Capture Gardens Excerpt from Make me, Sir By Cherise Sinclair
“Marcus, I didn’t know you planned to play tonight.” The silver-haired dom smiled. His pale blue eyes examined Gabi. “That’s a pretty yellow outfit. Might as well match it.” He picked up three yellow plastic sticks and flexed them until they glowed. “Give me your arm, girl.”
She held her hand out. He fastened one around her wrist, one on her ankle, and the last on Marcus’s wrist. “The colors are a safeguard so the dungeon monitors can check that a dom grabs the right sub. In other words, only Master Marcus may claim you, Gabrielle. Clear so far?”
Her breasts bounced painfully as she ran, and she slowed quickly. As the plush golf-course-length grass tickled her feet, a sultry night breeze wafted against her bare skin. It felt strange—wrong—to walk around outside with no clothes on.
Rubbing her arms, she continued on. Hedges loomed on each side, opening into secluded areas with menacing shadows. “Give Master Marcus a good hunt,” Master Raoul had said, so she turned down a smaller path, working her way deeper in. Other glow lights twinkled here and there, reminding her she wasn’t the only submissive in the game.
What a beautiful place though. The moonlight paled the curving flower gardens. Fountains splashed and gurgled everywhere, and lights under the water glowed. White fog drifted through the humid air and swirled around her ankles. Fog? She glanced up at the cloudless night sky and frowned, then realized the fog came from the fountains, spilling like thick mist over the sides.
They created fake fog, just for fun? She shook her head, trying to be amused, except the stuff made the place really eerie.
A man’s voice broke the quiet. “Lords and ladies, the hunt is on. Find your slaves and do what you will.”
Oh my God.
Multicolored glow sticks danced like fireflies through the darkness. People ran here and there. Some of them. Other lights moved slower, more deliberately. The doms. Stalking their slaves.
And the sounds… A scream from the right. The slap of flesh on flesh and whimpering—someone getting spanked. Gabi turned her head and heard wet sounds and simultaneous grunts from the left—someone getting taken. Hard.
She had a quick image of Marcus grabbing her, forcing her to her knees, and driving into her. She sucked in a breath. He wouldn’t. That wasn’t what she wanted. Yet her nipples peaked, and her body dampened again.
He’d be out there somewhere, searching for her yellow glow stick. Hunting her. The air seemed to heat, wafting over her skin like a hot breath.
She bolted toward the thicker bushes. If she got around those—and she did—he’d have a more difficult time spotting her bracelet. Panting, she stopped and spun in a circle—and spotted a yellow glow stick. A few feet away. Perfectly still.
Her heart hammered even before she sprinted across the path. He—What was he going to do when he caught her? He really was a cat, toying with his prey. She veered around a hedge and ran straight into him, a solid wall of muscle. “Oooph!”
He chuckled and set her on her feet. “The next time, sugar, I’m taking you down.” He stepped back a pace. “Run.”
The low-voiced threat sent excitement churning through her, making her aware of the cool fog against her ankles, the way bushes scraped on her naked body when she got too close, the way her breasts jostled as she ran. A corner. Another. She popped into a secluded spot to catch her breath, and back out and--
He grabbed her from behind.
“No!” Instinctive terror blasted her. She twisted and shoved at him frantically.
Marcus… It was Marcus, not a stranger. Okay. Okay. Using her head now, she pulled and sidestepped, and his hands slipped off her oily body.
“Li’l brat.” He made another grab for her.
I’m a greased pig, all right. Giggling, she dashed for the far side of the clearing, gaining only a few yards before his hand closed on her arm—and she yanked out off his grasp. No hitting or scratching, she reminded herself.
“You are a slippery little thing, aren’t you?” he said, his southern accent markedly increased. The bastard grabbed her hair.
“Ow!” She turned to hit him—rules be damned—and he moved faster than she’d thought possible. Setting an arm behind her shoulders, the other up between her legs, he yanked her hips forward, tipping her backward, then dropped down on his knees with her in his arms. Before she got her balance, he rolled her onto her stomach.
No way. She got her feet under her and lunged forward.
With a low laugh, he caught her ankle and yanked her back, then set a knee on her butt. His weight pinned her, making her feel…odd. Excited.
Yet the second his powerful hands closed on her shoulders, terror engulfed her in a cold, mindless fog. She froze.
He stilled. Waited. She caught a whiff of his musky amber scent, and warmth dissipated her fear. It was Marcus touching her. Knowing his knee rested on her bare bottom, his weight trapped her, made all the difference. She wiggled and couldn’t resist taunting him. “You rat-bastard dipwad, let me go.”
Chuckling, he tightened his grip. “Mouthy little sub.” The wrist cuffs snicked off his belt. “I am going to enjoy what I do to you.”
Oh God. Under the growing tension, unable to help herself, she squirmed, and he simply put more weight on her. Controlling her.
Despite her thrashing, he firmly buckled one wrist cuff on and the other, then clipped them together behind her back. When he removed his weight, she thought he’d pull her to her feet. Instead his knee pushed between her thighs, keeping her legs apart.
His jeans scraped against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. For a minute, he didn’t move. And then he stroked her legs, traced the crack between her butt checks, squeezed her waist. He ruthlessly touched her how and where he pleased, and her skin burned under his calloused hands until it seemed she might set the grass beneath her on fire.
He set his palm between her legs to cup her heat and gave a satisfied, “Mmmmh. You’re nice and wet, darlin’.”
His touch roused her, yet…she felt too naked, too restrained, too vulnerable. Needing to escape, she wiggled. Helplessly.
“No, Gabrielle.” His voice deepened, a smooth threat as his hand pressed on her ass cheeks, holding her in place. “Stay put, sugar. I want to examine my prize.”
The commanding voice, the knowledge he wouldn’t let her move, melted her inside. This was what she wanted, needed. Someone to take the control from her. She turned her head and rested her cheek. The cool grass scraped and tantalized her bunching nipples, an erotic contrast to his warm hand on her bottom.
“Good girl.” His unyielding hand held her down as with his other, he touched her intimately, caressing her folds and sending heat lancing up her center. When he slowly pressed a finger through her puffy tissues and up inside her, pleasure boiled up so violently that her eyes almost crossed.
His finger slid out, then pushed in deeper. He made another pleased sound. “Yes, Li’l Sassy, I’m going to tie you down, spread you open, and see how much of me you can take.”