Annihilation Road (51 page)

These were specialized tools, and he chose three tawes, one that would warm her little backside up properly. He would ask her questions and hope she would answer him without lying. She’d never lied to him, but she’d been considering it. The second tawes, also crafted in the rough-hewn center-split leather like the first, was slightly larger and delivered a more punishing strike. She would definitely feel it. The split leather wouldn’t feel anywhere near the same as the thicker crop he’d used on her. He’d ask again, and if she still didn’t answer him, there was the larger tawes, which she definitely wouldn’t enjoy. It was for a severe punishment. A lie. A holdout when there was no reason. He hoped—and doubted—it wouldn’t come to that.

Savage would lay it out for her like he always did. She would choose her own consequences. During a punishment she knew there was no calling out “red” for stop. Any other time during sex, she had that right. This was a different circumstance and one she’d agreed to when they first laid down the rules to their relationship.

He’d been somewhat lax about keeping the rules. He’d let them go, didn’t keep a guard on her like he should have all the time. It was his fucking fault that his woman was nearly gunned down by a madman. If Seychelle hadn’t kept her head and been so resourceful, he wouldn’t have gotten there in time. She had essentially gotten herself out of the cottage and was running when the club showed up to deal with Arnold, but it so easily could have gone the other way. All because he’d tried to be someone he wasn’t.

He loved her so damn much he would have roped the moon and given it to her if he could have. What he did was let that fucker live the first time he’d turned up stalking Seychelle. Savage knew he should have killed him right then and thrown his body into the ocean or buried him in the forest somewhere deep where he never would have been found. Seychelle’s entire ordeal rested squarely on his shoulders because he hadn’t done what he was supposed to do—
protect her. He was too busy worrying about her leaving him because he was asking her to accept too damn much in their relationship already.

He was who he really was. She had to know him, not some fucking choirboy he pretended to be. And he damn well wasn’t letting her go. She could learn to love all of him, even the not-so-nice parts. She might be afraid of what they did in the bedroom, but she fucking loved it. It was this part, having to answer to him that upset her. She didn’t like that his world had to be so controlled. She didn’t understand yet just how dangerous he could be if he didn’t have everything in place. That meant her—his everything. The center of his universe.

He wasn’t taking her bullshit anymore, and she might not realize it, but he was counting every fucking minute she was making him wait. He collected the three leather tawes and closed the cabinet and then crossed to the chair beside the spanking bench. He laid the three tawes out on the table, where she could see them when she came in. They were beautiful examples of Scottish craftsmanship. The leather was perfectly split just right, and each handle fit his palm exactly as he’d instructed.

He knew he had a well of rage in him, and this time it was dark and deep and ugly. He would have to be damn careful, because he wasn’t going to punish her for his sins. He was pissed at himself. Not at her. She deserved punishment, and he liked when he was stripping her bare and giving it to her. He’d told her how much he enjoyed it. It aroused him, and he made no secret of it. It aroused her as well, but this time there would be no satisfaction for her at the end of it. He’d asked her several times to tell him what was making her sick, given her every opportunity. His woman had a stubborn streak. Sweet as candy. A fuckin’ angel, but did what she wanted when she lifted that little chin of hers at him.

He would have smiled at that thought, but the way she
had looked at him a few times worried him, especially when she’d said she’d had a nightmare. He’d been the one to interrogate that sick fuck Arnold, and he hadn’t been polite about it, but then, Savage was known for getting answers when he questioned his prey. He’d never failed the club. He hadn’t failed when he was first learning the techniques. He’d studied every poison. Every kind of weapon and where to insert knives to cause the most pain without killing. He studied anatomy, ways to lob off body parts without killing and ways to prolong life. At the club, he had cabinets with all kinds of tools and interesting oils and poisons he’d been taught to use from the time he was a young teen to extract the truth.

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.

“You know how to present your ass to me.” He bent down and fit a cuff around her ankle to hold her in place.

