Текст книги "Twisted Together"

Автор книги: Pepper Winters

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Q came up behind me, slinking his hands beneath my grey angora jumper. I tensed, expecting him to spin me around and pounce. The bed beckoned, raised on a two-step pedestal with the most incredible painting of pinks and oranges above. Rose petals were strewn across the snowy sheets.

My morbid thoughts turned the petals to blood. I quickly checked over my shoulder, making sure the door was closed.

Then the view disappeared as Q wrenched my jumper over my head, and unhooked my bra, all within a second of each other.

I slapped an arm over my exposed breasts, very aware of the lights being on and no curtains drawn, but Q spun me, grabbed my waist, and unceremoniously threw me over his shoulder.

“Q! What the hell are you—”

He spanked me, letting his fingers explore the seam of my jeans. Not saying a word, he stalked into the bathroom. The minute he carried me inside, he plopped me onto my feet, and unbuttoned my jeans. My eyes snapped shut as his knuckles grazed my clit, tugging on the thick denim until they rested at my ankles.

His eyes fired with lust as his fingers hooked my knickers, stripping those off me, too. In exactly ten seconds of arriving in one of the most gorgeous rooms I’d entered, I was stark naked in a bathroom full of expensive cosmetics, the fluffiest silver towels, and a shower big enough for a team of sumo wrestlers.

Q sucked in a breath, his face darkening as he rubbed the front of his trousers. “Goddammit, do you have to be so fucking tempting?”

The harsh want in his voice shoved away my annoyance, layering me with heavy attraction. His chest rose and fell; the top of the ‘T’ branded above his heart teased me with the three open buttons of his shirt. I needed him to touch me. Now.

I kicked my jeans and knickers away, loving the heat building in my core. I loved the power he granted. The power of being naked in front of him with his body locked into position, calling to mine with a need past all realm of intellect.

“Why do you make me wet every time you look at me like that?” I countered his question, focusing inward on the trickle of dampness inside.

“It’s only fair you’re wet, Tess. Because I’m so fucking hard I could hammer a nail right through marble.” His eyes feasted on my skin; his hand grasped his cock roughly, angrily.

We devoured each other, separated only by a metre. A stupid, silly little metre that I wanted eradicated.

I took a step toward him.

The motion snapped him back into whatever whirlwind idea he currently chased; he moved away. Holding up a hand, he ordered, “Va dans la douche, esclave.” Get in the shower.

I shook my head, heat prickling my skin. My gaze fell to Q’s trousers, licking my lips at the bulge of his desire. “Come in with me,” I murmured, stepping toward him as he kept inching away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off my naked skin. “No. If I do, we’ll never get to dinner.”

Running my hands up my waist, cupping my breasts, I taunted, “I’m not hungry for food, maître. Who needs dinner when I can suck on you?”

He groaned, his step faltering. His hand abandoned his cock, fumbling with his top button. “Fuck, you don’t play fair.”

I might not be playing fair, but I was winning.

Taking another step, I basked in how hyperaware my skin was. His intense stare stroked me, making me hum, smoulder. My tongue wanted to lick him, my mouth wanted to suck him, my body wanted to ride him, and my mind wanted to explode into a gazillion pieces of bliss.

Q dragged the zipper down, teasing me with black boxer-briefs, barely concealing his raging erection. My tummy clenched, and my hand fell between my legs. My head was suddenly too heavy as I tantalized myself, panting to taste him.

Q looked up, latching eyes with me. Anger ticked his jaw, or was it tightly restrained need. “Tess?”

 “Yes…” I whispered, totally absorbed in fantasies of what I would do the moment Q got naked.

He stormed toward me, grabbed my wrist, and jerked my fingers away from the slickness of my core. His face contorted. “I told you that is mine. Not yours. You think you’re winning. But I can deny you—I have enough self-control.”

My hand lashed out, gripping him through his open fly. His cock leapt in my palm, intensely hot and eager. “Are you sure about that?”

