She’d dreamt of taking him in her mouth. She’d wanted it for so long. His hand was heavy on her shoulder, urging her to her knees. Her mind was suddenly filled with images of another woman, her mouth greedily devouring him. She could hear others surrounding her laughing. Pointing and laughing. She could hear Savage laughing too. The images and voices whirled together into a terrible blurring kaleidoscope of sound and vision.
Savage rubbed the head of his cock along her lips, murmuring something she couldn’t hear above the jeering laughter. He stroked her cheek, then her jaw. His eyes flashed that cold blue that sent shivers down her spine.
“Seychelle.” His tone. Commanding.
Now his hand spanned her jaw. Pressed. Opening her mouth. He rubbed along her lips, and she tasted him. The laughter grew louder. The images in her head flashed brighter.
“Red.” She whispered the word. “Red.” She said it louder, trying to be heard above the noise in her head. She sank back on her ankles, away from him, extending both arms, hands up, palms out to defend herself. “Red, red, red. Red, Savage, red.”
Few things shocked Savage, but the sight of Seychelle, obviously frightened, crying real tears, backing away from him on her knees, frantically whispering her safe word over and over, managed to throw him. She literally was crawling away from him, looking terrified, as if he were a monster about to attack her. When he took a step close to her, she shrank back even more, her hands going up to protect herself, and her safe word got louder.
“Seychelle, baby, look at me.” Savage crouched down, putting himself at her level, trying to connect with her. “Angel, you’re safe. You’re with me. You’re always safe with me. Let me hold you. Come here to me.”
She blinked rapidly, her tear-wet lashes fluttering, her eyes bouncing all over the place, pupils dilated, as if she was so terrified, she was looking for a way to escape, to run from him. He softened his voice even more, stilling, not moving a muscle.
“Angel, you mean more to me than anything on this earth. You have to know that. See me, Seychelle. See me. This is Savin Pajari, your fiancé, your man. Say my name. Say it, baby. Tell me who you belong to.” He kept his voice low. Not in the least demanding. Velvet soft, letting it caress her nerve endings. He didn’t reach for her. He did nothing that could constitute a threat to her.
Savage willed her to look at him. Seychelle was already conditioned to obey him, especially when she was naked and vulnerable. Her gaze jumped to his face, moved up to his eyes and was instantly trapped there. Good. He kept his focus on her, knowing once she looked into his eyes, she wouldn’t be able to look away.
“That’s it, baby, you see me now. Savin. Say it.” Deliberately, he used his birth name. He rarely gave it up to anyone, even her. She knew it. She whispered it to him occasionally, but only when he made love to her. When they stared into each other’s eyes and it was more intense than he had ever imagined loving a woman could be. She would whisper Savin in that soft, breathless voice and turn his heart upside down.
He wanted her to see his love for her, not his domination. Not Savage the biker, although he knew she loved and trusted him as well. Just at this moment, she needed to feel safe, totally safe, and he didn’t know what was scaring her. She was upset with Torpedo Ink. The club. The members. With him. Something was off-kilter.
Her lips parted. Formed his name, but no sound came out. Her eyes darkened. That blue went to sea blue. Sapphire. Terror receded just a little but was still there. She wrapped her arms around herself. Her entire body shook so much he was afraid she would topple over sideways before he could get his hands on her. It took a tremendous amount of restraint to hold himself back.
“Say it for me, baby,” he encouraged. “I need to hear you say my birth name out loud. Not too many people I trust with that name.”
She blinked again. The terror in her eyes faded to fear and confusion. A little frown took over. That frown turned his insides to pure mush, not a good thing when he was surrounded by enemies and his club counted on him to be their enforcer. It didn’t matter. Nothing did in that moment but Seychelle.
Her fingers came up to dash at the tears still streaming down her face. Her hand was trembling so much he wanted to capture her hand in his and hold it still, but he didn’t move, afraid of ruining the little progress they’d made.
“Savin.” She whispered his name.
The moment she said his name out loud, even though it was a mere thread of sound, barely heard, the fear receded almost completely to leave mostly confusion. Her lashes fluttered more. The teal blue stared into his eyes.
“That’s right, Seychelle. Keep looking at me. Keep seeing me.” He inched closer. An inch. No more. Testing the waters. She didn’t flinch away from him, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She recognized him. Knew who he was.
“I see you,” she acknowledged, sounding hesitant. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. She looked more confused than ever, but she didn’t move away from him when he edged closer.
He took advantage, even from his crouched position, gliding right into her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her into his chest and rising into a standing position to carry her to one of the camp chairs he had placed beside the firepit. The fire had died down to embers, but that didn’t matter to him. He settled into the chair, cradling Seychelle in his lap. She had never, not one time, used her safe word. Not during all the things they’d done together. She hadn’t appeared to even come close. She might have thought about it, but she hadn’t even formed the word.
Now? At the thought of sucking his cock? She’d bought a how-to book on the subject. She’d even discussed it with Shari, the bane of his life. He thought it would make her happy. Of all the things he could think of to do, new and different for her, on the run, he thought they might make a little instructional video of their own. Nothing like what he’d ever done with any other woman, just theirs alone, the two of them. Shit. He’d thought she’d fucking like it.
He tightened his arms around her, rocking her gently, one palm to the back of her head, holding her so her face was buried against his chest, muffling her sobs. They were genuine. Heartbreaking. What the hell? She was crying all over again. This had nothing to do with her spanking.
“Fuck, baby, you have to talk to me. I thought this was something you wanted to do. You never have to do this for me. Never. There’s a million other things we can do we’d both enjoy.” He kept rocking her. Something had been off since the night before they left. They’d talked about her sucking his cock then too. Then he’d been thinking about something similar when she’d gotten so upset as they were walking toward the campsite earlier.
“Angel, you don’t think I’d ever risk losing you again to have someone else give me a fucking blow job, do you?” He caught her hair in his fist and very gently tugged to try to get her to lift her head so he could see her eyes without being rough. “You’re going to have to look at me sometime, Seychelle. We have to talk about this.”
He needed to just shut the hell up and let her cry it out. She’d talk to him when she was able to. He was a fixer with her. He wanted to make everything better, and he definitely didn’t want Seychelle running from him—not here, not when they were surrounded by so many other clubs. He didn’t want her ever feeling insecure about their relationship. He thought they were past that. Bog, he fucking hoped they were past that.