Ordinarily, Seychelle would gladly help anyone in need. Especially Savage. Anyone of Savage’s friends. But not like this, not when she was shut out and she was supposed to be his partner. He demanded 100 percent from her. He told her he was giving her 100 percent of him, but he wasn’t.
She pushed at the hair tumbling around her face. When she did, she noticed the ring on her left hand. How could she not? It was gorgeous. A rare fancy teal-blue diamond surrounded by diamonds that appeared to be petals hugging her finger. The entire thing glittered every time she moved. It should have been ostentatious, but it wasn’t. It was simply beautiful. Savage had a way of knowing exactly what she would love.
He was trained to read body language. Every facial expression. Every single subtle hint, from elevated breathing to the parting of her lips. He knew her. And she was an open book anyway, even when she tried not to be. He had been trained from childhood in the arts of sex: giving, receiving, training one to do what he commanded, and he was very, very good at what he did. He had too many weapons to use against her, and she had fallen too fast to get her armor in place.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be where she was—she did. She had come on board with her eyes open—sort of. Living in reality was always a far cry from being dreamily in love. “Let that be a lesson to you, Seychelle,” she whispered.
She couldn’t blame all of it on Savage or all the frightening things he brought to their relationship. She hadn’t realized the extent of the lure of mixing pain and pleasure. She’d been so attracted to him, to that darkness in him. The first time he’d spun her around in an alley, lifted the hem of her dress and smacked her bottom, she’d gotten so damp, reacting to him when no one had ever made her body come alive before. That had been a revelation—a bit confusing, actually.
She went home and immediately delved deeper into spankings and even floggers, but she didn’t really understand it. She had no idea why her body would respond to such a thing when no matter what she’d tried, she’d thought she was absolutely frigid. The deeper into his world Savage took her— and granted, it wasn’t very far, but she saw where they were going—the more alarmed she got. She was intrigued. Terrified, but intrigued. That wasn’t a good thing in her opinion.
In her mind, when she’d gotten together with Savage, she believed she would give herself to him and there would be that moment when she would have to “suffer” for him. He suffered for those he loved, and she would do it for him. She was very confused with the way she felt about pain and the effects on her body. She didn’t want to crave pain. Did she? Or did she crave Savage? She didn’t even know anymore what was right or wrong. She only knew that she loved him, and she had to find a way to come to terms with all the rest of it.
* * *
Savage stood looking at the array of tools he had lined up in his cabinet over the wooden drawers built along the wall next to the tall wooden cabinet where the jewelry he had for Seychelle was kept. She hadn’t even seen the majority of it. He had orders in to have so much more made for her. Now that he had her in his life, he was more than comfortable with his needs. He just had to get her to a place where she was accepting of their lifestyle.
He was a sadist in the bedroom, and he owned what he was. He had exhausted all the avenues open to him to change and knew there was no way for him to be anything but what he was. He needed to see his woman in pain in order to be aroused. He got off on that shit. Putting his handprints or his marks on her gorgeous ass aroused him. But the thought of using his floggers or whips, that was the ultimate for him—that would put steel in his cock like nothing else could. Her tears were his. Her ultimate pleasure was his, and he could give her pleasure like no one else ever could.
She had gone into their relationship fully aware. He had been careful to tell her what he was so there were no surprises on that score. He’d laid it out as plainly as possible, but talking about it wasn’t the same as experiencing it. He had been bringing her into his lifestyle faster than he wanted to. He knew that was frightening for her. She responded so beautifully though.
Her body was aroused with clamps. She loved nipple play. He loved it. They hadn’t gotten to the more exciting stuff for him, but they were getting there fast. She would both love that and hate it. She was coming to enjoy her spankings a little too much. She wasn’t altogether certain she liked the crop that much, but he doubted if she would care for very many of the straps, slappers and tawes he was looking at in his cupboard at the moment.