Free Master Connor (Marshall Cottage Book 3) by Natalie Dae Page A

didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been this. God, he could be one of any number of men. Some stood around the edges, and others sat at small round tables or on sofas. Many were already with someone. And all were engaged in some form of sexual activity, be it fondling, fucking or just watching someone else get fucked. A few couples occupied booths at the back, and I eyed them with envy. They appeared well established, and if I were honest, I didn’t want a one-nighter, where a Master would give me a bit of a flogging then send me on my way. No, I wanted what these people appeared to have. Clasped hands and special looks only the couples themselves knew the meaning of. Shared secrets and trust that transcended the sex act. A one-nighter wouldn’t give me that.
    I sighed, letting the air out slowly, then pasted on a smile as though I did this kind of thing all the time. Bloody hell, yes, I was Dahlia Singleton, one-off sub extraordinaire. Quickly assessing the room again, I found a space in the far corner then studied people one by one. None of the men had a red hankie in their pocket. Something tugged at me inside, the knowledge that I’d chosen the wrong room—because, shit, no man had turned to watch my entrance, and they would have, wouldn’t they, if they were expecting me to show?
    Unless he got tired of waiting.
    I turned and strode toward the door, angry with myself for feeling deflated. For having pinned my hopes on some stupid liaison that would give me what I craved. What had I expected? Some Master to come rushing up to me and sweep me off my feet?
    If I were being truthful, yes.
    Shoving at the door, I huffed in temper as it met with resistance. I pushed it again, harder, then in a fit of anger, my cheeks heating, I forced myself through the small gap, intent on going home and back to bed—the only place that welcomed me wholly, without any stipulations.
    And came face to face with a suited man taller than he had any right to be with a face like a movie star. And a red hankie in his pocket.
    Oh, Jesus Christ. I’m going to faint.
    Just what I needed. To fall flat on my face, my skirt hiking up to show my arse, all in front of this sexy-as-hell-oh-my-God-he’s-beautiful man who gazed down at me with a sardonic grin on his ruggedly, too-damn-handsome face.
    My heart seemed to crash around. A fierce blush crept into my cheeks. “Umm, sorry. I was just leaving because I—”
    “Dahlia Singleton, correct? Mr M said you were a beauty.”
    If I didn’t know better, I thought he’d said my name. And that I was a beauty. “Um, yes?”
    “I was waiting in the other room,” he said, taking my elbow in his slim-fingered hand that sent shivers of delight throughout my body. He guided me across the foyer to an unoccupied sofa. “But I thought I’d just check to see if you were in Voyeur Room One.” He waited for me to sit before he settled beside me, his warm, muscular thigh touching mine.
    His warm, muscular thigh touching mine! Oh, my Lord, this man, this man is sitting next to me. Me!
    “And here we are,” he finished, tilting his head to regard me with deep brown eyes, resting his arm on the back of the sofa and supporting his head in his hand.
    His hair, black and wavy, gave me the urge to run my fingers through it.
    “Yes,” I said breathlessly, so unlike my real voice. “Here we are.” I smiled and looked at him from beneath lowered lashes.
    I was embarrassed and completely out of my league—and depth. I should never have come here, should never have thought I could do this. I’d never subbed before, had only dreamt of having a Master, and this one appeared so…with it, so Masterly, that I was bound to fail at the first step. Men like him didn’t go for women like me.
    “Mr M was right.” He placed his free hand on his thigh and rubbed absently.
    What I wouldn’t give to have my hand doing that instead.
    “Oh? In what way?” I blushed, remembering what the