Make Me, Sir
Page 3
“Why would you think I’m not Master Marcus?” he asked.
Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?”
He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter—amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.
She felt heat flooding her face and decided she really didn’t like him. Maybe he was the club accountant or administrator or something. Shifting her weight, she looked past him. Hopefully the Marcus guy would arrive soon. She needed to get all established before the arrival of the kidnapper—the unsub, as a real agent would call him. She frowned. Unsub sounded too much like fake submissive. That would be me. Maybe she’d call him a perp instead.
“Best you tell me about your previous experience in BDSM,” the suit said, and damn but he appeared totally different when he smiled. How many women had he destroyed with that devastating dimple in his left cheek and crease in the right? “Was it mostly in downtown clubs? Perhaps of the Goth variety?”
“Well, yeees. Why?” Several years ago too, but that’s not what she’d written on her application.
He motioned for her to precede him down the hall, and when she stepped in front of him, his hand closed on her nape. Firmly, as if she were a stray dog. “I do believe you’ll find a private club a mite different. A wider age range, diverse incomes, assorted tastes. Many doms here wear leathers and black; some prefer other attire.”
Her stomach sank with the authoritative way he’d gripped her neck. No accountant from the back would act like this—she’d run into a dom. In a suit. Who called himself…? “You really are Master Marcus?”
“I’m afraid so, darlin’.” He stopped at the place where chains hung from the low rafter and released her, only to walk around her slowly as if she stood on a display stand. “Is all your experience in public clubs?”
“Uh-huh.” In her college days, she’d pop into a club, have some fun, and maybe take someone home. But she hadn’t indulged since then. She’d set her sights on the FBI from day one and wasn’t about to mess up her chances by doing anything less than respectable.
“I see.” He tapped the ribbing on her bustier. “Remove that, please.”
She stared at him. Just like that? I only met you, dammit. She hesitated, but the merciless look in those blue eyes kicked her into gear. After undoing the hooks, she tossed the bustier onto a chair outside the ropes that fenced off the scene area. She forced her arms to stay at her sides and tried to ignore the air-conditioned draft on her bare breasts.
“Very pretty.” When he brushed sure fingers over her shoulder, into the hollow below her collarbone, and over the upper curve of one breast, her body woke up from her breasts all the way to her pussy—and that was damn disconcerting considering she didn’t even like the guy. But he had that ruthless attitude going for him—the dominant edge that put butterflies into her stomach as if she’d swallowed fluffy bugs.
“And did you play somewhere else?” he asked. “Privately?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Not…really. I might have gone home with a man after, but for kinky stuff, I stayed in the clubs. More public or something.”
“I see. You didn’t trust any dom enough to let him restrain you without other people around.”
“Ah.” She’d never thought of it like that but—okay. He was right. She nodded.
“I prefer to have verbal answers,” he said ever so softly. “„Yes, Sir" will serve for now.”
She couldn’t keep the shiver from running down her spine. The guy wielded a razor-sharp voice, no matter how soft it was. “Yes, Sir.”
“That sounds very pretty, sugar,” he said, and the caress in his voice turned all her bones into a seriously mushy state. Until he added, “Remove the skirt, please.”
She looked up, and his eyes could be just as lethal as his tone. Why did he bother to say „please"? She stepped out of the skirt, wishing she’d done more time in the gym. Done any time in the gym. Maybe walked a little at least. Nothing like a fat ass to impress a man.
But hey, this wasn’t about impressing the fussy dom. She’d come here to lure a kidnapper—a killer—into a trap. She shivered.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with being unclothed?”
Hell. Keep your mind on business, Gabi. “No, Sir. Just cold, Sir.”
“Um-hmm.” He walked around her again, inspecting her as if she were the star at a dog show. Totally insulting—and yet she felt her nipples contracting to dagger points and a disconcerting wetness between her thighs. She shifted to put her legs closer together.
“Master Z requested I take you on. Did you read the rules for the trainees?”
“Um. Yes.” She caught the hint of ice in his eyes and added a hasty, “Sir.”
He unhooked a set of golden-colored leather cuffs from the back of his belt. After buckling them on her wrists, he carefully checked the fit and then attached her left cuff to a chain dangling from the rafter. “The safe word for the trainees is red,” he said as he reached for another chain and did her right arm. He kept the chains long enough so that her arms could remain at waist level. “I want for you to use it if you become overwhelmed in any way, from fear, pain…whatever. It will bring the dungeon monitors a-running.”
“If I use a safe word, does that mean everything is off?” She couldn’t afford to blow this.
His face softened. “No, sugar. It means I stop whatever we’re doing and we sit down and chat for a bit.”
“Oh. Okay. Good. Um, Sir.” Can I really see this through? This lethal dom wasn’t anything like the ones she’d played with in the downtown clubs. Fear wavered inside her, and she shoved it away. Mostly.
