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Synopsis
Amid the glittering backdrop of Edwardian London, a pleasure-loving lord and a sensually awakened American heiress give into the passion that burns them…and ignites their souls…
Evelyn Hart found the freedom to experience the most seductive pleasures in the arms of the Earl of Savage. But what began as a wickedly suggestive game amongst London’s wealthiest elite is about to become a much deeper connection between the two—where more than desire is at risk…
SAVAGE NIGHTS
Savage opens Evelyn’s eyes to an intoxicating world—and her heart to the most powerful kind of love. But with a profoundly intense bond comes even greater danger. When jealousy smolders— and passion ignites—it is too late to stop. And with the fire between them burning fierce and hot, Savage and Evelyn are bound together to resist all that threatens to tear them apart…in Savage Nights by Mia Gabriel.
Release date: February 2, 2016
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages: 300
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Savage Nights
Mia Gabriel
1.
On the road to London, 1907
“You’re not frightened, are you?” The seventh Earl of Savage leaned closer, curling his long arm around the back of my shoulders in a gesture that could have been protective, or something else entirely. “If you’ve any regrets—”
“None,” I said swiftly, determined to show no hesitation, no doubts. “And if I shiver, it’s from excitement, not fear.”
He smiled slowly, and if I hadn’t shivered before I did then. Desire did that to me, and I’d never desired a man more than I did Savage. Wild, reckless, burning desire, desire that I’d never dreamed possible or ever wished to end: that was what I felt for Savage.
We sat in the curving back bench of his Rolls-Royce, racing through the inky darkness of the Hampshire countryside, towards London and away from the house party at Wrenton Manor. There was no moon, no stars, and the only light came from the car’s headlights and silver carriage lanterns. Sitting on the other side of the curtained glass, Savage’s driver clearly had orders to carry us to London as fast as was possible. Savage and I traveled at a breakneck pace, heedless of anything save each other in our luxurious haven.
“You shiver from excitement,” Savage said. He eased aside the front edge of my sable coat to find the red silk of my evening gown. Following the rules of the house we’d just left, I’d daringly worn nothing beneath it—no petticoats, no chemise, no corset—and as he laid his hand upon my thigh I felt at once the heat of his palm and his fingers through the slide of light silk.
He heard the little catch in my breathing, and his smile widened. A flash of reflected light briefly lit his face in the darkness, a glimpse that was exactly long enough to remind me of how seductively, impossibly handsome he was. In that flash his face was all planes and shadows, hard in all the ways that a man should be, and framed by hair as black as his evening clothes. Yet his mouth was sensuously full, and his pale gray-blue eyes could glow with a white-hot intensity that weakened my knees whenever he looked at me, the way he was studying me now.
“You are excited, Mrs. Hart,” he said. “You’re almost feverish. It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”
“To you it is,” I breathed. “Because of you.”
“How very scandalous,” he said with mock severity. “Are all the widows of New York society as eager as you?”
“The past doesn’t matter.” I didn’t need to be reminded of my loveless, stultifying life as Mrs. Arthur Hart that I’d left behind, or of the overbearing husband who’d been impossible to mourn. In my head I’d already begun to divide my life into the time before I’d met Savage and the time since I’d become his. Impatiently I shrugged my shoulders free of my fur coat, too heated now for either its warmth or its ostentation. “The past doesn’t matter at all, not for either of us.”
“Seven days together in London,” Savage said, his voice low. He pushed up the hem of my gown and slid his hand beneath it, roaming higher across my silk stockings and above my jeweled garters to the heated skin of my thigh. “That’s all I offer.”
“That’s all I want,” I said. “You, for seven more days, and seven more nights.”
“There will be talk, you know.” He pulled me onto his lap, where at once I felt the hard, blunt thrust of his cock through his trousers pushing against my bottom. “It means nothing to me, but for a woman—”
“Let them talk,” I said, full of bravado. I meant it, too. Considering the dramatic exit we’d just made together from a house party that had included some of England’s best-bred society, I would be surprised if there weren’t gossip. I ran my palm across his chest, over the immaculate white linen of his shirt and the hard muscles beneath. “They will say what they will regardless.”
