Master Connor (Marshall Cottage Book 3)

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.”