She saw his gaze on her and realized her fingers were tracing the scar on her cheek. He pulled her hand down and enfolded it in his warm one. “Gabrielle, do you have a problem with bondage you didn’t mention on the application?” he asked.
“No, Sir.” When he didn’t move, she added, “Really. I’m just a little nervous, Sir.”
“All right then.” He walked to the wall, and the chains attached to her wrist cuffs began to tighten, pulling her arms over her head. He stopped before she had to go up on tiptoe.
She tried to be grateful for the small concession, but suddenly she felt…naked. Really naked, much more than when she’d taken off her clothes. Then she’d worried about how she looked. Now…now she felt the intensity of his gaze as he strolled around her again.
“What…what are you going to do?”
“I’m fixin' to acquaint myself with my new trainee’s body as we have a chat.” His fingers ran over her sunburned shoulders, and he murmured, “Sunscreen, Darlin’—you best use more of it.”
A pause. He shot one of those stabbing blue looks at her.
“Yes, Sir.”
“There you go. That does sound nice.” He played with her hair, fingered the blue streak and shook his head, then ran his finger over her lips.
As her mouth tingled, she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d taste like. Could he kiss? Would he?
He caught the direction of her stare, and his lips quirked. Don’t react, she told herself, yet when he stroked his hand down her neck, her breasts seemed to swell in anticipation.
“Our trainees are long-standing submissives. The membership knows that,” he said and frowned at her. “Your application didn’t contain much information on your previous experience in the lifestyle, and I’m wondering if you’re ready to jump into something like this.”
“I have experience.” A little bit. “I’ll be fine.”
“There is no easing-in period for trainees, you know.”
“That’s okay,” she said quickly. “Don’t treat me special or go slow or anything. I want to jump right in.”
His eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head and let it go. “Tell me why you want to be a trainee?”
His hand cupped her breast, and she shivered at the gentleness of his touch and the slight abrasion of his skin. His fingers weren’t soft and pampered like she’d expected. Hadn’t Master Z said the trainer was an attorney? “Why don’t you talk like a lawyer?”
He blinked and smiled. “I grew up in a small town in Georgia. But I can sound quite lawyerly in court.” He caressed her breasts for a minute. “Gabrielle, I do believe I asked you a question.”
Oh. How was she supposed to remember a cover story when he was…groping her? Hell of an interrogation technique—she’d have to recommend it to the field agents. “Um, I want to learn more about the lifestyle and myself.” Master Z had mentioned some of the right reasons. “I want to hook up with a nice dom, but in the clubs, they seemed mostly interested in one-night stands, and I was never sure who to trust.”
Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?”
He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter—amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.
She felt heat flooding her face and decided she really didn’t like him. Maybe he was the club accountant or administrator or something. Shifting her weight, she looked past him. Hopefully the Marcus guy would arrive soon. She needed to get all established before the arrival of the kidnapper—the unsub, as a real agent would call him. She frowned. Unsub sounded too much like fake submissive. That would be me. Maybe she’d call him a perp instead.
“Best you tell me about your previous experience in BDSM,” the suit said, and damn but he appeared totally different when he smiled. How many women had he destroyed with that devastating dimple in his left cheek and crease in the right? “Was it mostly in downtown clubs? Perhaps of the Goth variety?”
“Well, yeees. Why?” Several years ago too, but that’s not what she’d written on her application.
He motioned for her to precede him down the hall, and when she stepped in front of him, his hand closed on her nape. Firmly, as if she were a stray dog. “I do believe you’ll find a private club a mite different. A wider age range, diverse incomes, assorted tastes. Many doms here wear leathers and black; some prefer other attire.”
Her stomach sank with the authoritative way he’d gripped her neck. No accountant from the back would act like this—she’d run into a dom. In a suit. Who called himself…? “You really are Master Marcus?”
“I’m afraid so, darlin’.” He stopped at the place where chains hung from the low rafter and released her, only to walk around her slowly as if she stood on a display stand. “Is all your experience in public clubs?”
“Uh-huh.” In her college days, she’d pop into a club, have some fun, and maybe take someone home. But she hadn’t indulged since then. She’d set her sights on the FBI from day one and wasn’t about to mess up her chances by doing anything less than respectable.
“I see.” He tapped the ribbing on her bustier. “Remove that, please.”
She stared at him. Just like that? I only met you, dammit. She hesitated, but the merciless look in those blue eyes kicked her into gear. After undoing the hooks, she tossed the bustier onto a chair outside the ropes that fenced off the scene area. She forced her arms to stay at her sides and tried to ignore the air-conditioned draft on her bare breasts.
“Very pretty.” When he brushed sure fingers over her shoulder, into the hollow below her collarbone, and over the upper curve of one breast, her body woke up from her breasts all the way to her pussy—and that was damn disconcerting considering she didn’t even like the guy. But he had that ruthless attitude going for him—the dominant edge that put butterflies into her stomach as if she’d swallowed fluffy bugs.
