The sight of her ass red with his prints was so arousing to him, he increased the pace and the strength of his strikes, this time repeating them on the places he’d already smacked her so that the color turned the shade he craved to see. Her body shuddered, writhing, her breathing changing from ragged to labored to strangled as she moaned in a long desperate cry of pleasure that went on and on.
He fisted his cock and pumped hard. It was frantic and wild. Out of control. It didn’t take much. He erupted like a volcano, long ropes of hot seed spurting over her bloodred ass. He came hard, violently, a long, brutal orgasm that went on forever. Heaven and hell. So perfect.
There was absolute satisfaction in knowing those dark red handprints he’d left on her would stay for a long while. “Turn your head toward me.” He kept his voice low. Velvet soft. Commanding. She’d come just as hard as he had. He wanted to write his name all over her. More importantly, her tears belonged to him. They would always belong to him.
Reluctantly, she obeyed him, lifting her head slightly and turning it. Long strands of silky-soft hair fell over her face. He smoothed it back and leaned into her, his lips moving from her chin to her eyes, catching every tear as another shudder of pleasure went through her body. Ripple after ripple, little aftershocks. He wanted to be in her, feeling every one with her, but he had the satisfaction of knowing she’d given him her surrender. And her trust. And this—her tears.
He tasted every one. Salt, wild strawberries and honey dripping down her face. “Was that dirty and sinful enough for you, baby?” he whispered in her ear, his lips moving over that perfect little shell. He caught her lobe in his teeth and tugged.
“I think it was, Savage, thank you very much. I think. If I can stop crying. It hurt. And it felt fantastic.”
He kissed his way down her neck, because he couldn’t help himself. He bit that soft skin, but gently, not the way he wanted or needed to. “Which was it? Hurt or fantastic?”
She was silent for a moment, her blue eyes still liquid. Her lashes spiky. The sight set his heart tripping and his body stirring.
“I’m not certain. Both. Mixed together. I couldn’t separate them. The feeling was explosive, but terrifying at the same time.”
“Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?” He flashed a grin and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Those tears are always mine, Seychelle. You remember that.”
She didn’t reply, her blue gaze drifting over his face, seeing things she shouldn’t see. She always had.
“Give me the toy and don’t move. I’ll clean you up and take care of you.” He held out his hand, giving her no choice.
She gave him the vibrator. It fit in his palm and he slid off the bed and went to her bathroom. She would have antibacterial soap to clean her toy with. Sure enough, it was right there, under her sink. He cleaned the toy himself, and then got a warm cloth for her. He was dick enough not to want to wash himself off of her. He liked claiming her. For him it wasn’t about teaching her down-and-dirty sex. It was about putting his stamp on her. Proclaiming to the world—and to her—that she belonged to him.
Savage was very gentle as he washed her clean. He didn’t feel gentle. That devil in him rejoiced at the marks on her. He dried her off with a towel very thoroughly. He found arnica lotion under her sink and grabbed that as well. “I’m going to rub lotion on your bottom so you hopefully don’t bruise.”
“I’d like to think you got carried away in the heat of the moment, but I don’t think you did,” Seychelle murmured. Her voice was muffled by the sheets. “You were really upset about me disappearing on you, weren’t you?”
“It was both.” He began rubbing lotion into the marks on her ass. The handprints were beautiful. Very defined. He loved seeing them there. He massaged a little deeper, using a circular motion, pushing the lotion into the heat of his prints, his stamp on her. He wanted to make certain he didn’t leave any lasting effects on her, no matter how much the monster in him howled for that very thing. “Your ass is gorgeous, baby. Just like everything about you.”
He needed to distract her from the question she was asking. He was very conflicted about Seychelle—about himself and how to fit her into his life. He knew what he was and had accepted himself and had for years. He bent his head and brushed a kiss into the heat of those dark red, now almost purple prints. He loved seeing them on her just the way he loved the scars on her leg. They were his. She’d given him those scars. She’d offered up the perfection of her pristine ass, never once pulling away from him, even when he was far too rough for her innocence. And she’d responded to his roughness. Exploded. Detonated. That was dangerous.