Master Connor (Marshall Cottage Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

hissed through my teeth. I strove to reach the peak, unable to concentrate on any one feeling—his fingers on my nipple, his fingers on my clit, his warm kisses on the side of my neck. Light breaths shunted out of him, warming my skin, and I shivered in delight.
    Yet I’d read somewhere that I mustn’t come unless he gave me permission—and that was going to be difficult. I was on the precipice, ready to allow my orgasm to sweep me away somewhere I’d never been before.
    “I want you to come. Let go and come,” he said.
    I worked harder, faster, thrusting down onto him. Drawing back up, leaving only his tip inside, I waited a beat before plunging onto him again. I repeated the motion, gaining speed, and he groaned out his pleasure. I joined him, releasing a strangled moan as my climax descended, crashing over me. His cock stiffened further then throbbed. I glided up and down, clenching my teeth, my pelvis spasming from the force of my orgasm. His nipple tweaks changed to soft caresses, and he stilled his fingers on my clit. He drifted his hand from there to stroke my thigh, and I hung my head back, turning my face to the side to look at him. He dipped his head, drawing his hand away from my breast to run a trail up and down my arm. A light puff of air reached my mouth a moment before his lips.
    He kissed me sweetly, a tender joining that had my clit throbbing for more of his expert handling. How had I nearly turned him away? What I would have missed if I had gone home.
    “There are many more hours left of this night, Dahlia. Care to share them with me? To test your limits some more?”
    “Yes, Sir. Please.”
    “It would be nice for us to observe a little. Downstairs. I want to know what turns you on and what doesn’t. What you’re prepared to do and what you’re not.”
    I eased off him, wondering whether I should have waited until he’d said I could. It was confusing, not knowing what I was supposed to do for the best, but he was willing to teach me, it seemed.
    “There’s a shower through there,” he said, “although I rather like the idea of you going downstairs stinking of sex—of your cum.”
    I climbed off the bed, smiling, collecting my clothes item by item. “Then I’ll do that, Sir. Go down as I am, I mean.”
    “Literally as you are?” he asked, getting off the bed to pick up his own clothes. “In just that leather basque?” He tipped his head to the side in question.
    God, could I do that? “I…I’m not sure I can, Sir.”
    “And why not? You look beautiful like that. Why on earth would you want to cover up?” He put his trousers on.
    “Because I…” I didn’t really have an excuse. I thought about all those women I’d seen earlier, in various states of undress. No one had appeared to care who wore what—they’d been too engrossed in watching other people in scenes and getting off at the same time. I took a deep breath, then, “All right, Sir.” I nodded, as if that action would be enough to convince me that I had the courage to swan into one of the voyeur rooms or the bar dressed in nothing but a bit of leather. “Yes, all right. I will.”
    He chuckled, slipping his shirt on then buttoning it up. “And the shoes,” he said. “We mustn’t forget those.”
    I walked over to them then popped them on, and somehow they gave me confidence. Whether it was from me being taller, or the fact they made me feel feminine, I didn’t know, but I’d take it all the same.
    He sat on the end of the bed and put his socks and shoes on, then stood to shrug into his jacket. I watched him in wonder—it was like we’d done this a million times before. He was so at ease, seemed so comfortable with me. I thought back to what he’d said about not coming here often, and a rush of pleasure settled in my belly. I meant something to him—he felt something for me.
    He rose, straightening his jacket, then held out one arm. “Come here.”
    I went to him, a tad conscious of how I must look. He