He grunted, pushing his hips into my hand, before slapping my touch away. Wrapping his fingers around my throat, he murmured, “If you keep up your little game, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. Obey me. Get in the fucking shower.” His lips slammed against mine in a cruel, brutal kiss. I cried out as bruises became an addiction and pain became an obsession. I needed him. It wasn’t fair—he started this by undressing me. He had to finish. I had to come.

Q tore his mouth from mine. “Wash, so I can take you out on a date.”

I shivered, fascinated by his perfect lips, craving them between my thighs. I wanted what he’d given me last night. I wanted to be bitten, dined upon—his banquet of choice forever.

Words vexed me—they skipped and darted from my mind as lust clouded—making me mute and needy. “And…and if I don’t?” I cupped his balls through his boxers.

Q shuddered, dragging me closer. His proximity sent fireworks detonating in my stomach. “If you don’t, I’ll fuck you against the window. Everyone on the street will see you writhe for me. Strangers will see you come.” Imprisoning my jaw, he growled, “Do you want that? Are you a secret exhibitionist, Tess, because I’d gladly show off what I have in my bed. I’d happily sink deep into your heat and mark you in front of men who will never know the extreme fucking joy of being inside you. I’d love to thrust hard, smashing you against the glass, knowing husbands of other women got hard seeing how incredible you are—how responsive you are—how damn fucking sexy you are.”

Oh. My. God.

My heart stopped beating. I lost complete control over my thoughts and senses. The mental images Q painted set my blood blazing with gasoline. His voice was so powerful I felt the bite of chill from the glass on my nipples. I could feel the slimy surface, scrambling for purchase as Q pounded into me.

I’d never thought of being watched before. I’d always been rather shy about my body, conscious of imperfections, but Q made it sound erotically delicious.

I bit my lip, deliberating. How can you want people to see something so private, Tess?

I didn’t have an answer, but my body melted, liquefied, burned at the thought of Q delivering his threat.

A loud knock shattered the carnal awareness thrumming between us.

The freedom of thought shattered, sending my mind reeling with fear. Who was there? Were we safe here?

My instincts weren’t on high alert for myself—but for Q.

“Fuck,” Q muttered. With a harsh hand, he pushed me away. “Get showered, esclave. Your outfit for tonight is here, and I personally want to dress you in it.”

I didn’t remember the shower. I didn’t remember much of anything apart from the replay of Q having his wicked way with me against the windows in full view of strolling couples. I didn’t pay attention to the hot water licking over my sensitive skin, or the shakiness of my hand as I applied mascara or blow-dried my curls. And I certainly didn’t give power to my over-active instincts. I wouldn’t ruin tonight by being afraid of nothing.

But I did remember striding into the bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel, and stopping dead at the sight of Q.

Would he ever cease to amaze me? I’d never get used to how darkly handsome he was, with his widow’s peak, luminous pale eyes, and sculptured cheekbones.

He was a festival for my eyes: black leather loafers, perfectly ironed grey slacks, crisp silver shirt, open blazer, and no tie.

I couldn’t latch onto the seamless thoughts in my head.

When is his birthday? I want to buy him a shirt that matches his eyes.

Where did he get those clothes?

It isn’t fair he’s so beautiful—I look like a homeless runway on his arm.

I must’ve done something right to deserve him.

The thought I decided to go with was: “Is there another bathroom in this suite?”

Q shook his head, smiling wryly, enjoying my tongue-tiedness. “Yes. His and Hers. Now come here. I have a surprise for you.”

I glided forward, noticing he’d drawn the curtains. I sucked in a breath as he hooked a finger around the knot in my towel. “It’s only fair I dress you, seeing as I stripped you before.”

With a sharp tug, the towel unravelled, pooling at my feet. My blood scorched to have him, kiss him, but at the same time, I loved the tease—the knowledge he was taking me out on a date, and I wouldn’t be able to ravish him until we got back.

Guiding me toward the bed where two packages existed, he positioned me at the foot of the ginormous mattress, and opened the smaller box.

I swallowed hard as he pulled out a matching set of purple lingerie.

Purple.

The same colour I’d bought in the hopes of seducing Brax. I swayed as every little change in my life sucker-punched me. It felt like a different universe where I’d laid my heart open and tried to be honest with Brax. It felt like a century ago I’d thrown away an innocent vibrator all because he’d been hurt and scared.

