Je Suis à Toi

His nostrils flared as he stormed from the bathroom, heading toward the fireplace. “Fuck, don’t worry about it. I’ve already asked so much of you. It’s pointless after you’ve branded and marked yourself as mine.”

Scurrying across our castle bedroom with its old world mystique and history, my white negligee fluttered like wings around my legs. Goosebumps darted over my skin—partly from the cold, but mostly from Q’s hesitation. I wanted to wrap myself in the dressing gown spread out in preparation on the bed. But I didn’t pause. I went straight to Q.

Flames popped and crackled, spewing furnace heat. However, even with the roaring fire, the room was nowhere near as warm as our home.

Placing my hand on his tense forearm, I said, “No, you don’t get to do that. Yes, I’ve done those things. But I’m always open to more. I want to know. Tell me what you want to do. And while you’re at it, tell me what else you’re keeping secret.”

He glowered, breaking my hold on him. Pacing toward the window, he breathed hard. Condensation formed on the icy pane of glass. “You’re so demanding.”

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.” I crossed my arms. “Now, tell me.”

Not glancing at me, he murmured, “It would mean pain, but well below your threshold.”

He deliberately ignored my attempt at finding out what he hid, focusing on the present worry.

Fine, I can be patient…I think.

“Have I ever given reason to hint that I’d say no to you?”

“No, and that’s maybe the point.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he turned to face me. “Don’t you think there should be more limits between us?”

“Limits?” My eyes shot wide. “What do you mean?” Once again, the fear that Q no longer wanted the kinky, violent world we indulged in slithered around my heart.

He said I’d kept him sick. That if I were any other girl who didn’t get off on pain, he would’ve found a way to fix himself and kill whatever monstrous urges tormented him.

But if I were a girl who ran from handcuffs and screamed at the sight of a whip, then Q would never have seen me. He would never have noticed my strength and will to fight him. We would never have given into each other or got married or shared so many years having fun and experimenting with all sorts of wondrously sexual things.

My heart ached. I rubbed at the spot on my chest. “Q—”

His hand slashed through the air. “Forget it, Tess. I’m not ready to talk about that.” Planting his stance wide, he growled, “Let’s stick to the matter at hand. I want to do this. It makes no sense. But I want to. Would you agree to it without knowing what it is?”

Q often did this.

Tested my willingness. Confident (until recently) in my steadfastness of never denying him. I’d only ever used the safe word once, and that was because he emotionally hurt me rather than physically. And the moment I’d said it, I wanted to take it back.

In fact, if it hadn’t been for Frederick helping snap Q out of it, and for Q giving himself up as the ultimate sacrifice to break my depression, I doubted we would be in such marital bliss. I would’ve walked out of his life and most likely ended up in a psychiatrist’s office for the rest of my days doing my best to get past it.

He didn’t understand how much I valued him for that. How much I hated myself for the silver scars I’d laced upon his face and chest when I lost myself to rage and whipped him.

I’d tied him to the bed and hurt him.

All in the name of returning to him.

If he could face his worst nightmare and permit me to almost kill him, then anything he asked of me was trivial. I would never hesitate. “Yes, I would. No question. Whatever you want, I accept. However, the moment it’s done, I want to know what you’re keeping from me. Promise.”

His eyes shadowed. “I still have a few days—”

“Promise, maître, or…no deal.”

Dangerous, deafening silence fell between us. His head lowered, watching me from his darkened brow. “You’d say no to me?”

I was so in-tune with my husband—so used to his ferocity and inner demons that I felt them clawing at his control. I felt him struggling to accept my demands without punishing me for standing up to him.

Which was contradictory because this entire duel, I believed Q wanted me to disagree. To say no. He pushed and pulled. Wanting me to give in but secretly begging me not to.

What is going on inside his head?

Was he ill?

Was his business doing okay?

Were we okay?

What if he wanted a divorce?

My chest ached harder. What if he’d wanted to tell me for months but I’d arranged a stupid birthday celebration and made it impossible for him to deliver the truth?

Tears burned my vision even as I laughed at what a preposterous idea that was.

Q and I…we were fated. Custom created and thrown together by a world that tried to destroy us.

He wouldn’t toss me away.

He couldn’t.

He needed me just as much as I needed him.

Q stiffened as my thoughts completed their terrifying circle and settled back into acceptance of my place and the rock solid foundation of my marriage.

I wouldn’t be that woman who doubted and became contrary with her convictions. He was mine. Forever.

Whatever it was Q kept secret, it wouldn’t break us. That knowledge alone gave me the strength to not push and give him time.