Master Lee reached for a clipboard, and a pen, then held them out to me. “Go ahead and sign in here.”
I took them, fingers brushing his for just a second. The contact was brief and unremarkable.
Except for the fact it still sent a small jolt up my arm.
I dropped my gaze to the page, pen poised, and that was when I saw it. The heading at the top of the page clearly stated:Littles’ Creative Hour.
My name was already printed on a line below it, about halfway down the sign-in sheet.
My stomach pitched. I stared at the two words, convinced for a moment I’d misread them and there was some other Hope signed up for the Littles’ event. But there it was. Hope Heartland.
My frozen smile fell.
“I...” I stopped myself, clearing my throat. “Sorry, there seems to be a mistake.”
Master Lee tilted his head slightly, watching me with quiet attention. “There is?”
“Yes,” I said, a little too forcefully. “I’m here as a submissive, not a Little.”
He didn’t seem to react to my words at first, but he took way too long to respond, making me feel like I’d done something wrong.
“You’re absolutely welcome to attend the submissive discussion,” he finally responded easily.
Relief fluttered through me. Yes.Onlyrelief.
Then he continued. “But,” he added, his tone mild, “What’s the harm in trying something new?”
I hesitated. Bit my bottom lip. Eyed him for what felt likeforeveras I felt the flush stretch from my neck to my face.
“It’s only an hour,” he went on. “Low pressure. Just an art class. And if it’s not for you, you walk away having learned that for sure.”
My fingers tightened around the clipboard as I swallowed down my apprehension. “I don’t think?—”
“I can go with you,” he said smoothly, “if that helps. The Ranch is the perfect place to explore and push your boundaries a bit.”
That made my breath hitch and excitement course through me. Excitement that I refused to think too hard about. I looked up at him again. He might have been oozing confidence and dominance, but there was also a calmness about him. My chest tightened, and the sound of carefree laughter came from the room behind him.
“I’m not a Little,” I said firmly. More to myself than to him.
Master Lee’s smile didn’t fade.
“That’s okay,” he replied. “You don’t have to be a Little. You could just be curious. Or interested in an hour of creative fun.”
Silence stretched between us.
I glanced down at my name on the page. Then at the empty spot next to it. My pulse beat hard in my ears. This was ridiculous. It was onlyonehour. Nothing more. People painted things all the time without it meaning anything about who they were or what they wanted.
And it wasn’t like I was committing to anything. I wasn’t making some big ol’ declaration about changing my preferences.
I let out a slow breath and rolled the pen between my fingers.
Master Lee’s smile brightened as I signed my name and handed back the clipboard without a word.
“Good girl,” he said simply, yet those two words hit me in a way that was impossible to deny. Iwantedto be his good girl.
I expected him to gesture toward the room and send me on my way. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the nearby tables. He lifted a hand slightly, catching the attention of another staff member passing by.
“Hey, Levi,” he called, voice easy. “Can you cover the sign-in for me? I need to escort this lovely lady to art class.”
