Make Me, Sir

Chapter Nine

Marcus tucked Gabrielle behind the bar where Cullen could keep an eye on her and went to change out of his suit.

When he returned, he stood off to one side for few minutes, amusement trickling through him. Apparently she’d recovered enough to sass Cullen; he’d gagged her with a ball gag, which not only silenced her but added the humiliation of making her drool around the rubber ball.

Cullen occasionally stopped mixing drinks to wipe her chin and-from the way her color came and went-give her hell. New submissives often misread the sociable bartender, figuring him easygoing. They rarely made the mistake twice.

Marcus strolled over, pausing to exchange greetings with the various members around the bar.

Cullen glanced at Marcus’s black jeans and sleeveless T-shirt. “Nice to see you in real clothes for a change. By the way, I found your trainee too mouthy to tolerate.”

Marcus looked at Gabrielle.

She stared at his clothing as if she’d never seen a dom in jeans.

Suppressing his amusement, he waited until her gaze rose to meet his, then looked at the gag in her mouth and let his disappointment in her behavior show.

To his surprise, her eyes reddened with tears before she turned her head away.

Something twisted inside him. The bond between them continued to develop. She not only trusted him, but she wanted-needed-to please him. So there was hope for her after all. But the connection went two ways, being balanced by his need to protect and nurture. And possess. He found he didn’t like seeing her under someone else’s restraints. “Release her, please, sir,” he said to Cullen.

Cullen unsnapped her arms and handed her a cloth before undoing the ball gag. She wiped her face, scrubbed the spit away, and glared at Cullen.

When the bartender looked at her in disbelief, Marcus clenched his jaw to keep from laughing.

“Here I thought Andrea was bad.” Cullen grasped her hair in his big fist and growled at her, “Apologize, sub, and thank me for the lesson.” The sheer power he put into the words had her stammering out an apology and thank-you before she could get her sassy attitude back.

The people seated at the bar laughed.

Marcus regarded her carefully. Although flushed, she displayed no pleasure at acquiring an audience with her behavior. Whatever reason she had to misbehave, it wasn’t to attract attention the way his ex-wife had done. Thank God. “Come, Gabrielle, before you get in more trouble than you can survive,” he ordered.

When Cullen turned his back, she stuck out her tongue. As laughter rippled around the bar, she hurried to Marcus’s side, her eyes dancing with mischief.

In the dim bar, her smooth, pale skin almost glowed. He ran his knuckles over the sweet curve of her cheek and tucked a silky curl behind her ear. “Little brat,” he murmured.

She grinned at him.

Unable to resist, he bent to take her soft lips, pinning her between him and the bar so her body plastered against his. High breasts, lush ass. And when her arms circled his neck, he simply let everything go and savored kissing a yielding sub. This sub-Gabrielle-who made every other submissive seem bland. He nipped her bottom lip to tease her mouth open, then swept inside her mouth. She kissed him back with a hungry urgency. His arms tightened as he lost himself, plunging deeply and taking everything she offered so generously. When he hardened, she moaned and rubbed against him.

He stepped back reluctantly, pleased at the pink flush in her cheeks, the heat in her eyes. Slowly he ran a finger over her damp lips, wishing he could justify taking her upstairs to one of the private rooms.

But no. You’re her trainer, Atherton. She needs help, not a good fucking, although she might enjoy… No. He stepped back.

Cullen shook his head. “Another one bites the dust. You want your toy bag, Marcus?”

“No, thank you.” He set a hand in the hollow of her back, guiding her across the room to the side door and into the prep area for the Capture Gardens.

The potential participants stood in a line for Z’s mandatory check. A psychologist, the Shadowlands owner spoke with any couple or group wanting to play the games, and occasionally denied admittance for reasons no one else could see. The other Masters insisted Z read minds. Delusional idiots.

Gabrielle had turned quiet when they entered, her muscles tightening. He pulled her closer, wanting to reassure her it would be all right. But she needed to be nervous to make this work. And it might not be all right. Her nestling against his side gave him perhaps as much comfort as it did her.

When they reached the head of the line, Master Z touched Gabrielle’s cheek with his fingertips, and his dark brows drew together. “Are you certain you want to participate, little one?” he asked, sounding more like an overprotective father than a dom.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“All right.” He stepped aside to let her pass, then frowned at Marcus. “You realize she’s as scared as she is excited? There’s something in-” He paused and smiled slightly. “Indeed, you’re on top of it. Have a nice game, Marcus.”

“Thank you, sir.” After Marcus moved past, he glanced back over his shoulder. That was…odd.

