He was careful around Seychelle. He was too good at disassociating, far too good at it, and it made him a monster, lost him the humanity Czar, the president of Torpedo Ink, had fought so hard to keep in all of the club members. He had brought them to Sea Haven to give them a chance at life, but they were all so fucked up none of them really fit into society. They didn’t understand the rules. They had their own code, the one Czar had given them, and they stuck with that. But Savage . . . He shook his head. He still had a difficult time even with that.
His emotions seemed to come and go. He either felt nothing, or he was as cold as ice, or absolutely enraged. All three of those things were dangerous and would get people killed. Then there was his circle, the people he protected, those he rode with and cared for. His emotions for them were strong, and anyone threatening them should have been killed and buried the moment that threat was found to be real. Like fucking Joseph Arnold. Yeah, he needed to go back to his strict rules, where he knew the people he let into his life were always safe. That meant getting his stubborn, sassy, cute-as-hell, gorgeous, sexy woman under control.
She had that psychic gift of reading his mind when things were too vivid and close. He couldn’t go from an intense interrogation that might not raise the blood pressure of a sick fuck like him, but would stick in the corners of his dark soul, and come home to her where an angel like Seychelle could see. Who knew? But it happened. And it might have happened again.
He’d showered multiple times and changed his clothes and burned his interrogation clothes before he’d gone home to Seychelle. He’d had breakfast with another brother, Ice, and his old lady, Soleil, allowing more time to pass and putting other things in his mind. He’d showered again at home before going to bed. He’d taken every precaution, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t slipped inside his soul.
He sat in the cool leather of the chair, looking at the various views he had from that one spot. The two armchairs were set close, facing the long fireplace built into the wall itself. It was a good twelve feet long and when turned on could flicker low, providing small tongues of orange or red flames, or leaping, rolling red-hot scorching blazes. The curve below the fireplace provided the long bank of handcrafted wooden drawers made by his brothers specifically for his whips and floggers. Fortunately, they were able to fit them into the room with few modifications. The tall jewelry cabinet they’d made for him fit nicely in the corner.
The woodworkers, Master, Player, Maestro and Keys, four of his brothers from Torpedo Ink, also made the rectangular, thinner cabinet housing his straps, slappers and tawes. In all honesty, they made cabinets in all shapes and sizes as they talked music and just messed around together in the shop. One would come up with a design and they’d put it together. If someone wanted it, they could just go get it. Savage had scored several beautiful cabinets that way. He’d needed them and found them at the shop.
Movement caught his eye and his woman emerged from the master bath. Her hair always seemed a little bit wild, as if no matter what she did to try to tame it, there was no way it would fall in line. It was gold and platinum mixed together, streaks of light honey, thick, flowing down her back like a waterfall in waves.
Her eyes were a spectacular blue, like teal, deep and intense, stealing his breath if he looked too long, so that he had the feeling of falling, of drowning, and who the hell gave a fuck if he did, because just look at her. She had a woman’s figure. She had tits. Nice round woman’s flesh. Nipples he could see, could touch and play with. She had the kind of hips that cradled a man and an ass that invited a man to play. He fucking loved her body. He loved her skin. Smooth and soft, and it marked beautifully for him.
She walked, shoulders straight, back straight, chin up, hips and ass swaying, straight to the spanking bench. She stood, back to him, waiting his orders. She could make his scarred cock stretch like no one could, just at the thought of what he was about to do to that sweet little ass and pussy.
He kept his relaxed position and dropped his hand to the first of the tawes, which was a bit smaller. “This is a tawes, Seychelle. It will warm your ass and get you ready for your punishment. I’ll warn you, this is a cut above what you’ve felt before. It may not look like much, but it delivers. You will feel it.”
Her gaze slid to him, and he caught the lift of her eyebrow. His cock jerked hard. She didn’t intend to tell him. She was definitely challenging him. He flashed her a grin. He indicated for her to lay over the bench. She did, presenting her ass to him without hesitation. He got up and, using a lazy, silent prowl, came up behind her, put one hand on the small of her back and kicked her left foot out wide.