I shivered as we walked from island heat into freezing air-conditioning of a five star glitzy hotel. I wanted to say something-anything to have the Q who'd been so gentle and forthcoming come back.
There were many forms of pain, and right now my heart was suffering.
"Pain is your only option, puta. Hit her."
I closed my eyes for a second, slapping the voices away.
Q stalked through the hotel lobby, dragging me in his terrible wake. Needing to find normal again, I asked, "Do you own this hotel, too?" I blinked, focusing on the imposing pillars, the ginormous potted plants, and grand piano with expensive looking cocktail bar to the right. The lobby spoke of island tranquillity and exoticness.
All this-this wealth-came with the package of being with Q. I still struggled to get used to it.
Q slammed to a halt, yanking me against him.
Instantly my heart clawed up my throat. The burning, searing awareness of his erection dug against my belly. His eyes looked too ferocious to be gentle.
He's going to hit you. The minute you're behind closed doors he'll strike.
I wanted so much for the rush of wetness between my legs. The intoxication of lust in my blood.
"You wouldn't like that would you, esclave? Yet another property; yet another possession." He shook his head. "Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu détestes autant l'argent." I don't understand why you hate money so much.
My heart pumped harder as a few guests glanced over, their faces freezing in judgement. To anyone who didn't know us, the way Q held me would look like a bad argument or worse, domestic violence.
"Q, don't be so rough. You'll have security asking questions."
He growled, "I'd like to see them probe into affairs that aren't any of their goddamn business."
I couldn't stop the knotting of my stomach or the slight queasiness of Q's temper. Something else must've upset him. Franco couldn't have riled him up this much. Could he?
Wishing I could force him to look at me instead of through me, I whispered, "Is everything alright?"
"Don't speak to me," Q muttered. His tone tightly controlled and ice cold.
I've done something wrong.
I was sure of it.
He's guessed.
No, that couldn't be possible. Please, don't let that be possible. Only moments ago he'd been sweet and kind and very much together. Would I always suffer whiplash where his mercurial emotions were concerned?
Looking around at the milling guests, I hissed, "Stop making a spectacle, Q. People are looking."
"They can look all they want. And to answer your question, no, I don't own this hotel. If I did, I would've kicked everyone out by now so I could teach you a lesson right here."
My eyes flared. "Teach me a lesson? What the hell did I do?" My lungs worked harder, saturating my blood with anger, ready to fight, ready to retaliate.
"You-you … .Goddammit, I don't know." He sighed. The blazing fire in his gaze snuffed out, becoming human once again.
My own temper fizzled. Taking a risk, I rested a palm over his heart. "Take me to a room. Use me to forget whatever's upsetting you."
Use your chains. Use your scissors. Use whatever you want.
Before the image would've made me throb for a release. Now … now I vibrated to avoid it.
His shoulders tightened. "I've wanted you since you woke up screaming this morning." His hand imprisoned mine, pressing my fingers harder against his chest. "I won't hold back. I can't hold back. Tell me now if that's going to be an issue."
Tears rushed my spine. Sadness filled my heart.
Yes, it's an issue. But no, I won't tell you.
Stepping into the role of Old Tess, I murmured, "I want you. I need you to hurt me, Q. I need to remember."
Q's back snapped straight. With a fierce kiss, he dragged me the rest of the way to reception in a flurry of footsteps.
The woman behind the desk was gorgeous with long black hair, thick eyelashes, and moon-sized eyes. She radiated an aura of strength and independence-exactly the type of woman Q admitted he liked-someone who wasn't broken. Someone who would fight him.
A sharp band of jealousy struck from nowhere as the woman smiled at my master, batting those ridiculously thick eyelashes. I watched Q carefully, trying to read how affected he was by her.
He didn't even glance at her. Dropping my elbow, he snatched his wallet from his back pocket, yanking out a credit card. Handing it over, he ordered, "The best room you have available and a suite for a colleague."
The receptionist's mouth parted slightly as she took the credit card, eyeing Q with interest. Her smile encompassed coyness rather than professionalism. I welcomed the snarl in my stomach. I loved the ignition of rage. Adored my willingness to fight.