Q leaned closer, diving into my eyes. “Tess…?”

I forced the memories to fade, but there was one question refusing to disappear. I wanted to know the answer. I wanted to finally acknowledge how all my dreams came true in a way I’d never suspected. “If I said to you I used to have a vibrator and made myself come with the thought of some unknown master biting my shoulder and striking me with a whip—how would that make you feel?”

I knew Brax’s response: I don’t have to fuck you to be a man, Tessie.

I didn’t know Q’s and I wanted to. Desperately.

Q’s forehead furrowed, holding out the lacy bra. “How would that make me feel?” His head cocked. “Is that a trick question?”

I laughed quietly, hiding my nervousness. “No. I honestly want to know.”

Q tossed the bra on the bed, before planting his large hands on my hips. “I’ll tell you how that makes me feel. It makes me fucking hard at the thought of you getting yourself off. I can picture your flushed cheeks, taste your wetness, hear your pants.” His head dipped, kissing my neck. “I adore the thought of you fantasising about the exact things I’ve done to you—almost as if you were always meant to be mine.”

Pushing me away, he held up the knickers and dropped to his knee. I obediently stepped into the lingerie as he held it, shivering as he pulled them up my legs. “I should’ve had Alonzo buy something else for us tonight,” he murmured, positioning the lace between my legs.

“What?” I breathed.

“A vibrator. I can’t get the damn image out of my head of watching you come and then using it on you all over again.”

I didn’t need wings. Q made me fly with words. He wasn’t unsure, or jealous at me seeking pleasure on my own. He wasn’t prudish or tame. He was perfect. He was mine.

And I never wanted to lose him.

“When will you marry me?” I blurted.

Cringing, I let Q thread my arms through the bra straps, then held up my hair for him to clasp it. The roles had changed—it wasn’t Q pushing me anymore but me pushing him.

Q didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the last box, lifting out the sexiest, demure dress I’d ever seen. A seamstress’s work of perfection with silk and netting in every shade of grey possible.

Silently, Q helped me into it. The sleeveless gown kissed just below my knees, cocooning my body like air.

He stepped back, nodding. “I’ll marry you when I’m damn well ready, esclave. But tonight, I’m taking you to dinner.”

* * *

“Chose anything you want.” Q smiled.

I looked at the menu again, frowning at Italian. Knowing French gave me a benefit—I was able to get the gist of the word, but I didn’t have Q’s aptitude for foreign dialects.

Carbonara with horse? No, that can’t be right.

Parmesan shredded with rabbit? Could be, but I didn’t want to risk it.

Placing the heavy menu onto the table, I said, “You order for me. I have no idea.”

Q chuckled. “You know, letting me order for you is a turn on. Knowing you trust me enough to give me control over what you eat makes me hard.”

I crossed my legs, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sharp clench at his voice. “Behave. You’re the one who wanted to do this. Not me. I would’ve happily dined on you all night.” In the safety of our hotel room.

Hearing how prolific Q’s business was on the news unsettled me. I didn’t want to be in public anymore. I didn’t feel incognito or unimportant. I felt watched.

His eyes narrowed, fingers gripping the menu harder. “You’re the one who has to behave, esclave. I’m more than happy to have you as my entrée.”

A waiter appeared from nowhere, interrupting the rapidly budding lust between Q and I. “You ready to order?”

I smiled, glancing around the fine-dining restaurant. It wasn’t large and each booth ringed the perimeter of the room—a red velvet curtain draped on either side of each seating area, giving patrons the sense of dining alone. The hypnotic piano and violin serenade plaited effortlessly with the ebb and flow of diner’s voices. Not to mention the amazing scents of garlic, herbs, and fresh pasta filling the space like a tastebud-tempting haze.

Q gave me a glance before reopening his menu and reeling off in perfect Italian.

My core tingled at the lyrical tone of the man I would marry. So accomplished. So distinguished. So very, very different behind closed doors.

The waiter nodded, jotting down what seemed like copious amounts of food. Once finished, he bowed, took our menus and left to relay the order.

Q surveyed the restaurant, his shoulders tense.

