Make Me, Sir

by Cherise Sinclair

  She"d drifted off unsure if she regretted his control or not.

  She slid out of bed. No sounds from the house. After brushing her teeth, she futilely wished for real clothes. After pulling on her robe, she stepped through the bedroom"s sliding glass doors. He had a swimming pool big enough to swim laps. A giant inflated swan floated in the clear blue water.

  Clad only in loose cotton pants, Marcus stood in the grassy backyard outside of the pool"s screen cage. After a minute, she recognized the controlled movements of tai chi. One movement slid into another, infinitely slow and perfect. Panther graceful. She"d taken self-defense in college and never looked like that.

  When he finished, he stood for a bit, then headed toward the pool. He spotted her and smiled…and her heart did a twitchy thing, as if it had wiggled in happiness.

  “I saw your pictures in the living room,” she said, striving for casual. “You do a lot of this karate stuff?”

  “Some.” He walked across the grass. “I was a skinny hairless wimp at thirteen, and I wanted to impress a sweet young thing, so I signed up for karate. A month later, Marybeth abandoned me for a football player, but by then I was hooked on martial arts.”

  A wimp? His strong shoulders were twice the width of hers. Crisp golden hair covered the muscular planes of his chest. His biceps rippled under taut skin; tendons stood out on his forearms.

  She wanted to touch him so badly she shook inside.

  After stepping into the caged pool area, Marcus stopped in front of her. “You look much better, darlin". How do you feel?”

  “Good.” She clasped her hands together. You’re not a girlfriend, Gabi; you’re just a messed-up trainee he took pity on. “Uh, I"m ready to leave whenever you are.”

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  He tilted his head and gave her a quizzical look. In the morning light, his blue eyes appeared clearer than the cloudless sky above. “Are you now?”

  When he ran his fingers down her jaw, her skin heated as if he were the sun.

  Unthinking, she rubbed her cheek against his palm and then flushed at acting like a starstruck teenager. “Don"t.” She took a step back. God, he was probably laughing at her.

  The corners of his eyes definitely crinkled, but his gaze held heat, not laughter.

  “Does a sub get to say „don"t"?” How could a quiet voice sound so threatening?

  Her mouth turned dry, and her heart skipped a beat. “No. No, Sir.”

  “I thought not,” he said softly. “Hold your robe open for me, Gabrielle.”

  The muggy heat of a Florida morning hadn"t changed, but with his command, the air itself thickened. Her fingers shook as she untied the belt and grasped the front, parting it. Exposing herself to his gaze.

  “You have a beautiful body, little sub.” He cupped her breasts, weighing them in his palms, running his thumbs around tightening nipples.

  She closed her eyes over the heady wash of sensation. His nearness, the warmth of his sure hands, the slight scrape of rougher skin over her nipples. Above all, more than anything, knowing it was his touch.

  When his fingers stilled, she opened her eyes and saw him watching her carefully. “You look a little flushed, sugar. Maybe we should—”

  If he said he wanted to eat breakfast now, she"d kill him. With a huff of exasperation, she abandoned the robe and grasped his hands, pressing them harder against her breasts. “More.”

  His eyes cooled, and he pulled his hands out from under hers.

  Her heart shrank. Couldn"t she do anything right? “I"m sorry, Sir.” Lowering her arms, she bowed her head, wishing she could sink down into the concrete.

  To her surprise, he chuckled and put his arms around her. “It"s all right, darlin". I do sometimes forget you"re still new to this. And we"re new to each other.”

  The wave of relief shook her. After a second, she clasped her arms around his waist and burrowed a little closer. “I didn"t know how to tell you I…I wasn"t flushed because of the heat. I wanted to continue—but not if you don"t want to,” she added hastily.

  He kissed the top of her head. “As it happens, I do know the difference between an overheated sub and an aroused one,” he said mildly. “As for me wanting to…”

  His hands curved under her bottom and slid her pussy up and down a very hard erection.

