Make Me, Sir

by Cherise Sinclair

  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.

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  “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.

  He laughed and tugged a lock of her hair. “So pleased with yourself.” He nodded toward the living room. “Make yourself at home, and I"ll be right out.”

  The tile floor felt smooth and cold under her feet, and the robe slid silkily against her bare skin as she walked across the room. She took a sip of her red wine.

  A lovely pinot noir. Just what the doctor ordered.

  She wandered over to one wall to check out the pictures. Family shots with a sweet-faced woman, and a gray-haired man who had Marcus"s chin and eyes. One with a myriad of relatives. Many photos of teenagers of all ethnicities on basketball courts, in karate tournaments, building a house. A picture with Marcus at the center of a bunch of teens. She smiled at the way they"d crowded around him, 104

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  obviously trying to get closer. Marcus with his arm across the shoulders of a teen wearing gang tattoos. The boy grinned from ear to ear.

  She studied the karate photos for a moment, realizing that like the teens, Marcus wore a white gi, only his belt color was… Oh wow. Don’t start a fight with the nice black belt, Gabi.

  The bookcase contained a variety of subjects: law, ethics, best sellers, horror with Stephen King predominating. Huh. Hers held social services books, psych books, sociology, Shakespeare, romances, and fantasy. They probably wouldn"t get along at all in real life. Then again—she studied the pictures of him with the boys—

  he might have a few more facets than she"d thought. God knew her father wouldn"t be caught dead on a basketball court, let alone one in the slums.

  At the sound of footsteps, she turned.

  Marcus walked into the room, pulling on a silky robe like hers, and as he tied it shut, she saw how the hard, contoured muscles of his chest tapered down to a taut, flat abdomen. She"d never seen him without a shirt, and her fingers tingled with the need to touch. The alcohol had definitely given her a buzz, dammit. She rubbed her hands on the robe— bad Gabi—and smiled at him. “Now what?”

  He motioned toward the couch. “Let"s sit, and I"ll grill you about your life.”

  Her feet froze to the floor. Questions? She couldn"t answer questions about her life. “Um. I"m a little tired. Maybe I could bed down somewhere out of the way?”

  “Don"t be fibbing to me, darlin". You were tired before. Not now.” He regarded her with eyes sharp enough to cut. “I take it there are parts of your life you"d find uncomfortable discussing?”

  Sometimes it was majorly disconcerting how he went from down-home Southern to lawyer-speak. “I really do need to get home. Would you mind letting me have enough money for a taxi. I"ll pay you back on Friday. Sir.”

  Very interesting, Marcus thought. He sipped his wine and studied her, watching her fidget at his silence. The little sub had plummeted from relaxed and laughing to stiff and uncomfortable.

  On the drive here, after she"d roused up, she"d chatted about politics, society, a big cat rescue place that his nana also loved, and then argued with him about crime in the cities and how to address it. He"d enjoyed every minute of the ride. The woman was cheerful and compassionate and very, very smart. Hell, she not only debated as well as he did, but derailed him with off-the-wall comments about the scenery, then jumped back on the train without a problem—leaving him in the dust.

  But apparently the thought of talking about herself made her want to flee.

  When he met her eyes, she dropped her gaze with the instinctive submission she"d shown a few times before. For whatever reason, she"d left her bratty sub shield behind at the club. I like the woman she is without it. Warm, energetic, bright.

  Dammit, she fit in his home. No, more than that—she enhanced it.

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  When he walked around her slowly, she shivered. No makeup, pink from the shower, hair shaggy as a drowned poodle"s, the robe swathing her in fabric—and she tugged at his heart like a magnet. He wanted to cuddle her against him…then drag her under him and take her again. Affection and protectiveness and lust: he might find himself in serious trouble here.

  He stopped in front of her, deliberately invading her space. “No, you"re not running away home, Gabrielle.”

  Her chocolate brown eyes held wariness. What made her so skittish?

  “We are going to sit down and enjoy our drinks and some conversation. If I ask you a question you don"t care to answer, tell me so. I do ask that you not lie to me.”

  She"d managed to keep her gaze level on his, but the tiny muscles around her eyes tensed. Apparently she"d already lied to him about something.

  Well, he"d deal with that another time. For now, they"d discuss her experiences at the club and where to go from here. He took a step back, releasing her from his control. “Holt looked like he enjoyed having you as a submissive.”

  Her sigh of relief made him smile.

  When Master Marcus pushed her toward the couch, Gabi gave up the fight and complied. She sat down at one end, hoping he"d choose a chair or at least—

  He took a seat in the middle, then put both their drinks on the coffee table.

