She found clothes in a far-too-large closet. There was a faded pair of blue jeans that fit like a glove, and a tank top that maybe showed a little bit too much of her generous breasts. Savage insisted she had the perfect figure. He didn’t seem to notice that because she was on the short side, one or two extra pounds really showed, always in her butt or her boobs or, most times, both. He didn’t seem to mind, but when it came to clothes . . .
She tugged at the tank top. It was tighter than anything she’d ever worn. The bra barely covered her breasts. They tended to sit high, and so the tops of the curves showed, and she could see the marks from Savage’s mouth, the strawberries he’d left behind. Just looking at them sent flutters to her sex. Her nipples had been a little sore when she woke up, but she had rubbed the lotion into them and tried to do the same on her bottom and thighs. That had been a little more difficult.
She kept staring at herself in the mirror, wondering how Savage had managed to make her feel sexy. He made her feel like she looked sexy. Her hair was a little wild, like it always was. Instead of being annoyed and thinking she looked awful, she thought the honey-colored out-of-control volume suited her face. Seeing the way her breasts stretched the tank top, instead of agonizing over being too heavy, she knew Savage would have a difficult time keeping his hands—and mouth—off of her. She liked that her bottom was cupped by the jeans, and that with every step she took, she felt just a little ache.
Seychelle strapped on a pair of sandals she found in the closet and went to the sliding glass door off the bedroom leading to the private courtyard. She could see the ocean from one view and, turning slightly, the woods from another. Stepping outside, she immediately felt the cool salt air and the flutter of the sea breeze.
A strange whistle and then a crack made her jump. The sound came from around the corner. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was distinct and raised goose bumps on her skin. Instinctively, she stood very still. She knew immediately that Savage was using one of his whips. The compulsion to see him in action was extremely strong. Just the sound of the whip cracking in the air sent heat rushing through her veins. At the same time, there was trepidation, her heart accelerating.
She wanted to be everything for Savage. She really did. She didn’t know why she responded the way she did to the pain and pleasure he mixed together. She was ashamed of the way she seemed to need his hand on her bottom or the clamps on her nipples in order to become excited, but she wanted to be more like he was and own her sexuality. She just wasn’t certain how to do it yet, or if she could follow him as far down the dark path as he needed her to go.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk around the corner to view the courtyard that was hidden from everyone. It was right off their bedroom, if one chose to access it from the sliding glass door and the porch there.
Savage stood in the middle of the yard. He was dressed in only a pair of soft vintage blue jeans. When he moved, his muscles rippled beneath the skin, bringing his tattoos alive and showing every scar and burn on his back.
Mannequin figures were set at various distances from him, some with their backs to him, some facing him. Thin paper covered their material skin. She could see through the paper to the white material that covered the wire bones of the cage that was the bodice of each mannequin. It seemed as if the entire courtyard had various visitors, all posed in different positions, some facing slightly away from the bedroom, some with their backs fully to it. Others had their fronts fully exposed, and others were turned slightly to the side.
Savage didn’t even appear as if he was looking directly at the mannequins. He noticed her immediately, which didn’t surprise her. He was always aware of his surroundings. He spun around, his body a blur as the whip became an extension of his arm, singing through the air, landing in perfect symmetry, producing a line to add to the obvious tree he was creating on the back of the model he was using.
The lines were beautiful. He was beautiful. She could see the various patterns he’d created with the whip as well as others. He was so casual, so on target, even as he was smiling at her. She was so caught up in his artistry that it took a moment to realize how her body reacted to the whip. The crack of it. The way it flew through the air and landed with such perfect precision. Her entire body flooded with endorphins. Hot blood rushed through her veins and pooled low. Her clit throbbed and her sex clenched. Her head went up and her hand fluttered to her throat protectively. Even the sound of the whip was thrilling, but watching Savage wield it was more of a thrill than anything else. Her breath caught in her lungs and just burned there.