Lord Savage (25 page)

“Yes, Master,” I said, determined to play the Game better than he’d ever expected.
“I did, Master.”

He stood beside the bed, his gaze sweeping over my unclad body. While I had been trapped
here, he’d clearly been riding. Not only was he dressed for it—a white shirt that
was carelessly open at the throat, with the sleeves rolled back over his biceps, close-fitting
breeches, and tall, polished boots—but his cheeks were ruddy from the fresh air, his
hair windblown, and he smelled wonderfully of horse, leather, and the outdoors.

I could have stared at him forever. Each time I saw him, I was again bowled over by
his sheer presence, and yet he had never looked more powerfully virile, or more attractive
to me, than he did now.

“You surprise me, Eve,” he said, sounding pleased and a little surprised. “I didn’t
expect to find you still here.”

It must be patently obvious that I was there because, bound as I was, I’d no choice
but to stay. How could it be otherwise? Yet, that didn’t matter now, not now that
he’d returned.

“You wished me to be here, Master,” I answered simply, “and I am.”

“Yes, but I’ve wished many things regarding you, Eve,” he said cryptically, “yet wishing
alone has not made them so.”

“Yes, Master,” I murmured, worrying that this might not be the proper answer.

Fortunately, he seemed preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts. He ran his fingertips
along one of the cords binding my wrist, testing to see if it still held fast.

“I am surprised nonetheless,” he said. “I was convinced that by now you would have
shouted bloody hell for Barry and demanded he untie you. He would have, you know.
I gave him leave to do so.”

I gasped. “Truly?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “You succeeded far beyond my modest expectations for you. I didn’t
dream you’d last this long without giving in to your regal ways.”

While there was nothing particularly regal about being tied spread-eagle and naked
across his bed, the realization that I could have escaped, yet hadn’t done so, stunned
me. He was right, too: Mrs. Arthur Hart of Fifth Avenue would have demanded to be
released, and quickly. I felt as if I’d been tried and tested and had passed, and
the approval Savage was showing me now was all the sweeter because I hadn’t known
I was being judged.

I’d earned his approval because, at last, I was worthy.

“Thank you, Master,” I said softly, my aching limbs forgotten. “It gives me joy to
please you.”

“I am glad of it, Eve.” He leaned over to trace his finger along my jaw. “Very glad.”

I turned my head to try to kiss his finger as the only part of him I might reach,
but he’d dragged his fingers lower across my body, between my breasts, and over my
belly. At last he cupped his hand over my quim, his fingers tangling in my curls as
they covered my entrance. He didn’t caress me, and it took every bit of my newfound
willpower not to arch up against his hand and demand more.

“I did promise you a reward,” he said, closely watching my face for my reaction. “Do
you think you deserve it now?”

I could control what I said, but not my body’s response to him. If he pressed his
fingers into me—only a fraction would be enough—he’d discover the moisture that I
felt gathering inside me. Already my heart was beating faster and my breath was quickening
as well.

I swallowed hard, struggling for control. “It’s not my decision, Master,” I said.
“It’s for you to determine what I deserve.”

“I already have, Eve.” He lifted his hand from my body, leaving me bereft, and sat
in the chair beside the bed to pull off his boots. At least he didn’t summon Barry,
to my relief, but did the task himself, dropping each boot to the floor with a thump.
“I promised that you wouldn’t be disappointed, and you won’t.”

He pulled open the drawer of the bedside table—the same drawer that had held both
the silk cords and the manacles—and pulled out a small flask. He opened it and poured
a generous pool of an amber-colored oil into his hands. Working the oil into his palms,
he came back to stand at the foot of the bed, between my spread legs.

“You must be sore by now,” he said, dropping his voice low. “This will help.”

He bent over me and began to smooth the oil into my arms, pressing his fingers deeply
into my aching muscles. I whimpered, amazed at how very good his touch felt. The oil
contained some ingredient that warmed my skin, taking away the chill and making me
feel as if I were glowing from within.

Gradually he moved from my arms to my torso, pouring more oil between my breasts.
This oil, too, he massaged into my skin with deep, powerful strokes, and I closed
my eyes, practically purring with pleasure.

