Cherise Sinclair - Make Me, Sir

He smacked her mound . The light stinging slap sent fire and pain ripping through her. She almost dropped the tray as she tried to jerk away. He hauled her back against his chest with frightening ease.

He said in a level voice, “Be respectful, trainee.” He released her and walked away, leaving her much, much hotter than a minute before. Her abused clit burned, her labia stung, and the glasses on the tray she held rattled.

She not only felt hotter, but inadequate too. Marcus sounded like her father-cold and controlled. Her shoulders hunched at the memories. Never good enough for him or Mother . Not good enough for here either. Marcus already thought he’d gotten a loser of a trainee, yet she hadn’t attracted a kidnapper. Had she? She glanced around uneasily, wondering if the perp watched her.

No matter. I can only do my best.

After a slow breath, she forced herself back into action and served drinks, although her pussy was so swollen, she probably appeared bowlegged.

When she finished, she set her empty tray on the bar with a sigh of relief. Maybe she’d make a quick trip to the restroom and give her nerves a chance to calm down.

“Gabrielle.” Master Cullen waved her closer, then finished drawing a beer. He nodded to two drinks on the bar top. “Pet, be a good girl and run these over to the couple sitting by the suspension area.”

He gave her an easygoing grin that had her smiling back. “Yes, Sir.” A few steps from the bar, she realized she should have smarted off to him. Duh, Gabi.

At the suspension area, two doms had trussed a submissive in an elegant array of ropes, and she dangled in midair. Nearby a muscular, black-haired dom in black leathers observed the scene. His sub sat beside him, very pregnant and very cute, looking rather like a fat poodle next to a wolf.

Gabi steeled her nerve. “Here go, dude.” She slapped the two drinks down on the coffee table hard enough to send liquid sloshing over the sides. “Oops. My bad.”

His gaze stopped on her gold-colored wrist cuffs, and his face hardened into solid rock. “Here go, dude?” he repeated softly; then his voice turned cold. “What is your name, trainee?”

Oh crap . “I’m Gabrielle”- don’t say Sir, don’t say Sir -“Sir.” The respectful term slipped out; she just couldn’t hold it in under his ruthless stare. Damn, he and Master Marcus had this intimidating stuff down to a science. Don’t let him psych you out . She tsk-tsked at him. “My grandmother said you shouldn’t frown like that because your face might stay that way.”

“She’s got a death wish,” he said under his breath. Rising-and oh, joy -the guy was as tall as Marcus. He gripped her arm and glanced at his sub. “Wait here, Kari. I’ll return in a second.”

“Yes, Sir,” his sub said and gave Gabrielle an appalled look.

After glancing around, the dom dragged Gabi across the room to a station where a domme caned a potbellied, older man. Gabi winced as the man’s gag-muffled groan followed each whacking noise. The nasty dom didn’t plan to borrow that cane, did he?

He pulled Gabi farther, heading straight toward…Master Marcus. Hell.

Marcus’s smile faded when he saw Gabi. “Is there a problem with the trainee, Master Dan?”

Oh, this is not good.

“Damn right.” The dom stared down at Gabi. She hadn’t realized brown eyes could look so pitiless. “Either incredibly poorly trained or simply insolent. I think insolent, myself.”

“I see.” Master Marcus’s gaze dropped to her. “That would be a downright pity, wouldn’t it?”

Okay, blue eyes could definitely turn colder than brown ones. A tremor shook her body as the dom passed her off, and Master Marcus’s equally merciless grip closed around her upper arm. “I do thank you for bringing her to me, Master Dan. I’ll take care of it.”

One corner of Master Dan’s mouth curled up. “Good enough.” He gave her a dismissive look as if she were a puppy that had peed on his kitchen floor, and walked away.

She shifted her weight and peeked up from under her eyelashes at the suit.

Arms folded over his chest, he studied her with disapproval. “Well, you got yourself in a heap of trouble. Did you not understand my instructions as to the behavior of a trainee?”

Why did she feel as if she’d let him down? Making him happy wasn’t her job. The cheerleading team in her brain started chanting brat, brat, brat , and she said in an irritating whine, “I’ve served drinks all night, and my feet are tired, and I just wanted to have a little fun. He didn’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

“Your feet are tired, and you want to have fun. I see.” His lips curved slightly. “Then we might should get you off your feet.”

His hand closed on the back of her neck again as he headed over to a small sitting area where a younger dom and one with silvery gray hair sat talking. The older one glanced up. “Marcus, how are you doing?”

“Quite well, thank you, sir.” The warm reply was a vast contrast to how he’d sounded a second ago. “Master Sam, I would like to offer y’all a coffee table for your comfort. She complained her feet are tired, so I have a notion that resting on hands and knees would suit her better.”

Coffee table ? When Gabi tried to pull away, Master Marcus slid her legs right out from under her so quickly she’d have belly flopped if he hadn’t caught her. “Hands and knees, please, Gabrielle,” he said and set her on the floor.

This was…just wrong. Avoiding the legs beside her, she sidled around far enough her butt was toward the wall at least.

He sighed and picked her up, setting her back down with her ass toward the center of the room, then shoved a foot between her knees, forcing her legs apart. Exposing her more fully. “You stay right there now.”

“Thanks a lot, boss,” she snapped.

Stinging pain slashed across her bottom, and she yelped.

“Silence, sub,” the old guy said, motioning with the switch he held. A switch . Hell, no wonder it’d hurt. His pale blue eyes examined her without any compassion at all. “I dislike noisy coffee tables.”

Marcus ran his hand over the burning spot. When she winced, he chuckled. “Gabrielle, you will serve as a coffee table until I return. I would recommend you hold very still-anyone whose drink you spill can have a blowjob from you.”

A blowjob? She stared up at him in disbelief, a solid knot forming in her stomach. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be here.

He paused, and his voice took on a deeper, cutting edge. “Am I clear?”

She really, really didn’t have the guts to challenge him-not when he used that tone. Tears blurred her vision. “Y-yes, Sir.”

He bent and stroked his hand over her hair. “Much better. I’m sorry you won’t find this a comfortable time, sugar.” The sympathy in his voice made her want to lean into him. To beg him not to leave her.

But he did. He walked away. She dropped her head, not willing to look at anything or anyone. Naked, on hands and knees, her butt exposed. A second later, the old man set his beer on her back. The cold, damp bottle made her jump, and thank God, he’d kept hold of the drink or she’d have knocked it right off. The younger man put his can of beer on her too. They must keep the refrigerator here at subzero temperatures, she thought as goose bumps rose on her skin.

She stayed in place, not moving a muscle, and realized after a few minutes that having her legs spread helped her balance. Not that she’d ever forgive Mr. Perfect anyway.

The two men talked, arguing over Tampa’s baseball team, over a recent suicide off the Skyway Bridge, over Master Z’s mouthy sub and her latest infraction. They picked their drinks up, set them down, paying as much attention to her as if she really were a coffee table.