The hum of excited conversation echoed off the dark-paneled walls. Heart pounding, Gabi scraped her toes on the cool roughness of the stone floor and watched the club members waiting to enter the garden. To play scary games.

She’d almost backed out when Master Z had questioned her. No I’m not certain. Still…she couldn’t leave herself with such an idiotic vulnerability. And how would she ever find someone she’d trust as she did Master Marcus? But she was scared. Oh yeah.

The line filed forward, with submissives going out to the gardens while their doms gathered on one side of the room. Eventually she and Marcus stood a few feet from the outside door. Beside a table piled with unlit glow sticks, Master Sam wished the preceding couple a good time, then turned to Master Marcus.

“Marcus, I didn’t know you planned to play tonight.” The silver-haired dom smiled. His pale blue eyes examined Gabi. “That’s a pretty yellow outfit. Might as well match it.” He picked up three yellow plastic sticks and flexed them until they glowed. “Give me your arm, girl.”

She held her hand out. He fastened one around her wrist, one on her ankle, and the last on Marcus’s wrist. “The colors are a safeguard so the dungeon monitors can check that a dom grabs the right sub. In other words, only Master Marcus may claim you, Gabrielle. Clear so far?”

“Yes, Sir.” Only Marcus. I can do this.

Marcus put his arm around her. “Remember the club safe word is red, sugar. Dungeon monitors will be in the gardens to make sure people follow the rules.”

She answered the concern in his eyes with a firm nod and smiled at Master Sam. “Thank you, Sir.”

He winked at her and turned to the next group, three men-two subs, one dom. Did the poor dom have to chase them both down?

Marcus guided her to where a Hispanic Master stood beside the door. Gabi winced. He’d been the dom who’d had her paddled for mouthing off.

He grinned at Marcus. “Do you want her prepared?”

Marcus regarded her. “No, I believe this is enough excitement for one little subbie. Thank you, Raoul.”

Whatever prepared meant, Gabi thought she was glad to have avoided it.

“However, Gabrielle, I do want you in a slave dress,” Marcus said.

“A what?” She followed his gaze to a bunch of faded, raggedy dresses hanging on hooks.

“Hang your clothing up and put on one of those, please.”

His polite words didn’t cover up the steely tone. She automatically took a step and then heard a man laughing behind her. People. Audience. How could she have forgotten her task here? Guilt washed through her as well as a chill at thinking the perp might be in the room. She couldn’t relax, mustn’t relax, must do her job. “I’d rather wear my own clothing, thank you very much,” she said insolently.

“You’re starting this again?” Marcus asked gently. “Now?” He contemplated her as if she posed a perplexing chess puzzle.

“Hey, it’s not much to ask.” She set her hands on her hips. “Those rags are ugly.”

“They are indeed, but I thought you’d prefer them to the alternative.” He glanced at the other man. “Master Raoul, a full prep please. I would ask that you be verbally polite.”

Master Raoul looked as affronted as if Marcus had hit him. “Have I ever-”

“No, I’m sorry, my friend. I said that poorly,” Marcus apologized in his rich southern drawl. He caressed Gabi’s cheek. “We recently found that verbal abuse brings back a traumatic experience, so I’m making that a hard limit for her.”

“I see.” Dark brown eyes studied her for a minute. Then Master Raoul smiled slightly. “Well as long as I can abuse her physically, I’m sure we’ll get along fine. Gabrielle, strip completely, including your cuffs, hang your clothing on a hook, and return to me here.”

“But…” What the hell was a full prep?

“Do you need help, chiquita?” the dom asked softly.

The leather vest he wore didn’t come close to hiding his muscular build, and his forearms were the size of her calves. Power lifter, she’d bet. He could probably rip her clothes off without bothering to undo them first. “No, Sir.”

Although Master Marcus had pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth turned up. The bastard.

She stalked over to where two other subs were changing into slave rags. Gabi pulled off her clothing and hung it up. She tried to pretend she remained fully clothed, but the air brushing against her bare skin and the amusement of the doms waiting to one side destroyed the illusion. She unbuckled her cuffs and hesitated. Was she supposed to hang them up too?

“I’ll take them, Gabrielle.” Master Raoul took the cuffs out of her hands.

Startled at his sudden appearance, she flushed and started to cover herself.

He snorted. “You have a modest sub, Marcus?”

Shaking his head in disapproval, Marcus joined them. With a firm grip, he moved her arms to bare her body. “After your first night, I’m surprised you’d need reminding, darlin’.”

He stepped back, and his gaze ran over her slowly, lingering on her breasts, her pussy. The air itself seemed to heat. “You have a lovely body, sugar, and I do like seeing you without clothing.”

