Savage

by Michelle St. James

  Exposed from head to toe.

  She settled for a little tinted moisturizer, a lot of eyeliner and mascara, and a touch of the berry lipstick she’d splurged on before she left New York. Then she pulled her hair back into a loose knot at the back of her head, letting some of the strands fall out. When she was done, she went to the wardrobe, slid the dress from its hanger, and slipped it over her head. The spill of silky fabric against her naked body, already primed for Farrell’s touch, sent a shiver down her spine.

  She slipped on the shoes and tied the bows around her ankles. It had been ages since she’d worn anything but casual or work clothes. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. The dress was sensual and slinky, hanging low enough on her bare breasts to show them off without being outright tacky. The neckline highlighted her angular collarbone and long neck, and having her hair pulled back from her face made her cheekbones more pronounced, her smoky eyes more exotic. The heels made her feel lean and sexy, and when she moved, the dress swished around her legs in a sea of silk.

  She picked up her phone and lip stick, then realized she only had her day bag. It didn’t exactly go with the dress, but it would have to do. She looked at her phone — 8:55pm — then slipped it into the hand bag before stepping out into the still quiet living room. Wondering if Farrell had come in while she was in the bath, she set down her bag and stepped onto the balcony.

  Goosebumps rose on her arms in the cool night air. She braced herself on the granite balustrade and leaned forward, peering at the street below. She could just make out the lights of the city, the muffled voices of someone talking below her. A light breeze blew through the trees, and the dress lifted a little around her knees. She was smoothing it down when she heard the voice behind her.

  “You’re as exquisite as ever.”

  She turned to find Farrell leaning against the doorway, his gaze dark. “Thank you. And thank you for the clothing.”

  “Purely selfish, I assure you,” he said, his eyes skimming her body.

  “Yes, well, I appreciate it nonetheless. I would have been no match for you in anything I brought.”

  It was true. He wore a simple dark gray suit with a subtle pinstripe. It was perfectly cut, hugging his muscled body in all the right places, stretching tight across his thighs and fitting closely against his arms and torso. His white shirt was unbuttoned a little, proving that some things never changed; Farrell had never liked wearing a tie. In fact, he didn’t like restriction of any kind, the one exception being the holstered weapon he almost always wore under his jackets. She’d always wondered if it was a product of his lifestyle, the need to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. His hands were clad in black leather gloves under the sleeves of a wool coat. She had the sudden urge to feel them against her bare body. Cool leather against fevered skin.

  “I don’t believe that’s true,” he said. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and walked toward the balcony doors. She expected him to move, to allow her passage through the doorway. But he remained in place, letting her get within inches of him. She stopped, afraid to look at him but unable to stop herself. His eyes were molten with desire, and she had to force herself to keep her breath steady. He was so close she could smell him, could almost feel the scratch of his coat against her exposed décolleté. They stood perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he removed something from inside his coat.

  “I thought you might need this.”

  She took it from him and was almost disappointed when he avoided touching her hand. She lowered her eyes to the object to hide her conflicted feelings and discovered a small silk evening bag.

  She couldn’t help smiling. He’d thought of everything. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and turned away, retreating into the room. She took her phone, lipstick, and ID out of her purse and put them in the evening bag on the way to the door. When she got there, Farrell was waiting with a heavy pashmina woven in black wool. He set it across her shoulders without laying a hand on her skin.

  They left the hotel and made their way to the red sports car Farrell had been driving earlier. He was a perfect gentleman, but he didn’t speak a word as he opened her door, walked around to the driver’s side, started the car and pulled into traffic.

  She watched the lights of the city pass by on the other side of the window, wondering why he was so quiet. They drove for about fifteen minutes before he pulled up outside a small restaurant. He gave the key to the valet, and they went inside where they were immediately seated at a small table near the back of the restaurant. What followed was two hours of the most amazing food she’d ever tasted — fresh ceviche, octopus, buttery duck, creamy risotto — brought to them in courses and eaten with almost no conversation between them. By the time the coffee was brought out with dessert — puffy, delicate pastry discs layered with vanilla cream — the tension was so high she was surprised it wasn’t visible to everyone in the restaurant.

  She set down her spoon. “Is there a reason you’re not speaking to me tonight?”

  He met her with a piercing gaze that seemed to burrow through all her secrets. “I’ve waited five years to see you, Jenna. I don’t want to talk to you. Not yet. I want to fuck you. I want to bury myself inside you. I want to reclaim your body, your soul, to prove that you still own mine.” He picked up his fork. “So no, I’m not going to talk to you right now. I’m going to feed you. And then I’m going to take you back to the hotel and make you scream. Then we can talk.”

  Her heart seemed to stall in her chest. She’d thought maybe he was angry. That maybe he was determined not to sleep with her. Neither of those things would have made her happy, but they would have made sense. This was a new kind of torture, and she picked up her spoon, forcing herself to take another bite of the dessert even as wet heat pooled between her legs.

