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self-confidence took a battering. Not mine. Since being Mr M’s sub, I had grown as a person, relaxing into my role like I never had before. Because I was safe, cared for, cocooned in a swaddle of emotions that equated to his love.
    Tonight the stage was ours, and we would perform showing that love. I supposed we were a bit of an enigma to many of the newer guests—or a fascination they knew little about. I imagined if I were them, that the man who ran Marshall Cottage and his sub were special, different to everyone else. We’d adopted an air about us on purpose to keep our private life hidden, a secret stash of day-to-day living that belonged only to us. Mr M wanted it that way and so did I. Business and pleasure were separate—until we performed on stage. We didn’t do that very often but even though we’d been together for a long time, I was still a work in progress. We were a work in progress, ever learning, ever discovering new things.
    I held Mr M’s hand tightly, giving his fingers a little squeeze to let him know I was ready to begin whenever he was. While he addressed the crowd, telling them the origins of Marshall Cottage and why he’d created a BDSM club, I turned my attention to the expectant crowd. They were already fired up. Many of them had been fondling and kissing as we’d walked to the stage, the previous show pretty hot. The couple who had performed had captured their imaginations and revved up their libido, so the air seemed to bristle and flicker with sexual tension.
    And that couple stood out—always had fascinated me—except they were kneeling now. And that’s why they stood out. The woman was usually on her feet, holding a leash that was attached to a collar around her lover’s neck. He liked to act the total submissive from what I’d seen in the past, but tonight it seemed they were on equal terms. I privately thought they were already, just that no one had taken the time to look at their relationship in a different light. I must say, something had changed between them. She was more relaxed and stared at him differently than before, her adoration for him showing clearly in her eyes and gestures.
    It reminded me of myself and Mr M, the way one minute we’d been dancing on the fringes of being a couple then suddenly we were one—Master and sub. It hadn’t begun that way, though. Our meeting hadn’t been unexpected. No, back then I’d met men in BDSM clubs all the time. But what had been unexpected was to find a rare gem, one that sparkled, twinkling in such a way that it had caught my attention nestled among all the others.
    He’d changed my life.
     
    * * * *
     
    Then
     
    “Pardon me for intruding, but are you here to meet someone?” he asked.
    He stood beside the sofa I was sitting on in the foyer of a BDSM club that bordered on being seedy. I wasn’t sure why I kept coming here when it wasn’t particularly pleasant on the eye, except that it was closer to home and I hadn’t experienced anything untoward. Yet. Not like in other places.
    And I was here to meet a man, but not anyone specific. “I’m here because…to meet someone, yes, but I don’t know who he is yet.”
    There. He now knew I wasn’t contracted. Could look at me as a slut if he chose to. Could offer his services for an hour or so then walk away the same as so many had before him. I studied his appearance. Grey suit, white shirt open at the neck, the promise of thick chest hair peeking out, the dark hair on his head professionally cut—the insinuation that stubble wouldn’t be long in shadowing his jaw.
    He looked different to other men. Or perhaps it was the vibe he gave off. Whatever it was, I relaxed, the tension that always came with a male approach oozing away.
    It was odd to feel this way so quickly.
    “I understand,” he said, backing away a little. “A pre-arranged blind date?”
    “No, no. Nothing like that.”
    He stopped reversing then stepped closer again.
    How did I tell him I was here to