His open enjoyment warmed her almost as much as the heat in his eyes, and she stared up at him, feeling the earth slide sideways.

After a moment or an hour, he ran a finger down her cheek, and the simple touch made her shake inside. “Go with Master Raoul to get prepared for the gardens.”

Before she could answer, the muscular dom grasped her upper arm and guided her to the door.

Feet dragging, she looked over her shoulder, hoping for a reprieve. Marcus jerked his head in an unmistakable go on now.

Fine. “Whatever,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.

Unfortunately that meant she saw Master Raoul’s expression, like one more peep would get her butt blistered. Dropping her gaze, she kept her mouth shut as he escorted her across the soft grass next to the building.

A lanky man in leathers waited with what appeared to be a pressure sprayer. “I always get this job,” he complained. “Why don’t I get-”

“Because Heather would chop your hands off at the wrists.” Raoul turned to Gabi. “Hold your hair up for me.”

“Why?”

Master Raoul shook his head. “Don’t keep pushing, little sub. Jake, toss me the switch.”

A long, thin stick flew through the air. Raoul caught it and slapped it on his leather pants.

She took a hasty step back, trying not to cringe. I’m really getting to hate pain, and I don’t much like you either.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No, Sir.” She gathered her hair off her shoulders and held it up with one hand.

“Good enough. Now hold still.” He nodded to Jake.

The brown-haired dom pumped the sprayer and turned the nozzle toward her. Warm liquid, lightly scented with lemon, sprayed across her front and, as he walked around her, her back and legs. “Done,” he said.

Gabi let out a sigh. Well, that wasn’t too bad. She’d expected worse. As she slid a finger down her stomach, she realized the liquid was oil and giggled. They’d oiled her like she’d star in a greased-pig contest.

Raoul’s grin flashed white in his tanned face, and even in the dim light she saw how his dark eyes softened. He looked entirely different. Like a nice person. “You have a pretty laugh, Gabrielle,” he said. “You can let go of your hair now.” After sliding the switch under his belt, he held his palms out to Jake and received a squirt of oil. With blunt-fingered, calloused hands, he oiled her unsprayed arm.

Just about the time she started to relax, he moved to her shoulders, the other arm, her back, rubbing the oil into her skin. She stiffened. Hadn’t Marcus said it would be only him? But she’d screwed that up, hadn’t she?

He was unhappy with her. Again.

Seemed as if she always did something wrong. Either she wasn’t loud and rebellious and nasty enough for Agent Rhodes’s idea of a brat, or her behavior disappointed Master Marcus. And disappointing him…hurt.

“What’s making you so sad, chiquita?”

She blinked and focused on Master Raoul. He’d stopped to study her face, his expression so kind she wanted to spill everything out. She shook her head instead. “Nothing you can help me with.”

“And Master Marcus? Could he help?” Raoul asked softly.

The burning in her eyes was unexpected and totally unwelcome. What was this place doing to her? “No.” She gave him a crooked smile. “It’s my problem.”

His dark gaze didn’t leave hers for a long moment. “I think you’d find he would listen, querida.” He squeezed her shoulder, then knelt to rub the oil into her legs, up her calves, her thighs. It felt good, strange, even a little exciting until he neared her pussy. Her muscles tightened. To her relief, he rose to his feet.

She relaxed…and then he put his big hands on her breasts. She squeaked, stepped back, and bumped into Jake.

“You’re not done yet, subbie,” the younger dom said. He held her upper arms firmly despite her struggles as Raoul massaged in the oil. When he stopped, her breasts felt achingly swollen.

He wasn’t done. She stared over his shoulder, and yet she could feel his keen gaze on her face, as he teased and pinched her nipples, wakening them with slow circles, gentle friction, and little jolts of pain until they stood in rigid peaks. To her horror, she felt herself dampening.

As if he could tell, his eyes crinkled with his smile. “I think you’re ready for Master Marcus now.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “You’re a sweet little sub, for all your mouthiness.”

Jake released her arms, saying, “Have a great run, Gabrielle.”

Raoul walked her back to the door, but rather than going inside, he pointed to the huge yard and a wide grassy path between tall bushes. “Run that way, Gabrielle, and then wherever you want. Give Master Marcus a good hunt.”

Staring around her, she walked in the direction he’d pointed.

With a loud sigh, he pulled the switch from his belt and gave her a stinging swat right across her bottom. As she yelped in shock, he growled, “I said run, sub. Run!”

She sprang away, hearing the swish of the switch. Her bottom stung like hell-he’d got her good. Bastard dom, acting all sweet and then nailing her like that.

