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

brochure for this place had stressed. “Sir. Sorry for forgetting to address you properly, Sir.”
    “You are beautiful—and forgetting to call me Sir is fine. This time. You’re new, aren’t you? New to the lifestyle?”
    I stifled a trill of nervous laughter. This was where I’d be caught out. Where he’d know I was a fake who had no idea how things worked, not really. I’d read a few books, had realized a part of myself had been missing for many years and that being a sub would possibly help fill the void. But to actually be here, sitting beside a real Master? Ashamed I’d enquired about being a part of the goings on at Marshall Cottage, ashamed that I’d even dared to dream I could meet a man because of it, I stood to leave. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go home.”
    He stood swiftly, standing before me, so tall I had to look up to see his face.
    “Whatever for? We’ve only just met.”
    My stomach rolled over again. Please don’t let me be sick. Not yet. Not until I get outside. “Um, I really shouldn’t have joined. I… You…you’re not my type.” God forgive me for lying.
    “Not your type? Mr M assured me we were a perfect match, and you’re very much my type.”
    “I am?”
    “Indeed you are. Please, sit with me for a while. At least let me spend some time with you before you go dashing off like Cinderella.” He glanced down at my high-heeled black shoes. “Although Cinderella didn’t wear such a charming pair of stilettos.”
    Charming? That word reminded me of him, and he was Prince Charming all right, and so not the type of man I had ever dared to date before. I had never approached a god such as he, for fear of receiving unbridled laughter at my request for a date, to be Mastered. I didn’t enjoy blushing from shame one little bit.
    “Uh, okay. Maybe I can talk to you for a few minutes. But then I really do have to go home.” I sat back down, my basque squeaking and my face heating further. What if he’d thought I’d made that sound? What if he thought—?
    “Leather, you’ve got to love the noises it makes,” he said, sitting beside me again. “Especially from specific implements.”
    I laughed quietly, processing what he’d just said. Specific implements. I had always loved leather, had fancied wearing a basque and stilettos for ages but hadn’t dared to until tonight.
    “Would you like a drink?” he asked, indicating a glass door with an elegant wave of his hand. “I promise it will only be one, and it’s soft drinks here—no one gets taken advantage of due to alcohol.”
    I did want a drink, a soda that would burn away the dry fuzz that had suddenly coated my mouth. I nodded then allowed him to steer me across the foyer.
    He stopped at the door to the bar and smiled down at me.
    “What’s your name? Sir? Mr M never said.” I lowered my gaze—if I looked at his face for much longer I might rise up on tiptoe and press my lips to his. And that just wouldn’t do. I’d appear wanton, forward, and I was far from that. Yet something about him gave me a sense of wanting to set myself free, do things I’d never done—before it was too late and I scampered away home.
    Stupid. You’re just being stupid. Have a drink, a little chat, and see where it goes from there. He’s not going to whip you, or bend you over his knee and spank you without your consent. This isn’t some dodgy outfit.
    “I’m Master Connor. And Mr M didn’t tell you anything about me because I asked him not to. He has in the past, and the women who chose me based on what he’d said have been types who didn’t hold my interest at all. But you…” He leaned down, brushing his lips across the top of my head. “Are far from that.”
    Oh, God. If he did that again… My stomach knotted, my cheeks heated even further— I must look a sight by now —and I grew wet between my legs. What the hell was happening to me? My response to just a simple brush of lips on my