Make Me, Sir
Page 8

She firmed her lips and continued on, trudging toward the back of the bar, wishing she could leave. But she couldn’t. This is for you, Kim. And when you’re home, we’ll go out and laugh about what I did to get you back. We will.
She glanced over her shoulder and realized Master Marcus hadn’t moved. As he talked with Cullen and another dom, he watched her as if wondering what she’d do next. Yet his expression didn’t make her feel dirty—just powerless, which somehow melted her insides.
A second later, a young dom stepped into her path. “Cool jewelry,” he said.
“Leave me alone.” She tried to detour around him.
“You’re a rude one.” He grasped one dangling nipple clamp in one hand, using it like a painful leash as he cupped her other breast.
Owwww. Hands clenched, she held still, knowing Marcus watched. Had given permission. Somehow that made this stranger’s touch feel right, even disconcertingly exciting. The dom fondled her breasts until they burned, and let her go.
Two more doms did the same. What had Marcus written on the paper?
It didn’t stop. Her snapping and insults simply resulted in the clamps getting tugged until her breasts cried for relief. She tried walking faster, but doms still slipped off the bar stools to stop her. Two laps. Three. And all the time she walked, she felt Master Marcus studying her.
Eight laps…
Ten laps. Oh thank God, she’d made her ten. She looked around. With the club almost empty, she didn’t need to play decoy any longer. Her night was over, and she wanted to go home so badly she shook like an addict needing a fix.
Marcus still sat on the bar stool, sipping a drink, his face unreadable.
She stopped in front of him, saw no one stood close enough to hear. “Please, Sir. Can I get these off? May I go home now?” If he said no, she’d probably cry.
The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Sugar, since you asked so prettily, I’m happy to do that little favor for you.”
She’d expected him to free her wrists first. Instead he pinned her between his knees. He set one hand on her left clamp and said, “Brace yourself, sweetheart.”
“What?”
He removed the clamp.
“Aaaaah!” She couldn’t keep the wail from escaping as blood rushed into her abused nipple. Locked securely behind her back, her arms jerked futilely. Her breast burned as if he’d covered it with acid.
“Shhh.” He bent and licked lightly over the sore peak, easing the burn slightly, and soon each circle of his wet tongue sent erotic pulses to her pussy.
As the ache receded and the heat inside her increased, she realized she was panting. She tried to retreat.
He chuckled. “No, stay here, sugar.” He tucked an arm around her waist, an iron bar imprisoning her.
Before she had a chance to get ready, he detached the other clamp—the sadistic bastard—and gently touched her breast with his tongue. The sensations roiling inside her were too much: pain and need and confusion. Like an earthquake, a shaking started in her stomach and worked its way out until even her knees trembled.
He straightened, his hands on her waist keeping her from falling. After studying her for a moment, he unclamped her cuffs and pulled her into his arms. She laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder and felt as if the world around her were crumpling. What was wrong with her?
His arms tightened, his rock-hard body a place of stability. “It’s all right, Darlin’. Shhh.”
The pain eased to a low throbbing, and her trembling diminished as she rested against him.
“You’ve never had on nipple clamps before, have you?” he murmured. “Never done a public blowjob, never had rope work, never really submitted. Was anything on your application honest?”
He knew. Closing her eyes against the sense of failure, she swallowed. “Some.”
“Why the lies?” His voice was level, and his arms firm around her. His chest rose and fell slowly and evenly with each breath.
“I wanted to make sure you’d take me as a trainee.” At least that was honest.
As if he could tell, he sighed. “Means that much to you, sugar?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered into his shoulder.
“Why?”
Anxiety ripped at her. Must he keep asking questions? “I-I can’t explain really. It’s just something I want—I need.” For Kim.
“Well.” He didn’t move for a minute. Two. “All right, Darlin’. If Master Z is willing to give you a chance, I’ll do the same.”
Oh thank God, he wasn’t going to make her leave. Relief brought tears to her eyes, and her voice thickened. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Don’t lie to me again, Gabrielle.”