Her breasts bounced painfully as she ran, and she slowed quickly. As the plush golf-course-length grass tickled her feet, a sultry night breeze wafted against her bare skin. It felt strange-wrong-to walk around outside with no clothes on.

Rubbing her arms, she continued on. Hedges loomed on each side, opening into secluded areas with menacing shadows. “Give Master Marcus a good hunt,” Master Raoul had said, so she turned down a smaller path, working her way deeper in. Other glow lights twinkled here and there, reminding her she wasn’t the only submissive in the game.

What a beautiful place though. The moonlight paled the curving flower gardens. Fountains splashed and gurgled everywhere, and lights under the water glowed. White fog drifted through the humid air and swirled around her ankles. Fog? She glanced up at the cloudless night sky and frowned, then realized the fog came from the fountains, spilling like thick mist over the sides.

They created fake fog, just for fun? She shook her head, trying to be amused, except the stuff made the place really eerie.

A man’s voice broke the quiet. “Lords and ladies, the hunt is on. Find your slaves and do what you will.”

Oh my God.

Multicolored glow sticks danced like fireflies through the darkness. People ran here and there. Some of them. Other lights moved slower, more deliberately. The doms. Stalking their slaves.

And the sounds… A scream from the right. The slap of flesh on flesh and whimpering-someone getting spanked. Gabi turned her head and heard wet sounds and simultaneous grunts from the left-someone getting taken. Hard.

She had a quick image of Marcus grabbing her, forcing her to her knees, and driving into her. She sucked in a breath. He wouldn’t. That wasn’t what she wanted. Yet her nipples peaked, and her body dampened again.

He’d be out there somewhere, searching for her yellow glow stick. Hunting her. The air seemed to heat, wafting over her skin like a hot breath.

She walked, taking one path after another, veering around the tiny nooks, averting her gaze from the people in them: a black woman chained to a tree trunk getting flogged. A skinny, naked man kneeling, his dom’s cock in his mouth. A hefty domme in a shiny latex corset riding a man on all fours, steering him toward a secluded area. She’d bridled the guy, Gabi realized. Yeehaw.

Still looking over her shoulder at the couple, she ran into a solid body and squeaked.

The man grasped her arms in a firm grip. “Easy, subbie.”

She looked up. Pale eyes and silvery gray hair glinted in the moonlight. “Master Sam.”

“I’m one of the dungeon monitors this evening. Remember the safe word, girl?”

“Red.” They stood on a bigger path where others could see them…maybe the perp even, so Gabi added, “Oh lord and master. High muckety-muck.”

His thin lips curved into a pleased smile, and his hands tightened.

Uh-oh. She tried to retreat.

Despite her struggles, he turned her easily and then swatted her bottom really, really hard, right on top of where the switch had hit.

The burning pain swamped the stinging left from the switch. “Damn you, that hurt!”

He pulled her back against his chest to murmur in her ear, “I’m a sadist, girl, and I enjoy the sound of pain. If you don’t want to scream, watch carefully how you behave around me.”

A tremor of true fear ran up her spine before he chuckled and let her go. This time she ran like hell.

A few minutes later, she slowed and bent over to brace her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Note to self-must exercise more. When she straightened, she saw a solid wood fence blocked her way. She’d reached the far end of the gardens. How many acres was this place? She turned to head back, choosing a path that led past a pure white flower garden glowing in the moonlight.

A dark shape stepped out of the nearby bushes. “Come here, dirty slut.”

She froze, her breath gone, unable to move as the man stalked closer.

“Gabrielle.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Gabrielle. Look. At. Me. Use the safe word. Say it.”

Marcus. It’s Marcus. She stared up at his strong face. His masculine scent blended with that of the tropical flowers, and she could breathe again. “Red,” she whispered.

He smiled and pulled her into his arms for a hug. “Very, very good, darlin’.”

When he started to release her, she clung, and without objecting, he held her as her pounding heart rate slowed, as her muscles unknotted. Eventually he pulled back. “Ready for more?”

No. But she firmed her lips. Turn into a brainless vegetable because of some words? Nothing Marcus might do to her could be scarier than that. “Yes.”

“More it is. I’m proud of you, sugar.” He leaned down to kiss her, lightly nibbling at first, then taking her mouth with such a fierce, possessive hunger that her world filled with his touch and taste.

God, the man could kiss.

He whispered, “Stay brave, little sub.” He took two panther-quiet steps. Then the shadows swallowed him.

She frowned at how well he’d disappeared and realized she saw no yellow light. He’d taken off his glow stick, probably hidden it in his jeans pocket. Sneaky bastard.

After a few steps, she broke into a run. Let him try to keep up-why should he have this too easy? After rounding a corner, she turned. No sight of him.