“A brave declaration,” he said as if he didn’t believe me. He hooked one finger into the deep neckline of my gown, slowly pulling it down to bare my breasts. I arched towards him, relishing the feel of the silk sliding over my skin. Framed by the red gown and the dark fur, my skin was as pale and luminous as the moonlight, and even in the shadows he must have seen how my nipples were already tight and hard, aching for his touch. “Words may not be the only risk.”
“I told you before,” I said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly to be convincing. “I’m not afraid.”
“You never are, are you?” He was tracing the full underside of one breast with the pad of his thumb and purposefully ignoring my aroused nipple. “Not even when you should be.”
“Savage, if you are trying to—”
“Hush,” he said, pressing his fingertip to my lips. “All I ask is that you do not forget the obvious: that whatever happens between us cannot be undone.”
“I’d never wish for that.” Restlessly I parted my legs with a whisper of silk, feeling the smooth wool of his evening trousers against my bare thigh. I was offering myself to him, wanting him to take me there in the car. The speed, the darkness, even the driver on the other side of the glass only served to heighten my desire. With Savage I was shameless; he’d made me like that.
“But you wish for many other things,” he said, glancing down.
“It’s been hours, Savage,” I said breathlessly. “That dinner was interminable, sitting there beside you and not being able to touch you. I want you now, here. I need you.”
His hand stilled on my breast. “You’re being forward, Eve. Bold, even brazen. That’s not how an Innocent should behave with her Master.”
A guilty flush spread over my face, and I was thankful for the half-light in the car that hid it. He was right, of course. Just because we had left the house where he’d introduced me to the Game (a clever house-party conceit with Masters and Innocents, rules and forfeits, that we’d played at all the time we’d been guests at Wrenton) did not mean our roles had been abandoned, too. How soon I’d forgotten what he’d spent this last week teaching me!
“No, Master,” I murmured, instantly obedient as he expected me to be, and as I’d come to expect of myself as well. “I forgot, Master.”
“You forgot.” He sighed, cupping my breast in the palm of his head and running his thumb lightly over my nipple. “You should be punished for being so forgetful.”
“Yes, Master.” I held my breath, not daring to show how much his torturous little caress was affecting me. “I deserve to be punished.”
“The most obvious punishment, of course, would be to deny you what you most crave.” He shoved the hem of my dress over my hips to bare me below the waist. He slipped his fingers through my dark curls to find the opening of my sex and pushed one thick finger inside. The moisture of my blatant arousal made it easy for him to thrust deep, finding the place inside me that was most sensitive. I gasped, unable not to, and arched my back to take him deeper.
“There,” he said, his voice growing rougher. “That’s what you crave, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Master,” I said, the two words breaking along with my self-control.
“Yes,” he repeated, adding a second finger to stretch and stroke my swollen, greedy passage. “Yet if I were to deny you this, then I would also be punishing myself.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, my sex tightening around his fingers. “That is, no, Master, you do not deserve the same punishment as I.”
“What a perceptive Innocent you are, Eve,” he said, his own breathing growing ragged. “You’ve redeemed your earlier impulsiveness.”
“Thank … thank you, Master,” I whispered, my body trembling taut and straining for the release that he was building within me. From experience I knew he could keep me poised here on the torturous edge of release as long as he wanted to, and I knew, too, that he’d do exactly that if I couldn’t prove myself worthy.
He smiled, a devil’s smile in the half-light. “What would you like as a reward, Eve?”
My fevered quim begged for him to finish what he’d begun and set me free. But that wasn’t the answer he sought, and if I begged he’d only deny me more.
“Your reward?” he asked again. “Surely there’s something you would like, something that would please us both.”
“Your … your cock,” I managed to say. “I would like your cock, Master.”
“Exactly.” His smile widened as he drew his fingers from my sex, and I shuddered at the sudden emptiness. “It’s yours to take.”
Quickly I turned on his lap, sitting with my knees on either side of his thighs. With shaking fingers I undid the row of black buttons on his trousers and at last freed his cock: hard and ruddy and as eager for me as I was for it. I pulled my gown over my head, leaving nothing between us except the long strand of pearls he’d given me yesterday. I loved that he was still clothed with such formality while I was not, the same way it had been the night he’d first fucked me.
