She went home and immediately delved deeper into spankings and even floggers, but she didn’t really understand it. She had no idea why her body would respond to such a thing when no matter what she’d tried, she’d thought she was absolutely frigid. The deeper into his world Savage took her—and granted, it wasn’t very far, but she saw where they were going—the more alarmed she got. She was intrigued. Terrified, but intrigued. That wasn’t a good thing in her opinion.
In her mind, when she’d gotten together with Savage, she believed she would give herself to him and there would be that moment when she would have to “suffer” for him. He suffered for those he loved, and she would do it for him. She was very confused with the way she felt about pain and the effects on her body. She didn’t want to crave pain. Did she? Or did she crave Savage? She didn’t even know anymore what was right or wrong. She only knew that she loved him, and she had to find a way to come to terms with all the rest of it.
Savage stood looking at the array of tools he had lined up in his cabinet over the wooden drawers built along the wall next to the tall wooden cabinet where the jewelry he had for Seychelle was kept. She hadn’t even seen the majority of it. He had orders in to have so much more made for her. Now that he had her in his life, he was more than comfortable with his needs. He just had to get her to a place where she was accepting of their lifestyle.
He was a sadist in the bedroom, and he owned what he was. He had exhausted all the avenues open to him to change and knew there was no way for him to be anything but what he was. He needed to see his woman in pain in order to be aroused. He got off on that shit. Putting his handprints or his marks on her gorgeous ass aroused him. But the thought of using his floggers or whips, that was the ultimate for him—that would put steel in his cock like nothing else could. Her tears were his. Her ultimate pleasure was his, and he could give her pleasure like no one else ever could.
She had gone into their relationship fully aware. He had been careful to tell her what he was so there would be no surprises on that score. He’d laid it out as plainly as possible, but talking about it wasn’t the same as experiencing it. He had been bringing her into his lifestyle faster than he wanted to. He knew that was frightening for her. She responded so beautifully though.
Her body was aroused with clamps. She loved nipple play. He loved it. They hadn’t gotten to the more exciting stuff for him, but they were getting there fast. She would both love that and hate it. She was coming to enjoy her spankings a little too much. She wasn’t altogether certain she liked the crop that much, but he doubted if she would care for very many of the straps, slappers and tawse he was looking at in his cupboard at the moment.
These were specialized tools, and he chose three tawse, one that would warm her little backside up properly. He would ask her questions and hope she would answer him without lying. She’d never lied to him, but she’d been considering it. The second tawse, also crafted in the rough-hewn center-split leather like the first, was slightly larger and delivered a more punishing strike. She would definitely feel it. The split leather wouldn’t feel anywhere near the same as the thicker crop he’d used on her. He’d ask again, and if she still didn’t answer him, there was the larger tawse, which she definitely wouldn’t enjoy. It was for a severe punishment. A lie. A holdout when there was no reason. He hoped—and doubted—it wouldn’t come to that.
Savage would lay it out for her like he always did. She would choose her own consequences. During a punishment she knew there was no calling out “red” for stop. Any other time during sex, she had that right. This was a different circumstance and one she’d agreed to when they first laid down the rules to their relationship.
He’d been somewhat lax about keeping the rules. He’d let them go, didn’t keep a guard on her like he should have all the time. It was his fucking fault that his woman was nearly gunned down by a madman. If Seychelle hadn’t kept her head and been so resourceful, he wouldn’t have gotten there in time. She had essentially gotten herself out of the cottage and was running when the club showed up to deal with Arnold, but it so easily could have gone the other way. All because he’d tried to be someone he wasn’t.
He loved her so damn much he would have roped the moon and given it to her if he could have. What he did was let that fucker live the first time he’d turned up stalking Seychelle. Savage knew he should have killed him right then and thrown his body into the ocean or buried him in the forest somewhere deep where he never would have been found. Seychelle’s entire ordeal rested squarely on his shoulders because he hadn’t done what he was supposed to do—protect her. He was too busy worrying about her leaving him because he was asking her to accept too damn much in their relationship already.
He was who he really was. She had to know him, not some fucking choirboy he pretended to be. And he damn well wasn’t letting her go. She could learn to love all of him, even the not-so-nice parts. She might be afraid of what they did in the bedroom, but she fucking loved it. It was this part, having to answer to him, that upset her. She didn’t like that his world had to be so controlled. She didn’t understand yet just how dangerous he could be if he didn’t have everything in place. That meant her—his everything. The center of his universe.
He wasn’t taking her bullshit anymore, and she might not realize it, but he was counting every fucking minute she was making him wait. He collected the three leather tawse and closed the cabinet and then crossed to the chair beside the spanking bench. He laid the three tawse out on the table, where she could see them when she came in. They were beautiful examples of Scottish craftsmanship. The leather was perfectly split just right, and each handle fit his palm exactly as he’d instructed.
He knew he had a well of rage in him, and this time it was dark and deep and ugly. He would have to be damn careful, because he wasn’t going to punish her for his sins. He was pissed at himself. Not at her. She deserved punishment, and he liked when he was stripping her bare and giving it to her. He’d told her how much he enjoyed it. It aroused him, and he made no secret of it. It aroused her as well, but this time there would be no satisfaction for her at the end of it. He’d asked her several times to tell him what was making her sick, given her every opportunity. His woman had a stubborn streak. Sweet as candy. A fucking angel, but did what she wanted when she lifted that little chin of hers at him.
He would have smiled at that thought, but the way she had looked at him a few times worried him, especially when she’d said she’d had a nightmare. He’d been the one to interrogate that sick fuck Arnold, and he hadn’t been polite about it, but then, Savage was known for getting answers when he questioned his prey. He’d never failed the club. He hadn’t failed when he was first learning the techniques. He’d studied every poison. Every kind of weapon and where to insert knives to cause the most pain without killing. He’d studied anatomy, ways to lop off body parts without killing and ways to prolong life. At the club, he had cabinets with all kinds of tools and interesting oils and poisons he’d been taught to use from the time he was a young teen to extract the truth.
He was careful around Seychelle. He was too good at disassociating, far too good at it, and it made him a monster, lost him the humanity Czar, the president of Torpedo Ink, had fought so hard to keep in all of the club members. He had brought them to Sea Haven to give them a chance at life, but they were all so fucked up none of them really fit into society. They didn’t understand the rules. They had their own code, the one Czar had given them, and they stuck with that. But Savage … He shook his head. He still had a difficult time even with that.