Calloused hands grabbed her and jerked her back against a hard body. “Filthy fuckhole.”

She froze.

“Safe word. Say it, Gabrielle.”

“Red.”

Four more times, he sent her into the darkness and found her again. At the last interception, reeling with exhaustion, she spat the word at him without even a pause. “Red, you bastard.”

He laughed, and then his hand fisted in her hair as he held her and took possession of her mouth. He kissed her as she’d always dreamed of being kissed, hard and deep.

When he pulled back, he had to drag her arms from where she’d wrapped them around his neck. “Let’s head back, sugar,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice.

She gave a small sigh. His kiss had energized her, and right now she wished he’d chase her for…fun…instead of to spout dumb words at her. “I s’pose.”

“You suppose?” Instead of moving away, he stepped closer. His hard hand cupped her breast. Held it. Weighed it in his palm.

She gasped at the sudden streak of fire through her.

“You don’t seem all that tired, darlin’,” he said with the slow drawl thick in his voice, the one he got when he was angry or considering doing something interesting, like really playing the game.

Her mouth went dry as her skin seemed to tighten. If he chased her for real, would she get scared? She saw the same question in his eyes. She considered and decided within a bare second. Maybe he’d frighten her, but the idea of having him catch her…take her…sent heat rolling low in her pelvis. A tremor shook her as she threw caution away. “I’m not tired at all, Sir. In fact, I might run back to the house and get a less…wimpy…partner.”

He gave a deep laugh. “Might you indeed.” He pulled his glow stick out of his pocket and fastened it on his wrist, then tilted her chin up. “You think you’ll make it there before I catch you?”

Her breath caught, and it sure wasn’t from fear. She snorted derisively. “Piece of cake.”

He stepped back. “I’ll count to one hundred.”

Counting in her head, she poured on the speed for seventy-five seconds, veering right and left, then left again, picking directions that led away from the house. Yeah, he’d never find her. Of course, he always did. Trying to catch her breath silently, she walked, keeping her wrist in front of her. As she peered through the darkness and white seething fog, she realized few of the glow sticks moved quickly anymore. Most were in groups of three, showing the dom had caught his sub. A few matched colors hovered low to the ground, and she giggled, knowing exactly what that meant.

She reached the back fence again, and no Marcus. Turning, she took a path leading toward the house, a little disappointed. The idea that Marcus would want-really want-to make love to her had set her blood on fire.

The other subs always sighed when they talked about him.

She grimaced. Most of the trainees-except for Sally-didn’t like her because of her bratty behavior. Her steps slowed as the excitement trickled out of her. Aside from her parents, people liked her; here almost no one did. Her shoulders sagged.

A couple of trainees said she took up too much of Master Marcus’s time. She sighed. He probably felt the same way. She sure wouldn’t be a very satisfactory trainee. He never acted disgusted-she’d had a lifetime of handling that, after all-but she hated disappointing him over and over. She massaged the aching place under her ribs. “I am so looking forward to when this is over,” she muttered.

Somewhere near the middle of the gardens, a woman screamed out her climax, and Gabi stopped at the jolt of envy.

Yet the game had lost its appeal. I’m not here to play. When this ended, she’d never see any of these people again. Even if she could, no one would welcome her, not after the way she’d acted. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, and her eyes blurred.

Speaking of games, she needed to get back and resume her act. Returning without Marcus would be a good defiant action. Lifting her head, she searched for a path to take. Her gaze snagged on a bright yellow glow a few feet away. Not moving.

“I do believe you’re the only sub I’ve seen reduced to tears before her dom caught her,” Marcus’s soft drawl came from the shadows. He’d been standing there, watching her wallow in unhappiness.

She gulped, wanting to bury her face against his chest and cry. Not going to happen, wussy girl. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, realizing she stood in the open, illumined by the moonlight. “I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.”

A snort of laughter. “I do enjoy your way with words, trainee.” A pause and his voice lowered, the threat as obvious as a cat’s unsheathed claws. “Run.”

Oh God. Fear ripped across her nerves, and she bolted toward the thicker bushes. If she got around those-and she did-he’d have a more difficult time spotting her bracelet. But she lost track of him.

Panting, she stopped and spun in a circle-and spotted a yellow glow stick. A few feet away. Perfectly still.

“Run.”

Her heart hammered even before she sprinted across the path. He-What was he going to do when he caught her? He really was a cat, toying with his prey. She veered around a hedge and ran straight into him, a solid wall of muscle. “Oooph!”

He chuckled and set her on her feet. “The next time, sugar, I’m taking you down.” He stepped back a pace. “Run.”