Sold to the Berserkers

BerserkerTeaser (1)

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When Brenna’s father sells her to a band of passing warriors, her only thought is to survive. She doesn’t expect to be claimed by the two fearsome warriors who lead the Berserker clan. Kept in captivity, she is coddled and cared for, treated more like a savior than a slave. Can captivity lead to love? And when she discovers the truth behind the myth of the fearsome warriors, can she accept her place as the Berserkers’ true mate?

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Excerpt:

The day my stepfather sold me to the Berserkers, I woke at dawn with him leering over me. “Get up.” He made to kick me and I scrambled out of my sleep stupor to my feet.

“I need your help with a delivery.”

I nodded and glanced at my sleeping mother and siblings. I didn’t trust my stepfather around my three younger sisters, but if I was gone with him all day, they’d be safe. I’d taken to carrying a dirk myself. I did not dare kill him; we needed him for food and shelter, but if he attacked me again, I would fight.

My mother’s second husband hated me, ever since the last time he’d tried to take me and I had fought back. My mother was gone to market, and when he tried to grab me, something in me snapped. I would not let him touch me again. I fought, kicking and scratching, and finally grabbing an iron pot and scalding him with heated water.

He bellowed and looked as if he wanted to hurt me, but kept his distance. When my mother returned he pretended like nothing was wrong, but his eyes followed me with hatred and cunning.

Out loud he called me ugly and mocking the scar that marred my neck since a wild dog attacked me when I was young. I ignored this and kept my distance. I’d heard the taunts about my hideous face since the wounds had healed into scars, a mass of silver tissue at my neck.

That morning, I wrapped a scarf over my hair and scarred neck and followed my stepfather, carrying his wares down the old road. At first I thought we were headed to the great market, but when we reached the fork in the road and he went an unfamiliar way, I hesitated. Something wasn’t right.

“This way, cur.” He’d taken to calling me “dog”. He’d taunted me, saying the only sounds I could make were grunts like a beast, so I might as well be one. He was right. The attack had taken my voice by damaging my throat.

If I followed him into the forest and he tried to kill me, I wouldn’t even be able to cry out.

“There’s a rich man who asked for his wares delivered to his door.” He marched on without a backward glance and I followed.

I had lived all my life in the kingdom of Alba, but when my father died and my mother remarried, we moved to my stepfather’s village in the highlands, at the foot of the great, forbidding mountains. There were stories of evil that lived in the dark crevices of the heights, but I’d never believed them.

I knew enough monsters living in plain sight.

The longer we walked, the lower the sun sank in the sky, the more I knew my stepfather was trying to trick me, that there was no rich man waiting for these wares.

When the path curved, and my stepfather stepped out from behind a boulder to surprise me, I was half ready, but before I could reach for my dirk he struck me so hard I fell.

I woke tied to a tree.

The light was lower, heralding dusk. I struggled silently, frantic gasps escaping from my scarred throat. My stepfather stepped into view and I felt a second of relief at a familiar face, before remembering the evil this man had wrought on my body. Whatever he was planning, it would bode ill for me, and my younger sisters. If I didn’t survive, they would eventually share the same fate as mine.  

“You’re awake,” he said. “Just in time for the sale.”

I strained but my bonds held fast. As my stepfather approached, I realized that the scarf that I wrapped around my neck to hide my scars had fallen, exposing them. Out of habit, I twitched my head to the side, tucking my bad side towards my shoulder.

My stepfather smirked.

“So ugly,” he sneered. “I could never find a husband for you, but I found someone to take you. A group of warriors passing through who saw you, and want to slake their lust on your sweet body. Who knows, if you please them, they may let you live. But I doubt you’ll survive these men. They’re foreigners, mercenaries, come to fight for the king. Berserkers. If you’re lucky your death will be swift when they tear you apart.”

I’d heard the tales of berserker warriors, fearsome warriors of old. Ageless, timeless, they’d sailed over the seas to the land, plundering, killing, taking slaves, they fought for our kings, and their own. Nothing could stand in their path when they went into a killing rage.

I fought to keep my fear off my face. Berserker’s were a myth, so my stepfather had probably sold me to a band of passing soldiers who would take their pleasure from my flesh before leaving me for dead, or selling me on.  

“I could’ve sold you long ago, if I stripped you bare and put a bag over you head to hide those scars.”

His hands pawed at me, and I shied away from his disgusting breath. He slapped me, then tore at my braid, letting my hair spill over my face and shoulders.

Bound as I was, I  still could glare at him. I could do nothing to stop the sale, but I hoped my fierce expression told him I’d fight to the death if he tried to force himself on me.

His hand started to wander down towards my breast when a shadow moved on the edge of the clearing. It caught my eye and I startled. My stepfather stepped back as the warriors poured from the trees.

My first thought was that they were not men, but beasts. They prowled forward, dark shapes almost one with the shadows. A few wore animal pelts and held back, lurking on the edge of the woods. Two came forward, wearing the garb of warriors, bristling with weapons. One had dark hair, and the other long, dirty blond with a beard to match.

Their eyes glowed with a terrifying light.

As they approached, the smell of raw meat and blood wafted over us, and my stomach twisted. I was glad my stepfather hadn’t fed me all day, or I would’ve emptied my guts on the ground.