“And did you play somewhere else?” he asked. “Privately?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Not…really. I might have gone home with a man after, but for kinky stuff, I stayed in the clubs. More public or something.”
“I see. You didn’t trust any dom enough to let him restrain you without other people around.”
“Ah.” She’d never thought of it like that but—okay. He was right. She nodded.
“I prefer to have verbal answers,” he said ever so softly. “„Yes, Sir" will serve for now.”
She couldn’t keep the shiver from running down her spine. The guy wielded a razor-sharp voice, no matter how soft it was. “Yes, Sir.”
“That sounds very pretty, sugar,” he said, and the caress in his voice turned all her bones into a seriously mushy state. Until he added, “Remove the skirt, please.”
She looked up, and his eyes could be just as lethal as his tone. Why did he bother to say „please"? She stepped out of the skirt, wishing she’d done more time in the gym. Done any time in the gym. Maybe walked a little at least. Nothing like a fat ass to impress a man.
But hey, this wasn’t about impressing the fussy dom. She’d come here to lure a kidnapper—a killer—into a trap. She shivered.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with being unclothed?”
Hell. Keep your mind on business, Gabi. “No, Sir. Just cold, Sir.”
“Um-hmm.” He walked around her again, inspecting her as if she were the star at a dog show. Totally insulting—and yet she felt her nipples contracting to dagger points and a disconcerting wetness between her thighs. She shifted to put her legs closer together.
“Master Z requested I take you on. Did you read the rules for the trainees?”
“Um. Yes.” She caught the hint of ice in his eyes and added a hasty, “Sir.”
He unhooked a set of golden-colored leather cuffs from the back of his belt. After buckling them on her wrists, he carefully checked the fit and then attached her left cuff to a chain dangling from the rafter. “The safe word for the trainees is red,” he said as he reached for another chain and did her right arm. He kept the chains long enough so that her arms could remain at waist level. “I want for you to use it if you become overwhelmed in any way, from fear, pain…whatever. It will bring the dungeon monitors a-running.”
“If I use a safe word, does that mean everything is off?” She couldn’t afford to blow this.
His face softened. “No, sugar. It means I stop whatever we’re doing and we sit down and chat for a bit.”
“Oh. Okay. Good. Um, Sir.” Can I really see this through? This lethal dom wasn’t anything like the ones she’d played with in the downtown clubs. Fear wavered inside her, and she shoved it away. Mostly.
She saw his gaze on her and realized her fingers were tracing the scar on her cheek. He pulled her hand down and enfolded it in his warm one. “Gabrielle, do you have a problem with bondage you didn’t mention on the application?” he asked.
“No, Sir.” When he didn’t move, she added, “Really. I’m just a little nervous, Sir.”
“All right then.” He walked to the wall, and the chains attached to her wrist cuffs began to tighten, pulling her arms over her head. He stopped before she had to go up on tiptoe.
She tried to be grateful for the small concession, but suddenly she felt…naked. Really naked, much more than when she’d taken off her clothes. Then she’d worried about how she looked. Now…now she felt the intensity of his gaze as he strolled around her again.
“What…what are you going to do?”
“I’m fixin' to acquaint myself with my new trainee’s body as we have a chat.” His fingers ran over her sunburned shoulders, and he murmured, “Sunscreen, Darlin’—you best use more of it.”
A pause. He shot one of those stabbing blue looks at her.
“Yes, Sir.”
“There you go. That does sound nice.” He played with her hair, fingered the blue streak and shook his head, then ran his finger over her lips.
As her mouth tingled, she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d taste like. Could he kiss? Would he?
He caught the direction of her stare, and his lips quirked. Don’t react, she told herself, yet when he stroked his hand down her neck, her breasts seemed to swell in anticipation.
“Our trainees are long-standing submissives. The membership knows that,” he said and frowned at her. “Your application didn’t contain much information on your previous experience in the lifestyle, and I’m wondering if you’re ready to jump into something like this.”
“I have experience.” A little bit. “I’ll be fine.”
“There is no easing-in period for trainees, you know.”
“That’s okay,” she said quickly. “Don’t treat me special or go slow or anything. I want to jump right in.”
His eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head and let it go. “Tell me why you want to be a trainee?”
His hand cupped her breast, and she shivered at the gentleness of his touch and the slight abrasion of his skin. His fingers weren’t soft and pampered like she’d expected. Hadn’t Master Z said the trainer was an attorney? “Why don’t you talk like a lawyer?”
He blinked and smiled. “I grew up in a small town in Georgia. But I can sound quite lawyerly in court.” He caressed her breasts for a minute. “Gabrielle, I do believe I asked you a question.”
Oh. How was she supposed to remember a cover story when he was…groping her? Hell of an interrogation technique—she’d have to recommend it to the field agents. “Um, I want to learn more about the lifestyle and myself.” Master Z had mentioned some of the right reasons. “I want to hook up with a nice dom, but in the clubs, they seemed mostly interested in one-night stands, and I was never sure who to trust.”
