Seychelle remained silent, her fingers moving on his scalp in that relaxing way she had that made him feel as if he mattered to her.
“The truth is, Seychelle, we need each other. If you’re honest with yourself, you need me as much as I need you. You can’t say no when all those people start taking pieces of you. You need someone strong to step in and put a stop to it. I’m that man. I can take care of you when you need it.”
Savage rubbed her hip gently, moved his fingers inside her thigh to stroke along those nerve endings. He wrote his name there in bold letters, down the inside of her thigh and then back up, the pads of his fingers stroking along the lacy strip of cloth that barely covered her sweet little pussy. His thumb slid along her pussy lips. He would shave her bare tonight.
“I think if you’re honest, angel, you have to admit, the thought of this type of sex arouses you.” He said it gently, knowing it was a gamble.
“Fantasizing about something and doing it are two different things, Savage. The actual idea is terrifying. I don’t know if I’m that brave.”
His Seychelle. She was that brave. That courageous. He was seducing her gently. Bringing her into his world with infinite care. Loving a woman could be overwhelming at times. “You’re that brave,” he murmured against her hip bone, and then licked along the top of it.
“Tell me how you got this way.”
Savage pressed kisses along her hip bone, taking his time, building something good when he was about to give her something bad. He went back to using the pads of his fingers to stroke her inner thigh, moving higher to slide over her sex, feeling her heat. Her slickness. Her need for him. He rubbed his shadowed jaw over her belly, leaving red whisker burn. He kissed his way from her belly button to the very edge of her sweet, nearly nonexistent panties.
His teeth continued nipping, this time a little harder, pinching, and then immediately he used his tongue to soothe away the shocking ache. Each time he did, her breath hitched. She never once pulled away from him. He ran his finger under the edge of that strip of lace, rubbing gently, barely there. Her breathing left her lungs in a little explosion and then turned ragged.
This woman. He knew her and her courage. She could do what no one else could. She could love him. He saw that clearly in her. She would give him everything he ever asked of her. More, even. And she would stand strong when the worst happened—and it would. She would love him through it.
He knew what he was capable of. He could give her the world. He could and would make her scream with pleasure over and over, a thousand different ways. He could love her with everything in him, even the monster—especially the monster—and it would never add up to what he was asking her to give to him. Every single day he would see to it that she was happy and well loved, so when those dark days came, she would have something to hang on to.
He closed his eyes for a moment and then rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Not accelerating, just hitting so hard he felt the blows like punches.
“I’m from Russia,” he said unnecessarily, certain she already knew that. “I told you that my parents opposed a man who wanted to be president. His second-in-command, a man by the name of Sorbacov, quietly began to purge those who were against his candidate. Our family was wealthy and had influence, so they had to go. Sorbacov came in the dead of night with his soldiers, murdered my parents and took my two older sisters, Reaper and me to one of his ‘schools,’ supposedly to make us into assets for our country. I’ve told you this before, but I didn’t tell you the rest. The truth about those schools.”
He put his head in his hands, breathing deep, trying to still the screams, trying to drive out the voices of the monsters running through his head. He pressed his thumbs against his temples, the pressure on his chest increasing.
“There were four schools, each progressively harsher. The fourth school, the one he took us to, was a special school. Very special. Sorbacov looked normal to the outside world. He was married with children of his own and always acted the perfect husband and father, but he was a pedophile. He liked little boys. He liked to see children tortured and raped. It aroused him, and he had many like-minded friends. Criminals and pedophiles ran the school and were given carte blanche to do whatever they wanted. He laughingly referred to it as his great experiment.”
He reached back and circled her ankle with his hand because he needed their very strong connection in order to get through the memories, the ones he tried so hard never to think about. That door he locked and barricaded in his mind, but no matter what he did, it always cracked open and he went a little berserk.