  They finished dinner in silence. But now it wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was electric, charged with the desire she now knew was mutual. She considered going to the bathroom and pleasuring herself to take the edge off, then decided to press her thighs together to control the throbbing instead. By the time Farrell paid the check and led her out to the car, she was weak with need, the familiar lust for Farrell obliterating what little resolve she had left to remember the kind of life she wanted for Lily. Her body was a traitorous thing, and it would not be told no when it came to Farrell Black.

  She found it difficult to breathe on the way back to the hotel. He was so close, his trouser-clad thigh inches from her bare leg. It was almost painful to feel her naked mound brush against the silky fabric of the dress, to look at his hands — back in the leather driving gloves — and imagine them sliding up the inside of her thigh.

  They left the car with the valet and walked silently to the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder as they waited for the doors to open. The car was empty, and they stepped inside. Farrell handed her the key card on his way to the back of the elevator car. She inserted it into the slot and was about to hand it back to him when she felt his presence behind her.

  He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the pull of his body only inches away, knew that if she leaned back, she would feel the brush of his coat against her shoulders, his breath against her ear. She stood still instead. This was what Farrell wanted of her. What he always wanted.

  Control. Domination.

  He would decide when he would touch her. Waiting for it, anticipating it, was part of the pleasure for them both.

  The elevator began to rise. She looked at their reflection in the reflective surface of its interior. Farrell was a dark specter over her shoulder, looming nearly a foot above her even in her heels. His face was stony, devoid of emotion, while her own cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as if in anticipation. She thought he might reach down, lift the dress, run his hands along her bare legs to her hips.

  Hoped he might do those things.

  He didn’t, and she was forced to stand very still, not trusting her ability to
control herself if she so much as brushed against him.

  Finally the elevator doors opened onto the sixth floor hall. She stepped out, both relieved and bereft not to feel him so close. He took the key card from her hand when they got to the suite and opened the door.

  The living area was almost completely dark, lit only by the crackle of flames in the enormous fireplace. He closed the door behind them, the sound of the lock clicking into place both ominous and erotic. She moved into the room, unsure what to do, and watched him carefully remove his coat and lay it on the back of the sofa. He began to peel off the leather gloves.

  “Are you ready to remember, Jenna?”

  23

  His control was at its breaking point. It had been torture to stand within inches of her — smelling her perfume, knowing she was naked under the red dress — and not touch her. By the time they got to dinner he could hardly see through the animal lust roaring in his veins. Five years ago he would have taken her to the men’s room — or the women’s — and fucked her then and there.

  But not this time.

  He’d almost let her ruin him. He was going to stay in control this time, whatever it took. Make her beg for it.

  Beg for him.

  He removed the gloves slowly, letting his eyes comb her body, wanting her to know that he was making plans for it. Her chest was rapidly rising and falling, a dead giveaway that she was as on fire as him. Good. They were in this together. Had always been in it together.

  He walked deliberately toward her, keeping his eyes on hers, letting the anticipation between them continue to build. He stopped an inch away, and she closed her eyes, like it might protect her from what she was feeling.

  It wouldn’t. He’d tried that. Had tried everything to banish her from his heart and mind. Now he knew it was impossible. They belonged together. Now and always.

  He lifted a hand and pushed the shawl to the floor. Her pale skin stood out in sharp relief next to the red dress, and he put his hands on her arms, ran them all the way up to her shoulders, relishing the feel of her silken skin against his rough hands. She still had her eyes closed as he let his hands continue, stopping at the base of her neck. He rubbed his thumbs alongside the hollow of her throat, felt her pulse jump under his touch.

  “Look at me when I touch you.” Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. They were amber in the dim light of the room, like a pool of fire. “No more pretending. No more hiding.”

  He felt the ripple of her throat as she swallowed. She nodded.

  He slid his hands to the fragile straps of the dress and slid them off her shoulders. It dropped to the ground in a pool of red silk. And then she was bare before him, her body glowing like alabaster in the firelight.

  She had always been lovely, with long legs and curves in all the right places. But she’d grown even more beautiful in the five years they’d been apart. Her breasts were still perfect, full and round with dusky pink nipples like the bud of a rose. He could still span her waist with his hands, and he let his eyes travel past it to the hips that were slightly fuller than they'd been the last time he’d seen her. If someone had told him five years before that her beauty was only a promise of what was to come, he wouldn’t have believed it. She had already been perfection. But now he saw that she had indeed grown more fully into her face and body, and a fresh wave of passion barreled through his body at the knowledge that he would come to know her all over again.

  He bent his head to her neck and inhaled the scent of her, forcing himself to go slow when all he really wanted was to fuck her into oblivion. He was so hard his cock was testing the bounds of his trousers, but he’d waited too long. He wanted to take his time with her.

