Make Me, Sir

As Holt walked in a slow circle around her, Gabrielle’s face flushed, her hands clenching. Her weight shifted from leg to leg as if she realized how vulnerable her ass was in that position. Nervous. Excited. Very nice.

Taking his time, Holt played with her pussy and breasts to increase her arousal. Marcus had watched the dom work before. He did a fine job, although Marcus wanted to be the one with his hands running over her soft ass and teasing her pale pink nipples to stand erect.

Holt started to switch her lightly, watching her reactions.

After a few gentle swats, Gabrielle fisted her hands, and her mouth tightened—not in pain, but as if she struggled with herself. Here we go, Marcus thought, not sure whether to laugh or curse.

“Is this all you got?” she asked loudly. “Hey, even that stuffy trainer hits harder.”

Stuffy trainer. Well, damn.

In a tuneful voice, she sang, “Anything you can do, he can do better…”

Marcus smothered a smile.

Holt tapped the switch on his palm, then tossed it aside, obviously deciding to see why she deliberately provoked him. He sauntered around the stocks and fisted his hand in her hair. The music from the dance floor drowned out whatever he said to her. Then he walked back and picked up the switch. Marcus assessed him—still in control. No anger. Good enough.

Turning his attention to Gabrielle, Marcus stiffened. Her face had turned dead white and expressionless, her eyes blank. What the hell had Holt said to her? Even as Marcus rose, Holt swung, caught her abnormally still body language, and pulled the blow. He tossed the switch aside again and reached her head just as Marcus got to the ropes.

“Marcus, help me get her loose. She’s frozen up.” With one hand, Holt rubbed Gabrielle’s back; with the other, he unlatched the bar. He crooned, “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe.” He flipped back the upper bar that trapped her neck and wrists. “Gabrielle. Look at me, Gabrielle.” He shook his head at Marcus. “She’s out of it, dammit.”

But her legs hadn’t buckled, Marcus realized as he pulled her shorts up and helped move her out of the stocks. His gut tightened. This wasn’t a normal reaction at all. Holt wrapped an arm around her, holding her up, still in charge of the scene. When her legs buckled, Marcus forced himself not to reach for her, but God, he wanted to—to snatch her away, to hold her, to see what was wrong.

Holt looked up. “I’m still a stranger to her, and I’m not going to play pissing games with a terrified sub. Take her.”

Marcus gave him a grateful nod and swung her into his arms. “Sugar, you’re safe. Relax now. You’re safe.” He stepped out of the roped-off area.

Olivia in a dungeon monitor vest waited nearby to see if they needed help.

“We got it,” he murmured to her and settled onto a couch, Holt dropping down beside them. With an arm behind her back, Marcus leaned Gabrielle against his chest, then cupped her cheek. “Gabrielle, I need for you to look at me now,” he said gently.

Her eyes were wide, unfocused, much like a sub in endorphin overload, but her stiff body, pale face, and clammy skin indicated something else. Worry deepened and sharpened his voice. “Gabrielle. Look. At. Me.”

She jerked as if he’d slapped her. Some of the blankness receded from her gaze. She blinked and stared at him, then around, obviously not remembering how she’d ended up on his lap. When she shivered, he wrapped his arms around her.

Holt fetched a fluffy subbie blanket and tucked it over the girl.

“Thank you,” she whispered and frowned at the young dom. “I was with you, wasn’t I? The stocks?”

“You were, Gabrielle.” Holt took her hand and watched her reaction carefully. She didn’t jerk away. “Can you tell me what happened? What scared you?”

She shook her head, her brows together.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Her smile wavered a little. “I don’t…” Her muscles tightened.

“Easy, sugar,” Marcus murmured.

She glanced up at him. “Marcus?” Her body relaxed, melting into him.

He kissed the top of her head. She trusted him, and the knowledge warmed him. Relieved him. To see the feisty little sub reduced to frozen fear had worried the hell out of him.

“You smarted off to Holt,” Marcus said. “Do you remember?”

She nodded, glanced under her lashes at the dom. “Um. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You tried to get a rise out of me,” Holt said. “Did you really want me to switch you harder?”

