Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(37)

As the sports car’s engine purred, his thumb stroked the underside of the steering wheel. He realized how much he was going to miss his baby. Sandro had agreed to fly out to San Diego later this week to drive her home—agreed a little too enthusiastically for Marc’s taste. He hoped he’d get back from Fallujah before the kid blew the engine.

“Nice ride!” Orlando shouted over the wind blowing around them.

“Thanks. What do you drive?”

“Harley.”

Shit! This kid has chick-magnet potential, after all.

“Had to sell it to make rent last year, though.”

“Crap. That had to suck.”

“Yeah. I’m currently a man without wheels—but I guess it won’t matter much after next week.”

Marc hoped there would be at least one woman with a military fetish at the club tonight. With their “Marines” emblazoned camo T-shirts and their high-and-tight haircuts, it was obvious. Marc wore his Navy uniform and insignia on formal occasions, but damn it, he’d earned the title of Marine, as well, during his Recon Marine training and was proud to proclaim it.

He also hoped they had Dom gear available. He’d left his toy bag in Aspen. Wouldn’t be surprised if Sandro was trying out his gear, too, the way he’d become so fascinated by the whole Master Marco fiasco. He shook his head.

“So, where we going again?”

“A little club I heard about.”

“What kind of club?”

“Fetish.”

“Man, I told you I’m not into inflicting pain on chicas.”

“No problem. I’ll take care of that part. We’re tag-teaming. You’ll be the master in charge of pleasure. You do know how to please a woman, don’t you, Orlando?” Marc grinned over at him.

The kid sat up straighter in the leather seat. “Well, hell, yeah.”

Marc’s smile widened. He’d known bringing Orlando’s machismo into question would rile him up. Being Italian, Marc knew all about machismo. He’d been weaned on it.

“This place is fairly strict—no penetration except oral, no alcohol other than beer and wine. I know the owner, though. A Navy vet. Jerry served in Vietnam. He’ll make sure we deploy with enough carnal memories to last us for eight months of lonely nights in Iraq. I called and he said he’d find us a fem-sub interested in a threesome.” Marc’s only hard limit over the phone was that she not be Italian.

“I’ve never…”

“Hell, Orlando, we’re headed to a f*cking war zone. What better time to try a threesome than now?”

Less than two hours later, they were seated in the social area of the club having beers with the petite redhead Jerry had sent over to get acquainted. Bianca seemed to have a thing for Orlando’s forearm. She kept tracing her sharp red fingernail along its length, then she’d bat her eyes at Orlando, who for some god-damned reason couldn’t quite make eye contact with her.

Come on, kid. She’s interested in you, for Christ’s sake.

She sighed and looked at Marc. “So, what kind of kink are you boys into?”

Marc brushed a burnished lock of hair back from her forehead to get a better look at her green eyes. “Whatever kind of kink you need, pet.”

Her pupils dilated. Marc smiled.

“Well, um, Jerry says I can trust you—or he’ll whup your asses.” She smiled sweetly to belie the threat. “So, how about leather flogger? St. Andrew’s cross? Cunni and fellatio?”

Marc’s cock throbbed. She had him at flogger, one of his favorites. Jerry knew and had probably planted the idea. Fucking patriotic of him.

“Mind if I warm up your backside on the loveseat first? The kid here needs to see how erotic spanking is done.”

Orlando glared at him, but didn’t speak up.

“Sure. Let me go change into something more…appropriate.” She smiled and flounced off toward the dressing rooms.

“We’ll be waiting!” Marc called after her.

“You don’t have to make me sound like a f*cking virgin.”

Marc turned to smile at Orlando. “Good, then don’t act like one. When we restrain her on the cross, I’ll let you have first crack at her. Her ass will be pretty sore by then. You can work on her tits and *.” Marc glanced down to see the bulge in the kid’s pants. Yeah, he was coming around.

Fifteen minutes later, as he polished off his beer, Marc looked toward the dressing-room entrance to see Bianca strutting toward them in a short, short plaid skirt and a schoolgirl’s white blouse. She held a wooden ruler between her breasts.

Holy shit!

Marc adjusted himself surreptitiously to keep from strangling his cock and stood up.

“You’re late, young lady. Mr. Jerry sent you to me for your punishment thirty minutes ago. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Her pupils dilated again as she caught her breath, and then she cast her eyes down to the floor. “I’m sorry, sir. I was with my friends and just lost track of time.”

Marc took the ruler from her and laid it on the table. He had raided Jerry’s private toy stash while Bianca was dressing and picked up one of the leopard-print cuffs lying beside the ruler. He handed it to Orlando, then picked up Bianca’s hand and extended it to the kid, whose hands shook as he wrapped the cuff around her wrist and tightened it.