I leaned forward. “Exactly how much food did you order?”

He focused on me. “I ordered every starter available. I figured we can share and taste a bit of everything.” His gaze flashed on the word ‘taste’. I crossed my legs, trapping the ripple between them.

Something rubbed against my ankle; I jumped.

Q chuckled under his breath. “Subtle, Tess. Really subtle. How am I supposed to play footsies with you if you leap a fucking mile?”

I laughed—I couldn’t help it. “Did you just say footsies?” I flung up the tablecloth, pretending to search. “Where’s my sadistic master—what have you done with him? He would never utter such a word.”

Q leaned forward, stealing my hand. His face darkened. “I’m right here, esclave, and you’d faint again if you knew the things running through my head.”

“What sort of things?” I whispered, caught in his web like a stupid butterfly who stared death directly in the face and didn’t do a thing to stop it.

“Things like laying you on this table, throwing up your dress, and eating you in front of everyone.”

My throat snapped closed; heart went wild. I tugged my hand away. Q’s fingers latched around my wrist, keeping me prisoner. “Tell me. I’ve seen every inch of you. I’ve been inside most of you—and soon to be all of you—and I’ve murdered men who dared steal you away.” His thumb drew little circles on the underside of my wrist disrupting my ability to concentrate. “What exactly is conversation etiquette for a first date, if we already have…history.”

Our drinks arrived.

Q leaned back, letting me go reluctantly. We waited for the waiter to place a tumbler of whiskey for Q and a fancy cloudy martini for me. Q nodded in thanks as the man left.

Swallowing away the desire Q had conjured, I pretended to be heavily interested in my drink. Peering at the liquid, I asked, “What did you order?”

Q grabbed his glass, swirling the whiskey, sending fumes of malt and alcohol in my direction. He took a sip, visibly relaxing as the spirits hit his tongue. “I ordered you a lychee martini. Drink up, Tess. I plan on taking advantage of you tonight and you need to be sufficiently intoxicated—as first date rules tend to imply.”

Once again his eyes cast around the restaurant, subtly, quickly, but now I’d noticed his awareness every nuance was obvious.

I took a sip, surprised at the sweet but very strong concoction. “You don’t have to get me drunk to have me in your bed tonight.” I fluttered my eyelashes, enjoying the game he’d started.

His gaze was deadly serious, boring into mine. “What if I want you drunk? So I can ease you into accepting another part of what I want to claim?”

Holy hell, I couldn’t think when he looked at me like that. It didn’t matter a thrill of fear darted into my stomach, spreading, shivering with apprehension.

Anal.

Q wanted to claim all of me and that was the last part unconquered. I took a gulp of the martini, not to obey, but to steady my nerves.

Q smirked. “Good girl. Knew you’d come around to giving me what I want eventually.”

I couldn’t make eye contact. I wasn’t ready. And I both loved and hated the panic he’d instilled—which would remain the rest of the dinner—knowing what awaited the moment he got me back to the room.

Needing to change the subject, hoping he’d forget all about it, I muttered, “The hotel—you keep a long standing room there? Why?”

Q blinked, taking a sip of whiskey. “I had a lot of business dealings in Italy last year. We expanded rather heavily into the Italian market, and I needed to oversee a few…complications.” His jaw ticked; he tried to hide it by swallowing another mouthful of alcohol.

“By complications…you mean girls?” I kept my voice low, looking around the restaurant. The beauty of the booths bordering the perimeter meant no one looked directly at us and were too far away to eavesdrop.

It didn’t stop Q from never relaxing or glaring at the waiters as if they were assassins.

His face tightened, but he nodded.

“How many?”

“Four last year—before I met you.” He took another swallow, before placing the heavy glass on the table. “Je ne veux pas en parler.” I don't want to talk about it. Running a hand through his hair, he added, “We’re on a date—not talking business. So, tell me. What have I been missing out on by not putting myself on the market.”

I smiled, appreciating his attempt at humour. “Well, there’s things like sweaty handholding, nervous laughs, endless awkward silences. The very first kiss where our noses bump and—” Brax popped into my head. Everything I’d listed, I’d done with him. The giggles, the forehead bashing as we went for our first kiss. Why the hell am I thinking about him?