My stepfather’s face and tone took on the wheedling expression I’d seen when he was selling in the market.

“Good evening, sirs,” he cringed before the largest, the blond with hair streaming down his chest.

They were perfectly silent, but the blond approached, fixing me with strange golden eyes.  

Their faces were fair enough, but their hulking forms and the quick, light way they moved made me catch my breath. I had never seen such massive men. Beside them, my stepfather looked like an ugly dwarf.

“This is the one you wanted,” my stepfather continued. “She’s healthy and strong. She will be a good slave for you.”

My body would’ve shaken with terror, if I were not bound so tightly.

A dark haired warrior stepped up beside the blond and the two exchanged a look.

“You asked for the one with scars.” My stepfather took my hair and jerked my head back, exposing the horrible, silvery mass. I shut my eyes, tears squeezing out at the sudden pain and humiliation.

The next thing I knew, my stepfather’s grip loosened. A grunt, and I opened my eyes to see the dark haired warrior standing at my side. My stepfather sprawled on the ground as if he’d been pushed.  

The blond leader prodded a boot into my stepfather’s side.

“Get up,” the blond said, in a voice that was more a growl than a human sound. It curdled my blood. My stepfather scrambled to his feet.

The black haired man cut away the last of my bonds, and I sagged forward. I would’ve fallen but he caught me easily and set me on my feet, keeping his arms around me. I was not the smallest woman, but he was a giant. Muscles bulged in his arms and chest, but he held me carefully. I stared at him, taking in his raven dark hair and strange gold eyes.

He tucked me closer to his muscled body.

Meanwhile, my stepfather whined. “I just wanted to show you the scars—”

Again that frightening growl from the blond. “You don’t touch what is ours.”

“I don’t want to touch her.” My stepfather spat.

Despite myself, I cowered against the man who held me. A stranger I had never met, he was still a safer haven than my stepfather.

“I only wish to make sure you are satisfied, milords. Do you want to sample her?” my stepfather asked in an evil tone. He wanted to see me torn apart.

A growl rumbled under my ear and I lifted my head. Who were these men, these great warriors who had bought and paid for me? The arms around my body were strong and solid, inescapable, but the gold eyes looking down at me were kind. The warrior ran his thumb across the pad of my lips, and his fingers were gentle for such a large, violent looking warrior. Under the scent of blood, he smelled of snow and sharp cold, a clean scent.

He pressed his face against my head, breathing in a deep breath.

The blond was looking at us.

“It’s her,” the black haired man growled, his voice so guttural. “This is the one.”

One of his hands came to cover the side of my face and throat, holding my face to his chest in a protective gesture.

I closed my eyes, relaxing in the solid warmth of the warrior’s body.

A clink of gold, and the deed was done. I’d been sold.

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Get Smarts: an Interview with Spanko and Author Amelia Smarts

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Amelia Smarts is a #1 bestselling author whose naughty heroines get what’s coming to them–a lotta loving and a spanked bottom! Learn what inspires Amelia…and what turns her cheeks red…

Which came first–writing about spanking or living it?

Living it. I’m a lifelong spanko. I’ve always fantasized about it and have experimented with it in real life. I’ve also loved to write ever since I could pick up a pencil and have pursued technical and creative writing as a career for more than ten years. One day, I decided to combine my love of writing with my love of spanking, and voila! Now I write spanking romance. It’s a blast.

 

How is writing a spanking story different from living it?

I currently write historical westerns, which take place in a time period when it was considered acceptable for a man to discipline his wife. To me, reading and writing about a naughty woman who has no choice but to suffer punishment in the form of a stern spanking from her man—well, that turns me on. However, I certainly wouldn’t want to be in a position where I didn’t have a choice. Consent in real life is very important, and I’m glad things are not the same for women as they were back then.

Loosely equivalent in modern real life are couples who practice DD or D/s and have prearranged consent. For instance, the wife gives her husband the authority to punish, so even if in the future she doesn’t want to be punished, she has already consented. Even then, I think a safe word is a wise idea, but I would never put a safe word in one of my westerns. That would ruin it for me, so that’s one area where the disconnect between fantasy and real life comes into play.

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New Release! Callie finds love and discipline on the route West

What’s something you read about in spanking romance that’s totally different from real life? Maybe even dangerous or incorrect.

I cringe when I read spankings that are way over the top—hundreds of licks with a belt, cane, paddle, etc. I think to myself, that poor woman would be dead! I personally don’t like reading these kinds of punishments, with some exceptions. Some authors write the scenes so well that I forget to cringe. Outlandish, fantastical punishments have a strong readership, so more power to these authors and the readers who enjoy them. This is fantasy, after all, so I don’t consider it a pet peeve. It’s more of a personal preference.

 

Tell us about a real-life spanking experience. (And where can we read about it?)

I’m fairly recently married (two years), and I didn’t share my spanking kink with my husband right away. I blogged about our rather awkward beginning and the first “real” spanking I had from him here: https://ameliasmarts.com/2016/02/21/my-husband-spanked-me/

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What’s your favorite implement? What is your least favorite?

