“You’re so fucking beautiful, Seychelle. I knew you’d look like this with the moonlight shining on you.”
The music pounded through him the way his heart beat. He had put on his favorite band, Five Finger Death Punch. He identified with so many of their lyrics. The beat crashed through his blood, straight to his cock, finding the same thundering roar as the waves smashing against the rocks.
His woman was beautiful in her fear of the unknown. He stood behind her and pressed his body against hers, his palms cupping her tits. She had good-sized breasts. More than a handful, high, round and firm, her nipples standing out, already hard pebbles, telling him that she might be scared, but she was very aroused. Her waist was small, her hips flared. He loved her ass, and he pushed his erection tight against her generous cheeks.
“You’re ready for this, baby. So ready. You’re dripping for my cock, and we haven’t even gotten started.” He whispered the truth in her ear like a sin. His teeth closed on her delicate lobe and bit down hard enough to sting, making her gasp. She tried to move her head, to rest it on his shoulder, but her hair tied into the scarf above her made that impossible. He licked at the sting.
“Remember how it felt? That fire? So good, Seychelle. You loved it. Your body was made for mine. This is going to be so much more intense. That only means when I let you have my cock, it will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced.”
He stepped in front of her again, this time picking up his coiled bullwhip. He showed it to her, watching her eyes widen with both trepidation and anticipation. Deliberately, he caught her left nipple, that beautiful nipple he had clamped before to prepare her for this moment. He pinched hard, as if she wore clover clamps. She gasped, and the demon in him roared with approval, thundered for more. His cock pulsed for more. His mouth clamped down on her right tit, sucking hard, drawing it into his mouth while the fist holding his bullwhip brought the handle between her legs.
She was needy. The moment he touched her clit with the braided leather, she reacted helplessly, her hips pushing against it, a moan escaping. He bit down on her nipple, using his teeth mercilessly, allowing her to ride against the whip handle while his fingers and teeth tugged and pulled her nipples harshly.
Tears formed in her eyes, liquid gold as far as he was concerned. He let up the pressure and used his tongue to ease the sting. “It hurts so good, doesn’t it, baby?” He kissed his way down her belly, sliding the whip handle back and forth over the insides of her thighs.
“Please, Savage.” She whispered the entreaty.
He licked at the honey spilling along her bare lips. Her entire body jerked. She was ready. More than ready. He straightened and backed away. “You do please me, Seychelle. What is the rule? Tell me.” He poured steel into his voice, keeping his tone low, a velvet demand.
She swallowed hard. “No screaming unless I’m having an orgasm. I can cry silently, but my tears belong to you.”
He nodded. “What do you say if you need me to slow down and give you a moment?”
“Yellow.”
“And to stop?”
“Red.”
“If you say red, we end everything. You’re in control here. Remember that, baby. You’re done, you say that. Promise me.”
She nodded.
“I need to hear the words.”
“I promise.”
“This isn’t like the flogger I used on you before. This is going to be intense. Each whip is going to be harsher. Much more extreme. You have to surrender completely to the sensations. Give yourself to it. Let the fire take you.”
She nodded, but her blue gaze had dropped to the coiled bullwhip. Her tongue touched her lips. Moistened them. He stepped forward again, not wanting to take a chance of losing her, his palm cupping the side of her face for one moment, his eyes looking into hers.
“You ready?” She had to be ready. She was ready. She was dripping. Her breathing was ragged. Her pupils were so dilated, and endorphins were already kicking in. Her gaze kept returning to the whip, curious, needy, a kind of craving mixed with fear. She tried to nod, but her hair was tied too tight.
Savage let her go and trailed his fingers down the side of her neck. Gently. Trying to give her courage, looking into her eyes. Trying to tell her without words that he would watch out for her. Look after her. Make it good for her, no matter what he said. He saw acceptance of the demons in him. Of his terrible cravings. Of his needs. Of whatever he had to do this night.
He walked a few feet from her and shook out the whip. The moment he did, he felt the pounding beat of the music moving through his body. The well of rage boiled and seethed like a giant lava pool, spewing volcanic heat through his system, taking him over. He let it. Feeling alive. Letting the power, the domination, rule him. Take control.
He turned, the single tail snaking out. The crack of the leather was loud in the night, the sound beautiful. So fucking beautiful. He didn’t touch her yet, just cracked the whip in the night, feeling the leather as an extension of his arm, his body, again. That was the way it always was. It was part of him. His brain moved it automatically, almost without thought, in the way his brain told his arms or legs to move.
He walked around her, using that same slow pace, knowing she couldn’t hear him, couldn’t turn her head. She could only wait for the sound of the whip, the first streak of fire as it fell across her flesh. He chose an easy overhead flick to warm her up. Although it didn’t have the same savage sound of the original cracking of his whip, in the night, it was loud enough to be ominous. The thin braid of leather hit her back in a precise line. She gasped, choked back a cry of shock. That single soft stroke of the whip lit her on fire far more than any of the harder blows he’d given her with the flogger. He used those flicks fast to cover her back, buttocks and thighs, bringing the blood to the surface and getting her used to the shock of the single tail striking her.
Each time that he added a little more of a flick to increase the fire, he stepped into her and gave her his fingers, or his mouth, making certain her body reacted with need. With craving. He took his time with her, enjoying the night, the crash of the waves, the heat of his blood, the way she looked tied in the moonlight, her body on display, so open to his every whim, to that lash. More and more, he could view her as he wanted. That perfect skin, visualizing the patterns he would put onto it, that he would create.
Savage coiled the whip, and, running the pads of his fingers down her back, he moved around her to stand in front of her. He had marked her skin, but barely, and there was satisfaction in knowing she was eager for more. Almost desperate for more. He stepped close, using the handle of the whip to push her chin up so he could capture her mouth with his. At the same time, he slid his fingers into her slick pussy.
Seychelle had been intrigued with the whip and what she’d seen him do with it. She’d enjoyed the flogger. So far, her body had responded positively to her warm-up. He wanted her feeling mindless. Desperate for release.
Once more he stepped back, flicking her belly gently, bringing the blood to the surface, letting her nerve endings feel the glow, using a fancier figure eight so she was mesmerized by the action of the bullwhip, the sound of it moving to the beat of the music. She loved music, and it all worked together.
He continued gently a few more times—her breasts, her belly, that sweet little mound, the tops of her thighs and then the insides of her legs. A preview. She had no idea what was coming, but he did, and the thought of it flooded him with a savage kind of rush. He took his time, carefully lulling her into a false sense of security, watching her body grow needier as the streaks of fire danced over her skin and every nerve ending flared into life.