Lord Savage

by Mia Gabriel

  Even my loveless marriage had been more about me as a bride than Arthur as my husband. Once the flurry of attention surrounding our wedding—my trousseau, my new jewels and house and staff and carriage, our wedding trip—had passed, I’d made my general disappointment with married life so clear to Arthur that he’d swiftly retreated back to his bachelor ways, choosing to live at his club among his cronies rather than with me—which had been exactly what I’d wished, anyway.

  When I’d come to London to find passion and excitement, I hadn’t doubted I would find it. I’d felt the same after spying on Savage with Lady Telford that night in the garden. There had been no question in my mind that I would somehow arrange to be fucked by him, too. My introduction to him, the invitation from Lady Carleigh here to Wrenton, how Savage had bid against Lord Blackledge for me, how Savage had proved to be even better than my long-imagined dream lover could be—all of that had seemed almost inevitable to me.

  To put the best face upon it, I could claim that it was no more than the fault of fate, and that fate had always smiled upon me. But this fate was not the same as Savage’s kismet. My version of fate was couched in money and privilege, while his kismet had seemed more mystical, more romantic, and less dependent on the dollars in my bank accounts. For if I was honest with myself, I was exactly as Savage had said. I was a spoiled heiress from New York who had always gotten what I wanted.

  Except, now, for Savage.

  My muscles and joints ached from being stretched for so long in the same position, and I’d tugged so much against the cords that, silken or not, they’d rubbed and chafed against my skin. I was thirsty, and now that my blood had had time to cool, I was chilly as well. I lost track of how much time had passed as the sun moved across the sky and the shadows lengthened as I stared up at the ceiling.

  Yet, what I thought of most as I lay there in that elegant bedroom was not when Savage would come back, but if. I’d given him every reason to stay away, and very little to come back. He’d said he would when he was ready, but I didn’t entirely believe him, now. It could well be Barry who finally appeared to untie me; I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he did.

  I was humbled and contrite, and if only Savage would return, I’d do all I could to prove it to him. Of course I still longed for him, my desire a fever only he could break; that hadn’t changed. I wasn’t sure if he’d called me willful, stubborn, and selfish only as part of the Game, or because he really believed it of me. The ironic part was that now I believed it of myself.

  If only he’d come back.…

  TEN

  “I trust you had an enjoyable time whilst I was gone, Eve?” Savage said when at last he came sauntering into the bedroom. “Only the deepest of thoughts, appropriate to the contrition of an Innocent?”

  Relief was my first thought, flooding through me with rare joy. He’d come back. He was smiling. His black mood had been replaced by one that appeared much sunnier. And surely, now, he’d untie me and ease my aching limbs—or at least he would if I could keep my new resolutions.

  “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 a
gainst 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.”

  “I will stay, Savage,” I whispered, blinking back tears of emotion as I curled as closely against him as I could. “I will.”

  * * *

  The next day, I sat in Savage’s enormous marble bath, basking drowsily in the steamy water while my maid, Simpson, washed my hair. Through the open bathroom door, I saw Savage behind his desk in the sitting room, reading and reviewing various letters from his bankers and lawyers that had arrived earlier from London, letters that needed replies. It made me smile to see him like that, all brusque business and orders for his secretary beside him, after so much pleasure with me.

  Only I saw that side of him, and only I knew the true tenderness we’d shared. Holding that knowledge like a treasured secret, I happily sank a little lower into the water.

  “Here, ma’am, don’t drown yourself.” Simpson fretted, pulling me back up against the side of the tub. “I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you while you was in my care.”

  I laughed softly. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Simpson. What kind of person would drown in the bath?”