My favorite is the good old-fashioned hand. I know some people say it’s not very effective for punishment, but I beg to differ. A determined palm is nothing to sneeze at (or maybe I’m just a wimp). My least favorite is the cane. It scares me.

 

What advice do you have for someone who wants to convince their partner to spank them?

I think what makes this kink so complicated for non-spanko partners is that most spankees, on the surface, don’t want to be punished. It hurts. But there’s a deeper need there to feel like it’s out of our hands, to give someone control and submit. Communicating that isn’t easy, but as long as your partner is receptive, I think it’s possible.  

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Any pointers for a newbie to the spanking scene?

Be patient with yourself and your partner. Have fun! And if you want to get the juices flowing (literally and metaphorically), why not read one of my books? (Oh come on, you knew a shameless plug was gonna come eventually, didn’t you?) Find my books here: amazon.com/author/ameliasmarts

 

On that note, I think it’s time for an excerpt from your newest release, Corralling Callie:

For eighteen-year-old orphan Callie Broderick, going west as a mail-order bride seems to be the only hope she has for a decent husband. But when she sets out for the gold-mining town of Sacramento with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a stagecoach ticket, she quickly discovers that the trip will be quite a bit different than she expected.

As a former soldier and an experienced coachman, Jude Johnson is used to difficulties and dangers of all kinds during the arduous journey west, but he has never had to deal with trouble like Callie before. Not being the kind of man to kick a penniless orphan off his coach, he puts up with the sassy, disobedient girl for as long as he can, but when Callie’s antics put the lives of his passengers at risk Jude is forced to take matters into his own hands and spank her soundly.

The stern punishment leaves her thoroughly chastened and promising to behave, and Jude soon realizes that when she puts aside her foul-mouthed, defiant façade, the real Callie is as sweet and kind as she is beautiful. As the days pass, he takes it upon himself to guide her, care for her, and give her the loving discipline she so desperately needs, as often as she needs it. But when they reach their destination, will he be able to give her up?

 

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She wailed another apology. “I’m sorry. Please don’t spank me, Jude!”

He tossed up her skirt and petticoat as she squirmed. “You decided to run off like a child when you didn’t get your way, so you’ll be treated as one,” he growled. He landed a hard swat over her thin drawers, nearly covering the entirety of her bottom with his large hand. “Other people want to sit up front, and you’re going to have a good attitude about it by the time I get through with you. You’re also going to mind my words when I speak.” He punctuated his admonishment with hard swats that jerked her forward each time.

“I’ll mind you! And I’ll have a good attitude.” She squirmed frantically over his lap as his hand picked up speed and fell again and again.

“Hold still,” he said sternly, landing two sharp swats on her thighs, “or I’ll remove your drawers and blister you with my belt.”

She gasped, mortified, and stopped jerking about momentarily, but his swats were so hard that she found it nearly impossible to remain still. This punishment felt much worse than when he’d landed the belt four times over the protection of her skirts, and it sure lasted a lot longer than the first spanking. Jude grasped her waist and pulled her against his body to keep her from twisting off his lap. The smacks were loud and echoed against the walls of the barn. The horses and cow neighed and mooed along with her howls.

Jude brought his hand down with great focus, not letting up for quite some time and making sure every inch of her bottom received punishment. He lectured her as he spanked, but Callie barely heard it, being so focused on the sting, which deepened with each fall of his hand. “You will stay with the others. I’ll not have you running off, worrying me and delaying our trip.” Smack!

“I’ll stay with the others!” she promised in a wail.

“That you will, young lady.” He smacked the low curve of her bottom especially hard. “Otherwise, you’ll be spending the entire trip sitting on a smarting bottom.”

Buy Corralling Callie

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The Gauntlet: which do you prefer and why:

Spanking or whipping? Spanking, and only on the bottom, tops of thighs, and… one other place. 😉

Hand, brush, or wooden spoon? All three, depending on the circumstance.

Paddle or belt? Both! I’m a spanko, what can I say?

Over the knee or over the bed? Over the knee. It’s intimate and perfect placement for hand to butt contact.

Vanilla or chocolate? Chocolate.

Beer or wine? Both.

Batman or Superman? John Wayne. 

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This was so fun! Thanks interviewing me, Lee!