With a kind of reverence I took his cock in my hands, heavy and hot and hard as granite in my palms, and he groaned at my touch. Bracing one hand on his shoulder against the swaying motion of the car, I poised to lower myself onto his cock, rubbing the honey-sweet moisture of my quim on its head and prolonging this last delicious moment of anticipation for us both.
“Now, Eve,” he ordered harshly. “Now.”
And with a shuddering sigh I sank down and took him as deep as I could.
Bliss.
Copyright © 2016 by Mia Gabriel
On the road to London, 1907
“You’re not frightened, are you?” The seventh Earl of Savage leaned closer, curling his long arm around the back of my shoulders in a gesture that could have been protective, or something else entirely. “If you’ve any regrets—”
“None,” I said swiftly, determined to show no hesitation, no doubts. “And if I shiver, it’s from excitement, not fear.”
He smiled slowly, and if I hadn’t shivered before I did then. Desire did that to me, and I’d never desired a man more than I did Savage. Wild, reckless, burning desire, desire that I’d never dreamed possible or ever wished to end: that was what I felt for Savage.
We sat in the curving back bench of his Rolls-Royce, racing through the inky darkness of the Hampshire countryside, towards London and away from the house party at Wrenton Manor. There was no moon, no stars, and the only light came from the car’s headlights and silver carriage lanterns. Sitting on the other side of the curtained glass, Savage’s driver clearly had orders to carry us to London as fast as was possible. Savage and I traveled at a breakneck pace, heedless of anything save each other in our luxurious haven.
“You shiver from excitement,” Savage said. He eased aside the front edge of my sable coat to find the red silk of my evening gown. Following the rules of the house we’d just left, I’d daringly worn nothing beneath it—no petticoats, no chemise, no corset—and as he laid his hand upon my thigh I felt at once the heat of his palm and his fingers through the slide of light silk.
He heard the little catch in my breathing, and his smile widened. A flash of reflected light briefly lit his face in the darkness, a glimpse that was exactly long enough to remind me of how seductively, impossibly handsome he was. In that flash his face was all planes and shadows, hard in all the ways that a man should be, and framed by hair as black as his evening clothes. Yet his mouth was sensuously full, and his pale gray-blue eyes could glow with a white-hot intensity that weakened my knees whenever he looked at me, the way he was studying me now.
“You are excited, Mrs. Hart,” he said. “You’re almost feverish. It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”
“To you it is,” I breathed. “Because of you.”
“How very scandalous,” he said with mock severity. “Are all the widows of New York society as eager as you?”
“The past doesn’t matter.” I didn’t need to be reminded of my loveless, stultifying life as Mrs. Arthur Hart that I’d left behind, or of the overbearing husband who’d been impossible to mourn. In my head I’d already begun to divide my life into the time before I’d met Savage and the time since I’d become his. Impatiently I shrugged my shoulders free of my fur coat, too heated now for either its warmth or its ostentation. “The past doesn’t matter at all, not for either of us.”
“Seven days together in London,” Savage said, his voice low. He pushed up the hem of my gown and slid his hand beneath it, roaming higher across my silk stockings and above my jeweled garters to the heated skin of my thigh. “That’s all I offer.”
“That’s all I want,” I said. “You, for seven more days, and seven more nights.”
“There will be talk, you know.” He pulled me onto his lap, where at once I felt the hard, blunt thrust of his cock through his trousers pushing against my bottom. “It means nothing to me, but for a woman—”
“Let them talk,” I said, full of bravado. I meant it, too. Considering the dramatic exit we’d just made together from a house party that had included some of England’s best-bred society, I would be surprised if there weren’t gossip. I ran my palm across his chest, over the immaculate white linen of his shirt and the hard muscles beneath. “They will say what they will regardless.”
“A brave declaration,” he said as if he didn’t believe me. He hooked one finger into the deep neckline of my gown, slowly pulling it down to bare my breasts. I arched towards him, relishing the feel of the silk sliding over my skin. Framed by the red gown and the dark fur, my skin was as pale and luminous as the moonlight, and even in the shadows he must have seen how my nipples were already tight and hard, aching for his touch. “Words may not be the only risk.”
“I told you before,” I said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly to be convincing. “I’m not afraid.”
