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I squeeze my narrow frame into the outfit, and I instantly feel myself questioning my life choices as I look myself over in the tall mirror in the room. This isn’t a uniform; it’s lingerie with a maid motif. There are black bows down the front of my corset, which has my breasts nearly spilling out the front, and the stockings do wonders for my legs, but I can imagine my mother having a heart attack at the sight of me.
There must be some mistake, I decide. I cannot strut out in front of all the other domestics in this. Maybe it’s a joke? Of course. Some other domestic is probably seething over the thought of some nobody Welsh girl getting a cushy, well-paying job at this place, and this is how I’m going to get fired. I tear the room apart looking for another outfit, but before I can get anywhere, I hear the bell starting to chime, and my heart sinks. It’s noon.
I look at my travel outfit desperately, but it’s even less suitable for presentation. At least this looks put-together. Under different circumstances, maybe with the right guy, I’d love to wear this, but right now…
No time to decide. Cursing, I slip the heels on and awkwardly make my way out the hallway and down the stairs.
The other staff are already lined up, standing at attention. None of them look over at me. Shit, they’re all in on this prank, aren’t they? Well, I decide with a burning face, if I’m going to get fired, I’m going to do it with my head held high!
Then I hear a large door swing open, and my attention goes up to the top of the stairs. My eyes widen at what I see.
A man at least ten years older than me steps forward, piercing blue eyes surveying the assembly at the bottom of the stairs. And they come to a rest on me, narrowing coldly as my heart skips a beat. He’s tall, looming over the staircase like a gigantic bat, clad in a dark suit that’s immaculately tailored. He has stubble on his face, and his dark hair is combed back, making him look like winter itself in his dark, powerful beauty. There’s muscle under that suit, that much is obvious by his build alone. He has a chiseled jaw that stays immobile as he regards me, and I feel so exposed, so self-conscious that I feel my knees start to shake.
Folding his hands behind his back, he steps slowly down the stairs, glaring into my very soul like a vampire putting me into a trance. There’s no way I’m not about to get sacked. His steps are slow, deliberate, and powerful, and as he draws near me, I can tell just how much taller he is than me.
As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, I notice the rest of the staff either bowing or curtsying, to my confusion. This is 2016, how is that still a thing? It’s only once everyone stands up again that I realize I’ve conspicuously failed to follow suit, and Beth casts me a sidelong glance.
But before I can correct myself, the man—Lord Alastair Delaney, I realize—steps up to me, those paralyzing eyes on me again. He’s stripping me with those gorgeous blue eyes that look as sharp and cold as ice, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Follow me to the study,” he says, his voice deep, tone practiced, naturally authoritative. I know exactly what Cal meant when he referred to them as ‘commands.’ “I will teach you how to behave in my presence.”
With that, Lord Alastair turns and starts to walk up the stairs. I glance to Beth for help, but she gives me a meaningful look to follow him, and I swallow before my heels clack up the stairs after him.
He leads me wordlessly through double-doors down a private hallway, lined with tall, old portraits of what I can tell is a dynasty of British blood. I feel terribly alone as his heavy footsteps lead me, and I get the sense that I’m being led to my execution. I say nothing as we reach a heavy door that he pushes open, and I cautiously step in behind him.
And my jaw drops.
It’s a library, a huge, sprawling study with bookshelves lining every wall from floor to ceiling. Two spiral staircases lead up to a balcony in the center of the room, where a heavy desk is situated overlooking the whole place, and ladders sit perched against the bookshelves at each wall. The balcony extends all along the library like a second floor, and below where the desk sits is a warm, crackling fireplace flanked by statues of lions. I’ve always been a reader, but this? This is breathtaking. Lord Alastair steps in, and the door closes behind us with a dull thud, leaving us in silence.
I swallow. “Lord Alastair-” I start, but he calmly holds up a hand, his back to me.
“Master,” he says, and I blink, taken aback.
“I don’t…” I start, but he cuts me off again.
“You will refer to me as ‘Master’ from here onward, Maisie Kent,” he says, and my name is like the deep and haunting notes of a masterwork organ on his tongue. I blush. The way he looked at me on the stairs already had me on edge, but ‘Master?’ A shiver goes up my spine. Just what did this man hire me for?
He turns his head ever so slightly, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer. Shit, shit, what do I do? Something about all this, the outfit, the looks, commanding and controlling what I do and how I speak, it all feels so predatory. But then, there’s something almost supernatural about the way he commands my obedience, and I find the words spilling out of my mouth:
“Yes, Master.”
Finally, he turns, striding towards me slowly with those penetrating eyes. “Good girl. I will forgive this one mistake of yours.”
He can read the confusion and uncertainty in my face, and he reaches down to my skirt. Before I can stop him, he hooks a finger around my panties, his hand a vice on the thin, soft fabric, and I can feel his fingers on my bare skin as I look at him with widening eyes. His gaze hasn’t changed at all, a steely gaze that holds me immobile.
“This is not part of your uniform,” he says, his voice dripping with dark authority. Slowly, he withdraws his hand, praying he didn’t feel how wet this is making me.
I can’t help it, and I hate myself for it, but something about this terrifying man who has me cornered in his library is making my heart beat faster. I should have listened to my mother and stayed home, but this is such an unforeseen rush.
“I…” I squeak, but I should be livid, shouting at him for violating me so personally. But I can’t find it in my to do that. Before I can form any words, he steps forward and takes my face in his hand, bringing me forward and looking me over thoughtfully. Then his thumb swipes across my small mouth, and I feel warmth between my thighs getting warmer. Those blue eyes are so hard to read, but he’s looking at me like he might look over a piece of jewelry, and it’s driving something within me wild.
He makes a thoughtful noise, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he looks at me, and his hand lowers from my face.
“Remove it,” he says simply, and I don’t know what to say.
When I don’t respond instantly, he glances at me, such an iron vice in that glance that I feel my body impulsively going to my skirt, reaching under to the edge of my panties and pausing there a moment. Am I really doing this? Is this happening? Is he making me do this? No, I could walk out right now, but instead, I hook my fingers under the elastic and slowly, so slowly bring it down. I’m a proud woman—I’m not going to whip my panties off in a nervous haste, even if there’s something intoxicating about his commands, like a sweet poison I can’t get enough of.
And those eyes watch me closely as I bring the fabric down my thighs, across the white of the frilly stockings, then down to my heels.
