Master in Shining Armor (Masters Unleashed 4)

Rather than trying to duck past him, she retreated farther into the great room and sat o

n one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace. God, she had long legs for such a little thing. Her shoes were driving him crazy. He never let his submissives wear shoes when they were alone together.

“I’d like to spend some time with you, but I’m not ready to be a mother.” She toyed with the hem of her skirt where it lay enticingly just above her knees.

So prim, sitting in the big fancy chair with her fancy fucking clothes. He’d love to rip open that pretty blouse and take a knife to that pencil skirt—slit it up far enough so he could see what panties she’d worn for him.

Whoa. If he’d thought taking care of a baby was destroying his sex drive, he’d been wrong.

“Spend some time with me?” he echoed, struggling to pay attention to what she was saying now that too much of the blood meant to run his brain was coursing southward. “That’s a euphemism for dick, isn’t it.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “That’s up to you. Nothing serious. Just a chance to blow off some steam.”

He hated no-strings-attached shit, but he wanted more of her. Maybe one night would be enough. Maybe her reactions weren’t as perfect as he remembered and he could walk away without regretting she wouldn’t be a permanent fixture in his life. Their life.

“You didn’t put your hair up.”

“You like it down, Sir.”

“Sir?”

“Isn’t that how this works? I’ve been reading.”

“I haven’t had anyone call me ‘Sir’ since I was in college.”

“No?”

“Usually, I take slaves, not submissives.”

“Then . . . they call you ‘Master’?” she asked slowly.

“Yes.” When she opened her mouth to say something, he held up a hand. “Not you. That’s not how this works. I’m not your Master. I’m not even your Dominant. You can choose what to call me.”

“For now.”

He inclined his head.

Her eyes were shining, excited. Fuck, she was so new.

The new ones either wanted to rush or they’d read so much they had preconceived notions of how things worked. He wasn’t perfect. He fucked up. He couldn’t read minds and didn’t follow Etiquette for Doms 101.

“Shoes,” he said.

“What about them?”

“From now on, you’ll remove them when you enter my house, or the attic at the club, unless we’re not alone.”

“My shoes? But my feet are going to get cold.”

“Is that my fucking problem?”

She blinked at him.

A few different emotions flickered across her face. Disbelief, indignity, but also arousal. She was trembling with tension, like a little fawn, not sure whether to stay still or run like hell.

“You’re not going to suck my toes, are you?” she grimaced.

“No. You told me that was a hard limit, and it’s not my kink anyway.”