He took his time with my breasts, rubbing the oil in ever-narrowing circles until
he reached my nipples. He rolled the sensitive tips between his fingers, tugging and
drawing gently but insistently until I couldn’t help rolling up into his caresses,
my skin and blood growing warmer by the second. I pulled against the bonds, caring
not how the cords dug into my wrists but only how much I could twist and turn against
his hands.

He did the same with each of my legs, smoothing and rubbing the oil from my ankles
to my calves and kneading the tight tendons of my inner thighs, over and over. Yet,
no matter how near his hands came to my quim, at the last moment they always drew
away, purposefully leaving the part of me that longed most for his touch feeling empty
and unfulfilled.

My whole body was feverish now with arousal, and the heat of the oil combined with
the sure touch of his hands. I’d surrendered to it, panting and writhing against the
silk cords, yet still he would not give me the release I so desperately craved.

“You’re so beautiful like this, Eve,” he said, his voice harsh. “You’re on fire for
me, on fire with desire. Your cunt’s weeping from wanting to take me in, isn’t it?
You must be like hot velvet inside, hot, wet velvet that’s like heaven to my cock.”

I could see that cock straining hard against the front of his pale trousers. From
the size of the bulge, he must have been wickedly uncomfortable and as desperate as
I was myself. Surely now he would relent and untie me, and give us both what we wanted.

Instead, he turned back to the drawer. As aroused as I was, the object he returned
with shocked me.

“What—what is that, Master?” I stammered in confusion. “What is it for?”

I knew exactly what it was—an ivory phallus, carved in such loving detail as to be
nearly a twin to Savage’s cock—but I didn’t want to consider what he’d do with it.

“It’s for you,” he said, practically growling the words. “I want to know how you look
when you come around my cock.”

Quickly he poured a measure of the oil onto the dildo, slathering it along the sides
to make it slick. Then with one hand he gently parted my lips, and thrust nearly the
entire length of the dildo deep inside, back and forth three times.

I cried out, bucking my hips as much as I could against the restraints. I was clinging
to the very edge of my climax, my body bowed and tense with release so tantalizingly
near. He smoothed his fingers over my oil-slicked lips, pressing my taut flesh against
the ivory. If he worked the dildo again, I would spend, yet still he kept me hanging.

“This is how you look when you take my cock,” he said, his words coming fast. “I can
see how your quim stretches to take me, how your lips plump and curl against me. You’re
so red and wet and swollen, Eve, so close, that I can see that fat little clit of
yours trembling and needy. So beautiful, and so hot.”

I couldn’t answer. I had no words.

And when he pressed the pad of his thumb against my pearl at the same moment as he
began thrusting the dildo again, I screamed, spinning out of control as pleasure rocked
my body.

He didn’t wait until I’d finished spending before he yanked the silk cords first from
my wrists and then my ankles. I curled my arms and legs, crying out as the blood rushed
back to my aching muscles, and I pressed my legs together, shuddering as he pushed
the dildo deeper within my channel.

But Savage had seen enough. He tore open the front of his trousers and released his
cock. He grabbed the dildo and pulled it from me, and before I could feel its loss
he shoved and buried his cock deep within me.

I cried out again, gladly trading the hard ivory for Savage’s heated flesh, and when
he pushed my thighs back and hooked my legs over his shoulders, I sensed another climax
building fast within me. I was stretched tight this way, his cock stroking me deliciously
within as he pumped his hips against the backs of my thighs. I took my sensitized
breasts in my hands, squeezing and pulling on my nipples in time to his thrusts.

“Look at me, Eve,” he demanded raggedly. “Look at me!”

I dragged my eyes open, met the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze, and immediately spent
again, the spasms clenching and ripping through me with dizzying force. I rode them
out as, in a frenzy of lust, he pounded into me, and then he, too, found his climax,
roaring with the force of it.

