Annihilation Road (44 page)

“Babe.” He kind of groaned his endearment. “Stop looking at my dick. You’re already sore and we’re not going for another round. You need to rest. Eyes on mine.”

It took effort to raise her gaze to his. Now he knew she was thinking about that portion of his anatomy. She’d been thinking about
all
of his anatomy, but now she was concentrating. A girl had to have her priorities.

“Seychelle. Your ass is already sore. If I put you over my knee, you’re not going to be able to sit down for a few days.” There was distinct warning in his tone.

“Fine. You’re
such
a killjoy. I was just looking. Admiring. Maybe planning.”

“Planning?”

That caught his attention, just like she knew it would. Men were so easy when it came to their cocks.

“Yes, but you stopped me mid-plan, so I’m not sharing. You don’t deserve it.” She was rather smug about her punishment. She knew he’d think about that for a long while.

He poured lotion into his palm. “Your nipples are going to be sore for a few days. We aren’t going to use clamps for a little while, and I’ll have to be careful. We’ll use this lotion several times a day. That will help with the soreness. You tell me if you get worse.”

He was exquisitely gentle as he applied the lotion to both nipples. Whatever was in the lotion definitely soothed away the soreness. The skin on her breasts felt silky soft as well.

“Lay on your belly, Seychelle, so I can apply the lotion to your ass and the backs of your thighs. You shouldn’t have any lasting marks, not even from the strap. I was very careful.”

Seychelle stretched out. Her body was already humming from the lotion he’d applied to her breasts and nipples. He rubbed it into her shoulders and back and then began to gently massage it into her buttocks. He was careful as he applied, never putting too much pressure on her bottom but using a gentle circular motion to cover every inch of both cheeks before moving down to the backs of her thighs.

“Talk to me about why you’re hesitant to have sex with me on the run or at parties, the way we both need it.”

Seychelle closed her eyes. His voice got her right in the heart. Maybe the soul. He took her over. “It’s private. For us. It’s the way we show love for one another. If we give that to them, it isn’t special between us anymore. What we do together feels so intimate. If we have others around us, it might feel sexy in that moment, but it takes away from our intimacy.”

He was silent, and she liked that he listened and was thinking about what she said. Savage never just dismissed her concerns. That was one of the things she loved most about him. He had said he would listen to her, and he did.

“Shit,” he finally said softly. “You’re right, baby.” He finished rubbing the lotion into her legs and then put it on the end table before sliding into bed beside her.

She was used to the feel of his body, but for some reason, this time when he wound his body around hers, he felt like a shield. A hard covering that totally surrounded her.
Pure protection. She’d never had that before in her entire life. She’d been the one to protect her parents when they were too weak to do much more than walk around their home. He wrapped his arm around her waist and put his chin on her shoulder, his warm breath in her ear.

“We can both live without sex at the parties, Seychelle. It’s worth it in order to keep what we have.”

The sincerity in his voice turned her heart over. Could she love him any more? Each time she thought she couldn’t, he proved her wrong. She also heard something else. A note of caution. He was worried. It had nothing to do with the parties. He could live without sex for a night or two, or even come up with something fun for the two of them to do that would work. She knew he could. It was the run he was concerned about.

“Bad things are going to happen on the run, aren’t they, Savage?”

He shrugged. “It’s entirely possible, angel. Probable.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That was why he needed to change the rules. He expected to need to have sex with her on the run to drain off some of the rage that would build up in him.

“How are we going to cope with your needs, Savage?”

“We’ll figure it out, baby,” he answered. “We’re both intelligent, and we have time.” He nuzzled her neck and then kissed her. “Tomorrow we can move all your things in. Put your house up for sale.”

She stiffened. She couldn’t help it, even knowing he would feel it. Half turning toward him, she shook her head decisively. “Absolutely not. I’m not selling my house. I’m not.”

“You don’t like this one?”

“I love this house, Savage, but I’m not there yet. I can’t give up my house. You can run away to the clubhouse. To the bar. Wherever it is you go on your motorcycle. I need my house. When you get how you get, I need a place to run away to. That’s my house.”

“Absolutely not. You have the clubhouse now as well.
You can run to Czar’s house. You don’t run to your house, where fucking Arnold or Campbell are lurking around ready to pounce, especially if you’re pissed at me.”

“I won’t be pissed. Well, I might be. You’re scary and overwhelming sometimes. I need my house. I love my house. I love this one too, but I’m not ready to sell my house.” She turned back over, her shoulder in his face. “You can argue all you want, Savage, but as far as I’m concerned, this discussion is over. I’m not selling it.”

“You have a stubborn streak in you a mile wide.” His teeth scraped back and forth gently over the nape of her neck, spreading goose bumps all over her body. He kissed the same spot. “I love you, angel. Stubborn streak and all.”

She smiled. “I love you too. Bossy streak and all.”

Seychelle woke to an empty bed. She lifted her head and looked around. She had gotten used to Savage being with her. He liked to wake her up with his mouth on her. Usually between her legs. She wanted to try waking him up the same way, but he was very strict on her lessons and what direction they would take. Maybe she should have suggested that for their parties. Learning to give him a blow job while at a party. That might be fun—or not. For both of them.

Savage had been in the shower; the glass doors were still wet. She liked that the tiles were warm under her feet when she stepped out and that the towels were warm. That felt very decadent. She knew absolutely that Savage wouldn’t care about those things—but he did care that she had them. He was surprising in so many ways. He was rough on the outside, but with her, so incredibly soft on the inside—most of the time.