Between the Sheets: An Interview with Author Jennifer Bene

Readers, you are in for a wild ride…dark erotica author Jennifer Bene talks about her real life kink and super sexy dom!
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How is writing BDSM different than living it? You can do ANYTHING in a book! Real life BDSM is limited by space, and equipment, and time (like day jobs and family and responsibilities) but when I’m writing BDSM none of that matters. If I want my character to have a fully outfitted dungeon basement, I can just *poof* make it happen. It’s so much easier than the real world. Also, in real life it takes FOREVER to get into rope. In a book it takes a few lines of text. How I wish it were that easy when playing with rope in real life, because I love it!
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What is your literary pet peeve? Something you read about in erotica that’s totally different from real life? Maybe even dangerous or incorrect. My real literary pet peeve that will make me give a major eye roll is when a sub takes something like a spanking, by hand, and “can’t sit down the next day”. It drives me nuts! Now, I know I’m a painslut and a masochist, but I’ve taken a ton of cane strikes in a session, had a black and blue ass, and while it wasn’t comfortable sitting down, I absolutely could. I’m not talking about someone flinching or wincing when they sit down, (that’s totally normal), but being “unable” to sit down? Collapsing to the floor because they can’t sit? Come on, authors, be real!
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As far as dangerous or incorrect? I’m not a big fan of people using serious implements for the first time ever without the author even referencing an education of some sort. BDSM is risky, and I don’t like furthering the idea that anyone can just pick up something like a whip and use it properly. That kind of thing makes me more angry than anything, because your health is so important! Don’t risk it for kink!
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Your plots are often quite dark and blur the lines of consent. What role do you think consent plays in real life versus a book?  Consent is EVERYTHING in real life. My rule is I don’t judge anyone’s kink as long as everyone participating is an adult, safety is taken into consideration, and everyone is consenting. SSC = safe, sane, consensual, the motto of every good member of the BDSM community. The best part of fiction to me is that we can explore the things we could never and would never want to do in real life. For some people that’s a spanking with a hot cowboy on the western front, or taking a caning in a dungeon, or complete power exchange with a billionaire Dom, or breath play with the boy next door – to me it’s the dark, dubcon/noncon side of things. Fun to read? Yes. Real life? Never. But that’s what erotica is meant for, it lets us play with our darkest fantasies in a world where the good guys win and everything turns out alright. I do write a lot of dark, and I do a little more than just blur the lines of consent sometimes, but it’s all just a fantasy and based on the number of readers who write me saying ‘thank you’ for the Thalia series and other books like it, I’m not alone in my dark, devious little corner of the genre! lol
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What are some of your favorite experiences? (And where can we read about them?) Oooooo, I really love being tied up so it shows up in a LOT of my books. One of my favorites has to be the wax play scene in ‘Reunited‘ where Megan is tied down to a workbench and has wax dripped on her while one of the guys goes down on her. I’ve done the tied down/wax thing before (with just one Dom, *sigh*) and it was a blast. Another is probably the spanking bench scene in ‘Lethal Sin‘. It was actually inspired by my Dom’s spanking bench, because he likes to tie me down to that and use all kinds of implements. The week before I wrote that scene he’d tied me down and used a crop (and a cane and a flogger) and I was so turned on and so deep into sub-space afterwards, I knew I had to use it in a book!
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What’s your favorite implement? What is your least favorite?  (And where can we read about them?) Favorite implement? The belt. The sound of the buckle coming undone, the whisper of it leaving their pants, the sound it makes cutting through the air and the sound / feel / weight / strength of it when it impacts? Fucking heaven. It shows up randomly, definitely in the Thalia series.
 
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My least favorite implement is a dragon tail, but I despise it so much I haven’t put it in a book (sorry!). Least favorite kink is probably breath play, I cannot control my panic when I can’t breathe (still haven’t been able to work through it despite years of trying!) and there’s a few scenes of breathplay around. ‘Taken by the Enemy’ has one I really like where Emmie just tries to walk out of Lucian’s camp like it’s no big deal, and he chases her down. He actually ends up saving her from walking off a cliff (literally) but she drives him nuts and he ends up choking her because he’s so mad. In fiction? So hot. Real life? It’s one area I’m a total pansy.
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What’s your advice to readers who want to explore their fantasies beyond a BDSM novel? Join Fetlife.com and go to a munch. A “munch” is a community event that is usually not kinky (meaning normal clothes, and a lot of times they’re even in public places). Meeting other kinksters who live near you is the best way to start to A) learn about the world of BDSM, and B) make friends you can actually ask questions to. Once you know people it’s not as scary to go to private events or a club, because you have back-up and people who know you. The best part? You can do this whether you’re single or in a relationship. It lets you learn, get educated, and figure out things to try. Then, always remember to COMMUNICATE. Be honest about what you like, or don’t like, and let your partner be honest too. Doms get limits too! If anyone wants to ask more detailed questions, this is something I could talk about FOREVER, so feel free to message me on facebook or email me at jbeneauthor@gmail.com – I’m always happy to help and answer questions!
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Describe your perfect Dom. How does a real life Dom differ from the fantasy? Okay, Lee, do I get to be super fantastical with this fantasy? Because I’m about to. I like the serious alpha Doms who have that brooding/growly voice that sends shivers down your spine when they get all dominant. Can he be super hot? Yes please! At least 6 ft so I feel short (I’m 5′ 8″!). And I’d want him to be a sadist, because I need someone who will get off on making me scream and cry, because that’s what I like to do (painslut + masochist = need it). Great in bed and obsessed with making me orgasm would be a plus. And, let’s be honest, I’d also love him to be the kind of wealthy that means neither of us have to worry about going to a real-life day job, or worry about money (because money sucks). With all that dominance and aggression though, I’d still want him to be someone who respects my independence too. The kind of guy that will let me write books while we’re skiing in Vail or sailing down the French Riviera – hey, don’t look at me like that Lee, you said PERFECT.
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Now, how does that differ from real life Doms? Well, the real life part. I’ve got a kiddo, I’m a single mom, and I have a day job, and an author career to manage. I also have family, and friends, and therefore some semblance of a social life to maintain – which doesn’t leave near as much time as I’d like for kink. I see my Dom once (sometimes twice) a week, and even that stresses me to the max sometimes, even when he’s often my stress RELIEF too. The real world isn’t friendly for fantasy life, because bills have to be paid, the dishes have to be washed, clothes have to be folded, and my boss would get a little irritated if I never showed up at work, and, unfortunately, “sorry, tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross getting whipped” is not an acceptable reason to ditch the day job. Am I incredibly lucky to have the Dom I have? Yes. I joke with him that he’s a fictional fucking character (he’s from a European country, ex-military, owns his own business, 6′ 4″ and gorgeous who boxes in his free time and is a total alpha Dom who is sadistic and kinky as fuck – oh, and he hand built his own playroom. Seriously, if he didn’t take great joy in pinching/biting me, I’d still question whether or not I was awake or not.) But, we don’t get a ton of time together, and that means I miss community events way more than I want to, I miss play time with him, and there’s zero chance of running away into the sunset to be wild and carefree. Honestly? Real life sucks sometimes! That’s why I write books!
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How does your life imitate art or vice versa? I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to BDSM, and it helps that I enjoy pain, so when it’s reasonable (SSC) I usually ask the Dom to do something with me before I write it. I like to write from experience where it’s possible, and so a lot of the things I write I’ve actually done. The other way around, sometimes I’ll write a specific scene and then the Dom will read it (he likes to read my books, which is fun) and then he’ll surprise me one night by recreating it in his own way and then taunting me by saying I gave him the idea! Devious, but it’s hot as fuck. ^_^

