Page 36 of Savage Hate
I try not to smile as she follows him.
I don’t think any of us will be able to keep our hands off her tonight.
Not with the way those pants sculpt her ass, the leather clinging to her long, toned legs.
Or the way her pink lips seem to call to us like a mythological siren.
I don’t know what changed recently, but I do know that all of us can feel the frenetic and erratic energy whenever she’s in the room.
And I don’t think any of us would ever be willing to ignore it for the sake of the others.
twenty-one
Lennon
It’s sheer curiosity that has me following Jude up the stairs. He hadn’t said anything particularly captivating. There wasn’t some magical sentence that lured me. He’d only commented that Ben and his friends couldn’t stop staring at me. But it was thewayhe said it. The way anger tinged his words, and laced around his tongue as he gritted them out, that made me pause for a minute before heading upstairs to see if he was okay. And now I’m stalking through the creepy Huxley house alone, looking for the most unhinged of the three of them in an unfamiliar, dark place.
The get-together is interesting–small, intimate, and casual. All three guys are inking their friends with things that don’t align with their normal styles, and I have to wonder if this is the only time they get to act like true artists. All three of them are freehanding the ink, meaning they aren’t using any stencils or mockups, so their art is messier than normal.
I personally think it’s beautiful, because it shows their true talent. It’s as if they are sketching on a piece of paper. And the things they’re sketching?Gorgeous.Colorful, abstract, sweeping art. Stuff you’d see in a modern art museum. And nothing was discussed beforehand. It’s just art on skin, and these people are letting the guys do it to them, because they trust them.
I walk up the grand staircase made entirely of black marble, and goosebumps erupt along my skin when I think of growing up in a place like this. There are no signs of life anywhere, and this is no place for growing boys. It’s like Silas and his brother grew up living in purgatory, unable to get any warmth from their home or their parents.
Perhaps Silas and I have more in common than I thought.
I walk down the long hallway, passing a room that must be Damon’s, because it smells like ripe cherries. He has navy sheets on his king-sized bed, dark wood furniture, and a fur rug on the floor. It’s messy and dark–exactly the kind of room I would’ve pictured for him. Making my way down the hallway, I pass a bathroom, and office, and then I stop in front of what must be the master bedroom.
I push the door open and realize this is Silas’s room. A black, ornate, wooden bed with neutral bedding sits in the center, surrounded by Victorian furniture with a steampunk twist, and a black and white rug on the floor. I wander over to the sprawling desk next to the balcony door, and I nearly gasp. Notebook after notebook of drawings, charcoal and pencil, of anything and everything. Flowers, faces, houses, maps, and then other, more abstract things that cause my hand to rub my throat as I swallow thickly. He’s good.Reallygood. It’s no wonder he’s one of the most sought-after tattoo artists in the country. I turn to walk out of the room before anyone catches me snooping, and I head to the other side of the house with more bedrooms.
The first two are very clearly guest bedrooms, and then there’s a library, a bathroom, and an entertainment room with a massive TV. I make it to the other side of the hallway, and there’s one door left, sitting ajar.
I push it open, stunned when I see what can only be Jude’s room. Tidy, white, minimalist. It’s perfect, with a white, pristine bed, a red chair sitting at just the perfect angle in front of the window, a large, polished iMac computer in one corner, and a mid-century lamp that casts an eerie, orange glow throughout the room. This is a psychopath’s room, for someone with too much time on their hands–someone who stays up late rearranging furniture and decluttering. It’stooclean. I instantly feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat as I take a step back, but then I hear a small noise coming from the ensuite bathroom.
I ball my fists as I walk silently over the white shag rug toward the bathroom. Putting my ear against the closed door, I hear heavy breathing, and my heart slams against my chest.
I turn the handle slowly. As I push the door open a crack, I peek through the sliver and see Jude’s back to me. He’s panting, his muscled arms strained as one of them works something in front of him, and it only takes me a second to realize what he’s doing. I gasp, and the noise causes him to turn around, which then causes me to push the door open farther, exposing him and–
Holy fuck.
I can’t look away as he strokes his shaft, slower now that he has an audience. I can’t look away, because even though he has zero ink on his body, his cock is covered in tats. And there are several piercings along the top in a row, neatly spaced out.Seven.There are seven. Like a ladder.
“Hello, Lennon,” he says roughly, not even stopping.
“I–I’m–” I stutter, taking a step back.
“Where are you going?” he asks, gesturing for me to come closer. He tilts his head back, eyes looking up at the ceiling, bottom lip between his teeth as he pumps faster. Lowering his gaze back to me, he gives me a lecherous grin. “I was thinking about you, anyway.”
I inhale sharply as he walks over to where I’m standing. I can smell the sweat on him, and the sound of him jerking himself, of the wetness along his thick, long shaft…
My clit throbs as he breathes heavily, inches from me. As I watch him, I can feel my face burning as my chest rises and falls rapidly. I should walk away. But his breathing is uneven, and then he lets out a low groan—a sound that travels from my ears straight to my core, making my clit pulse. I clamp my legs together and take a small step back.
My eyes travel down to his hips as they move into his hand now. He’s properlyfuckinghis own hand, and the motion of his hips is smooth, practiced. I close my eyes as I imagine what it would feel like for him to be moving that way on top of me. How he might hover over me and move his hips just so, just to achieve the right angle…
How he might tease me, thrusting into me and then pulling all the way out, his cocky smirk inches from my face as he watches me come undone.
I snap my eyes open when he moans again, my mouth parting as his hand flies up and down urgently. Everything inside of me is thrumming with unmet pleasure, and I realize I never did anything like this with Wright. It was always missionary, lights dimmed, jackhammer style. We never fooled around like this, even when I asked him to. Even when Ibeggedhim. I pull my lower lip between my teeth as I watch Jude fuck his own hand, watch as the head of his cock pumps between his clenched fingers, the tip dripping with precum.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice gravelly. “Watch me come, Lennon.”
