Free Master Dan by Natalie Dae Page A

thought any of it was normal. None of it at all. I just knew there was something different in me. That I wanted something more. I had no idea what it was.”
    He unlinked our hands then put his arm around my waist. Curled his fingers so the tips rested on my hipbone. Kissed my cheek so gently that I barely felt it.
    “So,” he said. “Your problem is? What are we really talking about here?”
    “People frowning on you . People getting the wrong impression. People…talking about you—and not in a good way. I don’t like the idea of that. It hurts. I couldn’t care what they think about me—at least I don’t think I do. And if I do, I shouldn’t.”
    “It’s just the idea of them thinking this way, though,” he said. “They may not think anything at all. And if I don’t care then you shouldn’t either. If it gives me what I need so I can function better, what’s the harm? You know all this. Is there something bothering you? Something else you need to talk about?”
    He drew me closer, turned me so I was pressed to his chest. He smoothed his hands up and down my back, washing away the tension there, making absolutely everything all right.
    I sighed. “No, it’s just…”
    “Just what?”
    “Someone the other night.”
    “At the cottage?”
    “Yes.” I slid my fingers into the back of his waistband.
    “Go on.”
    “There was a woman there. She watched us for a while. From the look on her face she thought I was a hard-nosed cow who dragged you along behind me. That you were odd for allowing it. As if I kicked you, treated you like an unwanted dog.” I laughed lightly. “I mean, look at you. Hardly the willowy type, are you. And she discussed us with her Master—the nice chap—I saw her. You know the one. We’ve spoken to him about our life a few times.”
    “Ah, yes, him. Like you said, nice chap. I imagine he set her straight, then.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “You must never worry about what people think of me. Us. We like it—or have you discovered you don’t?”
    I drew back from him to stare into his brown eyes. “No! Not at all. My worry is for you. As you know, me being a supposed Domme… You found me in that sleazy little place that masquerades as an upmarket BDSM parlor and fails miserably.” I laughed. “Bondage City. Dear me, I was so desperate for a job there—anywhere so I could be myself. And you came along. Remember that?”
    “How could I forget?” He stroked my cheek. “My initial taste of being dominated was by you. People might assume I grew attached to you because of it. My teacher, someone I found I couldn’t be without, even after just the first strike. Unhealthy, I imagine some would say, for a student to fall in love with his Domme without trying other Dommes afterwards.”
    “Or for a Domme to fall in love with a client.”
    “Yet we did—and here we are, you worrying about what others think of me when I don’t give a shit. It’s lovely of you, but please, stop. It could be taken as insulting or degrading.”
    “What do you mean?” I frowned.
    “Note I said could . That you fretting could be seen as demeaning our relationship—that you agree with what they, whoever they are, might feel about us.”
    I blushed. “That wasn’t what I meant at all .”
    “I know. So will you stop this nonsense? Where has my strong faux Domme gone, mmm?”
    He kissed my cheek. Trailed his fingertips up and down my back again. Turned me the hell on by skimming over the rise of my arse.
    “Clearly, your faux Domme has been sidetracked by emotions. It won’t happen again.” At least I’ll try not to let it happen again.
    “Good. Besides, they don’t know what we know. That to outsiders I may look like a meek sub, but in reality I’m all Master.”
    I snuggled my face to his, kissed his neck above his shirt collar, the material grazing my chin. “And that you’re the one telling me what to do.”
    “And so as long as we know, what does it matter?”
    “It doesn’t.