She found clothes in a far-too-large closet. There was a faded pair of blue jeans that fit like a glove, and a tank top that maybe showed a little bit too much of her generous breasts. Savage insisted she had the perfect figure. He didn’t seem to notice that because she was on the short
side, one or two extra pounds really showed, always in her butt or her boobs or, most times, both. He didn’t seem to mind, but when it came to clothes . . .

She tugged at the tank top. It was tighter than anything she’d ever worn. The bra barely covered her breasts. They tended to sit high, and so the tops of the curves showed, and she could see the marks from Savage’s mouth, the strawberries he’d left behind. Just looking at them sent flutters to her sex. Her nipples had been a little sore when she woke up, but she had rubbed the lotion into them and tried to do the same on her bottom and thighs. That had been a little more difficult.

She kept staring at herself in the mirror, wondering how Savage had managed to make her feel sexy. He made her feel like she looked sexy. Her hair was a little wild, like it always was. Instead of being annoyed and thinking she looked awful, she thought the honey-colored out-of-control volume suited her face. Seeing the way her breasts stretched the tank top, instead of agonizing over being too heavy, she knew Savage would have a difficult time keeping his hands—and mouth—off of her. She liked that her bottom was cupped by the jeans, and that with every step she took, she felt just a little ache.

Seychelle strapped on a pair of sandals she found in the closet and went to the sliding glass door off the bedroom leading to the private courtyard. She could see the ocean from one view and, turning slightly, the woods from another. Stepping outside, she immediately felt the cool salt air and the flutter of the sea breeze.

A strange whistle and then a crack made her jump. The sound came from around the corner. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was distinct and raised goose bumps on her skin. Instinctively, she stood very still. She knew immediately that Savage was using one of his whips. The compulsion to see him in action was extremely strong. Just the sound of the whip cracking in the air sent heat rushing through her veins. At the same time, there was trepidation, her heart accelerating.

She wanted to be everything for Savage. She really did.
She didn’t know why she responded the way she did to the pain and pleasure he mixed together. She was ashamed of the way she seemed to need his hand on her bottom or the clamps on her nipples in order to become excited, but she wanted to be more like he was and own her sexuality. She just wasn’t certain how to do it yet, or if she could follow him as far down the dark path as he needed her to go.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk around the corner to view the courtyard that was hidden from everyone. It was right off their bedroom, if one chose to access it from the sliding glass door and the porch there.

Savage stood in the middle of the yard. He was dressed in only a pair of soft vintage blue jeans. When he moved, his muscles rippled beneath the skin, bringing his tattoos alive and showing every scar and burn on his back.

Mannequin figures were set at various distances from him, some with their backs to him, some facing him. Thin paper covered their material skin. She could see through the paper to the white material that covered the wire bones of the cage that was the bodice of each mannequin. It seemed as if the entire courtyard had various visitors, all posed in different positions, some facing slightly away from the bedroom, some with their backs fully to it. Others had their fronts fully exposed, and others were turned slightly to the side.

Savage didn’t even appear as if he was looking directly at the mannequins. He noticed her immediately, which didn’t surprise her. He was always aware of his surroundings. He spun around, his body a blur as the whip became an extension of his arm, singing through the air, landing in perfect symmetry, producing a line to add to the obvious tree he was creating on the back of the model he was using.

The lines were beautiful.
He
was beautiful. She could see the various patterns he’d created with the whip as well as others. He was so casual, so on target, even as he was smiling at her. She was so caught up in his artistry that it took a moment to realize how her body reacted to the whip.
The crack of it. The way it flew through the air and landed with such perfect precision. Her entire body flooded with endorphins. Hot blood rushed through her veins and pooled low. Her clit throbbed and her sex clenched. Her head went up and her hand fluttered to her throat protectively. Even the sound of the whip was thrilling, but watching Savage wield it was more of a thrill than anything else. Her breath caught in her lungs and just burned there.

“Good morning,” he said as he casually coiled the whip. “I expected you to sleep the day away.” He came right to her and bent his head to kiss her.

His kisses were never fast, not little pecks. He took his time. All heat. All fire. Taking her over. Pulling her to him, one hand spanning her throat and the other fisting in her hair and holding her head absolutely still for him. She gave herself to him. Surrendering. Sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her body as close to his as she could get, still a little shocked that he could actually be hers.

When he lifted his head, she turned to gesture toward the mannequins. “That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, Savage.” She indicated the various patterns. “It’s really beautiful. I didn’t realize art could be done with a whip.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Thank you, angel. That’s exactly how I see it. My art. I need to see your nipples, baby, just to make certain we didn’t get too crazy last night.” He set the whip on the railing and caught the hem of her tank top, pulling it over her head. “I can do quite a lot of things with whips. Did you remember to use the lotion?”

She nodded, shivering a little at the darkness in his eyes. “What are you doing out here?”

“Practicing. I practice every day. Now that I’ve got you, I’ll step that up even more. I want to make certain I don’t make any mistakes. I never want to cut into your skin too deep and leave a scar.”

She shivered. “Cut into my skin?”

He nodded, watching her closely as he unhooked her
bra, letting her breasts free. “The air is good for your nipples. While you’re home, you should just go without a top and bra. You’ll heal faster.”

His finger slid over the top curve of her breast and then traced one of the many strawberries. “The strap, the various floggers I’ll use, none of those would make a real mark on you like this whip would. This would make a slice into your skin. I could make it just a slight one, or deep. I have to have absolute control.” All the while, his eyes never left hers. “I can do all kinds of things with different whips, baby. The point of all this practice is not to cut your skin. If you look at the mannequins, the paper is cut, but not the material under it. Hopefully, I stay in control and raise welts, striping you with my art, but not actually breaking your skin.”