  After lifting her legs onto his lap, he kept pulling, forcing her to slide down until her back rested against the arm of the couch. To her dismay, the tie of her damn silky robe loosened, letting the front gape open and exposing her breasts.

  When she started to fix it, he gave her a stern look. “Leave it open. I enjoy looking at you.”

  Her fingers went limp. Thank God they"d left the club, since she wasn"t sure she could defy him. Somehow the time in the Capture Gardens had wiped away her resistance, and here
in his house, his commands and the implacable look in his eyes sent quivers all the way to her bones.

  His chin tilted up slightly. “Your answer is…?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She picked up her drink, needing to have something to hold.

  “Very nice, sugar.” He grasped her left foot and firmly massaged the aching muscles. God, that felt good. When his thumbs pressed deep into the sole, her eyes almost rolled up in her head.

  He smiled slightly, selected another spot, and did it again. Seduced into talking by a foot rub. Sneaky dom. “I"d like to know how you happened to get in a gang war, Gabi. Will it bother you to tell me?”

  “Um.” When she tried to pull her foot back, he didn"t let her. Just waited. She recognized his technique, had used it herself, yet even knowing that, the silence pressured her with the need to fill it. But this… Her chest tightened. I don’t want 106

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  to. Yet he"d tried to help her this evening. Maybe he needed to know what kind of a wreck she was.

  He waited, his hands even warmer against her skin—or maybe the room had grown colder. She"d grown colder. She took a fortifying sip of her drink. “Okay, if you really want to know… I"d run away from home and was living on the streets in Miami with a couple of men. I was pretty naive. They taught me a lot.” Amusement tickled her throat as she realized how his stuffy lawyer soul would react. “Although I never mastered hot-wiring cars, I got good at picking pockets.” And pleasing Danny and Rock in bed.

  Like she"d figured, his facial muscles tightened until his cheekbones stood out.

  “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “They should be horse whipped.”

  “Too late. They"re dead.” Amusement died as sorrow swept through her, a cold wind that left an ache deep inside her chest.

  “Tell me, sugar.” He released her gaze and massaged her other foot. The strength of his hands felt like stability in a wavering world.

  “I lived there around a year or so. The streets got rougher. Money got harder to find, so Rock started dealing even though two gangs were fighting for the territory already. One gang showed up at the apartment. They killed Rock and Danny and…”

  She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, despite the way her stomach had turned over. Everything in her curled up into a tiny ball of pain. She swallowed. “I didn"t die—just got cut up a little.” And raped.

  His gaze traced the scar down her face. “So you were there when they killed your friends?” he asked softly.

  Finish the story; get it over with. She jerked her head in a nod and stared at the red wine in her glass. “Danny opened the door, and they shot him.” The pistol blasted, the sound shocking, terrible, filling the room, drowning out the shouts, her screams. Danny seemed to fly back. He hit the floor, his eyes wide, mouth open, blood everywhere. She hadn’t even managed to stand up. He’d made love to her early that morning, told her she was his special girl. “Rock had a gun on the kitchen table. He shot once and… They had a machine pistol.” Bullets splintering the wood, ringing against metal…against flesh. His body jerked like he was having a seizure, and everything turned red as he hit the wall.

  Marcus pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. He did that a lot, didn"t he?

  “You know, he"d buy me romance novels. We were broke, but somehow he"d still find me books,” she whispered, heart aching.

  His gaze didn"t leave her face, a lifeline to keep her from drowning in the past.

  “Go on. Tell me the rest.”

  “I grabbed a knife and tried—”

  “You attacked them with a knife?” Marcus interrupted in a strangled voice.

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  “They shot my Danny and Rock. I was so mad, and I wanted to hurt them. I got the one with the gun, actually.” Her hand closed in a fist as if the wooden handle fit there. She felt the nauseating horror when the blade had slid in to the bone. His scream still brought her out of sleep sometimes.

  Marcus uncurled her fingers and clasped her hand instead.

  “I didn"t kill him,” she said, unsure even now whether she was relieved or disappointed.

  “Sugar, you might have found that hard to live with…and they"d have killed you in turn.”

  “Probably. They cut me instead.” Their cursing, the knife flashing, the odd splitting down her cheek. Warm liquid on her face and neck, turning the white flowers on the couch a garish red. The pain—God, the pain. Their laughter changing. Calling her horrible names. Hands pushing her down, holding her, tearing her… She heard herself whimper.

  “Shhh, darlin", shhh. It"s over.” Marcus"s voice. His wonderful, masculine scent.

