Je Suis a Toi (Monsters in the Dark Book 4) (3 page)

WE’D DRIVEN FOR over an hour.

Past patchwork countryside, furrowed fields, and sedately grazing animals, and Q hadn’t said a single word.

When I’d finally braved leaving the bathroom—wearing a grey woollen dress, turquoise scarf, and hair dried and soft around my shoulders—I’d expected Q to pounce on me. I feared he’d strip me, bind me, and force me to ruin my surprise before we’d even left the estate.

However, my cunning ploy worked.

I knew Franco wouldn’t be able to make him see reason. But Frederick could. Frederick had the same sort of power over Q that I did. We both held keys to his temper, only in different ways.

Somehow, he’d managed to convince Q to wait for me in the Aston Martin with some classical French opera throbbing through the speakers and my secret picnic shoved in the back. The expensive car was too small to include our luggage. Our clothing had been sent with our guests via helicopter. The same helicopter Q had fucked me in on the way to his office for the first time.

Our last time together before I was taken again.

Biting my lip, I glanced out the window. Snow lay in banks here and there, but the sunshine had burned off the lighter frosting. Icicles still glittered on the trees in the shade. However, the inside of the car was toasty thanks to the heated leather seats and warm breeze from the vents.

Another few miles passed, and still, Q didn’t speak. His hands remained tight around the steering wheel only moving to shift gears or hurl us around a corner.

I didn’t mind he drove fast even if ice decorated parts of the road. I trusted him.

I just wish he trusted me.

He didn’t trust me enough to agree to a surprise, and he didn’t trust me to say what was eating him. Because something was and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

I jumped as soft fingers caressed my neck.

Whipping my head around, Q’s jade green eyes smouldered. “Let me see it.”

My heart pattered, but I knew what he meant.

Slowly, I unravelled the scarf from around my throat and tilted my chin so he could see. Slipping my hair over my shoulder, the full mark was visible.

Inhaling raggedly, Q traced the brand he’d seared into my flesh so many years ago. For many months, it’d remained red and ugly. Now, the skin had silvered, and it looked like a birthmark rather than violent ownership. The Q with a sparrow for the tail marked me forever as his.

My eyes dropped to his jacketed chest, wishing I could see the brand he’d let me sear onto him in return: the birdcage dangling from a capital T. His had also silvered, becoming tangled with tree branches and sparrow feathers of his tattoo.

Unless the sunlight hit my scar correctly or Q willingly pointed out his, no one could tell we’d permanently signed ourselves to the possession of another.

Taking another rattling breath, Q continued to drive with one hand and caress my brand with his other. If he’d had a bad day, or we’d argued, or things just weren’t entirely perfect between us, he found his way back to me by seeing proof that I was his. Not just in the past or now but in our turbulent future, too.

Placing my hand over his, I kissed his fingers.

His eyes narrowed.

The scent of desperation and desire braided around us.

Clutching my hand, he made a sharp left turn, veering off the road and onto a gravel path. I never looked away from him as he navigated at dust-cloud speed down the track and slammed the car into park the moment we reached a shaggy field with a falling down barn and rusted tractor.

His fingers became claws, locking around my neck and yanking my face to his.

I sucked in a breath as his lips claimed mine and he kissed me hungrily, viciously, so damn possessively. I forgot we were in a car on private land in the middle of the French countryside.

My thighs clenched together as I grew wet. My breasts grew heavy and ached, and I couldn’t stop my hand as it crossed the handbrake and rubbed his hard cock through his silky slacks.

“
Esclave
…” His lips turned to teeth, nipping their way pleasurably and laced with warning down my neck to my brand. His tongue lapped the silver sigil, tension slowly seeping from his body.

He breathed calmer; a soft chuckle left his lips. “God, I’m a fucking ass.”

Relief made me puddle in the seat. “Not at all. I knew you’d have a hard time agreeing to this.”

He pulled back, his eyes flickering from my lips to my eyes. To so many, Q wouldn’t make sense with the way he needed constant reminders that I meant what I said the day I returned to him. That we weren’t living a lie. That I was his, through and through. But to me, I got it.

Because I had my own insecurities.

I feared that one day my submission in the bedroom and my fight in every other facet of our life wouldn’t be enough. That one day, he’d find another slave girl—rescued from abuse and a life of pain—and find her brokenness more desirable than my unflappable strength.

We were convinced of our love for one another. Yet so distrusting of it, too.

I supposed that wasn’t healthy—that we demanded so much of each other when after years together we should've settled into a more relaxed acceptance. But who was to say what was healthy and what was not. Some people didn’t like sex. Others did. Some people liked vanilla. Others liked blood-play and violence.

There was no right or wrong.

No guidebook on how to be a perfect wife or husband. And if there was, it ought to be ripped up because no one could know what another truly needed. Each relationship was its own mess full of faults and flaws, fighting every damn day to be worthy.

Q didn’t ask why I’d made him do this. He didn’t try to pry my full intentions. Instead, he let me go and cocked his head, gesturing at the boot. “Was it my imagination or did I see a wicker basket in there before we drove off?”

I forced an annoyed scowl on my face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I’m not supposed to see a lot of things. Yet I do.”