She frowned and looked over his shoulder. He’d never used any tie she couldn’t get out of. He’d always asked her first. They’d talked over everything. He’d told her up front punishments were different. Safe words were off the table. He was solely in charge, and she’d agreed. She might cry
foul eventually, but he knew her well enough to know she was stubborn as hell and he would have to do something a lot worse than this to get her to run from him.

He cuffed her left ankle and then did the same with each wrist. He pulled a scrunchie from his pocket, gathered her hair and secured it into a messy knot. Some would escape, but she couldn’t hide from him the way he knew she wanted to use her hair to do.

“Now I think we’re ready. You look beautiful as always, Seychelle.” He curved his palm around the back of her neck gently to give her courage, something he couldn’t help doing with her, then ran his finger down her spine as he walked around her again and picked up the tawes.

Already his body was anticipating this. He could feel himself sinking into that place of a sexual rush, a sexual high, and he hadn’t even gotten started. It was in his mind, his blood already hot. He rubbed her bottom. Cupped her pussy. Teased her pussy lips. Flicked her clit with tawes, letting her feel the leather.

“You like that, baby?” He patted her pussy with it gently. “We’ll see how well you like it, when we’re done.”

He struck her without warning, using a little muscle, because honestly, this little thing hardly gave much of a sting in his opinion, but she jumped and then settled. He peppered her bottom with the tawes, lighting her up on both cheeks, and then the backs of her thighs. He was right about his woman. Her pussy glistened; her clit was inflamed. Her ass was marked, but she didn’t make a sound. After several minutes, he stopped and picked up the second tawes.

“Okay, baby, we’re at the main event. What are you being punished for, Seychelle?”

“Because my man loves this shit and wants an excuse to use his fun little toys on me.”

He rubbed the marks, his cock swelling to alarming proportions.
Bog
, she was killing him, challenging him like this. He fucking loved it. His hand slipped over the curve
of her red bottom, fingers dipping into the heat of her pussy. She was so hot and greedy, her silken sheath tried to suck his fingers deep.

“So needy, baby. You want more, don’t you? That is exactly the answer that will buy you more. I’ll ask again, why are you being punished?”

“Because my man is being a total asshole right now?”

He patted her ass, smiled and let loose with the medium tawes. Her breath hissed out, and two thin lines that looked like they could welt appeared on her left cheek. Savage rained down more strokes, letting himself enjoy the way her skin bounced, taking the thinner split leather, that terrible bite, and smacked her over and over.

She jerked and moved her bottom, as if trying to get away, but there was nowhere for her to run. He stopped with the vertical stripes and rubbed them with the heel of his hand and then his fingernails. He had spent time on those stripes, taking them from the tops of her buttocks to the sweet curve and then down the backs of her thighs. The tawes was a more moderate punishment, especially if you used it the way he had, careful of his woman, but he still had made sure she felt every stroke he’d laid on her.

“You want to tell me why you’re lying over that bench with your gorgeous ass in the air and your pussy on display for me to punish, Seychelle?”

A quiet little sob escaped, and then she sniffed. “You asked me a question and I refused to answer you.”

“That’s right. Would you like to answer it now?” Deliberately, Savage continued to rub her sore bottom to keep it inflamed, but he gently circled her clit and then strummed it and flicked. When her body shuddered, he bent and used his tongue, stroking caresses and then devouring the liquid spilling from her. He wanted to keep her on edge, mix pleasure and pain until her body didn’t know one from the other, until she needed them together to get that explosive rush.

He’d promised to train her, and he used every opportunity, even their punishments. He straightened and tapped her back with the tawes to remind her to answer him immediately. He had to get control back, not necessarily of her. He had to get his control back before he got her, or a member of his club, killed.

“I had a damn nightmare, Savage. I barely remember it. It was all jumbled up. Monsters chasing me in the forest or something silly like that.” Seychelle’s voice was a barely heard whisper, her tone not matching the defiance of her statement.

Adrenaline mixed with the dark sexual needs rushed through his veins like a freight train. Like a drug he was addicted to. “You are fucking lying to me, Seychelle.” He kept his tone velvet soft. Low. In total command of her. “You just fucked up big-time, and I told you what would happen.”