Make Me, Sir

Chapter Eleven

This is totally insane. Stupid. Gabi scowled as she let Marcus help her out of his sedan. “I feel fine,” she said. “I don’t need-”

“Yes, you do, darlin’.” He put his arm around her as if he thought she’d fall down without his help. “You can act as ornery as you want, but you’re not going to stay alone tonight.” He nuzzled the top of her head.

“Oh honestly.” She might have had a chance to protest at the club…if she could have managed, but for some bizarre reason, her synapses hadn’t all been firing. After talking with Z, he’d had Sally fetch her purse and clothes and stuffed Gabi in his car before she could pull it together.

On the ride to his house, she’d thought about Agent Rhodes and had almost panicked until she remembered that Master Z had hugged her and murmured he’d notify her friend. Dickhead would have a fit, and wasn’t she a bad person to enjoy that he’d yell at Master Z rather than her?

But in all reality, Marcus was right. She shouldn’t drive right now, no matter how much her conscience objected.

That settled, she felt her excitement rise. Master Marcus had brought her to his home. She’d stay with him…all night. And she wanted to. To sleep in his arms, maybe have sex again. Find out more about him and… Damn, don’t be stupid. This is a temporary assignment, Gabi, not a date.

Motion detector-regulated lights came on as they walked up to the front and through a black iron gate into a tiny entranceway filled with sweetly fragrant gardenias. Inside, Marcus let go of her to turn and punch numbers into a security pad. After the humidity of the night, the dry, cool air made Gabi shiver. She wore her yellow top and hot pants Marcus had helped her put on. Hell, he’d practically dressed her. Now, standing here in fetish wear in this nice house, she felt like a slut.

She took a step back, reaching for the handle of the door.

Turning from the keypad, Marcus frowned and stepped closer. His warm hand cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

“I just…” He wanted honesty, and her brain was still moving too slow to come up with some excuse. She gestured to her clothes. “I feel sleazy.”

“Then take it off.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “On the rare occasions I bring a submissive home, I generally make her spend the weekend naked.”

“You-” When she gave him an appalled stare, his laugh filled the room, sending quivers through her stomach.

“Yes, I really do.” His thumb traced her lips as he studied her. “I’m not a twenty-four-hour dom, but I consider nights and weekends to be open season on little subs in my house.”

All weekend? “But-”

“But you’ve had enough tonight, lucky little sub, so don’t get flustered on me.”

When she sighed in relief, he laughed again. “Let me show you around.” He walked ahead of her to turn on lights, and she couldn’t help but notice how his jeans and T-shirt clung to his hard body.

The entry opened into a great room where one side held an intimate seating area, the other side a man’s favorite toy-a giant HDTV. She grinned. The decor appeared very Marcus. Creamy white walls, light marble tile floors, rich brown leather chairs and couches. Everything balanced, the colors clean but warm, although the lack of brightness struck her as sad.

A decorative glass-fronted black iron woodstove separated the living area from the dining area. How fun. Tampa did-occasionally-get chilly enough to warrant a fire. Did he sometimes throw a blanket on the floor and make love to a woman in front of it? The stab of longing to be that woman struck her without warning. “You have a lovely home,” she said, turning away from the room and the emotion.

“Thank you. Now come along, darlin’.” He cuffed his fingers around her wrist, making her stomach quake, and led her down the hallway to the master bedroom. Beige carpet, creamy white drapes, a massive bed covered with a dark blue satin quilt. The carved wood dresser and bedside stands matched the dark wood of the four posters. Curiously she ran her fingers over a scratched section of one of the spindles. Everything else seemed in perfect condition.

Even though she hadn’t spoken, his dazzling smile appeared. “From restraints.”

Oh. She stepped away quickly, abruptly aware of her isolation with a man, someone she’d only known two weeks. A dominant.

His eyes narrowed. Then he pulled her into his arms. “Gabi, no matter where we are or what we do, your safe word still works. And as it happens, I’m not fixin’ to throw you on the bed and tie you up. You’re done for tonight.” His hand moved down her back in a slow stroke of comfort.

Why did she feel so safe whenever he held her? She pressed her forehead against his chest. I’m an idiot. “I’m sorry. This just feels so strange. It’s not like I haven’t gone home with a man before-Well, maybe not for bondage, but-You know.” For sex.

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.

“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, 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.

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 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.

“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?”

“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.”

“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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.