“I'm not likely to forget someone slapping my butt with a big piece of wood.”

“I want my glasses.""No." The absent way he said it, as if she didn't have a choice, set off an odd shimmer in her bones. He regarded her soberly. "You're scared without them? More than being bound to a table?""I'm trying not to think about bondage," she said grumpily.He grinned, swift and wonderful."And yes, I'm scared. What if something happened, like a fire?" She wouldn't be able to find her way out. "Or a terrorist attack. Or zombies."He chuckled. "I do like submissives with imagination.”

“Pull up your big-girl panties, Gabi.”

“God, you’re uptight. Did the aliens maybe forget to remove your anal probe?”

“Thank you sweetie, I didn't know how much I needed you.. Perhaps now you might provide me with something else." "Oh? What if I'm not in the mood to provide anything else but food?" "Since I'm the master and you're the sub, seems like you get to provide it anyway.”

“She took a second look at him, at his fancy tailored suit. Dark gray with pinstripes. Oh please, like she’d really believe he was a dom at all? “Gabrielle Anderson. Are you sure you’re Master Marcus?”“Why would you think I’m not Master Marcus?” he asked. Well, good grief. She waved a hand at him and kept the duh from slipping out. Just in case he really was Master Marcus. Maybe he hadn’t changed yet or something. “The suit? Where are your leathers or latex or…biker jacket or vest? And black? Did you forget to wear black?”He stared for a second, as if she’d turned into a drooling idiot, and then simply roared. Deep, full laughter—amazing coming from someone who looked like he should have a stick up his ass.”

“You’re so damn big,” she whispered.“Why, thank you cariño,” he said.”