Master Connor (Marshall Cottage Book 3) by Natalie Dae

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