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Gabrielle saw that already, but no real problem. The man positively oozed rich and powerful, so he must be a big shot in the club.
I am Master Marcus. Oh, no. This day is so not going well. Too politely. She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. The guy was way too good-looking. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean. His hair, a rich brown shading to gold on the ends, was flawlessly styled. Definitely a perfect person like her parents. Very sharp blue eyes, in fact, and turning colder by the second.
Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black? Deep, full laughter — amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass. Maybe he was the club accountant or administrator or something.
Shifting her weight, she looked past him. Hopefully the Marcus guy would arrive soon. She needed to get all established before the arrival of the kidnapper — the unsub, as a real agent would call him. She frowned. Unsub sounded too much like fake submissive. That would be me.
How many women had he destroyed with that devastating dimple in his left cheek and crease in the right? Perhaps of the Goth variety? He motioned for her to precede him down the hall, and when she stepped in front of him, his hand closed on her nape.
Firmly, as if she were a stray dog. A wider age range, diverse incomes, assorted tastes. Many doms here wear leathers and black; some prefer other attire. In a suit. Who called himself…? Just like that?
I only met you, dammit. She hesitated, but the merciless look in those blue eyes kicked her into gear. After undoing the hooks, she tossed the bustier onto a chair outside the ropes that fenced off the scene area. She forced her arms to stay at her sides and tried to ignore the air-conditioned draft on her bare breasts. I might have gone home with a man after, but for kinky stuff, I stayed in the clubs. More public or something.
He was right. She nodded. The guy wielded a razor-sharp voice, no matter how soft it was. Done any time in the gym. Maybe walked a little at least. Nothing like a fat ass to impress a man. She shivered. His eyes narrowed. Keep your mind on business, Gabi. Just cold, Sir. Totally insulting — and yet she felt her nipples contracting to dagger points and a disconcerting wetness between her thighs.
She shifted to put her legs closer together. Did you read the rules for the trainees? After buckling them on her wrists, he carefully checked the fit and then attached her left cuff to a chain dangling from the rafter. He kept the chains long enough her arms could remain at waist level. It will bring the dungeon monitors a-running. His face softened.
Um, Sir. Fear wavered inside her, and she shoved it away. She saw his gaze on her and realized her fingers were tracing the scar on her cheek. He pulled her hand down and enfolded it in his warm one. He stopped before she had to go up on tiptoe.
She tried to be grateful for the small concession, but suddenly she felt…naked. Now…now she felt the intensity of his gaze as he strolled around her again.
Make Me, Sir (Masters of the Shadowlands #5)
Start your review of Make Me, Sir Masters of the Shadowlands, 5 Write a review Shelves: keepers , captive-kidnapped , 5-stars , review-needed , contemporary-erotica , rape , genre-erotica-bdsm , author-cherise-sinclair , ebook-own-have-read , cops-detectives-agents Master Marcus, Sir Theres no doubt about it, Make Me, Sir is the book that proves Cherise Sinclair is more than merely an erotic romance author. Is it hot? Hell yeah, but its also a deeply emotional, compelling story delving into the horrific world of human trafficking. Across the country, rebellious BDSM submissives are being systematically kidnapped, one from each club. When her friend falls prey to the slavers, FBI victim specialist Gabrielle volunteers to be bait in a club not yet hit: the Shadowlands. She finds that being a bratty sub comes naturally, especially when she gets to twit the appallingly conservative Master of the trainees. Or as mean.
Make Me, Sir
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