Page 17 of Savage Game
“It doesn’t matter anyway, Kittycat.”
“I don’t want this!”
This time the bed shook with his laughter. “Again, you do want this; you just don’t want to want it.”
Her attempts to struggle out of his hold got her nowhere, and she let her body go slack again. He was too damn strong, and she was too weak-willed and still evidently way too orgasm muddled to put up a real effort anyhow.
His breath stroked her ear. “I’m going to wring one more orgasm out of you before breakfast. I want to begin my day with your taste in my mouth and your smell on my face.”
His words were so carnal and filthy, she gasped. “I can’t believe you would think something like that, let alone speak those words.” She tried to muster up some anger, but his intentions made her feel valued and wanted instead.
With gentle hands, he rolled her onto her back. He was dressed in different clothing from the day before, telling her he’d left her bed to sleep alone. Before she could decide how she felt about that, he moved to loom over her.
“You’re a beautiful and desirable woman, and I’m going to tell and show you over and over what you do to me, until you believe it yourself.”
A battle raged in Charlotte’s mind as the words Byron uttered fought with memories of Liam telling her over and over again about how little her small breasts and tiny ass incited him. She had seen the blue pills he used when he fucked her, and she vividly remembered the shame when he’d simply handed her over to his business partner for his own abuse. Michael would sneer as he turned her to her belly stating he didn’t want to see her ugly face. The rejection almost stung more than the ripping pain when he violated her back hole instead of her pussy.
She’d long believed she was merely passingly attractive enough to be seen on a man’s arm at a function but not sexy or hot enough to rouse passionate thoughts like the ones Byron just mentioned. Thoughts she’d long abandoned reappeared. She and Liam hadn’t been married but a few months before she’d begun to wonder if there was far more than friendship between Liam and his best friend. Now… while words were easy enough to utter, Byron’s tone and the look in his eyes as he spoke those words gave her pause. Had her entire marriage been nothing but a smokescreen? Had Liam married her simply in order to present a so-called “normal” relationship to the world in order to inherit his father’s business?
Byron’s hands curled around her upper arms, and he opened his mouth to say something but instead shook his head and let her go. “I can see it in your eyes, you’re not ready to accept the truth. We will work on that.”
She smoothed her hands over his shirt, not wishing to crinkle the crisply ironed garment. “It’s very sweet of you, but you don’t have to butter me up, you know.” She swallowed and inched her legs apart. “I thank you for the care and attention you gave me, but don’t you want to take your pleasure from me now?”
His jaw flexed. “No, Kittycat, I’m not going to fuck you today.”
“Oh.” The one syllable spoke volumes, and he caught every hidden meaning.
He took her wrists and pulled her arms above her head. On the pillow, he anchored both wrists in one hand and stroked the other down her body.
“Kittycat.” There was reproach in the way he spoke her nickname, but also warmth and a hint of pity. “First of all, you are a beautiful, desirable, and sexy woman. You are also smart, sweet, and compassionate. All in all, that’s a pretty potent package in my book… and before the month is over, you’re not only going to believe I mean it, but accept on a gut level truer words were never spoken.”
He adjusted his position and pressed himself against her inner thigh. He was hard, hot and huge. Tilting his head, he bore his gaze on hers. “Even if you don’t believe my words, my body doesn’t lie. It wants you, Kittycat.”
“There are chemicals for that.”
He snorted. “No Viagra needed when you’re near, Kittycat. My dick stands to attention as soon as you enter the room.”
Something between a moan and a sob came from her throat, and she wanted to throttle herself for letting it out. She pressed her lips together to prevent more unwelcome noises.
He leaned closer to nibble and lick at the seam of her mouth until she relaxed under his ministrations and allowed him access. Then he kissed and licked a trail down her body, like an explorer on a mission to find each nook, dip and hollow, and every single one of her hot spots. All her doubts, worries, and thoughts of proper behavior flew out the window.
She lay back with her hands above her head and tried not to squirm as he inched toward her pussy. After what felt like hours, he reached the V of her thighs, and she waited with bated breath for the moment he closed his lips over the sensitive flesh. But nothing…
She lifted her head from the pillow and stared down her body. His face was between her thighs, his eyes riveted on her pink bits. For what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t move but just looked. His gaze slid up from her pussy, over her belly and breasts, and connected with hers. His focus burned into her, sending heat through her body, making her skin tingle, her breasts ache, and her labia and clit awaken with a warm pulsing desire.
A slow smile spread across his face, turning his features into the depiction of a devastatingly handsome man, only slightly diminished by the scars.
He propped himself up on his left lower arm and ran his right index finger over the crease between her thighs. She jolted at the soft touch and struggled against the urge to lift her hips, to nudge his hand and direct his aim.
His grin grew as he toyed with her, moved his finger around her slick, puffy folds, and circled the lazy path from clit to her asshole and back. He swirled his fingers clockwise, counterclockwise, never halting his movement and never touching her where she ached for his touch.
Oh, oh, ohhh. She turned her head and bit into the fleshy part of her shoulder to hold in her pleas.
The scar beside his eye puckered, and—with his eyes still on her face—he stroked her clit with a featherlight touch. Still sensitive from his earlier attention, the little bud hardened, grew, and throbbed painfully. She whimpered as she lost the ability to fight her responses.
“Master,” her voice barely above a whisper, she pleaded, “Master, please…”
He cocked his head and stroked her thighs comfortingly. She tensed. She didn’t want him to take his fingers from her pussy. Unwilling to ask for what her body wanted—no, demanded—she tilted her hips in a silent plea.