Tensing again, she shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

Marcus frowned. One more time where her insolent behavior didn’t make sense. She didn’t like pain. Sometimes a sub wanted a dom’s attention, but Gabrielle already had that.

He shook his head. Analyze later, Atherton. Right now, he needed to know what had caused her response, and since she didn’t remember, they’d go through it step-by-step. “Holt grabbed your hair,” Marcus said. Moving slowly, he curled his fingers into her hair and pulled.

If anything, she softened against him.

Holt grinned. “Well, that certainly wasn’t it.”

“Then Holt said something to you. Do you remember what, Darlin’?”

“He did?” She bit her lip and frowned at the younger dom. “You grabbed my hair, and you bent over and—” Her muscles started to tense.

“Gabrielle,” Marcus snapped.

She jerked and looked up.

“There we go. Stay with me, Darlin’.” He stroked her shaggy hair, and she eased back with a tired sigh. “Holt, can you give it to her piece by piece?”

Holt’s mouth flattened, and he squeezed Gabrielle’s hand. “I don’t want to scare you again, sweetheart, but we need to find out what did this. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but her body stilled. She might not consciously remember the cause, but something inside her did.

“You little brat,” Holt said.

Gabrielle’s exhalation was almost a laugh.

Smiling, Marcus rubbed his chin across her head. Nothing kept this spitfire down long, did it? The knot in his stomach loosened.

“Guess it wasn’t that.” Holt smiled and fed her the next part: “You obviously want to be beaten hard…”

A tiny flinch from her, but no fear.

Holt nodded. “…or maybe you’re a dirty slut who—”

Gabrielle’s body turned rigid. Her eyes went blank.

“That’s it.” Marcus lifted her chin again. “Gabrielle, look at me. Now!” he snapped.

The bond he’d established with her reached deep, and she shuddered. Her eyes focused on his.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re a very good girl. Stay with me, Darlin’.” Because you’re scaring the hell out of me when you don’t.

She sighed and leaned into him again.

Marcus glanced at Holt. The dom’s face tightened with unhappiness and guilt. “I wanted to find out if she liked being called names.”

Quite a few subs got off on a dom calling them slut or whore or dirty. “You weren’t out of line, Holt. I’ve never seen such an extreme reaction to verbal humiliation. This is something from the past.”

“Yeah, well.” The dom ran a hand through his hair. “You going to work on this with her?”

“Definitely.”

“All right then.” His expression turned harsh. “If you discover who taught her that kind of fear…I’d enjoy giving him a lesson in manners.”

Marcus nodded. So would I. As the other dom walked away, Marcus stroked Gabrielle’s pale cheek and studied on the matter.

“Dirty slut.” Some women might be disgusted, some affronted, some turned on. But Gabrielle’s reaction seemed closer to a catatonic flashback. What could have happened in her past to set such a trigger? The most likely cause would be…

His arms felt so good, and he shed heat like the sun on a summer day. Gabi pressed her cheek against the smooth shirt covering his muscular chest. She should get back to playing decoy, but her body didn’t want to move. She stared at the stocks. They’d released her, carried her here, and she didn’t remember. How could she have blanked out? As fear spiraled up her spine, she took a death grip on Marcus’s suit. Don’t let go.

At her movement, he ran his knuckles over her cheek and used his thumb under her chin to turn her face up. His intense scrutiny felt as if he could see through her clothing, even her body, all the way into her inner self. She couldn’t look away.

“You ever played out a rape scenario, sugar?” he asked in a rough voice, as if the ugly word had abraded away the smoothness.

As her skin turned cold, nausea wrung her stomach like a dirty washcloth. She dug her fingers into his forearm and encountered only rocklike muscles. “No.” No no no. “No, please, Sir.”

“I see.” He released her face and curled his strong fingers around hers, anchoring her in the present. “When were you raped?”

Her air disappeared as if he’d hit her in the solar plexus, and her next inhalation struggled against the constriction in her chest. “How…how did you know?”

His eyes stayed steady on hers. “I didn’t, Darlin’. But now I do. When?”