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Now it’s time to run “The Gauntlet”: which do you prefer and why:
 
 
  • Spanking or flogging? Flogging because I always hit the most beautiful subspace with it, and a flogger can kiss like angel feathers or sting like a fucking demon’s tail. LOVE IT.
 
  • Whipping or caning? Caning! Any day of the week. It hurts like a bitch, but so does a whip, and for some reason the cane eventually dumps me into painslut subspace (Livia Grant writes about that beautifully in her Passion series, which is actually how we became friends! Me fangirling all over her). There’s just something about the meter of a caning that is so much more enjoyable (in a twisted way) than a whipping.
 
  • Bondage or crawling? Bondage. Oh hell, I just love being tied up. Instant, full blown submission. Then the Dom can do whatever he wants with me, AND I get to really struggle! Yum!
 
  • Oral or anal? Oral. I love to give blow jobs, seriously. Every guy I’ve ever been with has found it hilarious eventually that I actually whine if they don’t let me finish because they want to fuck me instead. I just have so much fun with it, there’s a thousand different things you can do to elicit a thousand different reactions, and I love to swallow. It just turns me on! And while anal is fun in a submission way, there’s nothing quite like being on your knees in front of a Dom with his hand in your hair.
 
  • Vanilla or chocolate? Chocolate. Vanilla stuff is always overly sweet to me, and chocolate can have depth. I’m not a big sweets person though! Give me a mountain of french fries any day!
  • Beer or wine? Lee, did you really need to ask me this? I probably talk about wine more often than I do my own books. Sheesh! *bathes in red wine*
 
  • Batman or Superman? BATMAN. Seriously, I am such a geek about this, but Batman is the perfect superhero. He’s damaged, he’s made mistakes, but he wants to protect people, he wants to do GOOD and he’s completely HUMAN. One of my absolute favorite story lines in the Justice League is (just hang on as I nerd out) is the one where all of the superheroes start getting attacked and taken out. Superman is shot with a kryptonite bullet in that one, and all the other Justice League members are taken out one by one. Bruce Wayne realizes it’s HIS PLANS being used because someone hacked him, and he goes around and saves everyone. At the end of the story line everyone is up in the Watchtower (space station) and they’re all yelling at Bruce, and he’s sitting there stone cold, listening, and then he stands up and basically tells them to shut up and then talks over them in his sexy low voice. He says something along the lines of, “I am the only human here. None of you are human, you are not a part of the human race. Every one of you has the capacity to kill us, to destroy us, and if one day you went crazy – you would be glad that I was there to stop you.” Then he walks the fuck out like a gangster, gets in his Bat-spaceship and fucking leaves. No apologies whatsoever. Superman is totally speechless, the rest of the Justice League are like “oh snap!”… and it’s just EPIC. How can you NOT LOVE THAT GUY?!

 

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Any last words about living your kink? Yeah, I have one more thing. I think I’ve always known what I wanted, even before I didn’t have the language for it. I’m bisexual, I’m not monogamous (Dom and I have an open relationship), and I’m not someone who loves in the traditional way people think of it (although I do like writing and reading about love)! I like to play rough, I love submission, and BDSM is my happy little niche in the world.

But there was a time where I tried to “be normal” and “play vanilla” to save a relationship and it made me so. incredibly. unhappy. I didn’t just dislike the relationship, I disliked my life, him, the world, and myself – and it was miserable. There was an article I saw on Facebook a few days ago about the moment when you realize that you’re not in the right place. They called it the “NOT THIS” moment. You may not know what you want instead (a new job, a new relationship, etc) but you know what you want is NOT THIS. Whatever that “not this” is, if you’re feeling it, I encourage you to act on it. Ending that relationship was messy, and it was not easy, but I finally felt like myself again after I got out. I’m foul-mouthed, kinky, way too honest, love sex, and I’m probably a little off in the head – but I am me, and I finally love me again, and I wish that for everyone else too. ❤

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Thanks for reading Between The Sheets! I think it’s time to fan girl over Jennifer Bene. For more of her incredibly kinky self, check out her amazing books!

