Make Me, Sir
Page 6

His gaze stopped on her gold-colored wrist cuffs, and his face hardened into solid rock. “Here go, dude?” he repeated softly; then his voice turned cold. “What is your name, trainee?”
Oh crap. “I’m Gabrielle”—don’t say Sir, don’t say Sir—“Sir.” The respectful term slipped out; she just couldn’t hold it in under his ruthless stare. Damn, he and Master Marcus had this intimidating stuff down to a science. Don’t let him psych you out. She tsk-tsked at him. “My grandmother said you shouldn’t frown like that because your face might stay that way.”
“She’s got a death wish,” he said under his breath. Rising—and oh, joy—the guy was as tall as Marcus. He gripped her arm and glanced at his sub. “Wait here, Kari. I’ll return in a second.”
“Yes, Sir,” his sub said and gave Gabrielle an appalled look.
After glancing around, the dom dragged Gabi across the room to a station where a domme caned a potbellied, older man. Gabi winced as the man’s gag-muffled groan followed each whacking noise. The nasty dom didn’t plan to borrow that cane, did he?
He pulled Gabi farther, heading straight toward…Master Marcus. Hell.
Marcus’s smile faded when he saw Gabi. “Is there a problem with the trainee, Master Dan?”
Oh, this is not good.
“Damn right.” The dom stared down at Gabi. She hadn’t realized brown eyes could look so pitiless. “Either incredibly poorly trained or simply insolent. I think insolent, myself.”
“I see.” Master Marcus’s gaze dropped to her. “That would be a downright pity, wouldn’t it?”
Okay, blue eyes could definitely turn colder than brown ones. A tremor shook her body as the dom passed her off, and Master Marcus’s equally merciless grip closed around her upper arm. “I do thank you for bringing her to me, Master Dan. I’ll take care of it.”
One corner of Master Dan’s mouth curled up. “Good enough.” He gave her a dismissive look as if she were a puppy that had peed on his kitchen floor, and walked away.
She shifted her weight and peeked up from under her eyelashes at the suit.
Arms folded over his chest, he studied her with disapproval. “Well, you got yourself in a heap of trouble. Did you not understand my instructions as to the behavior of a trainee?”
Why did she feel as if she’d let him down? Making him happy wasn’t her job. The cheerleading team in her brain started chanting brat, brat, brat, and she said in an irritating whine, “I’ve served drinks all night, and my feet are tired, and I just wanted to have a little fun. He didn’t have to be such a jerk about it.”
“Your feet are tired, and you want to have fun. I see.” His lips curved slightly. “Then we might should get you off your feet.”
His hand closed on the back of her neck again as he headed over to a small sitting area where a younger dom and one with silvery gray hair sat talking. The older one glanced up. “Marcus, how are you doing?”
“Quite well, thank you, sir.” The warm reply was a vast contrast to how he’d sounded a second ago. “Master Sam, I would like to offer y’all a coffee table for your comfort. She complained her feet are tired, so I have a notion that resting on hands and knees would suit her better.”
Coffee table? When Gabi tried to pull away, Master Marcus slid her legs right out from under her so quickly she’d have belly flopped if he hadn’t caught her. “Hands and knees, please, Gabrielle,” he said and set her on the floor.
This was…just wrong. Avoiding the legs beside her, she sidled around far enough her butt was toward the wall at least.
He sighed and picked her up, setting her back down with her ass toward the center of the room, then shoved a foot between her knees, forcing her legs apart. Exposing her more fully. “You stay right there now.”
“Thanks a lot, boss,” she snapped.
Stinging pain slashed across her bottom, and she yelped.
“Silence, sub,” the old guy said, motioning with the switch he held. A switch. Hell, no wonder it'd hurt. His pale blue eyes examined her without any compassion at all. “I dislike noisy coffee tables.”
Marcus ran his hand over the burning spot. When she winced, he chuckled. “Gabrielle, you will serve as a coffee table until I return. I would recommend you hold very still—anyone whose drink you spill can have a blowjob from you.”
A blowjob? She stared up at him in disbelief, a solid knot forming in her stomach. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be here.
