He coiled the whip, tossed it onto the small table and picked up the second, shorter one. His heart accelerated. His cock jerked in anticipation as he stepped close to her, one hand sliding down her belly to find her needy clit, his thumb and fingers moving in time to the wild beat of the music, in time to the hot blood rushing through his veins like jagged lightning.
“That was just a warm-up, baby. This is the start. Are you ready for more?” His fingers continued to circle her clit, flicking the hard little bud and then curling into her slick entrance, stroking deep until she was riding him helplessly, moaning continuously. “Do you want more?” He whispered the temptation. “Do you need it?”
His tongue licked at her tit, the idea of using the whip putting his cock into a frenzy of need. He wanted her mouth on him. She’d never once gone there. He’d never demanded that of her.
“Yes,” she managed.
“That’s not good enough, Seychelle.”
“Please, more, Savage,” she choked out, her hips trying to press down onto his fingers.
“That’s my girl.” He took his hand away, bringing his fingers to her mouth. “Lick me clean.” His voice roughened with demand, a rasp of steel.
She did exactly what he ordered, her eyes on his. He watched, his blood roaring through his veins. Pounding. Fuck, she was beautiful. Perfect. Made for him.
Very slowly, he brought the new whip into her sight, shaking it out so she could see it, and watched the dilation of her eyes. He didn’t blame her for the fear that rolled off her in waves. The whip had a bit of an evil appearance, with the three red long tips that looked like long, wicked Harpy talons coming off those thin, black braided falls. They were evil and wicked in the right hands, and he was a master of pain. He was the Whip Master. This particular whip was shorter in length, only thirty-nine inches. The handle was flexible, giving him so much control.
He dangled the black-and-red whip in front of her and then slid the falls over the curves of her breasts, lower until those red talons met her mound. He was grateful that he’d shaved her and there was nothing marring his vision of the thin red and black braids against her bare skin. He enjoyed the contrast between the stark colors of the whip and her pristine skin. He hadn’t left any real marks with the bullwhip, but he would with this one, and the idea of it was exciting.
Savage was capable of delivering wicked blows. He’d trained for years. He knew exactly what he was doing. Few could wield crops, floggers or any other type of pain-giving weapon as he could. He knew exactly how to deliver the most pain possible when he needed—or when he wanted—to do it. He was breathing hard, and his cock was filling with scorching-hot blood, a demon rising, fighting for control. Now he could feel his heart beating right through his cock.
Seychelle took a deep breath as Savage stepped back. Where before there was little expression, now those lines in his tough features were carved deep, a mixture both sensual and cruel. He studied her body as if she was his toy, his possession. This was the sadist wholly engaged, fully functioning, a cruel, sensual being intent on his own pleasure. He was fascinating and, she had to admit, hot as hell. She was in such a heightened state of sexual arousal, her body desperate for his, all she could think about was getting his cock in her.
Seychelle couldn’t take her eyes off him. The whip seemed an extension of him. He was all flowing muscle, scars and burns, arrogance and dominant power, but it was more than that, so much more. The moment he stepped back, everything about him changed. She was seeing a side of him she’d never seen before. This was the part of him he called the sadistic monster, the one he’d been afraid for her to meet. This one truly enjoyed inflicting pain on his woman. There was no conflict on his face. He wasn’t afraid now. He wanted her to meet him—or he didn’t care.
He snapped his wrist without warning, and the black tail snaked out fast, those three red talons seeking a target, striking the top curves over her breasts, but two of them, the very tips hitting her nipples. For a moment, Seychelle felt nothing at all, and then the shocking burn was like being branded with a live flame held to her skin so that it traveled deep beneath.
She clamped her lips together tightly, but tears instantly formed in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her entire body shuddered. Her knees turned to jelly. She couldn’t do this. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Nothing. At the same time, a wave of fire burst through her core until her sex clenched and blood pounded in a dark, demonic response in her feminine channel.