“I told you I would be willing to bend the rules if we needed to,” she whispered.
“I brought your jewelry, baby, the kind you hate to love.” He whispered it into her ear as he went back to playing with her nipples.
Her gaze jumped to his, and he found himself smiling. She loved nipple play, and she loved clamps. She didn’t like the clover clamps he sometimes used on her. Well, she did and she didn’t. That was one of those things she still couldn’t quite fathom, how it could hurt so good. She swallowed back a protest and leaned closer to him, as if for reassurance. He gave it to her, turning her around, one arm sliding around her ribs to lock her back to his chest. Her breasts jutted out, with the firelight playing over them; he continued the assault on her nipples, pulling and stretching, teasing them into tight buds.
“You like this, Seychelle? You’re already slick and hot for me, aren’t you?” He whispered the query into her ear as he tugged roughly.
She made a soft sound deep in her throat and then looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you know I like it.”
He waited, staring down into her eyes. He could see desire. Lust. He saw trepidation. Reluctance for what was coming. There was love. Soft. Tender. His.
She moistened her lips. “I’m always ready for you when you touch me, Savage.”
“And these really are your favorite clamps, aren’t they, baby?”
She hesitated.
“Your body doesn’t lie, Seychelle. You’re so slick you can barely keep from rubbing your thighs together, and I haven’t even put them on you yet.”
“I know, but …”
Already, the sadist in him was rising like the tide, that rush of domination, of power. He enjoyed the confusion on her face, the mixture of lust, desire to please him and trepidation. “Turn around for me.”
She took a deep breath and did so, turning to face him. He pulled her tank over her head and tossed it onto the picnic table before lowering his mouth to suckle her right breast. He kneaded her soft flesh as he sucked hard, using his tongue and teeth to elongate her nipple and ready her for the clamps. He took his time, watching her face as he brought the little clamp with pronounced bumps on the rubber surface up where she could see it.
He loved watching her expression. “Look at me, Seychelle,” he commanded. He wanted her looking into his eyes. She was tense. Any time he brought out the clover clamps, she was tense. He wanted her full attention on him at all times, not on the fact that they were outdoors and there were others around them, in the distance maybe, and they were guarded, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of others close by.
Her gaze jumped to his. There was pleading there. Resignation. She knew he wasn’t going to reconsider. There was also need. A dark, growing need in her he could see. Her breathing had already gone ragged.
“You have somethin’ to say?”
“I’m just nervous because there are people around us.”
“Can you see anyone here? No one is here, baby. I’m clampin’ your nipples because right now I’m in a fuckin’ foul mood and I need you to get me out of it. If you don’t, we’re going to be having a long session and you’re not going to be able to get up or go anywhere for a week or so.” He bent his head and kissed her. “You won’t be able to ride on the Harley home and we’ll be stuck in this fuckin’ place forever. Either that or I’m going to pick a fight with someone and kill them with my bare hands and go to prison for the rest of my life. I won’t look good in prison clothes, babe.”
He told her the truth. The rage was there once more, building and building until he thought he’d go insane with it, even though he tried to make a joke out of it. “I want you wearing these while I stripe you. I’m going to fuck you, baby. Hard. Ride you hard. Smack your ass. I won’t take your ass here, but I’m gonna play. This one isn’t for you, this one is to keep the demon under control. You up for that shit? Because I need you up for it. If you’re not, say so now, so we can stop and I can try to get myself under control until we get home.”
He needed her to be. God, he hated himself, but she had to do this for him. He couldn’t be alone with her, not when he was so close to being out of control. His brothers would stop him if he lost his mind. She needed to be safe, and he needed her to put the monster back in the cage. He waited for her to nod. For her to give her consent. He needed that too. Needed to know Seychelle was his partner and with him every step of the way. She had to consent to suffer for him. To give him her pain. To give him her tears. He was that big of a fucking monster, and there was no way to stop it unless he put a bullet in his head.
Her blue gaze moved over him. “If I say I can’t do it, what are we going to do?”
His heart sank. “We stop, baby. We stop and I get myself under control. We’ll pick up at home.”
If it was possible for her blue gaze to soften more, it did. “I love you, Savage. I’m up for this.” Her voice was low, a mere thread of sound, barely there, but it was there.
Triumph swept through him. He didn’t wait. Never once had he taken his gaze from hers, refusing to allow her to look away. He controlled her, mesmerized her, completely dominated her with his gaze. It always made clamping her so much more intense. Pinching her nipple hard once more, he stretched it and then attached the clover clamp. He was deliberately slow, taking his time. Her “jewelry” was really three solid beads, each a little larger than the next. He had been careful, making certain they weren’t too heavy, but every time they moved, that clamp pinched tighter and sent fire flashing through her.
Her breath hissed out, and she bit her lip, but she didn’t cry out as the clamp settled and bit into her. He flicked the little chain of balls, sending them swinging. Her eyes filled. Those liquid tears, so beautiful. One spilled over, and he leaned into her and licked it from her face. Tasted what he needed. What she gave to him. Her gift.
He took her other breast in his mouth, taking his time, gentle, tender even. Unexpectedly biting down so that she gasped and instinctively pulled back, only to have his teeth settle around her nipple. Pulling. Pinching hard. He let go, watching her face the entire time as he clamped that throbbing nipple. It was there. That look he needed. That expression.
“Would you do anything for me, Seychelle?” He stroked caresses down the back of her head, feeling the silk of her hair. She wore it long because he’d asked her to. She hadn’t worn a bra because he’d asked her not to. He knew her pussy was bare because he’d insisted she let him shave it. He wanted her bare so she would feel every delicious thing he did to her and he could see the marks stark on her flesh.
Instantly, she looked leery. “Almost. I have limits.”
He knew her limits, and he was grateful she had them.
The clamp had pinched hard enough to bring more tears, and he licked at each one, grateful for them, sipping on them as if they were the finest wine. To him, they were. He needed them. He needed to cause them and ease them. He was that fucking sick. He flicked the balls, both strands, and watched her face as they swung.
“What’s that feel like, baby?”
“Pain. Fire.” Her body shuddered. “Good. Bad. I don’t know.”
He smiled and flicked the beads again. Her entire body shuddered again.