I knew he spoke of other secrets I’d tried to hide. He always sniffed them out like the beast he said he was. Only, it was rare for me to have secrets. After all, he was the one keeping one from me. “That works both ways,” I whispered. “You’re keeping something from me, Q. I want to know what it is.”

He froze, locking into his seat. His eerie calmness resembled a poised hunter deciding if he should strike or run. “What the fuck does that mean?”

I sucked in a breath. I hadn’t meant to bring it up. Now was not the time. I retied my scarf around my neck. “Don’t worry about it. Plenty of time to argue later.”

“Argue?” His eyebrows knitted in an angry stitch. “You’re expecting to fight with me?”

“No, but in order for you to tell me, I either have to make you so angry you just blurt it out, or cajole you so I can read between the lines while you’re softer.” I threw him a tight smile. “You might know me, Q Mercer, but I know you too, and I know when you’re keeping something from me.”

Opening my door, I unbuckled and leapt into the crisp afternoon. “But you’re right. There was a picnic hamper in the back. Full of delicacies from Mrs. Sucre. Let’s stop to eat…then we can keep driving. We still have a few hours to go.”

Not waiting for him, I popped the boot and manhandled the picnic basket into my arms.

The sound of his door slamming gave me a second head start before Q caught me and wrenched the basket from my grip. “Give me that before you hurt yourself.”

I stuck my tongue out. “It’s only a damn basket. I think I can carry it—”

“Wrong. It’s a job I should do for you. Stop trying to do things that render me completely useless,
esclave
.”

Whoa, what?

I trotted after him as he strode toward a sunny patch in the waving grass. “I don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot, Q. That isn’t what marriage—”

“Putain, tu-testes ma patience.”
Fuck, you test me. Q dumped the basket, spinning to grab my shoulders. “I’m not waiting on you hand and foot. I’m being your husband.”

“Well, as your
wife,
I sometimes want to do nice things for you, too. To show you how much I care.”

His face tightened with a mixture of lust and love. “And I love you, Tess. So stop taking away the small chances I have to be a gentleman so it at least makes it a little easier to be the monster you so desperately need.”

“
I
need?”

He clenched his jaw. “If
you
didn’t need pain, then I would’ve found a way to kill that part of myself a long time ago. I would’ve found a way to be better by now. But you keep making me worse by enjoying it so fucking much.”

He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d stabbed a pair of scissors into my heart. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m
forcing
you to be like that? That I make you hurt me against your wishes?” I snorted with derisive laughter. “As if, Q. You love it. You need it. If you didn’t have my pain, you’d never get off.” Closing the distance between us, I grabbed boldly between his legs. His throbbing erection justified my actions as I squeezed. “There…I’m in pain right now, and you’re hard.”

He shoved me away. “You’ve turned me into a fucking sadist.”

“Wrong, you were always one.”

“Then I’ve turned you into a masochist, and I don’t know how to turn you back.”

“Wrong again. I was always one. We haven't changed. We’ve accepted ourselves. I thought you were happy with that!” I rubbed at the smarting agony in my chest. “Are you…is that what you’re hiding from me? You don’t…want me like that anymore?”

The thought of never having the exquisite highs of a hard fought release or the delicious sensation of his teeth breaking my skin as we shed our cloaks of humanity and fucked like animals hurt me more than I could say.

I loved Q. I would take whatever he gave me. But if he took away the very connection that brought us together…what would that mean for us?

I—I couldn’t look at him.

Turning, I stormed away, heading toward the barn and the wonky sanctuary it offered. Bolting past the ancient door hanging sadly on time-tarnished hinges, I managed to make it to the centre of the musty building before Q caught me and spun me around.

“Never say such blasphemy again,
esclave
.” His face swam with shadows and sin. “And never run from me in the middle of an argument.”

“Discussion. That wasn’t an argument.” I squirmed against his biting fingers. “And why can’t I run? You don’t like being ignored when you want answers? Is that it? Because I can tell you it sucks when the one you love keeps such—”

“Tais-toi.”
Shut up. His lips slammed against mine. Metallic copper instantly tainted our kiss as our teeth clashed and everything else faded away.

Ripping his mouth away, he grunted, “Don’t run from me. Because it makes me want to fucking chase you and hurt you and teach you a goddamn lesson for ever thinking you had the power to leave me.”

My thoughts vanished.

My body took over.

Q had this power. He reverted me from intelligent woman to begging pet. I knew what was coming. I knew because I knew him.

And I wanted it.

So, so much.

I wanted it more than candlelit dinners and fancy getaways. I wanted it more than diamonds and feather beds.

I wanted it more than life.

I was an addict to his sweetly delivered agony. And he was the drug I kept returning to time and time again.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Move.” Q shook me in warning and stalked off toward a bench full of dirty farm supplies.

Breathing hard, I glanced around the space.

Any moment, the owner could appear. He could catch us. But that only added to the thrill.

The tethered hay bales and discarded animal halters gathered grime in the corners while sinister meat hooks dangled from the ceiling on chunky chains.

My heart raced as Q came up behind me, dragging a meat hook along the bar in the rafters with the aid of a pole. “Arms up.”

I obeyed.