That was in the past. I didn’t want to do any of that with Q. However… “And of course the generic list of questions.” That I wouldn’t mind indulging. I wanted to know more about Q—I wanted to know everything.

“Generic list?”

“Yes, you know. The how old are you? What do you do for a living? Do you want kids? That sort of thing.” I took a sip, cursing my thudding heart. Such innocent questions but rather large milestones we hadn’t talked about. Especially the last one.

Q sat back, collecting his glass to nurse the amber liquid. His lips twitched. “Okay…I’m twenty-nine. My birthday is the eighteenth of December—which makes my star-sign—fuck, I don’t know.” He took a sip. “I run my own company, which you now part own, and yes eventually, I think I do.”

My heart flopped out of my chest and into my martini glass. An image of a miniature version of Q came from nowhere. I’d never thought of having children. Never entertained the idea of being responsible for another human being—let alone one created by the man who I’d grow old with. But…wow…

Q’s eyelids lowered to half-mast. “That’s only a recent development. I swore I’d never have something so vulnerable in this sick and twisted world. But—since meeting you…I have this crazy need to make you immortal.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“But at the same time, I don’t want a little girl—I would drive myself insane—I’ve seen too much shit happen, and I’d have a heart attack trying to keep her safe.”

My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. I never thought Q would want children. Never in a million years. Dammit, now I couldn’t get the image of a little girl running after Q, with long dark hair, surrounded by sparrows and other winged creatures.

I swallowed hard, taking a gulp of the lychee alcohol. I flailed around, trying to think of a change of subject. “Um, I think that makes you a Sagittarius.” Oh, God. I wanted to slap myself. What a ridiculous thing to say after the man I was in love with admitted to a commitment bigger than marriage, more life-changing than even nine billion dollars. Children!

Q narrowed his eyes. “I see two things make you nervous: what I’m going to do to you tonight, and talking about any offspring we may or may not have.” He ran a finger over his bottom lip. “After all, we do need an heir to take over our company. Can’t rely on Frederick to propagate—I think that man shoots blanks.”

I wanted to laugh.

But all I could focus on was ours.

Our company.

Our children.

No longer mine, and his, and separation.

Together.

Ours.

The waiter appeared with a groaning tray of food. I leaned away, throwing back the rest of my drink, silently thanking the intrusion. I needed time to think. To pull myself together.

Plates of delicatessen hors d’oeuvres, salads, gourmet breads, dips, gnocchi, prawns in ravioli, lobster fettuccine, tiny lasagnes, and feta wrapped with aubergine decorated the table.

I’d never seen such incredible looking food. And I wouldn’t be able to eat any of it. My stomach was a churning mess; my mind consumed with images of a future I never thought I wanted.

The waiter smiled once everything had been placed accordingly. “Another drink?”

Q nodded, passing him his empty tumbler. “Martini and single-malt whiskey. Grazie.”

The waiter nodded, then disappeared to fulfil the request.

Q eyed the food, before glancing at me. His face tensed as he froze. “Quel est le problème maintenant, esclave?” What’s the matter now, esclave?

I fluffed my curls, airing my suddenly heat-prickled back. Nothing was wrong—in fact, everything was amazing. We were finally talking, learning, exploring one another. I wasn’t hungry for food, but knowledge. I wanted in—to his secrets, his thoughts, his hopes and dream.

I was endlessly greedy for anything he would share.

“I want to do something.” Did I just say that? Shit, Tess. I hadn’t thought it through. The idea just sprang into my head. Q would say no. Of course, he would say no.

Q smiled as the waiter returned with fresh drinks then left again. Q raised the whiskey to his lips. “For you to flush as bad as you have, I’m guessing it’s either sexual or something you think I’m not going to agree to.”

I copied him, sipping my martini. “Forget it. It’s a stupid idea. Let’s eat.” I looked longingly at the food, knowing I’d end up with horrendous indigestion if I ate while so worked up. I had to relax.

“Tess…don’t make me spank you in public.”

