Page 116 of Savage

If he wasn’t here, then I hallucinated it. While that may be infinitely better than him finding me, it still means that no matter what I do, where I go or who I’m with there is no escaping my father.

Maybe this is my karma for all the shitty things I’ve done—to live in fear for the rest of my days, to have to run from not just my past, but my future too. I wish I had a hit right now. I wish I hadn’t tossed those pills down the drain, and I wish I hadn’t made promises to Tank I couldn’t keep.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IVY

Tank collapses on top of me with a groan. “Christ, you kill me, bitch.”

I laugh. “Yeah well, be thankful you only came twice. I thought by orgasm number six my clit was going to drop off.”

He groans and stirs, raising himself up on his forearms so I’m not completely squashed beneath him, and then he kisses my forehead. I close my eyes and sigh. Despite the restless night’s sleep, and the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my conscience, as if it were reminding me of something I forgot to do—hang out the washing, feed Butch, run for your life—I feel good this morning. Tank has a way of knowing just what a woman needs when she needs it.

Tank’s cock slides deeper as he shifts his weight again, and I suck in a sharp breath. He glances down at me with an eyebrow raised and an incredulous expression.

“Fuck, woman. You tryin’ to kill me?” I push my hips towards him, and he growls. “You gotta give me a minute to catch my breath.”

I laugh. “Come on, old man. Surely you can go another round?”

He shakes his head gravely. “I need food before I go another anything.”

“Damn, here I was hoping you could just eat me.”

“Tempting,” he says. “Really, babe, but a man can’t live on pussy alone.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich.”

“Fuck no, you’ll probably poison me,” he says, and I pout. “I’ll make the food. You come sit your pretty arse on my bench and let me see that pussy while I cook.”

“Done.” I laugh and admire the view as he gets up. The huge demon tattoo on his back ripples as he moves. It’s such a terrifying piece; in fact, his whole demeanour is a contradiction to such a sweet, attentive man. I laugh inwardly at the thought. If I said that aloud, he’d put me over his knee and spank me to show me how “sweet” he wasn’t.

Okay, so sweet might be a stretch, but up until this point all I’ve ever known from men is a hard cock and an even harder hand, and it’s always been enough. It’s what I was used to, but Tank shows me tenderness I’ve never known before, and it puts every kiss, every touch, and every damn whispered word that came before him to shame.

“What’re you thinkin’ ’bout, pretty girl?”

I smile and shake my head. “Nothing. Just it’s odd how I’m here, in your bed, you know?”

“Doesn’t look odd to me. Looks fuckin’ perfect, actually,” he says, pulling on his jeans and tucking his thick cock inside. He watches me, watching him. “Now get the fuck up before I eat you out again.”

I laugh. “Er … that’s not really a deterrent.”

“Oh, I’ll make it one. Get your arse in the kitchen, bitch.”

“No,” I say, and roll over onto my stomach. Tank climbs back onto the bed and hovers over me. He kisses his way over my arse and up my spine, and then finally lowers his body down on top of mine and whispers, “You have three seconds to get this hot-as-fuck arse out of bed and into my kitchen before I spank you like a naughty girl.”

I laugh softly and stay exactly where I am, and Tank sits back on his heels. “Gonna be like that, is it? Alright then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, and no sooner than the words leave his mouth his hand smacks my arse, hard. I squeal and turn around to glare at him.

“Arsehole,” I screech.

“I did warn you.”

I rub at my smarting flesh, but then find myself airborne and flung over his shoulder, as though I weigh nothing. “Put me down, you bastard.”

“No,” he says, as he slides off the bed and carries me into the kitchen, depositing me on the island bench. “Stay.”

“Bite me.” I scowl. Tank smiles and sinks his teeth into my shoulder. “Ow.”

I playfully shove him off, and he gives me this look that has my heart stuttering. He’s like a little kid, and it makes my chest hurt, though I’m not sure why. He leans in and kisses the teeth marks he left in my shoulder, and then takes my face in his too-large hands and tenderly kisses my lips. His tongue pushes into my mouth, but it’s not passionate, it’s not sexual. It’s sweet. He’s gentle, and I kiss him back with just as much tenderness, because he deserves that. He deserves so much more than that. In all the time I’ve known him, it never occurred to me that he might have needed me just as much as I needed him.

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