Cherise Sinclair - Make Me, Sir

The giant bartender wandered over. “What can I get you, Marcus?”

“I do believe I could use some thick nylon rope and upper decorations, paper and a marker.”

The bartender rummaged under the bar. As he set out a coil of rope and the rest of Marcus’s requests, he shook his head at her. “Have you been a bad sub, pet?”

“He’s just being pissy,” she said and got a snort of laughter from the bartender. She frowned at the items on the bar. Rope ? “But…but I wanted clothes…”

“You want to be here? Then show me.” Master Marcus’s cold voice shriveled her willpower to nothing.

Under his pitiless blue gaze, she couldn’t find…anything…to say. Staring up at him, she realized that despite Z’s assurance that Marcus would keep her for a month, this dom might refuse to work with her. And he was the only trainer. “I do want to be here.”

The corner of his mouth turned up, as if he saw her uncertainty. “Then wear your…clothing…politely for the remainder of the night.” Marcus wound the rope around her, his sure hands twining it under and between her breasts, pulling it until the pressure caused her breasts to stick out and the skin to tauten.

It felt…strange. Snug as if the ropes held her in an embrace. And as he touched her, as his intent eyes studied her, she tingled and her nipples bunched into little points.

Once finished, he nodded in satisfaction and opened the small plastic envelope on the bar top. Two beaded pieces of jewelry fell into his hand.

She frowned, recognizing them a second before he bent and put his mouth over her left nipple. He set a hand behind her butt and prevented her from stepping back. Oh my God.

He sucked forcefully, his tongue swirling around the crest. As her breast swelled, the ropes seemed to compress even more, and the feeling of his mouth…pulling…sent pleasure spiraling to her pussy. He straightened and rubbed her nipple, keeping it erect as the skin dried. By the time he stopped, she was ready to moan.

Until he put a clamp on the very swollen, sensitive peak.

She squeaked, tried to grab her breast to yank the damned thing off, and he caught her hands.

“It’ll settle in a minute, but as contrary as you are, I got a notion you won’t leave these in place,” he said, his eyes on her face. “Let’s just remove the temptation.” He forced her hands behind her back, and one snick later, he’d locked her handcuffs together. And oh, God, the position squeezed the clamp until it felt like fingernails were biting into her nipple.

Under the feel of the cuffs, the control he took over her, she couldn’t hold back her whine. “Please, Sir.”

His head tilted and he studied her. “Please release you? Or give you more?”

The accuracy of his question stabbed right through her. The clamp hurt and yet… More. I want more. Push me, control me … “Release.”

He didn’t free her, neither from the restraints, nor his gaze for a long, long minute. “No. You’re not being truthful with me…and you’ve also proven you have no discipline whatsoever.” He bent and sucked on her other breast, squeezing the areola between his teeth. Fire shot down into her pussy. Again he teased her with his fingers until her nipple dried.

The second clamp went on, and she hissed at the stinging, burning pain. She twisted and yanked on her cuffs to get free. “Dammit!”

He studied her face. “You have a safe word, Gabrielle. You could use it about now.”

He’d like that, wouldn’t he? “No,” she gritted out.

His eyes hardened, and he tugged on one clamp. “No, what?”

“No, Sir.” Damn you to hell and back . She glared at him.

“I can smell your arousal, sugar,” he said softly. “Do not continue to sass me, or I will bend you over a bar stool and take you right now so everyone else can see how excited you are.”

She took a step back. He wouldn’t.

But from the unyielding look in his eyes, she knew he would. And the image, the thought of how it would feel to be taken here by him made liquid pool in her lower half. How could this merciless lawyer be the first man to excite her in…forever?

Even knowing she should keep poking at him, she bit her lip and kept silent. I really, really don’t want to play the brat anymore . Besides, she had the people around the bar avidly watching, so maybe she’d done enough for now. She’d definitely annoyed Mr. Lawyer, after all.

He wrote on the paper and tucked it under the rope. She tried to see, but her breasts blocked her view of the writing.

“You don’t have to serve drinks any longer tonight. Go and walk ten laps around the bar. Since you appear to enjoy attention, you can let the doms admire your…clothing.”

He waited. With a sigh, he tugged on a clamp strongly enough her response broke right out of her. “Yes, Sir!”

“Take yourself off then.”

Agent Rhodes was sitting off to one side, sipping his drink and watching. As Dickhead’s gaze traveled over her roped and clamped breasts and his mouth twisted into a sneer, she felt cheap. Dirty.

She firmed her lips and continued on, trudging toward the back of the bar, wishing she could leave. But she couldn’t. This is for you, Kim. And when you’re home, we’ll go out and laugh about what I did to get you back. We will.

She glanced over her shoulder and realized Master Marcus hadn’t moved. As he talked with Cullen and another dom, he watched her as if wondering what she’d do next. Yet his expression didn’t make her feel dirty-just powerless, which somehow melted her insides.

A second later, a young dom stepped into her path. “Cool jewelry,” he said.

“Leave me alone.” She tried to detour around him.

“You’re a rude one.” He grasped one dangling nipple clamp in one hand, using it like a painful leash as he cupped her other breast.

Owwww . Hands clenched, she held still, knowing Marcus watched. Had given permission. Somehow that made this stranger’s touch feel right, even disconcertingly exciting. The dom fondled her breasts until they burned, and let her go.

Two more doms did the same. What had Marcus written on the paper?

It didn’t stop. Her snapping and insults simply resulted in the clamps getting tugged until her breasts cried for relief. She tried walking faster, but doms still slipped off the bar stools to stop her. Two laps. Three . And all the time she walked, she felt Master Marcus studying her.

Eight laps…

Ten laps . Oh thank God, she’d made her ten. She looked around. With the club almost empty, she didn’t need to play decoy any longer. Her night was over, and she wanted to go home so badly she shook like an addict needing a fix.

Marcus still sat on the bar stool, sipping a drink, his face unreadable.

She stopped in front of him, saw no one stood close enough to hear. “Please, Sir. Can I get these off? May I go home now?” If he said no, she’d probably cry.

The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Sugar, since you asked so prettily, I’m happy to do that little favor for you.”

She’d expected him to free her wrists first. Instead he pinned her between his knees. He set one hand on her left clamp and said, “Brace yourself, sweetheart.”

“What?”

He removed the clamp.

“Aaaaah!” She couldn’t keep the wail from escaping as blood rushed into her abused nipple. Locked securely behind her back, her arms jerked futilely. Her breast burned as if he’d covered it with acid.

“Shhh.” He bent and licked lightly over the sore peak, easing the burn slightly, and soon each circle of his wet tongue sent erotic pulses to her pussy.