“You never are, are you?” He was tracing the full underside of one breast with the pad of his thumb and purposefully ignoring my aroused nipple. “Not even when you should be.”
“Savage, if you are trying to—”
“Hush,” he said, pressing his fingertip to my lips. “All I ask is that you do not forget the obvious: that whatever happens between us cannot be undone.”
“I’d never wish for that.” Restlessly I parted my legs with a whisper of silk, feeling the smooth wool of his evening trousers against my bare thigh. I was offering myself to him, wanting him to take me there in the car. The speed, the darkness, even the driver on the other side of the glass only served to heighten my desire. With Savage I was shameless; he’d made me like that.
“But you wish for many other things,” he said, glancing down.
“It’s been hours, Savage,” I said breathlessly. “That dinner was interminable, sitting there beside you and not being able to touch you. I want you now, here. I need you.”
His hand stilled on my breast. “You’re being forward, Eve. Bold, even brazen. That’s not how an Innocent should behave with her Master.”
A guilty flush spread over my face, and I was thankful for the half-light in the car that hid it. He was right, of course. Just because we had left the house where he’d introduced me to the Game (a clever house-party conceit with Masters and Innocents, rules and forfeits, that we’d played at all the time we’d been guests at Wrenton) did not mean our roles had been abandoned, too. How soon I’d forgotten what he’d spent this last week teaching me!
“No, Master,” I murmured, instantly obedient as he expected me to be, and as I’d come to expect of myself as well. “I forgot, Master.”
“You forgot.” He sighed, cupping my breast in the palm of his head and running his thumb lightly over my nipple. “You should be punished for being so forgetful.”
“Yes, Master.” I held my breath, not daring to show how much his torturous little caress was affecting me. “I deserve to be punished.”
“The most obvious punishment, of course, would be to deny you what you most crave.” He shoved the hem of my dress over my hips to bare me below the waist. He slipped his fingers through my dark curls to find the opening of my sex and pushed one thick finger inside. The moisture of my blatant arousal made it easy for him to thrust deep, finding the place inside me that was most sensitive. I gasped, unable not to, and arched my back to take him deeper.
“There,” he said, his voice growing rougher. “That’s what you crave, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Master,” I said, the two words breaking along with my self-control.
“Yes,” he repeated, adding a second finger to stretch and stroke my swollen, greedy passage. “Yet if I were to deny you this, then I would also be punishing myself.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, my sex tightening around his fingers. “That is, no, Master, you do not deserve the same punishment as I.”
“What a perceptive Innocent you are, Eve,” he said, his own breathing growing ragged. “You’ve redeemed your earlier impulsiveness.”
“Thank … thank you, Master,” I whispered, my body trembling taut and straining for the release that he was building within me. From experience I knew he could keep me poised here on the torturous edge of release as long as he wanted to, and I knew, too, that he’d do exactly that if I couldn’t prove myself worthy.
He smiled, a devil’s smile in the half-light. “What would you like as a reward, Eve?”
My fevered quim begged for him to finish what he’d begun and set me free. But that wasn’t the answer he sought, and if I begged he’d only deny me more.
“Your reward?” he asked again. “Surely there’s something you would like, something that would please us both.”
“Your … your cock,” I managed to say. “I would like your cock, Master.”
“Exactly.” His smile widened as he drew his fingers from my sex, and I shuddered at the sudden emptiness. “It’s yours to take.”
Quickly I turned on his lap, sitting with my knees on either side of his thighs. With shaking fingers I undid the row of black buttons on his trousers and at last freed his cock: hard and ruddy and as eager for me as I was for it. I pulled my gown over my head, leaving nothing between us except the long strand of pearls he’d given me yesterday. I loved that he was still clothed with such formality while I was not, the same way it had been the night he’d first fucked me.
With a kind of reverence I took his cock in my hands, heavy and hot and hard as granite in my palms, and he groaned at my touch. Bracing one hand on his shoulder against the swaying motion of the car, I poised to lower myself onto his cock, rubbing the honey-sweet moisture of my quim on its head and prolonging this last delicious moment of anticipation for us both.
“Now, Eve,” he ordered harshly. “Now.”
And with a shuddering sigh I sank down and took him as deep as I could.
Bliss.
Copyright © 2016 by Mia Gabriel
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