  He reached back with one hand and found the pins in her hair as he nuzzled her neck, moving up toward her ear. Her head fell to one side, and her eyes fluttered closed as the chestnut locks tumbled down her back in a cascade of waves. It was like satin, and he slid his fingers into it as he kissed his way along her jaw to her mouth. She was breathing fast and shallow, her nipples brushing against the front of his shirt as he got closer to her lips. When he arrived there, he fisted her hair in his hands, tipped her head back. She gasped, opened her eyes, stared up at him with a complex mixture of emotion he couldn’t begin to decipher.

  He lowered his head until he was almost touching her lips with his. “Are you scared?” he asked. “Scared of what’s between us?”

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Good. You should be.”

  He said it because it was true. What was between them was savage and eternal. A fire that never burned out. A tide that never stopped rising. A strong wind that never stopped blowing. They were powerless in the face of it. And nothing was more frightening than being powerless. He knew that better than anyone.

  He angled his head over her mouth and took it with all the fierceness that had been building in his body since the moment he saw her again. She opened to him without hesitation, meeting his tongue thrust for thrust, parry for parry. Her arms slid around his neck, and then her naked body was pressed against him and all he wanted was to be naked with her. To feel the heat of her skin on his own.

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, still kissing, searching her mouth for every secret, every moment he’d missed with her since she’d been gone. He dropped her on the bed, and she knelt in front of him and reached for his shirt. Her eyes never left his as she undid each button. When the shirt was open, she lowered her mouth to his chest and kissed her way to one of his nipples, then nipped at it until he groaned.

  He kept his hands at his side while she unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers. When she pushed them to the floor, his cock sprang free. It should have been a relief, but he already knew nothing would relieve him of the pressure building inside him except driving into her sweet pussy.

  He tipped his head back as she closed her hands around the shaft, stroking him in long, easy movements that immediately had him too close to the edge. When she lowered her mouth to his tip, he groaned, then reached for her shoulders and tossed her back on the bed.

  He knelt over her, taking in her body. One word moved through him.

  Mine.

  He took one of her slender feet in his hands and lifted it to his shoulder so she was spread out before him. He could have driven into her right then. She was soaked, the folds of her sex glistening with her desire. His cock pulsed with the need to take her.

  This was going to be more difficult than he’d expected.

  He kissed his way up her shapely calf, licked the back of her knee until she gasped, then continued up her thigh, nibbling the tender, fleshy skin close to her center. She was already moving her hips, grabbing her breasts, squeezing them in a way that had always driven him wild. She had never been afraid of what she wanted. Never been too ashamed or scared to do anything that would bring them both pleasure.

  He skipped over her pussy, knowing it would make her crazy, and continued up her stomach, dipping his tongue into her naval on his way to her breasts. He bent his head to the pink nipple squeezed to a peak in one of her hands, flicked his tongue against it until she moaned. Then he closed his mouth around it and sucked.

  Her hips came up off the bed, and she wrapped one of her legs around him, her body searching for his cock. He took the other breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he continued to suck. His cock was engorged and sensitive as it touched her inner thigh, her pussy so wet he could feel the juices on his stomach.

  He lifted himself off her and kneeled between her legs, lowering his head to her center, breathing in the smell of her sex. Holding her hips in his hands, he flicked his tongue against her clit until she bucked against his mouth.

  “You want me to lick your pussy, baby?” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Then you’re going to have to take my cock.”

  “Yes,” she said again. She was in the haze of passion now, her eyes clo
udy, her body driving out reason and logic and inhibition.

  He took her ankles and pulled her farther down on the bed, then turned around and straddled her neck. His cock hung against her mouth, and the velvety softness of her lips almost made him come. He braced his hands on either side of her hips and lowered his mouth to her pussy, running his tongue through the soft petals just as her mouth closed around his cock.

  “Fuck,” he groaned.

  He focused on her nub, rubbing circles around it with his tongue, feeling the little bud swell with every pass. She sucked on his tip, then slid him into her mouth bit by bit until he was buried to the balls. He growled, his hips thrusting involuntarily, then licked his way down to her opening. He thrust his tongue inside her, tasting the sweetness of her juices as she moved her hips against his mouth, still sucking his cock, moving in perfect time with him, both of them rushing toward a release that had been building for far too long.

  He moved back to her clit, sucking while he slid two fingers inside her. She cried out around his cock, then moved more frantically, fucking him with her mouth while he plunged his fingers into her pussy and sucked on the tiny bundle of nerves swelling under his tongue. She was moving faster now, her body reaching for release as she positioned herself against his tongue. He loved this about her — that she knew what her body wanted, that she asked for it, demanded it, took it.

  He let her set the pace, moving his fingers faster, sucking harder as she lifted her hips up to meet his mouth, until he felt her shudder around his fingers, her body convulsing as she finally stepped off the edge. She kept sucking him while she came, and he had to fight not to come with her. It was overwhelmingly erotic — feeling her come against his mouth while she sucked him off.

  But no. When he came it would be inside of her.

  When her body stopped clenching around his fingers, he slid them out of her and pulled his cock from her mouth. Then he moved between her thighs again, rubbing one thumb against the engorged folds.