He smacked her ass when she tightened up and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, fear in her eyes. “You should know better. We haven’t discussed that, and it isn’t for punishment.”
Before she could reply, he surged forward, driving deep into her sheath, burying himself to the hilt, watching himself disappear into her, watching the way her body swallowed his. The sight was sinful and dirty. Beautiful and miraculous. Fucking poetry. He was a big man and her body felt as if it was strangling him, a fist of scorching-hot, wet silk, twisting as he slammed into her with brutal force.
He wasn’t making love to her the way he did most times, even when he was going at her hard. This was fucking her, using her body for his own personal satisfaction. He’d never once done that with her. Never. Never thought of it. He tightened his hold on her hips and pumped into her fast and hard, over and over, refusing to let her move. Never once giving her inflamed clit the necessary friction to get her off. This wasn’t about her satisfaction. This was punishment, no longer for not answering him but for lying to him. That was a hard line to cross.
He let his sadistic streak roar with pleasure, let it revel in the sight of her suffering for him. Her purple, mottled ass, the glorious welts that were rising beautifully, the rakes of his fingernails, her sobs and the perfect tight, hot pussy that nearly strangled his cock drove him past all point of control, and he let it. He gave himself up to the pure ecstasy of driving in and out of her, watching her body take his. Feeling his girth swell even larger, the rigid scars scraping against the silken walls adding to the glorious friction.
Savage wanted to stay right where he was forever, giving his cock absolute freedom, giving himself permission to be who he was, but it was too good. Already, he was on fire, his entire being, blood so hot he was already a volcano, magma roiling in his balls, rocketing in brutal, jerking explosions to coat the walls of her sheath. Hot ropes of his seed that seemed a never-ending eruption, flinging him into some other place, where nothing could touch him. His fucking past was wiped out for those precious few minutes, or hours—he didn’t know how long, he only knew she took it away.
He had no idea how long he stood behind her with his cock buried deep, his fingers digging into her hips so hard he was certain he had left bruises. His cock was still pulsing when he became really aware. His body buzzed, blood still roaring hotly through his veins, the rush still on him, but Seychelle was shaking and needed care.
He pulled out of her gently and reached down to unlatch the cuffs circling her ankles. He had to be a little careful. Surprisingly, his legs were rubbery. “Just a minute, baby. Let me take care of you and I’ll get you free.”
He had set everything he needed out beside his chair. As he passed the table, he swept up the three tawse he’d used on her and pushed them into the drawer out of sight to clean the leather later. Lotion containing a topical numbing agent as well as arnica to help against bruising was right beside the chair. He used a wet, warm cloth between her legs and thighs to clean her first and then applied the lotion.
Her breath hissed out of her, and he could hear her muffled sobs, but she didn’t protest. When he had made certain he’d covered every welt and potential bruise, he removed the cuffs on her wrists and helped her into a standing position. Her knees gave out, and he caught her up.
Seychelle pushed him away and reached for the support of the spanking bench. “I’m okay.” She rubbed at her face with her hand, effectively hiding from him. “I need some tissues.” Her chest heaved, and her body gave another shudder.
He reached for her again. “Let me take care of you.”
She went stiff. “You took care of yourself, Savage. Taking care of me is more taking care of yourself. You’re doing it for you to make yourself feel better.”
Savage ignored her clear resentment and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, taking her over to the chair. She struggled a little, but there was no way she was going to win when he had her trapped, and she gave up fairly quickly. He sank down onto the cool leather, keeping Seychelle on his lap, his arms firmly around her.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“I’m not playing around anymore, Seychelle, look at me.” He poured steel under the velvet of his voice.