Page 15 of Wanted
“My house, my rules,” he said flatly. “It’s also my error of judgment that caused it in the first place, so I’ll clean it up. Did you just argue with me?”
Her face burned hotter. She quickly bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Don’t apologize for doing what I want you to do.”
Flustered, Pony knew better than to trust that too. He didn’t want her to argue, no dominant wanted his submissive to argue with him. But how many times now had he said he wasn’t her Dom, and yet what was she doing right now but writing down his expectations of her.
Leaning back in his chair with a sigh, Marcus wiped his mouth on a napkin and pushed his half-finished bowl aside. “I’m not O’Dowell,” he said grimly. “You’re not in that relationship anymore, you aren’t bound by those rules. This is a new relationship, a new set of rules, and you just expressed a personal preference so that I would know what you really think and feel. I think that deserves a reward.”
Ethen didn’t care what her personal preferences were and he definitely would not have rewarded her for expressing one. Practically able to feel the stinging slap that ought to be coming, Pony put her pen down and braced herself for the trick concealed within his promised treat.
“What kind of reward?” she asked cautiously.
Holding up a staying finger, Marcus got up from the table. “Wait right here.”
Nervous panic fluttered inside her, but there was no quick smack to the back of her head as he passed behind her on his way to disappear down the hall. He returned a few minutes later with a pair of leather wrist cuffs, padded in soft red velvet on the inside and connected together by a two-link chain.
Her stomach tightened all over again, her breath catching in the back of her throat. Her nipples tightened into instant peaks. She quickly averted her eyes, trying not to let her eagerness show. He wasn’t going to put those on her. That was ridiculous. Not for arguing. Especially since she wasn’t his.
She wasn’t anybody’s anymore, and no matter how much she wished she could be, that wasn’t going to change. Especially not with Marcus.
Chapter 4
Pony/Anna
“Let me see your eyes,” Marcus commanded as he dropped the leather cuffs on the table between them and sat back down in his chair.
She tried not to, but she couldn’t help shivering as she looked at them. Almost desperately, she latched her gaze onto his and forced herself to hold it, despite the acrobatics of her racing heart and twisting, knotting stomach.
“Scared?” he asked.
Afraid she might burst into tears if she tried speaking out loud, she shook her head.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re close to crying, but not because you’re scared. How long has it been, honey?”
“Almost a year,” she whispered through a too-tight throat.
He grunted. “Stand up.”
She knocked the chair back in her haste to obey, the clumsy sound of it threw her even more off-kilter. Menagerie girls weren’t supposed to do that. Menagerie girls were sedate, elegant, and graceful in their obedience. They didn’t knock over chairs or allow their furniture to scrape the floor tiles the way she’d just done, but Marcus didn’t seem to notice. She waited, hands at her sides, her damp palms pressed tightly against her t-shirt clad thighs.
Picking up the cuffs, he beckoned her to him.
Her legs were shaking again. So was the rest of her. Half-expecting this still to be a trick, she crept to stand before him.
He twirled his finger, motioning her to turn around.
Her breaths quickened. Of all the many things that could happen to a girl when her back was turned to a man, only some of them were nice. The rest could be quite terrible.
Well-practiced at learning to expect the terrible, Pony turned her back. Her skin prickled, every fine hair rising to stand on end as she waited to be touched. Nobody touched her anymore. Only Puppy and only because Ethen had gone to prison. And because Pony had stood over her, bullying her, refusing to allow her friend the chance to break away and finally find a measure of happiness in the arms of another Dom.
Pony flinched from the caress that, instead of taking hold of her arms or wrist, brushed the small of her back.
“Shh,” Marcus soothed, the coolness of his tone making her skin flush hot.
She braced herself, head down, fists clenched tight, determined not to move again.
Warm and flat, his palm settled against her spine. He rubbed gently upward as far as her shoulders. Her small breasts grew heavier, her nipples swelling beneath the scraping fabric of her t-shirt as she breathed.
