I’d almost managed to convince myself I was only a distraction to him. There’s no possible way he could really be interested in me… is there?
In my room.
Sir: Good girl. And your plans?
I’m going to take a shower, get changed, then get some breakfast downstairs.
Sir: How long does it take you to get ready?
I frown, wondering where he’s going with this.
Twenty minutes?
There’s a pause.
Sir: That’s the quickest girl prep time I’ve ever heard of in my life.
I smile to myself. My hair’s so thick and wavy, I only wash it a couple times a week. Today is not hair washing day. I wear a lot of dresses because they’re simple, one little piece to just slide on. I wear flats or sandals, and my makeup prep is minimal. Swipe of mascara, swipe of lip gloss.
I like to do things quickly. Lets me do… more.
Sir: I noticed.
I flush. I had no idea he had such a dirty mind.
I fucking love it.
You’re so dirty.
Sir: You have no idea, love.
My heart dances like butterfly wings at this. I honestly can’t even remember the last time a man flirted with me.
Love.
It’s a common term in these parts. Carson’s mum was an English woman who called everyone love.
It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. He probably says that to everyone.
But I can hear him, his sexy, deep voice calling me love.
It’s just a throwaway term, though. I can’t let myself get too caught up in this. I can’t.
The phone buzzes again and I see another text from him.
See you at breakfast. Twenty-five minutes. I want you in a dress, no knickers.
I shiver and grin. I wonder how he’ll handle this with the Clan all around us like doting hens. He has no idea how they are with me.
Yes, sir.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in front of the large, oval-shaped full-length mirror that stands on a pedestal in my bedroom. My room’s luxurious and girly, decorated in frilly whites and lace, this mirror no exception. It’s framed with an intricately carved, gilded edge. I stare at myself and let the towel fall to the floor.
I’ve got an hourglass figure, this much I know from the little “how to dress your body type” test I did online with Aileen and Caitlin a few months ago. Full breasts, a defined waist that tapers out to wide hips. A curvy belly and curvy arse, all dimpled and creamy.
My fair skin looks different today, though, and it’s all his fault. I smile, looking at the pink circles on my neck, between my breasts, the faint trail marks of his cane. He didn’t bruise me, but my arse is still pink. I run my hand along my naked skin, and I’m still sore from where he spanked me. I twist my body around, marveling at the marks he left. I’m not sure why I feel empowered by them, but I somehow do.
I was dominated by Carson Flynn. He left me feeling… different. Not shy, nor reserved, or anything like that, but... well, maybe it’s how I think about him that’s different? In my mind, he’s larger than life now. In control. And so damn sexy, my mouth feels dry at the mere memory.
I glance at the time and realize I’ve got two minutes to get downstairs in the timeframe he gave me. I’m usually faster than this, but I got distracted.
I throw on a dress, then realize there are marks on my neck. I crane to look into the mirror. Thankfully, they’re faded with the heat of the shower. I put some foundation on them and pull a higher-neck dress on, swipe some makeup on, and twist my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head. I’m aware of the fact that there’s no way I can get downstairs in time, even if I could teleport. My heart slams in my chest, my palms all sweaty, but it’s an odd, almost exciting sort of fear. And hell, I haven’t had anything like this to get my blood pumping in… damn near ever.
I’ve been with men I liked before, of course, and I’ve had plenty of intimate, fun times with them. But this… this holds the promise of something altogether different.
I slam the door behind me, turn to run downstairs, and smash head on into Caitlin.
“Ooh!” she says as I accidentally slam into her. A pile of papers she held in her hands flutter to the ground, and her pretty eyes go wide.
“Megan! Are you okay?”
Leave it to Caitlin for looking out for me when I’m the one that smashed into her.
I fall to my knees beside her as we both gather up the papers she dropped.
“Aye,” I tell her. “So sorry. I said I’d—I was supposed to be downstairs already, and I let myself get distracted. Lost track of time is all.”