  Oh. Well. She didn"t get time to feel stupid. As his hands massaged her butt, he tilted her hips so her clit contacted the base of his cock. Her breasts flattened against his bare chest, and the heat inside her flared to life. “Um.”

  His laugh ruffled her hair. “I think you"re flushed again, Gabi. Go get in the pool.” He pinched her bottom.

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  She stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to cool off?”

  His chin raised, and the stern look he gave her knocked all the air from her lungs. She flung her robe over a lounge chair and hurried to the shallow end.

  She walked down the wide steps in the corner of the pool. The water was only slightly cool…until it reached her groin, and then it felt like ice water against her burning pussy. She squeaked and looked to see if he"d noticed. Her mouth dropped open.

  He"d stripped his pants off. Long, powerful thighs, narrow hips, and tight buttocks. Oh my. As her insides melted, she checked the water around her to see if it had started to boil.

  Near the deep end, he picked up a pole and herded the swan toward her. Gabi snickered. Who"d have thought Mr. Stuffy would keep a blow-up swan in his pool, let alone one a good four feet or so across the back.

  After setting the pole and something else on the edge of the pool, he came down the steps. Without speaking, he picked her up and laid her on the winged back.

  Plastic warm from the sun scraped her breasts, teasing them to hard points.

  Giggling, Gabi tried to crawl up farther. She hadn"t played on one of these for a—

  His hard hands yanked her back until her legs dangled into the water, forcing her to grab the wing on the opposite side. She glanced over her shoulder. His erection jutted upward out of the water, wonderfully thick and long. Veins bulged down the length. The head looked like velvet, and her mouth watered.

  Holding her legs, he moved backward and up one corner step, raising his cock to the level of the swan.

  “Marcus, what are you doing?”

  “Enjoying my little sub before breakfast.” He spread her thighs open and slid his fingers in her wetness and over her clit. The rush of pleasure ignited a fire inside her, one he worked into a hard blaze as he mercilessly stroked her clit to hardness.

  He released her for a moment, took a step toward the edge, and she heard a condom wrapper being torn open.

  “Brace yourself, sweetheart.” Without further warning, he thrust inside her, burying himself to the hilt. Impossibly large, stretching her to the point of pain, yet the pleasure so intense her back arched. God. Her vagina strained to accommodate him, throbbing around the intrusion. His hands held her hips, keeping her immobile. His groin pushed against her pussy, and as the swan rocked under her, the crisp hairs teased her swollen, puffy labia. She moaned.

  “Now that there"s a nice sound,” he murmured. His fingers curled tighter around her hips, and he slid his cock out slowly. Too slowly. She wanted to push back, move him faster, but her legs dangled uselessly above the pool floor. He controlled the movements of the swan and of her body, and she could do nothing but hang on.

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  He took her hard. Mercilessly.

  Right there in the pool, before breakfast, without asking first.

  Took her so thoroughly that she came twice before he finished.

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  Chapter Twelve

  After several more days of the bogus job hunting, Gabi wanted to scream. It wouldn"t seem so bad if she needed a job, but she didn"t. Her feet ached as if someone had pounded
on them with a mallet. She swung her legs up to rest on the back of her couch.

  Where"s a nice foot-rubbing dom when you needed one?

  She sighed, remembering last weekend and the careful power of Marcus"s hands. On her feet. Her breasts. Her pussy. In the pool, he"d slid those strong fingers under her and stroked just hard enough, pinched… She sighed, and her clit throbbed as if the memory had woken it up.

  The memory of how he"d tossed her on the swan and simply taken what he pleased still made her quiver inside. That morning, she"d done anything he"d wanted, as if their time in the Capture Gardens had set a pattern of her giving in.

  Submitting.

  And I loved it. Loved seeing his smile of pleasure when she did as he commanded, loved basking in his approval instead of causing him disappointment.

