Make Me, Sir (Doms of Decadence 5)

Sam snorted. “More like spoiling her to death.”

“Sam.” This time Roarke’s voice was more forceful. It held a definite reprimand, and Sam lowered his head. Although, the grin on his face told Tiny he wasn’t that repentant.

Sam was obviously trouble.

“Alex, watch Reagan while I get some drinks?”

“I’ll go, Sir,” she immediately offered.

Tiny gave her a firm look. “I wasn’t talking to you. Wait here.”

He waited for Alex’s nod then rose and moved to the bar. As he waited for the bartender to finish another order, he turned back to watch Reagan. He knew Alex would watch her, but he found it hard to keep his gaze off her.

“You’re new.” A pale, slim-built Dom dressed in tight leather pants and nothing else moved in next to him.

“Yep.” Tiny turned back and ordered his drinks.

“You’re with Reagan.”

This guy seemed to like to state the obvious. Tiny grabbed the drinks with a nod of thanks to the bartender. The smaller Dom grabbed his arm. Tiny looked down at the hand on his arm then up at the other Dom. He immediately snatched his hand away, looking slightly nervous.

Then he sneered. “Good luck with her. You’re gonna need it. She’s a cold bitch.”

The pasty-faced Dom turned to stride away, and Tiny resisted the urged to hurl one of the drinks he held at the other man’s head. Anger strummed through his veins. Caution. Control. Sometimes you learned more by standing back and watching.

Of course, if the other man said something to hurt Reagan then he’d intervene.

Nobody upset his girl.

Nobody.

He walked back over to where Reagan waited for him. She smiled up at him as he sat, placing his drink on the small table beside his chair. Then he drew her between his legs, wanting her close. He held the gin and tonic he’d gotten for her up to her lips and waited while she took a sip. He’d gotten himself juice. He wasn’t much of a drinker.

“Who’s that guy?” he asked Alex, nodding his head over at the Dom he’d run into at the bar. Although calling him, a Dom might be a stretch. “The rooster in the leather pants.”

“That’s Paul,” Reagan told him. “Why is he a rooster?”

“I didn’t ask you.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she lowered her gaze.

“Sorry, Sir.”

Tiny was aware the others were staring at them in amazement, but he couldn’t think why.

“The rooster?” he asked Alex.

“That’s Paul Henderson.”

“I gave him a membership because he’s friends with a couple other Doms here who vouched for him,” Roarke told him. “But he doesn’t fit in that well? Why?”

Tiny glanced down at Reagan. “He said something about Reagan. He doesn’t like her.”

“Oh, quite a few Doms don’t like our Reagan,” Sam said cheerfully. “She’s like a bloodhound, she can sniff out a pretender, and she ain’t afraid to tell ’em what she thinks.”

“Sam,” Roarke said quietly. “You and I have a date with the spanking bench as soon as it’s free.”

Sam didn’t look the least bit daunted.

“You hoping the intruder is going to strike tonight?” Alex asked.