He paused, and his voice took on a deeper, cutting edge. “Am I clear?”
She really, really didn’t have the guts to challenge him—not when he used that tone. Tears blurred her vision. “Y-yes, Sir.”
He bent and stroked his hand over her hair. “Much better. I’m sorry you won’t find this a comfortable time, sugar.” The sympathy in his voice made her want to lean into him. To beg him not to leave her.
But he did. He walked away. She dropped her head, not willing to look at anything or anyone. Naked, on hands and knees, her butt exposed. A second later, the old man set his beer on her back. The cold, damp bottle made her jump, and thank God, he’d kept hold of the drink or she’d have knocked it right off. The younger man put his can of beer on her too. They must keep the refrigerator here at subzero temperatures, she thought as goose bumps rose on her skin.
She stayed in place, not moving a muscle, and realized after a few minutes that having her legs spread helped her balance. Not that she’d ever forgive Mr. Perfect anyway.
The two men talked, arguing over Tampa’s baseball team, over a recent suicide off the Skyway Bridge, over Master Z’s mouthy sub and her latest infraction. They picked their drinks up, set them down, paying as much attention to her as if she really were a coffee table.
Then she realized Master Sam had set his drink right on the edge of her shoulder blade. Feeling the bottle teeter, she stopped breathing. It settled. Tiny little breaths. Don’t move.
“I do think she makes a fine piece of furniture.” Marcus’s voice came from behind her, and she startled, just a tiny bit, caught herself…and the bottle tipped. The glass hit her back, and cold beer drizzled off her ribs and downward to pool at the base of her spine. Horror ran through her, and her fingernails dug into the hardwood floor. No no no. At least the other man had already picked his can up or she’d have spilled them both. She pushed herself up to a kneeling position, and the cold beer trickled down between her butt cheeks, making her anus pucker.
“Hell, I hadn’t finished yet,” came the gruff tones of the older man.
“Truly a shame.” Marcus shook his head at her. “Well, she’ll do better next time, I assume.”
This isn’t fair. You guys set me up, you bastards. Gabrielle saw the older guy unfasten his leather pants, and she closed her eyes. Oh no. They wouldn’t…
“She any good at this?” Sam asked Marcus.
“First night here. I don’t know,” Marcus said. “Do you prefer me to direct her, or will you?”
I don’t need any stinking directions. But she sure wouldn’t smart off to Marcus right now—giving a stranger a blowjob was bad enough. I don’t want to do this.
“Feel free.” Sam sheathed himself with a condom, glanced at her. “I prefer being covered. Get up here, girl.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, his cock rising from his leathers like a flagpole.
She blinked up at Marcus, wanting to break down and beg.
He simply waved his hand toward Sam in a “get on with it” motion.
She crawled over and knelt between Sam’s legs. Biting it off would probably come across as a little too defiant. Satisfying…but stupid. Her heart pounded, and her hands had gone clammy. She combed her hair back. I’ve done oral sex before. I’m actually pretty fair at it. After wetting her lips, she took a firm hold and started to put his cock into her mouth.
“Slower, sugar,” Marcus murmured.
She glanced over her shoulder.
He’d taken the empty armchair next to Sam. Leaning back, he crossed his legs at the ankles, as if he’d settled in for a Sunday football game. “Lick him like an ice cream cone. Tease him a smidgeon before you get down to business.”
Tease him? She’d planned to get him off as quickly as possible. But from the implacable set of Marcus’s jaw, the dom figured to draw this out. Or maybe he considered it part of instructing a trainee. Her heart sank—she had told him she wanted to jump right in. With a silent sigh, she licked up Master Sam’s cock.
He’d used an orange-flavored condom. A giggle escaped her. He opened his pale blue eyes and winked before closing them again.
After that, somehow, it wasn’t difficult to do a good job. Marcus supervised the entire time, murmuring soft instructions. “Circle the tip.” “Suck hard.” “Massage his balls with one hand.” “Grip the base tightly.”
She hadn’t felt excited about doing this, but somehow having Marcus watch set her pulse racing. Her breasts tingled where they rubbed against Sam’s pants, and she flushed. How could she get excited by this…this humiliation?