Make Me, Sir
Page 58

Grasping her forearms, avoiding the sore spots from the cuffs, he looked into her eyes. “I won’t restrain you…today…since you’ve had enough of that. Instead, you will turn over and kneel. Hold on to the head of the bed. Open your legs to me. For every time you move from that position, I’ll add another swat from Mistress Anne’s favorite paddle.”
She winced. The domme had a paddle with MINE carved out, so a smack not only pinkened a butt cheek but left raised white areas spelling out the word. He watched, his jaw stern, as she rolled over onto her knees and grabbed the headboard.
“Wider, Jessica.”
Oh, God. But she felt moisture gather between her legs and how her heart rate hammered. She looked over her shoulder and saw his gray eyes darken with pleasure as he looked at her. Her excitement skyrocketed. His ruthless hands opened her even more widely, and then he touched her, running his fingers through her folds, teasing her clit until she squirmed. Dammit, a year ago he’d scared her with how well he could play her body. Now he was terrifying.
She heard him unbuckle his belt and open his slacks. He came up behind her, his knees between hers. The coarse hair on his thighs teased her buttocks. Oh God, she needed him so badly, she whimpered.
He pulled her back against his chest, turning her slightly. Threading his fingers in her hair, he tethered her as he took her mouth, his lips firm, his kiss blatantly hard and possessive until she felt as if she was drowning in sensation. Held by his fist in her hair, his mouth, she couldn’t move as his free hand played with her breasts. He teased her until they swelled, and each pinch of her nipples sent a sizzling current of electricity to her pussy.
Until her need stretched out past endurance. She burned. When her bottom pushed back against his thick erection, he freed her lips long enough to let her whine. “Pleeease.”
His almost painful grip on her hair kept her head tilted up and back as he studied her for a long moment. Her sex throbbed in time with her pulse; her urgency grew. Then he rubbed his cheek against hers. “I believe I’d like to hear more begging first.” And he released her hair, sliding his hand to her pussy instead. He caged her there, one hand rolling her nipples as his other traced figure eights around her clit and entrance. Too light, dammit.
He changed to firm, slow strokes. Too slow, dammit. Sadistically, he drove her upward at a snail’s pace until she reached the edge, her legs trembling, her head back against his shoulder, her hands white-knuckled from trying not to shift position.
“God, please.”
His finger paused and then resumed circling her clit. She pushed her hips forward. If he’d just go over the top of it…
He released her breast and set his hard arm across her pelvis, pinning her tightly against him, permitting her bottom no movement at all. His finger circled again.
Her whole body shook. “I can’t take it anymore. Please.” She used her ultimate weapon. “Master, please, I love you…”
His low, satisfied laugh almost sent her over. “Clever little sub,” he murmured in her ear and nipped her earlobe. When he took his hand from her pussy, she groaned in frustration.
“Shhh.” He swirled his cock in her wetness and brushed the velvety head against her clit.
Oh yes. She held her breath. Please please please.
And then he drove into her with a long, heavy thrust, filling her to the point of pain.
“Aaaah.” So thick and hard and… She strangled on the next cry, panting at the incredible feeling of him, at the way her body melted under his firm hands.
Merciless thrusts bent her forward. Only her grip on the headboard and his iron-hard arm across her pelvis kept her upright. He pushed her knees farther apart and set a finger on either side of her clit so each powerful thrust tightened the skin over it and sent forks of desperate pleasure careening through her body. Her toes curled, and her fingernails squeezed the headboard, the need to come building higher.
Something was different, but she couldn’t think, her attention narrowed until she felt only his fingers stroking over her clit and the thick, hot slide of his cock. He held her right at the edge as she shook uncontrollably.
“Tradition says a man should be on his knees when he proposes,” he murmured in her ear and pushed farther inside her until she moaned.
Wait. “What?”
“I’m a traditional man, after all.” He kissed the little spot right under her ear, sending goose bumps over her skin. “I love you, kitten. Will you marry me?”
He drove into her harder, until she felt the jolt of each thrust deep in her belly. And then he slowed, leaving her teetering on the precipice of an orgasm. “Answer me now, Jessica.”
