Make Me, Sir
Page 25

His thin lips curved into a pleased smile, and his hands tightened.
Uh-oh. She tried to retreat.
Despite her struggles, he turned her easily and then swatted her bottom really, really hard, right on top of where the switch had hit.
The burning pain swamped the stinging left from the switch. “Damn you, that hurt!”
He pulled her back against his chest to murmur in her ear, “I’m a sadist, girl, and I enjoy the sound of pain. If you don’t want to scream, watch carefully how you behave around me.”
A tremor of true fear ran up her spine before he chuckled and let her go. This time she ran like hell.
A few minutes later, she slowed and bent over to brace her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Note to self—must exercise more. When she straightened, she saw a solid wood fence blocked her way. She’d reached the far end of the gardens. How many acres was this place? She turned to head back, choosing a path that led past a pure white flower garden glowing in the moonlight.
A dark shape stepped out of the nearby bushes. “Come here, dirty slut.”
She froze, her breath gone, unable to move as the man stalked closer.
“Gabrielle.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Gabrielle. Look. At. Me. Use the safe word. Say it.”
Marcus. It’s Marcus. She stared up at his strong face. His masculine scent blended with that of the tropical flowers, and she could breathe again. “Red,” she whispered.
He smiled and pulled her into his arms for a hug. “Very, very good, Darlin’.”
When he started to release her, she clung, and without objecting, he held her as her pounding heart rate slowed, as her muscles unknotted. Eventually he pulled back. “Ready for more?”
No. But she firmed her lips. Turn into a brainless vegetable because of some words? Nothing Marcus might do to her could be scarier than that. “Yes.”
“More it is. I’m proud of you, sugar.” He leaned down to kiss her, lightly nibbling at first, then taking her mouth with such a fierce, possessive hunger that her world filled with his touch and taste.
God, the man could kiss.
He whispered, “Stay brave, little sub.” He took two panther-quiet steps. Then the shadows swallowed him.
She frowned at how well he’d disappeared and realized she saw no yellow light. He’d taken off his glow stick, probably hidden it in his jeans pocket. Sneaky bastard.
After a few steps, she broke into a run. Let him try to keep up—why should he have this too easy? After rounding a corner, she turned. No sight of him.
Calloused hands grabbed her and jerked her back against a hard body. “Filthy fuckhole.”
She froze.
“Safe word. Say it, Gabrielle.”
“Red.”
Four more times, he sent her into the darkness and found her again. At the last interception, reeling with exhaustion, she spat the word at him without even a pause. “Red, you bastard.”
He laughed, and then his hand fisted in her hair as he held her and took possession of her mouth. He kissed her as she’d always dreamed of being kissed, hard and deep.
When he pulled back, he had to drag her arms from where she’d wrapped them around his neck. “Let’s head back, sugar,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice.
She gave a small sigh. His kiss had energized her, and right now she wished he’d chase her for…fun…instead of to spout dumb words at her. “I s’pose.”
“You suppose?” Instead of moving away, he stepped closer. His hard hand cupped her breast. Held it. Weighed it in his palm.
She gasped at the sudden streak of fire through her.
“You don’t seem all that tired, darlin’,” he said with the slow drawl thick in his voice, the one he got when he was angry or considering doing something interesting, like really playing the game.
Her mouth went dry as her skin seemed to tighten. If he chased her for real, would she get scared? She saw the same question in his eyes. She considered and decided within a bare second. Maybe he’d frighten her, but the idea of having him catch her…take her…sent heat rolling low in her pelvis. A tremor shook her as she threw caution away. “I’m not tired at all, Sir. In fact, I might run back to the house and get a less …wimpy…partner.”
He gave a deep laugh. “Might you indeed.” He pulled his glow stick out of his pocket and fastened it on his wrist, then tilted her chin up. “You think you’ll make it there before I catch you?”
Her breath caught, and it sure wasn’t from fear. She snorted derisively. “Piece of cake.”
He stepped back. “I’ll count to one hundred.”
