Make Me, Sir
The word he said under his breath could never have come from Mr. Conservative, and she stared at him in shock.
He laughed, his deep, infectious laugh that was almost as startling as hearing him curse. He pulled her hand away from her scar and kissed her fingertips. After picking up the shoes, he put his arm over her shoulder and started walking again.
As the tide came in, the waves flowed farther up the sand, engulfing and tickling their feet in frothy white water. She smiled. Then the tightness returned to her chest. What would it be like to never be part of any of this again?
He squeezed her shoulder, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you think less of yourself because you’re afraid?”
“A little. Other people manage to do this kind of thing all the time.”
“And some hide in their houses scared to come out,” he said. “You learned about violence at an early age and in a particularly ugly way, Gabrielle. But more than that…”
She glanced up at him, and his eyes met hers.
“You have a caring personality. You understand people and want to help. That’s different from a soldier’s mind-set. You’re more vulnerable to the damage that evil can create.” His brows drew together. “You must have studied this in college, and you had counseling. You should know this, sugar.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I do. I did. But deliberately setting myself up for—” She halted. She hadn’t planned to mention—
“I heard you volunteered because of your friend.” Despite the concerned expression on his face, his gaze held only warm approval. “You’re a loyal friend, Gabi.”
Her laugh came easily, as if her tears had hollowed out room for happier emotions. “Nah, I just wanted an excuse to hang out in a BDSM club.”
He chuckled, then cursed as an incoming wave soaked the bottoms of his rolled-up jeans.
She giggled.
One second before the next wave hit, he swung her around to reverse their positions. She squeaked as cold water splashed up her calves, soaked the material over her thighs, and ran down her legs, turning her skin to goose bumps. “You…you scumbag dipwad.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you call your dom a name?”
She giggled, then protested, “You’re not my dom.”
“Am I not?” Deliberately, he tossed their shoes onto the dry sand and advanced on her.
“No, wait.” Hands up, she waded farther into the water until it hit her knees and each wave tested her balance.
He stopped, and his smile faded. “Seriously, Gabi, do you want me to arrange a different dom for you?”
The thought of losing him actually hurt, like a cruel blow somewhere deep inside. Obviously she’d ventured farther with him than was safe. A wave surged into her, and she staggered on the shifting sand—the footing was definitely unstable. She and Marcus had no solid foundation either, but…for right now, she’d cherish the time with him. Hell, she could end up enslaved or dead before this week ended—might as well take what she wanted from life. “I want you,” she said, then winced. “Uh. I still have to behave like a brat.”
He chuckled and heaved a mock sigh of complaint. “You planning to make this here weekend a nightmare for me?”
“You bet.” And what a relief he now realized it was an act—well, some of it was an act.
“In that case, I’m fixin’ to feel badly every time I punish you.” His face sobered. “I truly will, Gabi. I understand why Galen and Vance demanded secrecy. I don’t think I could have…” He shook his head.
He was the kind of dom who would hurt for doing what must be done. “I know. It’s okay.”
“Well, that’s good then.” He curved his hands around her waist in a hard grip. “However, Li’ll brat, I reckon I’m not going to regret this at all.”
She frowned at him. This?
He actually grinned. Then he lifted her and tossed her head over heels into the water.
Chapter Sixteen
When Gabi walked into the Shadowlands that Friday, apprehension crept up her spine. How would the Masters treat her now?
She spotted Agent Rhodes sitting at the end of the bar and snickered at his glare. Had Vance or Galen taken him down a peg? Or maybe the fact that they hadn’t reprimanded her torqued his jaw. She veered to avoid him and headed for the other end of the bar, where Master Raoul talked with the big bartender.
“Ah, if it isn’t our wayward trainee.” Raoul smiled at her, his dark eyes warm.
She flushed, remembering how he’d held her…and how rudely she’d behaved afterward. “Good evening, Master Raoul…oh, Master of the Universe,” she amended quickly. Damn these doms for making it so easy to forget her role.