She’d have to lie to him her entire time here. She had a moment to get her expression under control before he set her back, holding her for a second to ensure she could stand. She kept her gaze lowered so he wouldn’t read the guilt in her eyes. Let him think her embarrassed or ready to cry or whatever.
After removing the paper from under one rope, he set it on the bar. He unwound everything quickly, making the throbbing in her breasts increase again. When she tried to touch them, he brushed her hands aside, and smiling slightly, he massaged them, ignoring her moan of pain, giving her a level look when she clasped his wrists to make him stop.
She let her arms fall to her sides, although her hands fisted. Pain mingled with pleasure as each brush of his fingers on her nipples sent need shooting to her clit. She bit her lip, feeling the heat rising within her. When she chanced a peek at him, he was studying her—her face, her hands, her shoulders. A slight smile curved his lips.
“So, Gabrielle.” His thumbs circled her distended, very sensitive nipples, somehow making her clit throb as well. “What did you learn from this lesson?”
That I’ve never known I could be so turned on. No. Bad answer.
She glanced at the writing on the paper he’d tucked under the ropes: ENJOY THE PRETTY BREASTS. ENJOY THEM LONGER IF SHE ISN’T RESPECTFUL. MASTER MARCUS.
No wonder the doms had manhandled her. I’ve learned how really mean you can be didn’t seem like a good answer either. “Not to demand clothing.”
His mouth thinned slightly. “Try again.”
“Not to demand anything and to show respect, Sir.” Thank God the place had emptied. Even Agent Dickhead had left. He’d wait in the parking lot to trail her discretely to her apartment, undoubtedly hoping the kidnapper would act during his watch.
“That’s right.” His lips curved up. “Give me a kiss and thank me for your lesson in manners.”
Gee, boss, thanks for torturing me?
His hands closed around her arms, and he pulled her forward.
She winced when her nipples mashed against his suit—thank God the material wasn’t rough, she thought, before his lips closed over hers. Velvety and firm. Competent and gentle.
And then he took her deeper, so hard and fast her head spun. His grip on her arm kept her in place; his other hand cupped her jaw as he plundered, finishing off his lesson of just who was in charge.
Chapter Four
The lion’s deep-throated roar sent a chill down Gabi’s spine. Holy hell, she hadn’t been here in a while, and she’d forgotten what they sounded like up so close. The sweat under her arms wasn’t totally from the heat. A voice in her head scrambled around like a mouse, screaming, Run run run! He’ll chomp me down in one bite. She hauled in a breath, smelling the ammonia of cat urine mixed with the tropical flowers and the moist morning air. After checking the lush undergrowth and moss-covered trees for any stalking felines, she hurried to catch up to her group.
While the mix of men and women listened attentively to the guide, Gabi trailed behind, not paying attention. After all, she’d taken Big Cat Rescue tours before. Today she just wanted to enjoy the cats and not think about last night.
One out of two wasn’t bad.
In the next cage, a panther relaxed on a thick tree limb and regarded the group with a poise that reminded Gabi of Master Marcus. And that was the problem. Instead of taking her mind off Marcus, the tawny-colored cats kept reminding her of him. Sleek and smooth and self-confident. Marcus even had the same stalking gait and measuring gaze.
In contrast she felt like a dog. A round cocker-spaniel puppy tripping over her fat, fluffy feet. Licking everything in sight. She grinned, remembering how she’d licked Master Sam’s orange-flavored cock.
Yeah, she was doing a fine job of thinking of something else. With a resigned sigh, she stretched, trying to get her body to wake up. She’d gotten back last night hours past her usual bedtime.
And today she felt just plain tired…and sore too. Even her silkiest bra rubbed painfully on her sensitive, swollen nipples. One more thing to remind her of that damned dom…and how his touch had been so sure and a little rough.
She’d dreamed about him.
Why couldn’t Z have given her to a different dom? One who wasn’t so cold…and then so warm. One minute Marcus had instructed her as if she hadn’t left grade school, and the next he’d kiss her… His lips had been firm, and he’d held her as if he had a right to take what he wanted. She closed her eyes as a full-fledged hot flash turned the air to a sauna’s temperature.