He couldn’t help rubbing his finger back and forth over the scrapes on her ribs and the side of her breast. Each pass sent more blood pounding through his cock, but that only made him feel as if he was really alive when he’d been dead for so fucking long.
Savage closed his eyes against the sight of her bruised, swollen face. Her tears. She wept, but silently. He wasn’t positive she knew her tears were there, but he did—and that was so dangerous when she was with a man with cravings and addictions like his.
He shook his head. “You do know that something’s wrong with you. Why aren’t you screamin’ for help?”
“You’re my fiancé, right? You’re my very first fiancé. I’ve never had one before.”
The laughter in her voice stunned him. She was hurting. He read it on her face easily. He could feel the fine tremors racing through her body as it shuddered in pain. Still, she had that sense of humor. A little sick like his. He was trying to scare her so she’d throw him out. He didn’t belong in the same room with her. Not now. Not ever. He was trying to let her know what a sick bastard he was, but so far, he hadn’t succeeded. She was making it impossible to save her. To save both of them.
He stroked caresses over her cheeks, those high cheekbones. Her soft mouth. Both eyes. He lingered over the dark-colored bruises and then swept the pads of his fingers very lightly over the knot on her head.
“This hurts bad, doesn’t it?” His breath was a whisper of warm air blown softly over the swelling. He brushed his lips lightly over it as if he could kiss her better. He kissed both eyes lightly and then followed the trail of her tears, licking and sipping until he was certain he’d collected every last one of them and there were none left.
“Yes,” she whispered again.
“I can make it all better. I can turn your pain into something else.” His voice, his touch, was mesmerizing. He knew because he had been raised to be compelling. He knew every expression to use, the tone of his voice, the octave that appealed. He just hadn’t bothered for years, because he hadn’t wanted to keep anyone.
Savage pulled back abruptly. What the fuck was he thinking? Tying her to him? That wasn’t happening. Not now. Not ever. He sat up and rubbed his head. He kept it shaved, although he had thick hair. He liked the look and he knew it added to the intimidation factor. He was Savage and he always would be. He didn’t keep women. Certainly not a woman, not one like this woman, not one for himself. He slid off the bed.
“Gotta go, Seychelle. Hit the call button after I leave and tell them to up your meds. There’s no reason for you to suffer like this.” For him. She was suffering for him.
He turned back to her, because he couldn’t stop himself from making what he knew was a huge mistake. “I’m fuckin’ going to kiss you, Seychelle. Just this once. Gotta leave with the taste of you in my mouth. If you object, now’s the time to say it. Don’t know if it’s goin’ to matter to me, but I’ll take any objection you might have into consideration.”
He wasn’t joking, but that dimple of hers came out again, making his cock leak like a sieve and his heart stutter in his chest. She didn’t voice an objection. Her blue eyes drifted over him as if she was claiming him. He felt the touch of those blue flames licking his skin, burning him so deep he knew he wasn’t getting her out of him anytime soon. It didn’t matter. He would never see her again. It wasn’t safe for either of them.
His mouth settled on hers. Her lips were full, soft and paradise just to feel. He was risking everything just to kiss her, and the moment he did, the moment his mouth was on hers, she gave herself to him. Fire. Flames. Passion. They poured into him. She tasted like heaven. Something he’d never experienced. An angel sent to save him, and all she got for her trouble was bruised and scraped flesh.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but kissing her. Taking her taste into his mind, then his body. Setting up an addiction. He was a fucking fool for kissing this woman. He’d known he’d be lost, and he was. Thunder roared in his ears. His blood thickened into molten lava. Electrical sparks seemed to dance over his skin. She tasted like innocence. She tasted like sin. Passion welled up, hot and undeniable. Real. Every single nerve ending that had been dead since he’d been ten years old flared into fiery, hungry predatory need.