“Master of the Universe? That doesn’t sound too bad.” Cullen leaned an arm on his bar and grinned. “So how do I get greeted, little sub?”
“Well…” He was baiting her. Deliberately. She tried to forget that he’d put a ball gag on her for being mouthy and raised her voice so the people seated around the bar could hear her. “You know how really big guys are always nicknamed Tiny?” She didn’t wait for any response, afraid she’d chicken out. “Guess that would make you Master Munchkin, huh?”
Raoul choked on his beer, sputtering so hard Gabi helpfully slapped him on the shoulders. Several times, although his back felt like a concrete wall.
Success—now she had two doms glaring at her, and Andrea stood behind Cullen, hands over her mouth, trying to smother her laughter and failing miserably.
The other reactions around the bar varied. Some of the doms grinned. A few looked displeased, their expressions similar enough to her father’s that she retreated a step as her backbone of oak turned to willow.
“Is this trainee acting out again?” At the sound of Marcus’s soft drawl, excitement replaced her dread. She started to spin, only to have him yank her back against his body. His hard chest pressing against hers and his unbending strength somehow emptied her mind like someone had opened a drain.
“Impertinent submissive,” Raoul snapped, and his dark brown eyes turned mean. “Nothing new for this one. You’re doing a lousy job of bringing her to heel, Marcus.”
“Bring me to heel? Like I’m a dog?” Without thinking, Gabi instinctively yanked away and snapped out, “Bite me.”
“I’d say she does need to be brought to heel.” Marcus’s blue eyes chilled. “Cullen, do you still have the toys Margery left?”
Cullen laughed, loud and strong. Her stomach sank. Dammit, she’d only arrived a few minutes ago. A little warm-up would have been nice.
He rummaged in the shelves under the bar, and she felt a glimmer of hope. Considering how much junk he had stored, maybe he wouldn’t—
“Bingo.” He shoved a brown paper sack across the bar to Marcus.
“Is there a problem here?” Master Z strolled up to the bar.
Oh God, they’re conglomerating. Nooo.
“Afraid so, Z,” Raoul said, pulling the sack closer. He smiled at her. “Lose the clothes, subbie.”
“No way. I’ve only had this on a half an hour,” she protested without moving. “I like this dress.”
Marcus lifted her chin. “You’ve been disrespectful to the doms and disobedient. Since a spanking didn’t work, let’s see if humiliation will incite you to more attractive behavior.”
The relentless look in his eyes and the controlled power in his voice turned her body into a forge of heat, melting her bones. It took a minute for the meaning of his words to catch up. Wait, wait, wait. Humiliation?
He pulled her closer and unzipped her skintight, black latex dress. Her skin seemed to yearn toward him, and as if he knew, he slid his fingers under the material and fondled her breasts. He held her gaze as he touched her, rubbing his thumbs in circles over her nipples until the peaks bunched painfully and a tremor of need shook her body.
“There we go,” he said. “All warmed up and ready for action.”
What kind of action? The nipple clamps came to mind, and she tried to take a step back.
He pulled the dress over her head. “I’ve always preferred my subs naked anyway.”
His strong hands held her waist firmly, warm against her skin, and she stared up, bathed in the clear blue of his eyes. Every time she looked at him, the world seemed to slip sideways.
Then she shook her head. Get over it. She saw Raoul pick up her dress and hand it to Cullen. Naked, dammit. Even worse, she had a hunch they’d barely started.
Marcus took a dog collar off the bar and buckled it around her neck. The controlled heat in his eyes pinned her far more securely than any restraint. Something shook deep inside, like an earthquake so far below the surface that nothing moves above.
“I like seeing you in a collar,” he said softly. His fingers checked the fit, tracing along the edge of the leather. Arousal bloomed in her body as if he’d touched her pussy instead, and he smiled into her eyes and ran his fingers the other direction.
He slid fur mittens over her hands, fastening small buckles, which would prevent her from removing them unless she used her teeth. Furry mittens. A collar. Her stomach tightened as she began to suspect what they planned. “Bite me.” She’d made a really poor choice of words.