And when I thought I’d finished, I came again on the smoke of the first, this one even tighter and dreadfully unforgiving.

Q followed me.

His growling grunt speared my heart as his cum flooded inside. Spurt after spurt, he marked me internally just as he had externally.

As we collapsed together on the floor, him on his back and me on his chest, I struggled to rearrange my heartbeat from manic to calm.

The ooze of his release dribbled down my thigh, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t cold even though plumes of our breath decorated the air. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

I didn’t want to move or speak, but I couldn’t stop one resounding repetitive question from ruining the moment…

What is he keeping from me?

WOULD THE HIGHS and lows ever stop?

I thought I’d outgrown this. I thought the night of our wedding and the day of our vows had cured me of this ridiculous flip-flopping of happiness and hatred.

She made me so fucking happy.

But also made me hate myself.

I couldn’t look at her as we ate chilled caviar and rosemary roasted chicken on a blanket in the farmer’s field. If the farmer returned in time to see the scuffmarks in the dusty, hay-riddled barn, he might have some indication that two people had just fucked in there.

More than fucked.

Fought with their souls and punished with their bodies.

My cock still twitched from residual insanity from my release. Tess always made my orgasm so much stronger. She drew the darkness from me even when I did my best to forbid it.

I wasn’t the master.

She was.

Curse her to hell.

I’d wanted to be gentle. I’d wanted to make love to her rather than fuck her like an animal. Because I meant what I said. What if the reason for my frustration was because of my own issues? What if I was the one with the problem, and I was taking it out on her?

I swallowed those thoughts before I could rage again.

Swigging a mouthful of tart champagne, I reached across the small distance and caressed her raw, scratched cheek.

We sat bundled in a thick blanket that Mrs. Sucre had stuffed in the hamper, keeping us warm from the winter frost all around us. After we’d finished our episode in the barn, I’d cared for her like I always did.

Taking her so brutally meant I had to put her back together again. I’d used the wet wipes from the car glove box and cleaned the small cut on her cheekbone from the sharp hay stalks. I’d dabbed antiseptic cream on the wound and kissed her over and over again.

She tolerated my ministrations, more for me than for her. She knew my ritual of checking—to see how far I’d gone when I lost control—was entirely for my benefit. She was so strong in that respect. She let me abuse her—begged me to abuse her—and then required no aftercare whatsoever.

When she’d first refused to bow at my feet the moment Franco pushed her through my front door, I’d known. Known she wasn’t just my equal but my empress. Someone I would gladly worship because she had more strength and courage in one little finger than I did in my entire fucking body.

My eyes drifted to her tartan-blanketed form. Beneath her dress, I knew her hips were decorated with finger marks and a few strands of blonde littered the barn floor from where I’d jerked too hard.

Apart from her cheek, I hadn’t drawn blood. However, she had. She’d bitten through her bottom lip, making it puffy and red and so fucking kissable I contemplated a second round with her spread-eagled over the bonnet of my car.

Get a fucking grip, Mercer.

We’d been married for years. Would wanting her never go away? At this rate, I’d end up in an early grave from my heart popping with pleasure while inside her.

Cupping her cheek, I breathed, “Are you okay?”

She leaned into my touch with a gentle smile. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrugged. “I can think of a few things.”

She glanced away. “Well, so can I. But nothing relating to what just happened in the barn.” Tearing off a piece of chicken, she chewed thoughtfully. “You know, this birthday weekend isn’t just for you.”

I dropped my touch, ladling another mother of pearl spoonful of caviar into my mouth. Caviar could never touch metal or silver. If it did, the texture and taste were completely ruined. The high maintenance eating habits of the rich never failed to amuse.

“What does that mean?”

Tess glanced my way; her normally guileless blue eyes shadowed with questions. “I know you’re unhappy, Q.” She waved me away as my temper thickened and I opened my mouth to argue. “Before you say anything, I don’t mean you’re unhappy all the time. But there is something you’re keeping from me. I need to know what it is so I can fix it.”

What if you can’t fix it?

What then?

I sighed heavily. “There’s nothing to fix, esclave.”

“I say otherwise.” She hung her head, pouring more champagne as an excuse not to look at me. “I need you to tell me soon, Q. Before I go mad with worry.”

Stopping her fumbling, I placed my hand on hers. “I know I haven't been fair, keeping this from you. But I’m almost ready to talk about it. I promise.”

“You are?” Her eyes met mine.

I nodded unwillingly. “Almost.”

“So you’ll tell me before the week is over?”

A week?

That’s all I have?

How could I put into words something I didn’t even understand myself? How could I describe the longing inside me and admit I’d been lying for months, or explain the indescribable desire for something I’d never wanted before?