Make Me, Sir
Page 30

Like she’d figured, his facial muscles tightened until his cheekbones stood out. “How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“They should be horse whipped.”
“Too late. They’re dead.” Amusement died as sorrow swept through her, a cold wind that left an ache deep inside her chest.
“Tell me, sugar.” He released her gaze and massaged her other foot. The strength of his hands felt like stability in a wavering world.
“I lived there around a year or so. The streets got rougher. Money got harder to find, so Rock started dealing even though two gangs were fighting for the territory already. One gang showed up at the apartment. They killed Rock and Danny and…” She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, despite the way her stomach had turned over. Everything in her curled up into a tiny ball of pain. She swallowed. “I didn’t die—just got cut up a little.” And raped.
His gaze traced the scar down her face. “So you were there when they killed your friends?” he asked softly.
Finish the story; get it over with. She jerked her head in a nod and stared at the red wine in her glass. “Danny opened the door, and they shot him.” The pistol blasted, the sound shocking, terrible, filling the room, drowning out the shouts, her screams. Danny seemed to fly back. He hit the floor, his eyes wide, mouth open, blood everywhere. She hadn’t even managed to stand up. He’d made love to her early that morning, told her she was his special girl. “Rock had a gun on the kitchen table. He shot once and… They had a machine pistol.” Bullets splintering the wood, ringing against metal…against flesh. His body jerked like he was having a seizure, and everything turned red as he hit the wall.
Marcus pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He did that a lot, didn’t he?
“You know, he’d buy me romance novels. We were broke, but somehow he’d still find me books,” she whispered, heart aching.
His gaze didn’t leave her face, a lifeline to keep her from drowning in the past. “Go on. Tell me the rest.”
“I grabbed a knife and tried—”
“You attacked them with a knife?” Marcus interrupted in a strangled voice.
“They shot my Danny and Rock. I was so mad, and I wanted to hurt them. I got the one with the gun, actually.” Her hand closed in a fist as if the wooden handle fit there. She felt the nauseating horror when the blade had slid in to the bone. His scream still brought her out of sleep sometimes.
Marcus uncurled her fingers and clasped her hand instead.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said, unsure even now whether she was relieved or disappointed.
“Sugar, you might have found that hard to live with…and they’d have killed you in turn.”
“Probably. They cut me instead.” Their cursing, the knife flashing, the odd splitting down her cheek. Warm liquid on her face and neck, turning the white flowers on the couch a garish red. The pain—God, the pain. Their laughter changing. Calling her horrible names. Hands pushing her down, holding her, tearing her… She heard herself whimper.
“Shhh, Darlin’, shhh. It’s over.” Marcus’s voice. His wonderful, masculine scent.
She found a bit of air, used it, and found a bit more. Her fingernails had dug trenches into his palm. She forced her hand open and tried to laugh. It sounded ghastly. “When the cops busted in, I was… Well, at least they didn’t shoot me. And then one man”—Thank you, God, for giving me Abe—“one man talked me out of the corner I was hiding in.”
His arms tightened as if he could protect her. Far too late for that. Yet when he sighed and rested his cheek on top of her head, his concern washed her fear away like waves rolling over a sandy beach. “I’m sorry, Gabi,” he murmured. “For you and for your friends.”
“They were only in their early twenties. Younger than I am now.” Too young to have everything stop. The bitter sorrow never quite left her. “Well, that’s the story.”
He stayed silent for a minute, and she didn’t mind at all. He could hold her all night if he wanted.
“You’ve obviously been with other men since then,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm.” Her cheek against his chest, she could feel the springy hair beneath his silky robe. “I had trouble the first couple of times.” Kim had encouraged her, held her when she had nightmares afterward. She’d been the one to drag Gabi to a BDSM club the next year. Nothing scared Kim; no conventions slowed her down. Gabi buried her face against Marcus and pulled in a slow breath. We’ll save you, Kim. Hang on.