Counting in her head, she poured on the speed for seventy-five seconds, veering right and left, then left again, picking directions that led away from the house. Yeah, he’d never find her. Of course, he always did. Trying to catch her breath silently, she walked, keeping her wrist in front of her. As she peered through the darkness and white seething fog, she realized few of the glow sticks moved quickly anymore. Most were in groups of three, showing the dom had caught his sub. A few matched colors hovered low to the ground, and she giggled, knowing exactly what that meant.
She reached the back fence again, and no Marcus. Turning, she took a path leading toward the house, a little disappointed. The idea that Marcus would want—really want—to make love to her had set her blood on fire.
The other subs always sighed when they talked about him.
She grimaced. Most of the trainees—except for Sally—didn’t like her because of her bratty behavior. Her steps slowed as the excitement trickled out of her. Aside from her parents, people liked her; here almost no one did. Her shoulders sagged.
A couple of trainees said she took up too much of Master Marcus’s time. She sighed. He probably felt the same way. She sure wouldn’t be a very satisfactory trainee. He never acted disgusted—she’d had a lifetime of handling that, after all—but she hated disappointing him over and over. She massaged the aching place under her ribs. “I am so looking forward to when this is over,” she muttered.
Somewhere near the middle of the gardens, a woman screamed out her climax, and Gabi stopped at the jolt of envy.
Yet the game had lost its appeal. I’m not here to play. When this ended, she’d never see any of these people again. Even if she could, no one would welcome her, not after the way she’d acted. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, and her eyes blurred.
Speaking of games, she needed to get back and resume her act. Returning without Marcus would be a good defiant action. Lifting her head, she searched for a path to take. Her gaze snagged on a bright yellow glow a few feet away. Not moving.
“I do believe you’re the only sub I’ve seen reduced to tears before her dom caught her,” Marcus’s soft drawl came from the shadows. He’d been standing there, watching her wallow in unhappiness.
She gulped, wanting to bury her face against his chest and cry. Not going to happen, wussy girl. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, realizing she stood in the open, illumined by the moonlight. “I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.”
A snort of laughter. “I do enjoy your way with words, trainee.” A pause and his voice lowered, the threat as obvious as a cat’s unsheathed claws. “Run.”
Oh God. Fear ripped across her nerves, and she bolted toward the thicker bushes. If she got around those—and she did—he’d have a more difficult time spotting her bracelet. But she lost track of him.
Panting, she stopped and spun in a circle—and spotted a yellow glow stick. A few feet away. Perfectly still.
“Run.”
Her heart hammered even before she sprinted across the path. He—What was he going to do when he caught her? He really was a cat, toying with his prey. She veered around a hedge and ran straight into him, a solid wall of muscle. “Oooph!”
He chuckled and set her on her feet. “The next time, sugar, I’m taking you down.” He stepped back a pace. “Run.”
Chapter Ten
The low-voiced threat sent excitement churning through her, making her aware of the cool fog against her ankles, the way bushes scraped on her naked body when she got too close, the way her breasts jostled as she ran. A corner. Another. She popped into a secluded spot to catch her breath, and back out and—
He grabbed her from behind.
“No!” Instinctive terror blasted her. She twisted and shoved at him frantically.
Marcus… It was Marcus, not a stranger. Okay. Okay. Using her head now, she pulled and sidestepped, and his hands slipped off her oily body.
“Li’ll brat.” He made another grab for her.
I’m a greased pig, all right. Giggling, she dashed for the far side of the clearing, gaining only a few yards before his hand closed on her arm—and she yanked out off his grasp. No hitting or scratching, she reminded herself.
“You are a slippery little thing, aren’t you?” he said, his southern accent markedly increased. The bastard grabbed her hair.
“Ow!” She turned to hit him—rules be damned—and he moved faster than she’d thought possible. Setting an arm behind her shoulders, the other up between her legs, he yanked her hips forward, tipping her backward, then dropped down on his knees with her in his arms. Before she got her balance, he rolled her onto her stomach.