The evil whip struck along the side of the curve of her right breast, two of those wicked talons once again striking her nipple. She came up on her toes, shaking her head, her breath exploding out of her lungs. Her nipples peaked. She felt them. It was sick how her body reacted, the way the flames spread like a wildfire straight to her sex. Her nipples and breasts were so sensitive to a mix of pain and pleasure, but this was too extreme.
Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Seychelle couldn’t catch her breath. Just watching him through the tears pouring down her face, seeing him, that expression of sensual cruelty, of total concentration, of pure sexual lust, added to the arousing need coiling so tightly, like a terrible fist deep inside her. At the same time, those terrible red talons were evil claws, just waiting to slash into her skin.
Savage stepped into her, the flexible handle of the whip finding her slick heat unerringly while his fingers traced the bright red welts over her right breast and then to the side. “You have to stay very, very still, Seychelle, for these next two lashes. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, baby?”
He lapped at her inflamed nipple with his tongue, soothing the terrible pain, then sucking it into the heat of his mouth. At the same time, he pushed the thick braid of leather into her and rubbed the abrasive knot over her clit. She nearly cried out, but at the last moment was able to clamp her lips together, even though the tears continued to flow.
He pulled back from her breast. “You’ll stay very still, won’t you? This is very precise work, and I don’t want it to look sloppy on your gorgeous tits. You loved the way it looked on the mannequin, so I chose the pattern just for you.”
He sounded like he was giving her such a gift. She wished he hadn’t stopped. The night air was even colder. The music sounded more ferocious, as did the pounding waves. Savage’s eyes had gone so arctic blue, so ice-cold and remote, but filled with a lust that bordered on animalistic.
The whip he held up gleamed in the moonlight with liquid from her, and his smile was cruel as he licked the leather, those eyes watching her as he stepped back. He was clearly waiting for her answer. She forced herself to nod, giving him what he wanted, when he had the evidence that she was so needy. There was no hiding it from him.
He struck fast, just a flick of his wrist, two flicks, and those three talons struck once, then again. The first strike laid lines under her right breast, with the tips so painful on her generous flesh, one striking precisely on her wet, inflamed nipple. The second strike somehow landed on the inside, between her breasts, those tips striking the sensitive mound, completing the cup of the bralette, and one of those tips hit her nipple again. The sting was so painful she would have gone to her knees if she wasn’t tied.
She opened her mouth to call yellow, but he had coiled the whip and sauntered around behind her. When he did, he trailed his fingers along the nape of her neck.
“You are doing so well, angel. I didn’t think you could really do this for me.” He caught her head, tilting it, pulling on her scalp where her hair was tied, licking at her tears. “You’re so beautiful like this, taking my real lashes. My patterns. They’ll last a long while on your body. Every time I see them, I’ll be so fucking hard. I didn’t need to go to the underground club. I just needed you.” He trailed his hand down her back to her bottom. “Just this body you’re giving to me.”
Seychelle did her best not to tense up when she couldn’t see him. She thought it was bad when she saw the whip coming at her, but with Savage standing behind her, she feared it was going to be far worse because she didn’t know what he was doing. When the lashes fell on her, from the neck down, forming the sides and back of the top, the streaks felt as if he touched her with a living flame and burned each one deep. He came around to her front and finished, that violent red and black whip snapping and flicking to draw the cup on her left breast, the talons every bit as wicked and sharp as a predator’s claws.
Seychelle could barely see Savage through the tears in her eyes, but it was impossible to take her eyes from him. He was a man possessed, the pounding music and crashing sea reflected in the sheer poetry of his fluid movements. The lines in his face were carved deep with sensual cruelty. He was dazzling, mesmerizing, even as he wielded the whip, making it whirl and dance to the beat and rhythm of the song playing.