but she knew it wasn’t going to work. He was so far away. She reached for him. Tried to connect and there were only … nightmares. Ugly nightmares. No matter what she tried, mind-to-mind contact, she couldn’t reach Absinthe. He just wasn’t there.
Savage began to pace back and forth behind her. A shirt fluttered to the floor beside her knees. She caught another quick glimpse of Savage, thick chest bare, his muscles rippling, a belt in is hands, folded in two. His chest was covered in scars and whip marks. Branded into his flesh were the words Whip Master. Up close, the sight of him was terrifying. She wanted to run for the bed and the gun Absinthe had left her for protection.
Savage suddenly towered over the top of her, caught her by her hair and yanked her head back, setting her heart pounding madly.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? I can’t reach him. You can see he’s too far gone. Bring him back. He’s trapped there again. He’s in his mind. It happens and he can’t get out. You have to bring him the fuck out.”
She tried to knock his hand away from her scalp, her reaction to being touched by him almost visceral, but his arm was so hard it actually hurt to hit him with her forearm. She felt the jolt all the way up to her shoulder. Savage didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were so cold and dead she shivered with fear. She knew death when she saw it, and she was looking straight into the eyes of the Grim Reaper. Still, it was going to take a lot more to really get beyond her need to fight back. She pushed down the urge to slam her fist right between Savage’s legs.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then get to work.” But he let her go.
She shifted her gaze to the bed. “Let me get my gun.”
He glanced toward the bed speculatively and then at her face. Very slowly he shook his head and a chill went down her spine.
“I don’t think so. You have a great deal more incentive to save his life knowing yours might be on the line.”
She stared into those flat, cold eyes and then, without another word, she crawled off the red cushion, pushed past Savage, and deliberately wound around Absinthe’s legs to create the feeling in him of his pet—his live pet—the one who gave him a semblance of comfort so he could sleep and keep the nightmares at bay. Why he had a fireplace in his bedroom, she had no idea, but they weren’t going to light the damn thing before he went to sleep, not ever again.
She purred and rubbed her cheek on the inside of Absinthe’s thighs as she deftly opened the drawstring of his pants. She nudged his hand with the top of her hair, still acting the part of the kitten. He had told her she could come to him for reassurance if she needed it. A part of her wondered how he would choose a woman like her—one who didn’t need his protection the way someone much more fragile might.
She concentrated on making the opening in the drawstring trousers as wide as possible in order to get full access to Absinthe’s cock and balls. Even soft, his cock was long and thick, the promise of it making her mouth water. She licked his balls and then up his shaft. There was no response.
“You get five minutes, you fucking little pussycat, and then I’m going to think you aren’t putting any effort into saving my brother,” Savage snarled, leaning over her shoulder so fast her heart jerked hard and then began to pound in growing fear.
Behind her, he began to pace again up and down the length of the room. She tried to concentrate on Absinthe’s cock, but she couldn’t keep Savage in sight other than for a brief glimpse every few moments when he moved into her peripheral vision. Scarlet tried to ignore him, to feel the weight and texture of Absinthe’s cock on her tongue, to stroke it lovingly, but Savage was so silent and so menacing that it felt as if she was in the room with a caged tiger, ready to leap on her any moment and rip her to shreds.
She found herself actually pulling Absinthe’s cock deep and sucking a little desperately, almost for comfort, her heart pounding so frantically she feared that pounding beat could be heard throughout the room. Certainly,