My eyes flew to his where a small smile graced his lips. I sucked in a breath, trying to find courage. “Okay…have you heard of Truth or Dare?”

Q’s nostrils flared. “Of course I’ve heard of it and you were right to flush. I won’t play it.”

Grabbing my fork, I speared a gnocchi and placed it in my mouth. It tasted heavenly—rich, buttery, but it could’ve been ash for how much I wanted it. Swallowing hard, I took another sip of my drink.

A rush of queasiness rolled my world; I carefully placed the glass on the table. Q was succeeding in getting me tipsy. My nerves only rushed the intoxication.

Silence fell between us while Q sampled a piece of everything. The way his lips slid off the fork and his jaw worked so smoothly as he chewed, pushed aside my nerves in favour of desire. He couldn’t do anything without making it erotically charged and—intentionally or not—making me wet.

I tried to eat, succeeding in devouring a few pieces of prawn ravioli, before Q put his fork down. He gulped a shot of whiskey. “Have you played before?”

I instantly thought of Brax and his straight-laced ways. I thought of my parents and their cool indifference. I thought of my brother and his bullying. I thought of my friends and their giggling, slutty knowledge. Not once had I played. Not once had I done anything so reckless as to give someone the right to ask me any question or submit to any dare.

It was dangerous. It was ludicrous. I should stop this.

“No.”

His face remained unreadable.  “Why do you want to play?”

I clutched my fork, turning my knuckles white, brandishing it as if it would save me from the awkward conversation. “Because it will force you to answer questions you might not want to otherwise.”

His eyes narrowed. “What sort of questions do you have in mind?” His fingers twitched around his glass, giving the impression he didn’t want to play, not because it was a stupid game, but rather because he had too much to hide. I wanted to know what he kept hidden.

I wanted to know why he hadn’t stopped glowering around the restaurant. I wanted to know why we stayed in a hotel with thumbprints for keys.

“I don’t know. Probably stupid things that you won’t care telling me. It’s just the structure of the game that’ll make it easier.”

“Easier?” His eyebrow raised.

I nodded. “You don’t exactly come baggage free, Q. I’m not going to pry into things better left unsaid, but I would like to know more about you.” He remained silent, swirling his whiskey.

“Plus, you can avoid a question if you really don’t want to answer, by accepting the dare.”

“And if I don’t want to do the dare? Then what? You force me to answer the question?” He shook his head. “No—”

I didn’t know if this was part of the rules or not but if it got him to play I’d allow it. “You can drink—if you don’t want to answer or do the dare—you can drink and move on.”

His eyes locked on mine. “And you wouldn’t sulk or argue if I refused?”

I scowled. “You think I sulk?” Shit, did I sulk? I tucked an unruly curl behind my ear. “No. If that question is off bounds, I’ll honour that.”

We fell silent. Q picked at the food, thoughts racing in his gaze. A few bites later, he asked, “And what about you? Will you answer a question I might ask—even if you don’t want to?” Putting his fork on his plate, he leaned forward, eyes deadly serious, almost frightening. “I want into your head more than you probably want into mine, Tess. You sure you can handle letting me have unguarded access?”

My palms went slick with nerves; my stomach churned even more. “But I can accept a dare—I have a way out.”

Q’s gaze dropped to my lips. “Drinking, or a dare—nothing would truly save you. The moment you refuse to answer a question, I’ll pursue it until you tell me. I might not get the answer tonight, but I will eventually…you’d tell me, Tess…you know why?”

My heart whizzed around my chest like a faulty sparkler. “Why?”

“Because I own you. Tu es à moi.” You’re mine. “And your thoughts belong to me, just as much as your heart, body, and soul.”

He shattered the achingly thick awareness between us by reclining and taking another sip. “If you accept those terms, then fine. I’ll play.” His permission layered with promise and warning. If I said yes, Q would have a free pass to anything he wanted. But if I did, I would have that same pass to learn more about the man I’d bound my life to.

It was tempting. It was scary.

I already knew my answer.

“I accept.”

Q nodded, looking elegant and professional, as if he’d struck a good business transaction. Raising his almost empty glass, he signalled for the waiter. “In that case. We need a few more of these.”