  He hadn"t played lord and commander all the time. After the pool—and the shower—they"d cooked omelets and biscuits for breakfast, arguing about the ingredients, about who"d wash up, about anything. If anyone had kept count—and Mr. Lawyer had—she"d won more arguments than she lost. He hadn"t acted like she was his slave. Well, not until they"d put the dishes away, and she"d said something about it being time to leave.

  He"d gotten that dominating look in his eyes, and his drawl had turned to rich velvet. “No, darlin", you"re not leavin" yet. You haven"t gotten to…enjoy…my bed yet.”

  Oh Lord, she was getting all needy just thinking about it. Damn him.

  She heard a thud. A thump. What sounded like a herd of horses stampeded through the room, and her two black cats tangled into a rolling ball under the tiny kitchen table. Gabi snorted a laugh. Whoever said cats were quiet pets needed his head examined. They might stalk silently, but the rest of the time…?

  With a mutual hiss, the boys gave up the fight, and first Hamlet, then Horatio landed on her stomach.

  “Oomph. Dammit, guys.” Smiling, she stroked them. Horatio with long, fluffy fur, Hamlet with short, sleek fur, they"d been a birthday present last year from her grandmother. Little fur babies to love from someone she loved. “You know, boys, 114

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  your mama must have entertained the neighborhood, "cause you sure don"t look like brothers.” She added wistfully, “I wish I had a brother or sister.” But her parents disliked how much a child interfered with their lives and had never considered having another after Gabi.

  Hamlet pushed against her hand, demanding a head scratching.

  “That"s me, guys. A handicap to a career.” She"d tried to be the perfect daughter at first. When that didn"t gain her any increased affection or attention, she"d gone the other way. Perhaps not the best thought-out scheme, but at least when she"d misbehaved, they noticed her.

  As if to commiserate, Horatio rubbed his cheek against her chin.

  She rubbed back. “Maybe they"d have done better with cats.” Or not. At ten, she"d begged for a pet and received a list of reasons for their refusal. Scratched furniture, pet dander, noisy… “They"d only like you two if you were silent and hairless. Without claws.”

  Hamlet stared at her with appalled green eyes; he"d always been more conservative than Horatio.

  After a glance at the clock, she groaned. “Guys, I need to get moving. I"m meeting our dear, sweet buddy, Dickhead—and the other two agents—at some Clearwater beach hotel.” Rhodes would probably spend the entire time tearing her apart. Dammit.

  She"d asked Agent Galen to assign her a different agent, but Rhodes had specifically requested the Shadowlands. Of course, he"d prefer the ritzy private club to the others. Because of his seniority in the Tampa office, they couldn"t arbitrarily remove him.

  Horatio flicked his ears forward as if to ask why she didn"t just disembowel the obnoxious agent. What else were claws for?

  “Don"t tempt me.” She swung her legs down and sat up. “What bothers me about this assignment is Marcus. After all my years of smarting off to the parental units, who"d imagine I"d want to behave? Well…behave most of the time.”

  She grinned, remembering how she"d stepped out of the shower before Marcus, then reached back to push the lever to cold. The man had a remarkable command of the profaner elements of the King"s English.

  And a hard hand.

  And amazing stamina.

  She sighed. He"d wasn"t quite as conservative as she"d thought.

  Then again, his decor seemed pretty dull. And his clothing. And the way he talked sometimes—Mr. Lawyer. She shook her head. No, they weren"t really alike at all.

  And he doesn’t like brats, so she sure wasn"t his type. He"d only taken her home because she"d been a mess, and the master of the trainees was a walking, Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir

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  talking example of overprotectiveness. Well, if she"d been his pity fuck for the weekend, she"d enjoyed it. Even if the thought did hurt.

  She picked up Hamlet, kissed the top of his furry head, and set him on the floor, then did the same with Horatio. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she glanced around the apartment. Beige on bland on insipid. Very creative decorator.

  Hamlet and Horatio sat side by side, disgust at her abandonment plain in their postures.

