by Natalie Dae
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Master Connor
ISBN # 978-1-78430-150-7
©Copyright Natalie Dae 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright July 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.
Marshall Cottage
MASTER CONNOR
Natalie Dae
Book three in the Marshall Cottage series
I needed a Master to satisfy my cravings. Would Mr M find the perfect man for me?
Master Connor was everything I’d ever wanted. How could I only visit him once a week without getting heavily involved? The truth was, I couldn’t. He was my dream Master and I aimed to be his dream sub. The thing was, I knew I’d fall in love with him, given half the chance. How could I not? He was charming, a good-looking man any woman would want as their own—and I quickly realized I wanted to make sure no other woman would have him. Did I have the courage to believe his words, though? He seemed sincere…
There was only one way to find out. Let myself agree to love him and see where the future took us. Otherwise, all he’d be was a one-night stand…
Chapter One
The jingle of my mobile blasting an operatic message tune brought me out of a dream involving a man I’d never met giving me rather a good time in bed. He was the quintessential tall, dark and handsome. I sighed and glanced at the clock, pissed off to see eleven p.m. in glowing green numbers.
I’d only been asleep for an hour?
A message flashed up from Marshall Cottage. Staid male tones filtered into my brain at the memory of speaking to Mr M, the receptionist-slash-greeter when I’d signed up for a coveted spot at the BDSM mansion. Mr M had promised to have someone look into my background to see if I was suitable to join those who indulged in play at Marshall Cottage. He’d also said he would find me a suitable Master. I hadn’t had a single match in the month since I’d signed up, which only cemented the fact I wasn’t suited to anyone—anyone at all. I was stubborn, highly strung and prone to being late. What man wanted a woman like that?
I opened the text message.
I’ve found you someone.
I swallowed down my excitement.
He’s waiting for you at Marshall Cottage.
Oh, Lord. Was he waiting now? This minute?
I sat up while shuffling to the edge of the bed. I raked a hand through my hair—damn, that knot hurt—and fumbled for the bedside lamp. I messaged back, asking if he meant now and whether I was supposed to just drop everything and go. I suspected I would—sub spots were highly desirable there, and if I turned this one down, who knew when I’d be offered another. If at all.
My phone went off again.
He’s a gentleman. I imagine he’ll wait another hour…
I texted back, thanking him for his efforts and informing him that I’d be there as soon as I could. I had to shower, get dressed and get pretty.
The phone didn’t go off again, leaving me with a sense of excitement-stroke-dread pooling in my gut. This was it. Time to see if I could behave myself for a Dom.
Time to see if I was sub material.
* * * *
If my stomach rolled one more time, I would vomit. I stood outside Marshall Cottage, which wasn’t a cottage at all. I’d known that, having spied from the main road when doing research on the kind of place this was, but still, actually being here and seeing the sheer size of it was disconcerting.
A man stood in the doorway, dressed like a butler, and I gathered it was Mr M. I went to the open double doors on shaky legs. I’d opted for black stockings, and my little black skirt was littler than I’d ever worn, purchased on a whim when on a lonely shopping spree last month. My fitted black leather basque, meant to enhance my bust, only served to have me feeling insecure and out of my depth.
What was I thinking, coming here like this?
I took a deep breath then wandered up the steps until I reached the doors.
“Good evening,” I said, smiling at the man.
He didn’t smile, nor did he appear as though he intended to speak.
“My name’s Dahlia. You texted me. About finding me someone, and I—”
“You need to find him,” he said. “He’s here somewhere. Look for a man in a suit with a red handkerchief in his pocket.”
“Thank you.”
Nervous, I walked away from him, across a foyer where a transparent grandfather clock ticked away, its silver pendulum heavy-looking and loud. Would this Master be upstairs or downstairs? I floundered, trying to maintain a calm, poised exterior, while my insides griped with more than a bit of fear. I was out of my depth. I shouldn’t have come.
I hiked in a deep breath and opted for a room beside the stairs, going toward it as though I had all the confidence in the world. So long as I concealed what I really felt, all should go well. If I didn’t feel comfortable by the time I found him, I could go home. No one had forced me to seek this place out. No one was making me do this.
After pushing the door open, I sauntered inside. The place was packed—and it took my breath away. I 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 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 head was ridiculous. My throat tightened. I opened my mouth to speak but found I couldn’t utter a thing.
I managed a weak smile—that would have to do for now—and he gave one back, showing straight, white teeth some high-class dentist must be very proud of. He stood upright and inclined his head as though about to ask me something but changed his mind. Linking arms with me, he took me into the bar. Soft music filtered from speakers, and everyone chattered, a far cry from the scene in the other room. Here it seemed sex was off limits, a place where people could just talk.
“What would you like to drink?” He smiled at me. He then nodded to the bartender for service. He returned his attention to me, penetrative eyes seeking mine out. Did he see something in them, see into my soul and who I really was?
I shivered, but that ripple going up my spine wasn’t unpleasant. No, it warmed me in places that shouldn’t be warmed in a bar full of people. That kind of warmth belonged in the bedroom.
He dipped his head and said in my ear, “I have a private room here, if there are certain things on your mind. The third floor is more like a hotel, where you can stay here after the night’s events if you choose. We can talk there.” Drawing back, he glanced at my midsection, as if he’d read my thoughts and knew what was going on between my legs.
I blushed again and swallowed. “I’m…uh… To answer your first question, I’d like a glass of fizzy iced water please, and to your second comment…do you come here often?”
He smiled. “No
.” He reached out to tuck away a stray tress that had fallen from my up-do. “I rarely come at all.”
Chapter Two
I hid a choke of surprise by lightly coughing. “Oh. Right. I—”
“Because I only come with women I have some affection for, or the very least some…knowledge that we are suited. Do you know, there’s something about you, Miss Newbie.”
I wasn’t his kind, surely. Yes, he’d called me Newbie—it must have stood out a mile that I wasn’t in the know about certain things—and I really would be wasting his time. Although he hadn’t done anything to deserve me feeling uneasy, there was something about him that worried me. Or perhaps it wasn’t him but what he represented. Pain I’d never experienced but wanted to know more about. A lifetime of being told what to do in bed. Being spanked because I hadn’t done as I’d been told.
I didn’t belong here. He was serious—this place was serious.
I’d have this drink and go, despite how he made me quiver in my ‘charming’ high heels.
The barman came to serve us, and while Connor gave our order, I thought about the new information I’d gleaned. A good-looking Master like him would have women falling all over him, yet he claimed he didn’t sleep with women very often. I’d thought, from his looks and whatnot, that he’d have used subs to his advantage. Every other man I knew who had charisma and a handsome face had slept their way through a hundred or more women before they’d got to me. Or so they’d implied.
Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he’s got more handcuff notches on his bedpost than the average Master.
But Marshall Cottage had been the only place around here that seemed to provide what I wanted. I hadn’t been able to find a website with the address of Please Master Me for One Night so I Can See if I’m a Pretend Sub or Not Dot Com.