Between the Sheets: An interview with Author Morganna Williams

13940941_687973088031879_1548229933_nMorganna Williams has a smoking hot new release out tomorrow, and as a special treat for us, she’s talking about her real life kink, and how this week she ended up “properly punished” like her naughty heroines…

 

You’re pretty open about being an author who also lives the BDSM lifestyle. How much does your kink influence your writing? Greatly…I’m not sure I’d right kink if I didn’t feel it.
morganna
How is writing BDSM different than living it?

When I first started writing spanking stories in 1998 I had not been spanked as an adult, though I was born a spanko. Once I’d been spanked I think it added a depth and richness to those scenes. I think submission and D/s are the same. Aggressive oral and anal punishment scenes always turned me on, but my writing grew and again took on more depth when I began to experience these things in real life. Granted I hope my writing always grows as I do…I never want to become stagnant.

What is your literary pet peeve? Something you read about in erotica that’s totally different from real life?

 Hmmm…I think it’s when the Dom is a complete asshole and doesn’t care about the needs of his sub. I think it happens in real life but I don’t find it sexy at all…I need the nurturing caring part in my reading material and real life.

the commanders mate
What are some of your favorite experiences?
I love when he takes my mouth hard…it melts me completely…I feel so submissive. My favorite thing I want to experience is a good girl spanking…unfortunately I misbehave to often to earn one. 😉
My short stories have mirrored sessions but are also sometimes complete fantasy I’ll let you decide which are which. I post a weekly free story on my blog. (www.morgannawilliams.com)

 

What’s your favorite implement? What is your least favorite?  
I love the hand…the connection…the feel of skin on skin…unfortunately this too travels into good girl area. Correction has to be pretty firm or it just turns me on which negates the hand.  I hate wooden paddles and I’m down right afraid of the cane.

Have you ever been punished like one of your heroines?

Actually, just recently I got in trouble for some time with BOB (my Battery Operated Boyfriend). Let’s just say today my ass hurts as if someone paddled it hard then fucked it vigorously. And a certain part of my anatomy-my very favorite part-got spanked with a wooden spoon and then further punished by BOB coated in Vicks vapor rub. Owie. I wrote a story loosely based on the experience! Read it here: www.morgannawilliams.com

What’s your advice to readers who want to explore their fantasies beyond a BDSM novel?
Do it safely. This is where I got my fear of the cane. In my search for getting my wants and needs full filled, I made a very risky decision that followed no safety rules. The man hit me with many implements. The cane I remember and it really hurt me. I could barely move for three days, I actually bled in several places and was completely black from the top of my hips almost to my knees. I was lucky…I could have been raped or dead and I wasn’t.  Be careful…have safety measures in place…people should always know where you are and give them info on who you’re meeting. Don’t play the first time you meet. Talk and get to know someone as well as possible before meeting. I know it’s hard, especially when it feels like you’re finally going to get a taste of what you’ve wanted and needed for so long but you have to protect yourself.  Remember the real deal Dom or spanko will understand and encourage safety.
morganawilliams
How did you find your Dom? How does a real life Dom differ from the fantasy?
Spanking personals. I can’t turn him off. <laughs> If a real Dom gives a rule or a limit he expects it to be followed.

 

The Gauntlet: Which do you prefer and why:
  • Spanking or flogging? Spanking
  • Whipping or caning? Neither, both scare me…
  • Bondage or crawling? Bondage
  • Oral or anal? Both…delightful
  • Vanilla or chocolate? Pistachio
  • Beer or wine? Sadly, I’m allergic to both
  • Batman or Superman? Superman…Batman has too much angst…I’d have to slap him!

Any more thoughts on writing your kink?

I guess just that I’m growing more comfortable with who I am as a submissive and kinkster. It took a long time to get to that point. Writing has helped me a lot to learn to accept that it’s okay to be me. Kinky as hell.

Rocky Mountain Ride: a bath

RockyMountainRide_big

 

New Release! Sebastian will do anything to save a beautiful widow’s ranch. All he desires in return: her complete submission.

***

Francesca had set up a tub in an alcove off the kitchen. Once Sebastian reached it, he shrugged her down and held her back to his front, his cock poking her bottom while his hand took liberties. He was larger and stronger and though she struggled, he easily held her.

“Mmm, a lovely water nymph. All for me.” His hand cupped her breast.

“You are a fool.”

“That’s not very nice.” He squeezed her breast a little harder and his other hand roamed until the wet dress got in the way. He stopped and peeled it off, then grabbed her again, his hands roving up and down her now naked body while his head bent and mouth did what it wanted to do the moment he first saw her in the garden: lick and suck on the sensitive skin of her neck. He stroked her until she was wet and purring under him, then set her away. “I suppose I should clean up before the bath gets cold.”

“Sebastian,” she pouted.

