Make Me, Sir

“But it’ll leave the trainees short.”

Typical of her to worry about the others. “I’ll work it out with Marcus.” He smiled, knowing the perfect bribe. “There’s an airline ticket for Des Moines waiting for you at the United counter. Eleven tomorrow morning. Go visit your family before school starts. Deal?”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Hell, yes.” She caught his frown and swallowed. “I mean, thank you, Sir.”

“Much better.” He tugged on a braid, then hesitated. She lived alone. “One more thing, pet. Please call here when you get to Des Moines. Just leave a message on the machine that you arrived safely. And if you’re worried about…anything…let me know.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “Something’s wrong. What’s going on?”

The sociable imp always knew all the gossip. He lifted her chin. “You will not discuss this, or that I asked you to take time off. Nothing. Am I clear?”

From the way she shrank, he’d scared her. Excellent.

“Yes, Sir. Get ticket, leave Tampa, check in, and don’t talk about it at all.”

“Very good. Off you go now.” He returned to the club’s other contender for brattiest sub. Jessica. Earlier he’d felt her emotions, a hodgepodge quite unlike his straightforward sub. Sadness definitely, uncertainty also. Her behavior had been worse than normal, especially in the Shadowlands, and damned if he knew why. Perhaps something to do with his boys" visit. He studied her for a minute.

Damn, he loved her—loved her more every day they remained together. She returned it, but could he keep her happy? He was older, as his sons had so tactlessly pointed out, and love didn’t overcome everything. Over the last year, he’d carefully avoided any commitment so that she could back out of their relationship if she wanted.

Did she want to? Was her behavior a prelude to calling it quits? Or a reflection of his own moods?

They needed to have a long, long talk, but not now, not when he couldn’t share the information about the kidnappings and investigation. Damn the FBI bastards for insisting on secrecy.

Rubbing his neck, he strolled back to his feisty kitten. Her green eyes shot sparks at him as he took advantage of her helpless condition to enjoy her breasts, using his mouth and fingers until her nipples stood out in hard, dark red peaks. He moved down to her soft thighs, spread so invitingly open—her pussy, already wet and slick. He teased her, waiting for when her growling turned to panting and her face flushed with arousal.

And then he removed her gag and took her mouth, stroking his tongue against hers, working his fingers over her clit. No matter what might happen, for the moment, she was his. As her clit engorged under his touch, she whimpered and squirmed.

When he stepped back, her body strained toward him, needing more. As she remembered where she was, she turned adorably red. “You manipulative jerk.”

“Am I now?”

His cold tone snapped her attention to his face, and she winced. He held her gaze and unzipped his slacks. Being taken in public embarrassed her, but it also excited her. He smiled slowly. How many climaxes would it take before she’d lose her voice? Until exhaustion overwhelmed any urge for disobedience?

“Z. Master. Wait.”

“No,” he said softly. “I will not.”

* * *

Well, he’d certainly been wrong about the redheaded sub. The spotter leaned back against the bar, smiling. A few minutes ago, Marcus had dragged the submissive from the Shadowlands. Not a peep out of her.

Looking broken—but that’s what he’d thought before. Apparently a dom could subdue her for a time, as with the spanking last week, but she came right back, snapping and biting. He’d laughed when she’d noisily objected to the slave clothing.

And because of her spirit, the figging scene had been most entertaining. Yes, he’d definitely include her in his report this week. Delightful.

A shame Marcus hadn’t paddled her when she had the ginger up her ass. A submissive anticipating the next blow would clench her buttocks, but the increased pressure heightened the burn from the fig, so she’d relax only to receive a hard swat on the ass.

Well, when they harvested her, he’d suggest it. Perhaps as part of the auction to keep the buyers amused. He might even volunteer to wield the paddle.

Grinning, he nodded at Cullen, then glanced over to the submissive area. Still an adequate variety and he had a craving for a soft one. He considered. There was a younger woman, and he did enjoy youth, but no. He’d utilize the plump, older sub. Tears came too easily on a young one. Older ones resisted better, giving more satisfaction when they screamed and begged.