He dropped forward onto the bed, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly against
his heaving chest. I pressed against him to savor the closeness as we both recovered.
This was the first time I’d spent twice in such a short time, and little aftershocks
continued to reverberate through my body. I loved being naked and sated while he was
still dressed, my warm, oil-sheened skin lying in wicked contrast to his elegantly
expensive clothes.

Furtively, so that he wouldn’t notice, I rubbed my thumbs lightly across my wrists
where he’d tied the cords, striving to ease the sting. The skin was raw and tender,
crisscrossed with small abrasions and fresh-blooming bruises. It was my own fault,
of course. He’d tied the cords just tight enough to hold me, not to hurt me. If I
hadn’t struggled against them, I would have been fine. I’d done this to myself. He’d
never want to harm me in any way. He was my Protector, wasn’t he?

“Thank you, Eve,” he whispered into my ear, kissing the side of my throat. “That was
perfect. No,
you
are perfect.”

I smiled, tears of happiness beading my lashes. “Perfect” was so much better than
“selfish” or “willful” or any of the other things he’d called me earlier.

Being perfect for him was … perfect.

*   *   *

When I woke, the night sky was dark blue and the moon had risen, and Savage was lying
on his side, watching me.

I smiled up at him, his dark hair falling around his face and his features shadowed
in the night-filled room. He hadn’t lit any candles—or had Barry light them—which
meant he’d likely slept as well, and hadn’t been watching me the entire time. In the
beginning, his watching had unsettled me, but now I liked it, even cherished it as
proof of how much he cared for me. It made me feel safe, protected, knowing he wouldn’t
let any harm come to me, as if he were my own guardian angel.

“Master,” I whispered, my voice groggy with sleep.

He reached for my hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it, his lips and beard grazing
the back of my hand. He turned it over and nipped lightly at my palm, making me sigh.

“You asked me if I was lonely,” he said gruffly. “I did not know what loneliness was
until I was apart from you today.”

The way he said it tore at my heart. I slipped my hand free of his and reached up
to lay my palm along the side of his face, cradling his cheekbone.

“You’re not lonely now,” I said softly, “nor am I.”

He drew in his breath, held it, then let it out as a long sigh.

“My father sat on the boards of several trading firms,” he said. “He had access to
considerable information regarding incoming ships and their cargoes, information that
he used to his own financial advantage. My uncle—my mother’s younger brother—was an
impulsive man plagued by ill luck and bad choices. From pity, Father shared some scrap
of news about a new venture, and my uncle invested the last bit of his fortune in
it. The ship was lost, bankrupting my uncle, who responded by blowing his brains out
in the front room at White’s.”

“Oh, Savage,” I said. I was surprised, but not shocked. My own father’s world was
sadly full of men whose fortunes rose and fell with terrifying speed, and for whom
the only honorable solution seemed suicide. “How dreadful for your family!”

“Yes,” he said, his voice leaden. “Mother blamed Father, and left him abruptly and
fled to Paris, without bothering to say farewell. I was away at school; I never saw
her again, for she died soon after of cholera. My uncle had been a popular man, and
the scandal of his ruin and death broke Father. The doctors said it was his heart,
but I know it was bitterness and the condemnation of those he’d loved and trusted
most that killed him. When I became the seventh Earl of Savage two weeks before my
sixteenth birthday, I also became absolutely alone.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, struck by the insignificance of words. “I’m sorry for you now,
to carry that burden, and I’m sorry for the boy you were then.”

His smile was more of a grimace.

“I survived,” he said. “Day by day, I did what was required of me. But you can understand
why I find trust a very difficult commodity to give, or to accept.”

“We are two of a kind, aren’t we, Savage?” I said sadly. “We’re what others have made
us. We did survive, yes, but at a cost. We
are
renegades, exactly as you said, outcasts apart from the rest of the world.”

“Not apart from you,” he said, his voice as dark as the night around us. “Never from
you.”

“Never from you,” I repeated. I reached up with my other hand to cradle his face.
“I’m here, Master.”

I drew his face down and kissed him; it was less a kiss born of passion than a pledge
of trust and understanding that was in its way far more intimate than anything else
we’d done or shared.

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight. “Stay with me, Eve,” he said. “Don’t
go.”