He rubbed her back, right between her shoulder blades, because she was beginning to tense up a little at the idea of disclosing to him what kind of sexual acts had aroused her when she watched them.
“I’m not asking for this at all,” she said, her voice muffled by the comforter, but there was just a trace of excitement there.
Savage slid his hand down her spine, massaging gently, rolling over those marks that proclaimed she was his. Her legs were already spread, but the moment his palm was on her bare cheeks, she shifted, spreading her legs even wider to accommodate his exploring fingers. His smile was wicked. He felt wicked as he cupped her sex. She was slick. He began a slow, intimate massage designed to smolder. Burn slow. Take embers and fan them. Make them into roaring, leaping flames.
“There were two that were crazy. Both were outdoors. I don’t know if the outdoor thing was part of it, you know, the cool weather, maybe someone coming up on you, sun setting behind you, I don’t know, but both were pretty cool settings. One, the girl was naked, and she’d just gotten out of a hot tub, so she was damp—you could see the little beads of water running off her skin. He tied her spread-eagled, faceup on this lounge similar to the couch you have in our bedroom, with rings everywhere. Her legs were split so wide open and her arms were very wide apart. He had a crop. The crop was leather, and the end was flat like a tongue.”
“I am familiar with a crop, baby,” he assured her.
“He began hitting her with it very hard, on her breasts and nipples, over and over until she was screaming. He began spanking her … um … down there.”
“Pussy,” he supplied. She was so wet. Drenched. He plunged two fingers deep and her silken muscles were so tight they tried to strangle him, tried to drag him in and milk him. Yeah, she liked the idea, although she was afraid of it. “He spanked her pussy with the crop.”
“Yes. Until she came. And she did.”
“The second one?” he pushed while she blissfully rode his fingers. She was drifting on a sea of bliss, heading toward an orgasm. He pulled back, pressing hard on her clit to stop her. “The second one, Seychelle. Tell me.” He slid his fingers between her cheeks, painting until that sweet, tight little star was just as slick as her pussy. He began to put pressure there.
Seychelle tensed. Resisted. He smacked her bare ass right over the darkest red streaks, bringing those fires to roaring. She hissed at him, her hips bucking hard, driving his finger deeper into her. He pushed two fingers into her pussy and pumped, using all three in rhythm.
“The second was outdoors, and it was more in the woods, like out back with the trees. She was naked, but he wasn’t. He put clamps on her and then a plug of some kind.”
Her voice shook. Her body shuddered. She was close. Savage brushed her clit with his thumb. Strumming. Pumping. He bent down and kissed his way over her flaming cheeks, those dark lines that belonged to him. That excited him. That had every cell in his body roaring with life.
“He told her he had cut a switch for her and to get it. She did, and then she stood with her front to this tree and he switched her with that thin branch on one side and then she had to turn around and he pulled off the clamps. I could tell it hurt. Then he switched her on her front. I could hear others in the background and so could she, somewhere in the woods, and she stayed very quiet so they wouldn’t hear. Then he had her turn around again, bend over, and he took her right there, in the open.”
She talked very fast. All the while her hips rocked to his fingers, riding them, back and forth between the ones in her pussy and ass, his thumb giving her inflamed clit what she needed, driving her higher and higher. He used his fingernails, tracing those dark red lines so they came alive under her skin, pushing that fiery pain right into the building pleasure like a heat-seeking missile. She came apart for him, crying out his name, her silken muscles clamping down hard and then rippling over and over.
He eased her through the powerful orgasm, soothing her with his voice. With his hands. With everything he was. He whispered he loved her against the small of her back. Kissed his way up her spine to her nape and then whispered he loved her there as well.
“Don’t ever think I don’t love you, Seychelle, or that I don’t know the sacrifice you’re making to be with me. I don’t want you to ever feel shame. I had to come to terms with what they made me into. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want this life for you, not at that cost.”
“I’m going to have moments of doubt, Savage.” She sounded sleepy. Exhausted. “Not of my commitment to you or to us, but of understanding why I can like what is happening to my body or how far I want to take it. You have to give me that. You can’t think, when it happens, that I’m pulling away from us. I told you I was in this with you.”
“You won’t sell your fucking house.” He knew he sounded like a sulky child.
She didn’t open her eyes, but she laughed. That laugh. That got to him every damn time. He slid up onto the bed as close to her as he could get, pulling her into his side, his arm tight around her waist. “Sleep for a little while. I’ll wake you up when you need to shower and get ready.”
He needed to find a couple of enemies of Torpedo Ink and spend time slicing them up just to find some balance. He didn’t even know who the hell he was anymore. She was making him soft inside. Either that or making him worse. He couldn’t be certain which it was, because he knew if anyone laid a hand on her, they were going to die a slow, agonizing death.
“Savage?”
“Right here, baby.” He tugged at her hair. Her voice sounded so damn drowsy. Sexy. Wrapping him up in something he’d never had.
“Stop thinking about torturing people. Think about kissing me. I want to go to sleep with that in my mind.”
There was that little hint of laughter in her voice again. Shit. Now she was making his fucking dick hard. Again. Not that it had ever relaxed. “Stop making me worry that someone is going to try to take you away from me.” He bit her shoulder and lay still, doing his best to think about kissing her without getting so hard he’d have to get himself off right there, all over those dark stripes that marked her as his.
“I had no idea the restaurant was so nice,” Seychelle said. “I’ve never actually been inside of it.”
“Why not?” Savage asked, guiding her around the tables in the dim lights like he knew the place intimately—which he did. Hell, he’d helped put it together for Alena. Master, Player, Maestro and Keys had done most of the plumbing, electrical and woodwork, but the rest of the members of Torpedo Ink had done the grunt work. The club was damn proud of it too. Proud of Alena. Crow 287 was a cut above most restaurants due to the fact that the main chef was a cut above most chefs.
“I mostly stayed in Sea Haven with my little group of seniors unless I was singing. It was always a bit of a risk to go anywhere for a prolonged length of time in public. And who would I go out to dinner with, Savage? Especially to a place as nice as this?”
She was wearing a beautiful turquoise dress, one that accented her glowing skin and brought out the color of her eyes. He knew she’d chosen the dress because her little bottom was too sore to have jeans rubbing tightly against it. After she’d showered, he’d rubbed numbing lotion into those stripes, giving her some relief, but the cane could cause muscles to ache deep inside, not just on the surface. He’d been careful not to put too much strength in his strikes, but she’d felt every one of them.