She closed the distance between them, reaching up to curl her palm around the nape of his neck. “Savage, I love you. All of you. We knew this was coming. This is your time to be this part of you, to let it out. I’m here for you. I told you I would be, and I will. I’m nervous, but we both expected that. And you need that.” She pressed her lips to his.
He felt that soft brush of her mouth right through his body. An offer. Her love. The tip of her tongue ran along the seam of his mouth, and he opened to her. There was no holding back against the overwhelming tide of need. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her against him, fitting her body to his, locking her there while he kissed her.
Lust rushed through his veins like a dark predator, mixing with love to create a fireball hot and wild. A turbulent storm that already bordered on pushing the limits of his control. He lifted his head, gripping her arms, ready to thrust her away from him. Seychelle clung to him.
“Savage. I’m sure. Absolutely certain. You need to let this part of you have free rein without fear. Let yourself have complete freedom. This is your time. You only get to allow this once in a while. This is my time to give it to you. Let me. Have faith that I’ll bring us both home safely. I’m giving you permission to be you so there will never be a need to be ashamed by anything you do here. This is my decision. My choice.”
He stared down into her blue eyes, his darkest cravings warring with his deepest fears of losing her. Her eyes were clear. Held love and acceptance. He had to believe in her. He slid the pad of his thumb across her delicate chin.
“Follow me.” He walked ahead of her to the grotto, turning on the taps himself, reaching for the special jar of purple-and-blue bath salts that looked so innocent. Preacher had devilishly come up with the formula. He poured a generous amount into the water so that it sparkled invitingly. “You can touch yourself all you want, but you’re not to get yourself off. Do you understand me? That’s a hard rule, Seychelle.”
“Of course.”
So innocent. She should know him by now. Maybe she did. He framed her face with his hands and took her mouth gently. As gently as he could when he was already slipping into that sadistic beast wanting to take what was his and claim every inch of her his way. Make her prove to him she meant every single word she said. That she loved him. She either did or she didn’t. He would put those vows to the test tonight. She would suffer for him. Give him her tears. Offer up her body. See him for what he was, see his worst cravings and the dark satisfaction he got when his whip decorated her pristine skin.
He made his way to the shower and took his time in the hot water, washing himself thoroughly before pulling on a loose pair of soft drawstring pants. He opened the top drawer containing his collection of coiled whips. He kept them oiled, kept them in perfect condition in anticipation of this night. Each was a work of art, made specifically with purpose.
He touched his bullwhip, an easy favorite, but too easy. There was the Devil Harpy. He was drawn to that one, black and red, starting out with a twelve-plait single tail and ending up with evil tails of fire, three of them, as intense as the wielder of the whip wanted them to be. The overlay and falls were all in one piece, and it had a heavy fully flexible handle. It was a unique whip and one he enjoyed using.
The other he considered also started out as a twelve-plaited single tail but ended in five very, very thin, long fingers of stingy plaits. Between the last two choices of whips, he could produce a multitude of unique patterns on Seychelle’s skin. He pulled all three whips from the drawer and walked outside to set them up on a table across from the posts where he was going to tie her.
His music was ready. The crash of the waves was a perfect match for the blood rushing through his veins. His heart pounded as he checked the rings set deep into the posts. He wanted to make certain the cuffs were at the right height. Nothing could impede his movement—or that of his whips.
By now, the salts he’d poured so generously in the water would be acting on her body, working their way inside, and she’d be rather desperate for his mouth. His fingers. His cock. He smiled to himself. She would be so needy—a good thing. She would need that.
He heard her and turned. She was on the deck, wearing nothing but small beads of water on her skin. Her hair was down, flowing around her body, until a capricious wind gusted and sent it flying. She was trembling, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from fear, but she stood her ground.
Savage went to her, curling his palm around the nape of her neck and looking into her eyes. “I love you more than anything, Seychelle.” He was all too aware his voice was strained. Rough. He knew he looked different even. He hoped she could see past the monster in him to the man who loved her. Even the monster loved her. He pressed his forehead against hers. “We can stop this right here. I can head to San Francisco and you’ll be a hell of a lot safer. I’m going to tell you, straight up, I don’t want that. But I do want you safe. I don’t know if I can stay in control.”
Her hands came up to frame his face, her eyes meeting his. “I’m telling you, straight up, Savage, you don’t need to stay in control. This is my gift to you. Kiss me now and then tell me what to do.”
“You’re absolutely certain?” He wanted her to be. He needed her to be. Those eyes didn’t so much as flinch. He took her mouth and let flames consume them both.
The moment he broke that kiss, he let himself believe. He took her at her word. Her body undulated, and her hand slid down toward her mound with a soft little cry. He caught her wrist and tugged, taking her straight through the yard to the poles, where he stretched her arm out and bound her wrist with a cuff.
“Didn’t I say not to get yourself off?”
She squirmed, trying to rub her thighs together. “I really want you, Savage. Before we start, could you just use your mouth? Or your fingers?”
He stretched her other arm out and cuffed that wrist to the pole. “You have to learn patience, baby. You never have patience.” He poured amusement into his voice.
Savage checked the bindings on Seychelle’s wrists. She was trembling almost uncontrollably, feeding that dark lust that welled up like a volcano inside of him. The cool night air played over her body, adding to the illusion of fingers touching her in the dim light. He went silent, knowing the sound of his voice grounded her. He didn’t want to give her that, not yet, when it wasn’t needed. Later, she would need his voice; she would need much more from him.
He hooked her bare foot and shoved it wide and then bent to secure her ankle to the post with a cuff. As he rose, he ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh, over her bare pussy lips, feeling the slick heat, smiling when she shuddered with need, and then down her other side, trailing that sweet honey in a little intriguing smear along her thigh. He shoved her left leg wide and secured that ankle as well.
He circled her again, tugging on the ankle bindings that kept her legs spread apart, exposing every inch of her naked body to him. The bath salts had done their job. He could see the slickness forming on her tight little opening. That was all his. Not hers. This night wasn’t about her at all.
He swept her hair into a knot on top of her head and then wrapped it into a silken scarf that was tied to the crossbeam above her, so she didn’t have a lot of room to move. He needed her hair out of the way, so he had access to both the front and back of her—all that satin skin. As he moved around her, he deliberately ran his hands down her soft skin—skin that belonged to him.