With each inch, I spanked her, slicing my hand right over her ass. Not holding back the force of the sexual punishment. The fact she hadn’t been hit for weeks only made her skin bloom brighter.

Unable to stop myself, I did it again. Strike, thrust. Strike, thrust. Tess moaned beneath me, her legs shivering as I slid fully inside her.

“Q!” she breathed. “I need you so much.”

My fingers dipped between her legs. Her ass hot with my hand prints against my lower belly.  “You need me?”

She cried out as I smeared wetness around her clit. She pushed back, arching into my touch. “More than anything.”

My balls tightened, already extra sensitive and desperate to come. “Merde, esclave, you’re ruining me.” Giving in, I grabbed her hips, propping her higher over the edge of the bed.

All thoughts of games flew away as I pulled out and thrust hard into my wife. My voice tangled in the air. “This is going to be fast and hard. Are you ready, Tess?”

She nodded breathlessly. “God, yes.”

My nails imprinted crescent moons on her skin as I jerked her to meet me, deleting all space between us. I didn’t hold back, shuddering with bliss as I broke her flesh, licking my lips at the hint of my esclave’s blood.

Fuck.

Rubbing my fingertips in the sticky crimson, I painted her spine with red, before wrapping my hands in her hair to wrench her head back. I didn’t worry about hurting her scalp. I didn’t fear the contorted way her body bowed as I plunged deep inside. All I cared about was being free with this woman who’d insanely married me.

Time lost all meaning as we fucked and reaffirmed how we felt for each other.

My hands never ceased—pinching, spanking, punishing, and petting.

Each strike Tess moaned.

Each sharply delivered pain Tess cried out with joy.

I was addicted to this woman.

My pregnant woman.

My orgasm didn’t stay away, and I forced her high and fast so I could chase her into the darkness and come.

We both finished on a long groan, slamming back to earth.

As we came down from our sexual high, panting and laughing, tangled in each other’s arms like we always would, I revoked my oath to never hurt her again. I’d never be so fucking stupid to try and be something I wasn’t.

She’d reminded me not to be so stubborn. And I loved her so damn much.

As sweat dried on our skin and the small teeth marks I’d punctured in her skin scabbed over, Tess murmured, “You’re going to be a father, Q.”

Hugging her close, I kissed her so sweetly it bordered diabetic. But she accepted my questing tongue with a sweetness of her own. We’d sated our rage and could be gentle…for now. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother.”

“Only as long as you promise to stay with me and accept us once and for all.”

I nuzzled her brand. “I promise.”

It was the easiest promise I’d ever made. Acceptance. Funny how I’d run from it all my life and it was so easy to give in to it now.

I loved this woman to the galaxy and back.

I always would.

She was my wife.

My esclave.

And soon, we would have a family.

EPILOGUE

SIXTEEN MONTHS LATER

THERE WERE MANY moments in my life that I treasured.

The day I was sold to Q.

The day I returned to Q.

The day I married Q.

Every event included my husband because I hadn’t truly lived until I met him. And now, I had one more.

Watching Q be a father to Abelino, Lino for short, was no greater achievement in my life. The French name meant bird and Q instilled in his son every lesson he’d learned so our child might never know firsthand the evil of the world.

Those first few weeks of not knowing the sex of our child had worn on me. I wasn’t joking when I said Q wasn’t ready for a daughter. When we finally had the ultrasound and confirmed it was a boy, I burst into tears.

Q’s eyes had glassed too, proving he wasn’t monstrous, after all.

My pregnancy had been easy, thanks to Q’s constant monitoring and support. He’d given into my demands for a rough session only a couple of times while I was pregnant and never when I got close to delivering. However, vanilla was a cursed word and never permitted in our lives again. I could live without using the swinging sex chair or the cross in our bedroom every week. I could concede not being whipped with a cat o’ nine tails until I wept for mercy every other day.

Because I had something better.

I had a husband who still bit, bled, and abused me. Only he became even more creative. Parts of my body he hadn’t paid too much attention to suddenly became orgasm triggers for my overly sexed pregnant form. Toys that at first glance seemed innocent became sinfully naughty when used in the right way. He also became a master at torturing me with that blasted magic wand.

Not to mention, the gift I’d given him on our wedding night became more and more desired by both of us. Anal wasn’t something we’d done often but while I was pregnant, Q took his role as protector seriously. He was happier taking my ass than my pussy, saying he didn’t want to invade his son’s safe cocoon.

It made no sense. But Q was a man. And men had strange conclusions.

Our lives had fallen into a happy agreement we both loved. We still argued. Still snuggled. Still had a lot of sex and a couple of months after delivering Lino with no complications, I found Q in his study to deliver the news that I was healed from giving birth.