  “We can do this, guys. Only two weeks and we go home.” Back to her cozy, colorful apartment, back to their cat condos and window perches.

  Back to a life without a stuffy, domineering lawyer who sometimes seemed like something more.

  Once in the fancy Clearwater hotel, she checked to make sure no one had followed her. She grinned, remembering Dickhead"s cursory lesson that she"d titled

  “How to Be an Agent in Five Easy Steps.” Nonetheless, she dutifully got off the elevator two floors early and climbed the stairs to the proper floor. How did they manage to do this covert stuff without feeling like idiots?

  Winded, she stopped in front of the door to the hotel room and watched the elevator and stairway for a minute. Just in case. The silence in the hallway grew heavier as she stood there. Her amusement died as she remembered why she was here. Because someone wanted to sell her, to break her like an animal, to use her until she died. Oh, Kim. She pounded on the door.

  It opened, and Agent Rhodes stepped back to let her in. “About time you got here, Renard.”

  Her relief at being inside faded. She glanced at her watch. Two minutes late.

  She turned away to look around at the room decorated in warm colors of sand and brown, highlighted with tropical oranges and reds. Still a little winded, Gabi dropped onto the L-shaped, sectional sofa without waiting for an invitation. Next time, she"d stop the elevator two flights above the hotel floor and walk down. And the minute she returned home to Miami, she"d join a gym. She meant it this time.

  Really.

  “What happened to the meeting?” she asked, glancing around the empty room.

  “A conference call in Buchanan"s room. Kouros said they"d return shortly.”

  Rhodes took a seat at the other end of the sofa and smoothed down his black suit, adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt. He wore J. Edgar-approved conservative clothing, undoubtedly chosen to facilitate his way up the ladder.

  He picked up the coffee cup on the table and took a sip. “You"re not a trained agent, Renard, but the stunt you pulled last night jeopardized the investigation. I don"t know why you have your head up your ass—or maybe I do.” His lip raised in a sneer. “I"ve seen how much you like your evenings.”

  Gabi set her hands on her thighs, keeping her fingers open, her palms down. A victim specialist had to keep her temper, to counsel, to talk through, to negotiate.

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  own personal problems at the Shadowlands. But she was glad she had. How could she allow herself to stay so vulnerable to a simple word or two?

  But no need to worry about it now. “Rhodes,” she said, giving him a level look.

  “Your comment is inappropriate. Please confine yourself to
a discussion about the investigation.”

  His face flushed. Had he forgotten how often she"d called him on his behavior last year? Amusement tickled her throat. Maybe he thought that because she was a submissive in the club, her whole personality had changed. Not.

  He glared at her. “Then, sticking to the discussion, I want you to know if you pull another stupid trick like going off with one of your fuck buddies, I"ll have you fired. You got that?”

  She sighed. Narrow-minded asshole. “Bear in mind I don"t work for you, Rhodes. I volunteered for this, and I can unvolunteer at any time and you can try to whistle up a new submissive to take my place.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Good luck with that.”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it. Good choice. Considering her teenagelike bratty behavior in the Shadowlands, he"d probably forgotten she wasn"t someone he could push around. But as a child of an English professor and a corporate lawyer, she could not only out-pompous him, but could probably rip him to pieces verbally. And that wouldn"t achieve anything except a moment of—very nice—satisfaction.

  Unfortunately, complaining about him wouldn"t get her far. Others had tried, but he had too many high-level buddies. And he"d undoubtedly do his best to destroy her reputation in turn.

  She sat back slowly as a nasty realization surfaced. If Rhodes put his twisted slant on what she had to do in the club, this job could well kill her career. Her chest tightened as she thought of everything she"d worked for falling to pieces.

  Before she could decide what to do, two men walked into the room. One was Galen Kouros, classically tall, dark, and handsome with a very unclassical limp.

  She hadn"t seen him walk before, but from the way he leaned on a black cane, he no longer chased after criminals on foot. The lines in his face might come from pain, not a bad temper.