Make Me, Sir

blow would clench her buttocks, but the increased pressure heightened the burn from the fig, so she’d relax only to receive a hard swat on the ass.

Well, when they harvested her, he’d suggest it. Perhaps as part of the auction to keep the buyers amused. He might even volunteer to wield the paddle.

Grinning, he nodded at Cullen, then glanced over to the submissive area. Still an adequate variety and he had a craving for a soft one. He considered. There was a younger woman, and he did enjoy youth, but no. He’d utilize the plump, older sub. Tears came too easily on a young one. Older ones resisted better, giving more satisfaction when they screamed and begged.

Chapter Eleven

This is totally insane. Stupid. Gabi scowled as she let Marcus help her out of his sedan. “I feel fine,” she said. “I don’t need-”

“Yes, you do, darlin’.” He put his arm around her as if he thought she’d fall down without his help. “You can act as ornery as you want, but you’re not going to stay alone tonight.” He nuzzled the top of her head.

“Oh honestly.” She might have had a chance to protest at the club…if she could have managed, but for some bizarre reason, her synapses hadn’t all been firing. After talking with Z, he’d had Sally fetch her purse and clothes and stuffed Gabi in his car before she could pull it together.

On the ride to his house, she’d thought about Agent Rhodes and had almost panicked until she remembered that Master Z had hugged her and murmured he’d notify her friend. Dickhead would have a fit, and wasn’t she a bad person to enjoy that he’d yell at Master Z rather than her?

But in all reality, Marcus was right. She shouldn’t drive right now, no matter how much her conscience objected.

That settled, she felt her excitement rise. Master Marcus had brought her to his home. She’d stay with him…all night. And she wanted to. To sleep in his arms, maybe have sex again. Find out more about him and… Damn, don’t be stupid. This is a temporary assignment, Gabi, not a date.

Motion detector-regulated lights came on as they walked up to the front and through a black iron gate into a tiny entranceway filled with sweetly fragrant gardenias. Inside, Marcus let go of her to turn and punch numbers into a security pad. After the humidity of the night, the dry, cool air made Gabi shiver. She wore her yellow top and hot pants Marcus had helped her put on. Hell, he’d practically dressed her. Now, standing here in fetish wear in this nice house, she felt like a slut.

She took a step back, reaching for the handle of the door.

Turning from the keypad, Marcus frowned and stepped closer. His warm hand cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

“I just…” He wanted honesty, and her brain was still moving too slow to come up with some excuse. She gestured to her clothes. “I feel sleazy.”

“Then take it off.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “On the rare occasions I bring a submissive home, I generally make her spend the weekend naked.”

“You-” When she gave him an appalled stare, his laugh filled the room, sending quivers through her stomach.

“Yes, I really do.” His thumb traced her lips as he studied her. “I’m not a twenty-four-hour dom, but I consider nights and weekends to be open season on little subs in my house.”

All weekend? “But-”

“But you’ve had enough tonight, lucky little sub, so don’t get flustered on me.”

When she sighed in relief, he laughed again. “Let me show you around.” He walked ahead of her to turn on lights, and she couldn’t help but notice how his jeans and T-shirt clung to his hard body.

The entry opened into a great room where one side held an intimate seating area, the other side a man’s favorite toy-a giant HDTV. She grinned. The decor appeared very Marcus. Creamy white walls, light marble tile floors, rich brown leather chairs and couches. Everything balanced, the colors clean but warm, although the lack of brightness struck her as sad.

A decorative glass-fronted black iron woodstove separated the living area from the dining area. How fun. Tampa did-occasionally-get chilly enough to warrant a fire. Did he sometimes throw a blanket on the floor and make love to a woman in front of it? The stab of longing to be that woman struck her without warning. “You have a lovely home,” she said, turning away from the room and the emotion.

“Thank you. Now come along, darlin’.” He cuffed his fingers around her wrist, making her stomach quake, and led her down the hallway to the master bedroom. Beige carpet, creamy white drapes, a massive bed covered with a dark blue satin quilt. The carved wood dresser and bedside stands matched the dark wood of the four posters. Curiously she ran her fingers over a scratched section of one of the spindles. Everything else seemed in perfect condition.

Even though she hadn’t spoken, his dazzling smile appeared. “From restraints.”

Oh. She stepped away quickly, abruptly aware of her isolation with a man, someone she’d only known two weeks. A dominant.

His eyes narrowed. Then he pulled her into his arms. “Gabi, no matter where we are or what we do, your safe word still works. And as it happens, I’m not fixin’ to throw you on the bed and tie you up. You’re done for tonight.” His hand moved down her back in a slow stroke of comfort.

Why did she feel so safe whenever he held her? She pressed her forehead against his chest. I’m an idiot. “I’m sorry. This just feels so strange. It’s not like I haven’t gone home with a man before-Well, maybe not for bondage, but-You know.” For sex.

He smiled faintly. “I doubt you were perfectly sober those times.”

“Ah.” She blinked and scowled. That sounded a little…bad. “I guess.” No wonder this felt different. Not only home with a dom, but without any nice inhibition relievers.

“We can fix that, at least. You go take yourself a shower while I open some wine.”

Covered in oil, sweat from running, dirt on her hands and knees. Major sticky ew. “I’d love a shower.”

He reached into the closet and pulled out a long, dark blue silk robe, then showed her the bathroom. “Use anything you like. There’re spare toothbrushes and combs in the bottom drawer.”

Well. She shook her head. The man obviously enjoyed…entertaining. Then again- well-off, charming, gorgeous? Women probably had hairpulling wars over him.

In the huge walk-in shower, she let the hot water beat some sense into her brain. He’s not for you. Remember that, Gabi. After scrubbing her body and wincing at the various bruises, she ran her fingers through her hair. Twigs. Leaves. Ew.

The built-in shelf held shampoo that smelled like Marcus, as well as a handful of hotel samples undoubtedly provided for his guests. Sheesh, her love life should be so lively. She tried to ignore the unhappy twinge. I’m just one of many. Actually, her status was even lower. She was merely a trainee he’d rescued because she’d wussed out on him and couldn’t get herself home. Remember that, Gabi. You’re not here as his date.

She picked a shampoo that smelled like citrus and spice, washed her hair, then stepped out into the steamy room. The fogged-up mirror gave a blurry image of a woman with wet hair, no makeup. Good thing Master Marcus had big balls, or he’d scream and run out of the house at the sight of her. She grinned. Poor man. After she’d cried all over him last week, he’d had to look at her raccoonlike, streaky makeup all night. Domination-not for the faint of heart.

After pulling on the borrowed robe, she walked into the living room. Empty. The lilting, soft voice of Sarah McLachlan came from the speakers. Glass clinked in the kitchen. A few seconds later, Marcus appeared, handed her a glass of wine, and brushed a kiss over her lips.

“You look better.” He glanced down at himself and smiled ruefully. “I need a shower too. You led me on quite the chase, subbie.”

She giggled.