Savage Road

gorgeous. That was half her problem. She could stare at him endlessly-forever. He had a body on him, all man, more muscles than was good for him, tattoos over scars and burns. He had the words Whip Master burned into his skin on his chest and Master of Pain burned into his back. The tats didn't cover either burns, although she knew Ink, a brother in his club, had done his best with the beautiful artwork on him.

 

"You gonna stop there and make me ask or you gonna tell me what these nightmares are about, angel? If they're making you sick, they're fucked the hell up."

 

There was a warning in his voice, but no expression on his face, just those blue, blue eyes, cold as a glacier, telling her he wasn't going to let it go.

 

They had agreed to have truth between them, but that really meant she told him the truth and he withheld things he didn't want to talk about. They'd been together for months, and she loved him far too much. It wasn't a good thing by any means.

 

"Last chance, Seychelle, start talking."

 

"It was a nightmare, Savage. People have them."

 

"Two fuckin' nights in a row. The same nightmare. Bad enough that you puke in the toilet and you don't want to tell me about it."

 

That was a straight-up accusation. Worse, he was right. She didn't want to tell him. That stance. Arms across his chest. Those eyes that wouldn't let her look away no matter how much she wanted to. He'd given her space the day before because she'd asked him to. She'd been upset. Joseph Arnold, a stalker, had been sitting in her cottage waiting for her with a gun, and Savage thought she was upset about that. She had been, of course, but that wasn't the only reason. There was a multitude of reasons she was questioning her sanity. Mostly, it had to do with herself, the things she was discovering she needed in her own sexual relationship, and that truly frightened her. She needed to come to terms with it.