  She found a bit of air, used it, and found a bit more. Her fingernails had dug trenches into his palm. She forced her hand open and tried to laugh. It sounded ghastly. “When the cops busted in, I was… Well, at least they didn"t shoot me. And then one man”— Thank you, God, for giving me Abe—“one man talked me out of the corner I was hiding in.”

  His arms tightened as if he could protect her. Far too late for that. Yet when he sighed and rested his cheek on top of her head, his concern washed her fear away like waves rolling over a sandy beach. “I"m sorry, Gabi,” he murmured. “For you and for your friends.”

  “They were only in their early twenties. Younger than I am now.” Too young to have everything stop. The bitter sorrow never quite left her. “Well, that"s the story.”

  He stayed silent for a minute, and she didn"t mind at all. He could hold her all night if he wanted.

  “You"ve obviously been with other men since then,” he said.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Her cheek against his chest, she could feel the springy hair beneath his silky robe. “I had trouble the first couple of times.” Kim had encouraged her, held her when she had nightmares afterward. She"d been the one to drag Gabi to a BDSM club the next year. Nothing scared Kim; no conventions slowed her down. Gabi buried her face against Marcus and pulled in a slow breath. We’ll save you, Kim. Hang on.

  “But you got to the point you could go home with a man…with a little liquid incentive?” Marcus said lightly, helping her return to stable ground. His hand massaged the tensed muscles in her shoulders.

  “Yes.”

  “Your first night, we talked briefly about more than one man. And when you watched a ménage, it excited you.” He paused. “Gabi, is a threesome something you really want or will it give you nightmares?”

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  “I…I"m not sure.” She blew out a breath, torn between the push and pull. “I think I might like to try it. Having sex actually quieted some of my fears.” She swallowed and added, “Sometimes, even with one man, I feel too many hands, and it scares me. Maybe I could get past that.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin over her head. “I"ll mull over how to set it up.”

  “Thanks.” I think.

  “Did you go home eventually?”

  “Yeah.” Not that she"d wanted to. Her parents" disapproval had hung like a miasma in the air: You brought it all on yourself. “I went back to school and everything.”

  “What do you do now?”

  “I"m—” “I do ask that you not lie to me.” She realized she"d hesitated too long, way too long for an experienced dom.

  “I take it this is one of the things you prefer not to discuss?” he said, his voice as gentle as the hand rubbing her arm.

  “Yes, please, Sir.”

  He sighed and shifted her to lean more comfortably in his arms—and to where he could watch her face, she realized. “Then let"s talk about why you"re so defiant a submissive. Why you"re insolent even when you don"t want to be.”

  Oh hell. Tell the truth…without getting into the real truth. “Uh. I"m just like that. Even as a kid. My parents are…rather rigid, and I"ve never been much for following rules.”

  His chuckle rumbled inside his chest. “I can believe
it.”

  “I guess I never got out of the habit.”

  His perceptive gaze pinned her. “You were a rebellious child, and you have a sassy nature, but sometimes there"s more, darlin". I think something drives you to cause a fuss. Any idea why?”

  She averted her eyes and shut her mouth.

  Silence. He cupped her cheek, turning her face back. “I want to help you, but I need to know what"s causing all this. Don"t you trust me enough to share it with me?”

  Guilt sent dark streaks through her, but she couldn"t. Her throat clogged. She managed to shake her head. No.

  “I see.”

  He let her bury her face against him so she could force the tears back. Could pull herself together. When she finally pushed upright, he smiled at her and put her glass of wine into her hand. “Let"s watch a movie.”

  He acted as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn"t disappointed him. The relief was immense. “I"d love to.”

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  “I don"t have any chick flicks, and I doubt you"d enjoy horror right now. But I keep some DVDs for my sister"s children. How about Shrek or The Lion King?”

  “Tough choice.” She often watched movies with her young clients. The Lion King was her favorite, but a guy would probably prefer: “Shrek.”

  She fell asleep listening to an ogre talking about the layers of an onion.

  * * *

  She awoke the next morning feeling wonderful. Well, aside from the various aches screaming at her when she moved. Scraped knees. And a tender butt. She grinned, remembering Master Raoul"s switch. During the night, she"d woken from a horrible nightmare with Marcus"s deep, slow voice pulling her to safety and comfort. Ignoring her apologies, he"d turned her so her back rested against his chest. Since he"d refused to let her wear anything to bed, his hot, hard erection had rubbed on her bare bottom. And then he"d cupped her breast in one lean hand, kissed her shoulder, and told her to go back to sleep.