Now she was hot for him. Well, too bad. He’d decided she needed a lesson in who was boss. It was going to be a long night for her. He climbed into the tub.

“Come now, Francesca. You promised to help get me clean.”

Naked, her chest heaving and nipples tightly ruched with desire, she stared at him, frustrated, as if trying to decide whether to hit him or pounce on his cock. Finally, she obeyed. He sat in the bath scrubbing off the rest of the grime while his wife poured the warm water over him, serving him like a pretty Roman slave. After a few minutes, he couldn’t resist pulling her in with him, cradling her on his lap and rubbing the washcloth into all her delicious crevices until she panted for him.

“You want some pleasure, darling?” He rose, water sluicing off him, getting it all over the stone floor, though neither of them cared. “Perhaps you could see to this?” His tool pointed straight at her face. With a nod, she reached for it. “No hands,” he ordered, and her eyes dropped to half mast as she circled his cock with her ripe, red lips. Her pupils were deep and dark with submission. Sebastian noted her trance-like obedience, arousal overtaking her will. Or maybe a part of her found pleasure in serving him. Whether she loved or hated it, a part of her needed him to be in control. It was up to him to find the balance that brought her the most intense pleasure, without breaking her will. As she worked up and down his length, he wondered how far he could go.

The sight of her on her knees, dark head bobbing, slavish mouth sucking, brought him to the brink in no time, and he raised her up.

“I don’t want to spill in your mouth.”

They left a wet trail all the way to the bedroom.

***

Lord James Sebastian Chivington is a bored English lord come to the Wild West for adventure when he meets the beautiful and passionate Francesca. Newly widowed, Francesca is trying to save her late husband’s ranch from his enemies and avenge his death. A gallant rescue by the witty Englishman is just what she needs. At first, she resists and he convinces her to accept his help—birching her bottom until she agrees. By day, he helps her run her ranch, but their nights are filled with passion as they fight the growing attraction between them.

As her enemies close in, will Sebastian be able to convince Francesca that he is the man she needs and more?

Read more!

***

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Rocky Mountain Rogue

Chapter One

Susannah Moore peered out the stagecoach window at the passing Kansas scenery: a flat, grassy plain as far as the eye could see. The further West they got, the trees became fewer and fewer until all that was left was a stretch of baked grass under a punishing sun, and, other than a few rock outcroppings as they grew closer to Colorado Territory, no end to the prairie in sight.

It was all very boring, really.
With a sigh, the blue eyed beauty pulled back the window covering and sagged back onto her chair, waving a fan in a useless attempt to dispel some of the dust and cool down. Back in Boston, the journey West seemed so exciting. After weeks of travel by train and then private coach she knew the truth: she was hot during the day, cold at night, and dirty not even two minutes after finishing her bath in one of the hell holes they called a hotel. The whole trip was thirsty and uncomfortable, and the adventure non-existent.

Setting aside her fan, she drew out for the umpteenth time her one solace and companion on this nightmare journey: a photograph of her intended.

Jesse Oberon had dark wavy hair, light eyes she guessed to be blue or hazel, and an unsmiling face that couldn’t hide how handsome he was. His tall, lean body looked sharp in a black suit and vest, long legs encased in shining black boots, and black hat in hand. Susannah’s finger traced the curve of his head and she smiled. Mr. Oberon, or as she already thought of him, her Jesse.

The coach bounced over a brutal rut, and Susannah nearly lost her seat. Frowning, she tucked the picture away and drew back the oilcloth to shout at the driver.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing? I was nearly thrown me from the carriage! Are you even paying attention to where you’re going?”
“Sorry, miss.” The driver didn’t sound sorry at all. “Road’s a little worn here. We’re almost to Colorado Territory.”

“Thank goodness,” Susannah grumbled, holding on to her bonnet. She’d spent half the trip ricocheting around inside the cab. At least there weren’t any other passengers with her, just a few trunks and bags, several of which were hers. There were no private coaches to Colorado Springs, so she’d contracted one that was carrying only packages. After an unpleasant experience on the train to St. Louis, involving a drunken man serenading her beauty, Susannah had vowed never to travel as a single woman again. Which, once she arrived in Colorado Springs, she would no longer be.

As the afternoon wore on, the way grew rockier. Hanging onto her seat for dear life, Susannah was grateful she hadn’t eaten anything all day. The journey had certainly been hard on her body, and her clothes. Her smart riding habit and jacket had been the latest fashion when she bought it, but now, soaked in sweat and covered in dust, they weren’t fit to be cleaning rags. The food had been so horrid, she’d lost weight, though today her corset felt a bit too tight. The maid who’d laced her up that morning had seemed annoyed at Susannah’s exacting instructions, and taken it out on her stays.

The road curved, and as the coach rattled on, Susannah uncovered the window again to see large, orange rock outcroppings. Craning her neck to watch them pass, she perked up with interest at the sight of billowing dust far beyond the coach’s wake. Was it buffalo? Or Indians? She squinted to see.

After a few moments, she realized it was a lone horse and rider, galloping hard to catch the coach. The road turned again and the rider disappeared behind the rocks. Susannah sat back, feeling a little disappointed. It would’ve been nice to see something other than dirt and scrub brush.

