Page 112 of The Savage

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Sabrina wearsthe diamond collar all night long. She keeps it on while we fuck, and wears it with her robe while we order room service, sampling the Markovs’ burgers and fries.

Sabrina is quickly converting me to her love of cheeseburgers. She eats them at least three times a week, and I’ll admit, they’re satisfying. Especially when you’ve been exerting yourself all night long.

I pour us each a glass of Riesling.

“Not as sweet as Vietti,” I tease her. “But not bad.”

Sabrina takes a massive bite of her burger, washing it down with wine.

“It’ll do,” she says. And then, “I got something for you, too.”

“You did?”

I didn’t expect anything—it’s my job to spoil Sabrina, not the other way around.

Sabrina retrieves her coat, pulling a small, paper-wrapped package from the pocket.

“I picked it up yesterday,” she says. “I was afraid it wouldn’t come in time.”

I rip open the paper, revealing a switchblade like Sabrina’s, only more expensive-looking. The scrimshaw handle is richly oiled, the blade shimmering with waves of layered Damascus steel.

“That’s fossilized mammoth bone,” Sabrina says. “In the handle. I thought it was cool.”

I hold the knife up to the light so I can read the engraving, so small I almost missed it:

You. Always you.

It’s what I said to her from down between her thighs the night I pleasured her for hours. She’s saying it back to me because it meant something to her.

Sabrina is not sentimental. She rarely shows tenderness in this way.

It affects me more than I want to let her see.

Her own knife is probably her favorite belonging. She carries it with her everywhere and uses it even for tasks she probably shouldn’t, like opening envelopes and cutting tags off clothes.

I slip the knife in my pocket, knowing that every time I touch it or use it or feel its weight, I’ll think of her. A little piece of her with me all the time.

“I love it,” I say, pulling her close.

“Well, I didn’t know you were gonna upstage me with this.” Sabrina touches the diamonds at her throat.

“That’s how it should be. I’d be ashamed if you gave me a better gift.”

“What if I want to give you the better gift?”

“Then you should date Andrei. He’d love a sugar mama.”

Sabrina snorts, but she’s shaking her head at me, mildly annoyed.

“But what if I—”

I silence her with my mouth.

“Youarethe gift, Sabrina. You’re what I want.”

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