Her vision blurred as she only clung to this world by her fingertips. Oh God. “Yes. Yes, yes.”
“Excellent.” His rhythm changed. His thick cock stretched her with each deep plunge, and as he withdrew, his finger would slide up and over her clit. Her engorged nub tightened more and more, and her pussy clenched around him. Her orgasm rolled toward her as inevitable as the turning of the tide.
She poised on the crest for one agonizing second, and then her insides exploded into pleasure so intense the room blurred and only his hard hands seemed to hold her in this universe. She convulsed around him, wave after wave consuming her until even her fingers tingled with the sensations.
As she gasped for air, he murmured into her ear, “However, when we’re old, I will still keep the cane.”
Her choked laugh turned to a yelp when he pinched her clit…and she came again.
A second later, he drove into her far enough to bump against her womb. His hands tightened on her hips. As he pulsed inside her and his heat filled her, she realized what had changed.
She’d heard no crinkling sound of a condom wrapper. His cock felt different—velvety and hot and real.
His big hand splayed over her abdomen, and in a dangerously low voice, he murmured, “We’ll get started on those children right away.”
* * *
“Good morning, Mr. Atherton.”
Marcus forced his eyes open. A figure blurred, then came into focus. A gray-haired nurse, wearing green scrubs with pink dancing bears. She pulled his covers down to his waist. White gauze dressings covered his shoulder, and it hurt.
Some of the fog cleared from his brain. He’d been shot. Had surgery. His mouth felt like it had the day after he’d discovered tequila. “Uh.” He swallowed and tried again. “Good morning. What time is it?”
She nodded at a clock on the wall. “Still early. My name is Mary, and I’m your nurse today. Your doctor should be in soon to do the first dressing change. Can you give me a number for how much pain you’re in—on a scale of one to ten, where one is almost nothing?”
His shoulder hurt like hell. “About a three.”
She gave a gravelly laugh. “You men. Try again and be honest this time.”
With a wry smile, he admitted, “Seven.” She’d make a good domme.
“"Bout what I figured.” She held up a little device attached to the IV. “I showed you this yesterday, but I doubt if you remember.” She pushed the button. “I just gave you a dose, and you should feel better in a minute or two. Next time, when your pain hits around four or so, push the button. It won’t let you punch it too many times, so you can’t overdose. Got it?”
He nodded and realized his head hurt too. Damn pipe-wielding bastard.
“Breakfast will arrive shortly. And your grandparents said they’d visit this morning, if you don’t remember.”
He frowned. Had Gabi been with him? “Was anyone else here yesterday?”
“Oh yes.” She smiled. “A very beat-up and exhausted young woman kept you company from the minute your grandparents left the room until they returned.”
The pleasure that she’d cared enough to watch over him was swamped by his concern. “She should have been in a hospital bed herself.”
“She wasn’t about to budge. She even dodged the Feds looking for her.”
“Stubborn little brat,” he muttered.
The nurse smiled and turned her attention to getting his temperature and checking his lungs. By the time she left, the pain medication had kicked in, and he sighed in relief. Nasty things, bullets. They’d been lucky though; he and Gabi could easily have died. Instead she was battered but alive. And this hole in his shoulder would heal up fast enough.
For a few minutes, he worked on separating his anesthetic-induced dreams from reality. Too much of yesterday seemed like a nightmare—his fear that they’d arrive too late, that Gabi’d be hurt. The box sliding off the dock. Hell, it had all been too close. Another couple of minutes and the boat would have left with her on it. The thought darkened the room for a moment.
He touched the side of his head, fingering the tender lump. He owed his little trainee his life. Instead of giving up, she’d not only gotten free but flung herself to his rescue. He chuckled, remembering how the bastard had toppled when she tackled him. So brave. No cringing on the ground for his spitfire.
Or going into hysterics afterward. He still couldn’t believe she’d snuck in here to check on him. She had incredible loyalty and courage—qualities he’d not considered essential in a lover—but perhaps his vision had been narrow.