Seychelle took her time studying the borders of their site. She could see Ice and Storm moving around if she really tried. There were bushes between them, but not that many. Destroyer had a bedroll set out just down from them and in front of Czar. They were a fairly good distance from each other and from Savage’s campsite. On the other side was Maestro and Keys. It wasn’t easy to see any of them, and Savage knew they would avoid Savage’s camp unless expressly invited.
“I thought I was getting to at least know Lana,” Seychelle said. “She really was against me coming here. There seems to be some kind of idea that it’s perfectly all right for you to use other women while you’re away from me.”
Her voice was very matter-of-fact, but he heard the underlying note of uncertainty. His gaze jumped to hers. She had the water bottle in her hand, halfway to her mouth. Her teeth were biting down on her bottom lip.
Savage stood and went to her. “Is that what they think?” He took the bottle from her hand and set it aside before sitting on the table.
She hopped off the table and immediately paced away from him. “You know they do.” She rubbed at her temples as though she might have a headache and began to pace around the campsite.
“Do you care what they think, Seychelle?” He kept his gaze on her.
She didn’t answer immediately, but her agitation was growing. His woman. She was pacing slow. Savage tried not to let the monster in him react. She was going to have enough to contend with on this trip. She already did. They were working through problems, and she was facing one hell of a punishment—which she knew and was probably thinking about right at that moment. Still, watching her move in those jeans, knowing his marks were rubbing, setting her ass and thighs on fire with every step, woke the beast in him.
There were all kinds of assholes who could wield a single-tailed whip and tear open skin, leaving a bloody mess and horrific scars, but very, very few could wield that same whip, raise long, bright welts in complicated patterns and never once break the skin. That was skill. Especially if they did so while sheer fury raged through their bloodstream.
The minute he laid eyes on Seychelle, he’d begun putting hours into practicing again. He wasn’t about to slice open her skin. Welts were just fine, vicious ones when he was at his worst—he accepted that it would happen, but he refused to go beyond that. He was honest enough to admit he looked forward to seeing her skin covered in the hot, complicated patterns he could create, knowing they would stay for days, knowing just how much pressure he could wield before that whip would break the soft tissue of her skin.
Sometimes he woke covered in sweat, no longer dripping from nightmares but with his cock raging with hunger. Images of Seychelle tied to the post, tears running down her face, begging him to take her, her body so needy, while he circled her, whip in hand, looking for one more hit, one more rush, before answering that need for both of them, pounded through his brain.
He had given himself hard limits with her. Hard limits. He wouldn’t cross certain lines with her, no matter how far she was willing to go for him. He wasn’t willing to go there. Not with her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ripped her skin open and then got off on it—and he would. He’d be beyond aroused. They’d wired him that way. No matter what he’d done to try to undo the damage, it hadn’t worked. He didn’t need to go that far. He didn’t even want to. But everything else—and there were so many other things that his little innocent had no idea of, in spite of her foray into darker porn.
“No.” Her gaze flicked up to his. “Maybe. I don’t know. I thought Lana and I were becoming friends. It was disconcerting to realize she doesn’t respect me.”
“Why are you way over there?” He patted the tabletop. “Why aren’t you over here with me? We’re working things out. Just the two of us. You’re getting more agitated instead of calmer. Why is that, baby?”
She paused in her pacing. “I’m not.” She flushed. Even she had to hear the lie in her voice. “Okay. You’re right. I am. I don’t know why. I do know why. I broke a lot of rules, and you’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“No, babe. I’m not. But you wouldn’t want me to.”
Her chin went up, and her eyes flashed at him. “I had every right to be super pissed.”
“Yes, you did,” he agreed gently. Bog, she was beautiful in her righteous anger. She was working herself up. “Absolutely, you had every right to be pissed at Lana, Alena and Maestro. Czar too. For all I know, the whole fuckin’ club.” He leaned toward her, his eyes holding her captive. “But not at me. You were pissed, and you disrespected me in front of everyone.”