As she made her way back through the master bedroom, she found her heart beginning to accelerate. It didn’t take much for blood to start rushing through her veins. Sliding the door open, she stepped out onto the covered deck. There were two chairs there, but she ignored them and set her coffee on the railing and kept walking out toward the stairs leading to the grounds where the rows of mannequins were set up.
There was a breeze carrying salty mist toward her, and with it, Seychelle could hear the sound of Savage’s voice. “Why are you particularly concerned this time, Czar? It isn’t the first time someone’s taken a hit out on me, and it won’t be the last.”
She stopped immediately. A hit? As in someone wanted to kill him?
“Yeah, I get that. It’s not like we didn’t know it was going to be dangerous. I don’t like taking her on this one, but I don’t have a choice. Especially now. You’re certain Code has the information right and it’s me they’re after, not you? They expect to make their try on the run? Yeah, I’ll be careful in the meantime.”
Savage had been stalking back and forth like a caged panther, coiled whip in one hand, his cell in the other. He looked up, his eyes meeting Seychelle’s. “Gotta go, Czar,” he said immediately. He sent her a smile. “Good almost-afternoon. I expected you to sleep the day away.”
He came right to her and bent his head to kiss her, pulling her to him, one hand spanning her throat, the other fisted in her hair and holding her head absolutely still for him. His kisses were never fast little pecks. He took his time. All heat. All fire. Taking her over.
The minute his mouth was on hers, the world dropped away and there was only Savage. She slid her palms up his chest, her body feeling as though it went boneless, melting into his. Electrical sparks leapt over her skin, and hot blood rushed through her veins to pound low and sinful in her body.
When he lifted his head, his blue eyes searched hers. “You good, Seychelle?” His hand slid down her back, over the curve of her bottom.
“I feel fine, Savage.” She tipped her face up so she could press her mouth to his neck. Already she could feel anxiety setting in. She knew he was going to act as if nothing had happened—as if she hadn’t overheard that small snippet of conversation between him and the president of his club. He was going to force her to bring it up.
He stepped away from her and half turned, indicating the mannequins. “I’ve been practicing. Do you want to see what I’ve been doing? Very intricate work.”
He was definitely deflecting. He caught her hand, taking her with him, taking her right down to the waiting rows of male and female bodies posing for him in all kinds of directions. The one facing the verandah was female and fully developed. The thin paper covering the material over her body was only broken in thin lines along the bottom, right over her mound.
Seychelle felt her own instant reaction to that sight and what it meant. Heat rushed. Blood pounded. Her panties were damp. She knew Savage would see and hear the difference in her breathing. He was trained for that. Looked for it. His name was there. He had patiently, one line at a time, carved Savage’s into the paper. Little marks with the whip formed the S.
She swallowed hard and went closer to examine the mannequin. Beneath the paper, the letters had sliced into the material beneath it. Deliberately. They would cut into the skin, not raising welts, but leaving lacerations that would leave permanent marks. Her heart pounded. So did her clit. She was so far gone that even the thought of this permanence appealed to her when it should have repelled her.
She wrapped her arms around her middle as if that could protect her from herself—and from him. She stepped back. “That takes incredible control.”
His eyes were so compelling, so intense, she actually felt a fluttering in her sex, as if he could make her orgasm by simply staring at her.
“It does, but the end results are worth the hundreds of hours of practice.”
“It looks like it would really hurt.”
“Intense pain. Each tiny part of the letters is separate. You would have to hold very still and you would have to be very committed before we ever did this. Fortunately, it is long down the line, and I have plenty of time to be ready if you ever decide you want to go that far.”
She couldn’t help but step close again and examine the mannequin one more time. The work seemed an impossibility, yet Savage had done it, clearly over and over. She ran the pads of her fingers over the lettering, feeling the way her body tuned itself to every stroke.