Chapter Eleven

This is totally insane. Stupid. Gabi scowled as she let Marcus help her out of his sedan. “I feel fine,” she said. “I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do, Darlin’.” He put his arm around her as if he thought she’d fall down without his help. “You can act as ornery as you want, but you’re not going to stay alone tonight.” He nuzzled the top of her head.

“Oh honestly.” She might have had a chance to protest at the club…if she could have managed, but for some bizarre reason, her synapses hadn’t all been firing. After talking with Z, he’d had Sally fetch her purse and clothes and stuffed Gabi in his car before she could pull it together.

On the ride to his house, she’d thought about Agent Rhodes and had almost panicked until she remembered that Master Z had hugged her and murmured he’d notify her friend. Dickhead would have a fit, and wasn’t she a bad person to enjoy that he’d yell at Master Z rather than her?

But in all reality, Marcus was right. She shouldn’t drive right now, no matter how much her conscience objected.

That settled, she felt her excitement rise. Master Marcus had brought her to his home. She’d stay with him…all night. And she wanted to. To sleep in his arms, maybe have sex again. Find out more about him and… Damn, don’t be stupid. This is a temporary assignment, Gabi, not a date.

Motion detector-regulated lights came on as they walked up to the front and through a black iron gate into a tiny entranceway filled with sweetly fragrant gardenias. Inside, Marcus let go of her to turn and punch numbers into a security pad. After the humidity of the night, the dry, cool air made Gabi shiver. She wore her yellow top and hot pants Marcus had helped her put on. Hell, he’d practically dressed her. Now, standing here in fetish wear in this nice house, she felt like a slut.

She took a step back, reaching for the handle of the door.

Turning from the keypad, Marcus frowned and stepped closer. His warm hand cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong, Darlin’?”

“I just…” He wanted honesty, and her brain was still moving too slow to come up with some excuse. She gestured to her clothes. “I feel sleazy.”

“Then take it off.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “On the rare occasions I bring a submissive home, I generally make her spend the weekend naked.”

“You—” When she gave him an appalled stare, his laugh filled the room, sending quivers through her stomach.

“Yes, I really do.” His thumb traced her lips as he studied her. “I’m not a twenty-four-hour dom, but I consider nights and weekends to be open season on little subs in my house.”

All weekend? “But—”

“But you’ve had enough tonight, lucky little sub, so don’t get flustered on me.”

When she sighed in relief, he laughed again. “Let me show you around.” He walked ahead of her to turn on lights, and she couldn’t help but notice how his jeans and T-shirt clung to his hard body.

The entry opened into a great room where one side held an intimate seating area, the other side a man’s favorite toy—a giant HDTV. She grinned. The decor appeared very Marcus. Creamy white walls, light marble tile floors, rich brown leather chairs and couches. Everything balanced, the colors clean but warm, although the lack of brightness struck her as sad.

A decorative glass-fronted black iron woodstove separated the living area from the dining area. How fun. Tampa did—occasionally—get chilly enough to warrant a fire. Did he sometimes throw a blanket on the floor and make love to a woman in front of it? The stab of longing to be that woman struck her without warning. “You have a lovely home,” she said, turning away from the room and the emotion.

“Thank you. Now come along, Darlin’.” He cuffed his fingers around her wrist, making her stomach quake, and led her down the hallway to the master bedroom. Beige carpet, creamy white drapes, a massive bed covered with a dark blue satin quilt. The carved wood dresser and bedside stands matched the dark wood of the four posters. Curiously she ran her fingers over a scratched section of one of the spindles. Everything else seemed in perfect condition.

Even though she hadn’t spoken, his dazzling smile appeared. “From restraints.”

Oh. She stepped away quickly, abruptly aware of her isolation with a man, someone she’d only known two weeks. A dominant.

His eyes narrowed. Then he pulled her into his arms. “Gabi, no matter where we are or what we do, your safe word still works. And as it happens, I’m not fixin" to throw you on the bed and tie you up. You’re done for tonight.” His hand moved down her back in a slow stroke of comfort.