“But you got to the point you could go home with a man…with a little liquid incentive?” Marcus said lightly, helping her return to stable ground. His hand massaged the tensed muscles in her shoulders.
“Yes.”
“Your first night, we talked briefly about more than one man. And when you watched a ménage, it excited you.” He paused. “Gabi, is a threesome something you really want or will it give you nightmares?”
“I…I’m not sure.” She blew out a breath, torn between the push and pull. “I think I might like to try it. Having sex actually quieted some of my fears.” She swallowed and added, “Sometimes, even with one man, I feel too many hands, and it scares me. Maybe I could get past that.”
“I see.” He rubbed his chin over her head. “I’ll mull over how to set it up.”
“Thanks.” I think.
“Did you go home eventually?”
“Yeah.” Not that she’d wanted to. Her parents’ disapproval had hung like a miasma in the air: You brought it all on yourself. “I went back to school and everything.”
“What do you do now?”
“I’m—” “I do ask that you not lie to me.” She realized she’d hesitated too long, way too long for an experienced dom.
“I take it this is one of the things you prefer not to discuss?” he said, his voice as gentle as the hand rubbing her arm.
“Yes, please, Sir.”
He sighed and shifted her to lean more comfortably in his arms—and to where he could watch her face, she realized. “Then let’s talk about why you’re so defiant a submissive. Why you’re insolent even when you don’t want to be.”
Oh hell. Tell the truth…without getting into the real truth. “Uh. I’m just like that. Even as a kid. My parents are…rather rigid, and I’ve never been much for following rules.”
His chuckle rumbled inside his chest. “I can believe it.”
“I guess I never got out of the habit.”
His perceptive gaze pinned her. “You were a rebellious child, and you have a sassy nature, but sometimes there’s more, Darlin’. I think something drives you to cause a fuss. Any idea why?”
She averted her eyes and shut her mouth.
Silence. He cupped her cheek, turning her face back. “I want to help you, but I need to know what’s causing all this. Don’t you trust me enough to share it with me?”
Guilt sent dark streaks through her, but she couldn’t. Her throat clogged. She managed to shake her head. No.
“I see.”
He let her bury her face against him so she could force the tears back. Could pull herself together. When she finally pushed upright, he smiled at her and put her glass of wine into her hand. “Let’s watch a movie.”
He acted as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t disappointed him. The relief was immense. “I’d love to.”
“I don’t have any chick flicks, and I doubt you’d enjoy horror right now. But I keep some DVDs for my sister's children. How about Shrek or The Lion King?”
“Tough choice.” She often watched movies with her young clients. The Lion King was her favorite, but a guy would probably prefer: “Shrek.”
She fell asleep listening to an ogre talking about the layers of an onion.
* * *
She awoke the next morning feeling wonderful. Well, aside from the various aches screaming at her when she moved. Scraped knees. And a tender butt. She grinned, remembering Master Raoul’s switch.
During the night, she’d woken from a horrible nightmare with Marcus’s deep, slow voice pulling her to safety and comfort. Ignoring her apologies, he’d turned her so her back rested against his chest. Since he’d refused to let her wear anything to bed, his hot, hard erection had rubbed on her bare bottom. And then he’d cupped her breast in one lean hand, kissed her shoulder, and told her to go back to sleep.
She’d drifted off unsure if she regretted his control or not.
She slid out of bed. No sounds from the house. After brushing her teeth, she futilely wished for real clothes. After pulling on her robe, she stepped through the bedroom’s sliding glass doors. He had a swimming pool big enough to swim laps. A giant inflated swan floated in the clear blue water.
Clad only in loose cotton pants, Marcus stood in the grassy backyard outside of the pool’s screen cage. After a minute, she recognized the controlled movements of tai chi. One movement slid into another, infinitely slow and perfect. Panther graceful. She’d taken self-defense in college and never looked like that.