claimed me more than any
kiss from Brax. It made me hate Q all the more.
Ignoring
my question, he demanded, “What is your name?”
I
crossed my arms, glaring. Never.
“Fine,”
he barked. “I’ll call you Dove, until you answer. Like the grey-blue of your
eyes.”
My
heart tinkled into tiny, irreplaceable pieces. Dove? Anger ran up my
neck and flamed as memories of Brax swarmed. The soft toy he bought me when I
was in hospital. The many times he called me his little Dove.
“No!”
I screamed, violence etching my tone.
He
didn’t even blink at my outburst. Deliberately, he ran a finger along his
bottom lip, glaring coldly. His face shadowed with authority, and to my utter shame,
my nipples hardened. My body recalled the way he kissed—responding to every
part I dare not acknowledge, parts I wished didn’t exist. It made me feel as if
I led him on—invited all of this to happen with my twisted desires.
Holy
hell, did I invite this by wanting to be rougher with Brax? Did my fate
decide I had a life too perfect and granted my sick desires in the worst way
possible?
I
couldn’t breathe. I stared at the tablecloth as the maid entered the room with
a dainty knock, and placed a plate of poached eggs in front of me. She bowed
slightly to Q, putting the same in front of him.
Even
though my limbs were weak with hunger, I pushed the plate away. How could I eat
when I disgusted myself? All of this was my fault. I was responsible
with my screwed up
He
marched me through the lounge and into the dining room. Tossing me into a high
backed chair at a table set for twenty people, he breathed hard and leaned over
me. “You are mine. You are mine. Repeat that until it gets into your head. You
cannot disobey. Unless...” A glint of interest smouldered in his eyes. “Unless
you want to be punished?”
My
heart kicked into high gear, thrumming with hummingbird wings. I shook my head
hard. My tongue turned useless, incapable of speech. I’d never been so
overpowered by someone’s sheer will, but Q flattened me with his intense
demeanour. How could I hope to disobey when he only had to threaten with mere words
and I turned horribly docile?
“You’ve
forgotten how to fight, so soon?” His accent thickened and fingers captured my
chin, pressing painfully. A rumble sounded in his chest, and, fast as
lightning, he kissed me.
The
force of the attack crashed my head against the back of the chair, radiating pain
in my temples. His lips forced mine open, and a tongue darted into my mouth,
stealing my will, my fight. He stole everything with one touch.
Growling,
his tongue plundered mine ruthlessly, out of control. Fingers trailed from my
chin to throat, circling possessively; an unspoken threat that he could kill me
and no one would know or care. I was his—to do with how he pleased.
I
moaned and scratched his face with ragged nails.
He
jerked back, breathing like an angry bull. His lips glistened from ravaging my
mouth, leaving the taste of rich coffee and something darker—a promise of more.
He
glared, swiping his cheek with a shirt cuff. It came away with a drip of
crimson. His body tensed at the sight of blood.
My
heart swelled with pride. He may be able to molest me, but he wouldn’t stay
whole while he did.
Grabbing
a napkin from the table, he patted his cheek. “You will obey. Don’t make me use
you like any other buyer would do.”
“Isn’t
that what you mean to do anyway? Rape and ruin me?”
Throwing
the napkin down, he stalked back to his chair at the head of the table. The
discarded newspaper crackled as he placed hands in front of him. Every move was
precise, calculated, as if he knew every nuance illustrated domination.
Four
place settings separated us, giving a sense of space. I breathed easier,
wishing the taste of darkness and sin would leave. Why did he have to kiss me?
A kiss meant intimacy and romance, but that kiss—it claimed me more than any
kiss from Brax. It made me hate Q all the more.
Ignoring
my question, he demanded, “What is your name?”
I
crossed my arms, glaring. Never.
“Fine,”
he barked. “I’ll call you Dove, until you answer. Like the grey-blue of your
eyes.”
My
heart tinkled into tiny, irreplaceable pieces. Dove? Anger ran up my
neck and flamed as memories of Brax swarmed. The soft toy he bought me when I
was in hospital. The many times he called me his little Dove.
“No!”
I screamed, violence etching my tone.
He
didn’t even blink at my outburst. Deliberately, he ran a finger along his
bottom lip, glaring coldly. His face shadowed with authority, and to my utter shame,
my nipples hardened. My body recalled the way he kissed—responding to every
part I dare not acknowledge, parts I wished didn’t exist. It made me feel as if
I led him on—invited all of this to happen with my twisted desires.
Holy
hell, did I invite this by wanting to be rougher with Brax? Did my fate
decide I had a life too perfect and granted my sick desires in the worst way
possible?
I
couldn’t breathe. I stared at the tablecloth as the maid entered the room with
a dainty knock, and placed a plate of poached eggs in front of me. She bowed
slightly to Q, putting the same in front of him.
Even
though my limbs were weak with hunger, I pushed the plate away. How could I eat
when I disgusted myself? All of this was my fault. I was responsible
with my screwed up
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