“Don’t you think it would be so much smarter to skip this run? Between all the dire warnings to Alena and now this with you, maybe Torpedo Ink just shouldn’t go this time.”
She shifted her weight subtly, and he couldn’t help smiling, knowing her bottom was uncomfortable sitting so long in one position. He kissed her belly. “We have no choice. Don’t worry about the run. And you’re our ace in the hole. Brandon can’t go on it, so we’ll have your voice, if needed, to calm everyone the fuck down.”
She sighed. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She shifted a little more when his hand moved over her thigh, close to her heat.
“Nothing is going to happen to me.” Murmuring it almost absently, he covered her mound and bare lips, needing to distract her. “So wet for me, baby. I love that you’re always so ready for me.”
“I want you so much. Every time I moved on that chair, it felt like your marks on me were igniting a wildfire, Savage,” she admitted in a whisper.
His gaze met hers. Her eyes were deep blue with need. He loved seeing her like that. His. How the hell had a man like him gotten so damn lucky?
“Tell me about the book.”
He wanted her burning for him. All night. All the next day on the ride to the run. She had to be half out of her mind with frustration. With need. She would find it difficult to be around all the other clubs, the parties, drugs, alcohol, the open sex. Torpedo Ink would surround her, protect her, and he would do his best to shield her, but he knew what was going to happen. There would be a lot of rage swirling among his crew, rage that would inevitably end up in his gut, growing like a monster in him. He would need to bleed some of that off. He would need her.
Color swept up her body to her face. “That book. Seriously? Can we please just forget the book?”
Effortlessly, he pulled her down the bed and flipped her over, so she was on her belly. Jerking her legs apart, he wrapped one arm around her hips again, and then anchored her with one leg thrown over her thighs. “We’re not forgetting the book. I want to hear all about it. Why you bought it when you had me right here.”
He shaped her left striped cheek with his palm, rubbing, massaging, then allowed his fingernails to ignite the fire all over again as he raked over the stripes.
She moaned and pushed back with her bottom against his hand, clearly wanting more. He didn’t give it to her. “Talk to me.”
“It was just a silly how-to book on blow jobs. A kind of illustrated book with instructions. It’s not like I have tons of experience or anything, and I wanted to be good at it for you.”
His hand went back to her bottom, rubbed, then his fingers were moving along her wet lips. He circled her clit. Lovingly. Tenderly. He applied a little pressure and heard her gasp. Her hips rocked. She tried to press into his fingers. Tried to grind down onto his hand. He kissed the nape of her neck and pulled his fingers back, giving her ass a hard swat, once again igniting those beautiful, dark, fresh stripes. She jumped and hissed, nearly forgetting about not making a sound unless she was orgasming. Bog, but he wanted a good reason to put her across his knee again. His cock ached. Jerked. Throbbed.
“You’ll be good at sucking my cock, Seychelle. You don’t need a book.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice.
“How do you know? All those women you had before, that’s what they did for you. You never once asked me, not in all the time we’ve been together. Shari told me you liked it a specific way and I wasn’t capable of giving you that. I didn’t understand what she was talking about.”
“She meant I fucked her face. That’s what I did to those women. I fucked their mouths. After I whipped the shit out of them, I fucked their faces.”
Seychelle looked back at him, a little frown on her face. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
He couldn’t help the smirk as he reached up to trace her lips with the pads of his fingers. That mouth of hers. So damn beautiful. Made for wrapping around his cock. “Of course you don’t.”
Seychelle stared up at him for a few more seconds, and then her long lashes veiled the expression in her blue eyes. Tension coiled in her body. She rolled out from under him, to the other side of the bed, sat up and was off and walking away to the bathroom. Back straight. Shoulders straight. Head up. She didn’t look back. She closed the door. There were no locks on the door, but there might as well have been. She’d locked him out of her head just as sure as she wanted him away from her—he wasn’t certain why, but he knew he’d just fucked up. He just didn’t know how.
Savage had to admit to himself that he was worried about his woman. The ride to their destination was long, and Seychelle wasn’t used to being on the back of a motorcycle. He’d made it as comfortable as possible for her, and they’d stopped twice—something he would never have done for himself or anyone else.
Maestro and Keys had stopped with him while he went with her into the women’s restroom, ignoring the shocked looks of the patrons of the restaurant he’d chosen. He applied the numbing lotion to her bottom while his brothers guarded the door. She hadn’t complained or indicated that she was in pain, but he could see the relief in her eyes when he smoothed the lotion over her ass and the backs of her thighs.
He couldn’t imagine what the vibration of the bike, mile after mile, was doing to her sore muscles. He should have rejoiced in her pain, but he didn’t. He framed her face with both hands and kissed her gently before putting her behind him again. She hadn’t hesitated. She’d just climbed back on and slid her arms around his waist, locking them tight. Holding him. He was grateful for that, because she sure as hell wasn’t talking to him much.
After leaving their bed the night before without saying one word to him, she’d taken a long bath. When he’d gone to her, she’d been asleep in the tub. He’d let out the water, carried her to bed and rubbed lotion onto her bottom and thighs before pulling up the sheet and wrapping his arm around her waist the way he did in order to fall asleep. In the morning, they’d hastily packed their things in the small compartments in his bike, pulled on their riding gear and joined the others for the long run starting in the early morning hours.
He detested that they were out of sync. He dropped one gloved hand to her calf as they made their way down the highway toward their destination. His brothers rode close, but this time, Blythe was staying home. Czar made the excuse that two of the children were sick. She wasn’t the only wife not going. Most weren’t making the run. Savage knew, even though she hadn’t yet commented, that Seychelle had noticed the lack of women riding with their men. Her gaze slid over the bikes at every stop and then went up to his face.
Only Scarlet, Absinthe’s wife, and Lissa, Casimir’s wife, were along, and that was because both were worth their weight in gold when it came to fighting. Czar had made the decision to have the rest of the women stay home. He was concerned that whatever they were walking into might be too dangerous. More and more, Savage wished he’d left Seychelle home, in spite of his need of her and Czar’s insistence that she come along. He knew the club needed him, and he would need Seychelle, but this one time, maybe he should have tried toughing it out.