Savage Road (Torpedo Ink 7)

The world seemed to stand still. Stop. Or maybe time did. Seychelle thought that whip was agony, but she’d been determined to bear it until she was certain Savage had purged the deep well of rage in him. But this … This was beyond any pain she had ever thought possible. She truly thought he was ripping her body open with the whip, and if she could look down—which she couldn’t because he’d tied her hair and trapped her—she’d see blood running like a river. But she could see him.

Savage looked insane with sensual power. He was definitely out of control. So high, she would have thought him on drugs. For the first time, a shadow of a doubt passed through her mind that she might not be able to stop him. She was entirely alone with him, and he was definitely out of control. All of that flashed through her mind with the first fall of those evil roses on her mound. She opened her mouth to scream, to put a stop to the whip, but no sound emerged, the pain was too excruciating. He struck so fast he’d managed to lash her several more times before she was able to find her voice.

“Red.” The first was a whisper. Her eyes were on him. Watching. Willing him to hear her. To listen. “Savage. Red.” Her eyes burned, she’d cried so much. This had to be enough for him. It was all she had to give, but more than that, she knew she had to stop him before he went any further. The next step, he might do something he would regret.

The hand holding the whip froze so that the tail and the wicked fingers fell close to his side. His eyes moved moodily over her body. At first, she didn’t think he really heard her. His eyes were so dilated, the pupils looked almost blown, but he coiled the whip and then tossed it aside, coming to her, stepping close.

She couldn’t stop her hips from moving, or the tears from flowing. She was sobbing uncontrollably. Chanting his name. A plea. She needed him.

He pulled the button from her clit. “You want my cock, baby, or do you need to go inside?” His hands were up, releasing the scarf tying her hair.

She wanted his cock desperately. She wasn’t certain she could live without it. That was always the way it was, but she didn’t know why. The tears wouldn’t stop. Savage leaned down and released her ankles from the cuffs and then her wrists before swinging her up to cradle her in his arms.

She shook her head, burying her face against his chest. “I need your cock. I do. Please.”

“I know, baby. Not like that, not in the cuffs. Somewhere a little more comfortable for you. You took a lot for me. You’re still going to be taking it because you know I’ll be rough.”

Seychelle didn’t care. She needed his roughness. She needed his cock. She needed him. Still, being in his arms hurt like hell. He kept leaning his head down and nuzzling her breasts with his chin. The bristles rasped over those dark, sensitive welts, sending stinging darts that became streaks of fire straight through her skin, setting her squirming to try to stop the sensation from traveling through her body straight to her sex.

Savage hadn’t removed the plug, and as he nudged open the sliding glass door leading to the master bedroom, another song began to play, and the plug pulsed and moved to the pounding beat. The music filled the room, already lit with candles and the scents he loved. Red wax fell like tears through the black honeycombs on the tall pyramid stands where the large candles sat.

He took her to the bed and laid her on her back, a shocking move when he usually liked to take her from behind after one of his heavier sessions. Even so, he positioned her with her legs wide, draped over the sides of the bed. He didn’t wait, just stepped to the end of the bed and slammed his cock into her. She was slick and hot and so in need, but still his girth was big enough that with his scarred ridges, it felt as if he were splitting her in two. Still, fire streaked through her and she nearly shattered.

His hands gripped her hips, and he yanked her body into his. “You are so fucking tight every damn time, Seychelle.” He wasn’t looking at her, only at the dark welts on her body. “Look at your tits, baby. Look at how beautiful that pattern looks on you.”

He kept surging into her, nearly lifting her off the bed with every stroke so that he drove the breath from her lungs. The pain was almost unbearable, but there was so much pleasure streaking through her, consuming her. It mixed together until she couldn’t tell one from the other and she didn’t care. She only needed him filling her, stretching her to the breaking point.