The road ran along on higher ground, with a large ditch on either side. Susannah checked again, but the rider was gone.

And then he was right beside her, driving his horse out of the ditch to gallop up to coach and pull level with her window.

He was clad all in black, from gloves to boots, with a broad brimmed hat shading his face and a black handkerchief covering half his face. He rode easily alongside the coach, a shadow no one was meant to see. Except she had seen him.

As she stared out the window, he raised his head and looked straight at her. For a moment, green eyes met blue. The rider pressed a gloved finger to his mouth in an order for her to stay silent. His green eyes sparkled over his disguise, and as Susannah stared, he winked at her.

She fell back into her seat with a startled gasp. The sudden arrival on a lone stallion, the handkerchief disguising his face: this man was no benign traveler; he was a rogue up to no good.

Sliding to the other side of the coach, she drew back the oil cloth and stuck out her head as far as she dared.

“Excuse me,” she called up to the driver and his partner. “Did you realize there’s a rider trying to catch up with us?”

Then all hell broke loose.

*

Jesse Wilder knew the minute he’d been made. The guard next to the driver turned with a shout, gun already out. Ducking in his saddle, Jesse pressed himself flat, and slowed his horse to race behind the carriage, where the dust gave him some cover. He used the few seconds he bought himself to reach for his rifle.

He could’ve shot the driver and the guard back at the pass, but where was the fun in that? Besides, he hated waste, but didn’t want to drive a team of horses back to Colorado Springs. Better to let the driver live to carry back the tale of a lone bandit who .took Doyle’s gold.

Of course, he hadn’t reckoned on there being three of them, though. Whoever heard of a passenger on a courier coach? Someone had gotten greedy for extra fare. Of course, a slender blonde slip of a woman wouldn’t weight the stage down any, not like the big brute of a guard.

A shot rang out and ricocheted off the ground near Jesse: the guard making a nuisance of himself. Instead of shying, his horse, Jordan, just put his head down and powered forward. Even with the driver cracking the whip, the team of four horses couldn’t outstrip Jordan. The increased speed made the bumps even worse, and as the coach rocked, the guard on the rooftop almost lost his balance. For a moment his shotgun waved in the air, but then the man righted himself, ready to make trouble.

Jesse ducked in his saddle, pressing himself almost flat. His stallion sped up, pulling alongside the coach again. Above him, the stupid guard was still struggling to aim his shotgun, pointing it down to where he thought the threat was, endangering the little miss in the cab below.

Clucking his tongue in disapproval, Jesse directed Jordan to run flat out beside the coach. He hated to see bad gunmanship almost as much as he hated anyone associated with Doyle. Any man who made so free with a firearm was a menace to everyone around him. Jesse would be doing the world a favor, really, by putting him down.

Slipping one foot out of the stirrup, Jesse put the stallion’s body between him and the flying cab. In his precarious position, he balanced and raised his shotgun. Aiming with one arm, he steadied his body as best he could on the galloping horse. Jordan kept on charging; Jesse could shoot a fly out from between the stallion’s ears and the horse wouldn’t flinch.

The bald, hulking man by the driver would be one of Doyle’s henchmen, usually a thug one step away from being an outlaw. Jesse had seen what Doyle’s men had done to a prostitute up in Denver, and had no reservations about shooting the thug dead.

Which is exactly what he did. Jesse’s luck held, and with one bullet and one carefully aimed shot, and the big guard jerked backwards and flew off the coach.

The driver flapped the reigns in horror, driving the horses on even as the body of Doyle’s man bounced on the side of the road.

“Stop the coach,” Jesse shouted. “If you stop it now, I promise you won’t die.” He raised his gun to take aim at the driver’s hands. It would be a shame to hurt an innocent hire, but it was the driver’s choice.

The first shot went wild by design, and Jesse readied his rifle for another, but the warning was enough. Crying out, the driver reined the horses back hard, and the coach stopped a hundred feet down the road in a great cloud of dust.

Jesse nudge Jordan forward, gun trained on the place where the driver would be.

“Put your hands up. This is a robbery. Obey and I swear on my mother’s grave you won’t be harmed.”

The driver yelped and dropped his weapon, and Jesse felt he’d finally gotten a piece of luck. The man was a coward, and probably not attached to Doyle.

Jesse dismounted and started walking up the side of the coach.

“I have my gun on you,” he called. “Just keep your hands in the air and I promise you’ll survive. This coach has something of mine–“

He reached the side of the coach, just as the door swung open and caught him on his side. He staggered with the blow, and then a shrieking weight hit him.

Jesse went down under the human missile. He landed on his back in the dirt, scrabbling with his attacker, who seemed to be wearing a copious amount of frothy petticoats. Whenever he got a grip on the fabric, the fancy cloth slipped through his fingers. He redoubled his efforts, and the sweet smelling bundle turned into a hurricane of scratching nails, ear piercing squeals, and flying blonde hair.

He flipped her onto her back and stared down at the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen. Dirty blonde hair, pink lips, pert nose: the little miss would be lovely, if she wasn’t such a screaming harpy.

“Madam, you will be silent.” He shook her. For a second the lady seemed stunned into silence, staring up at him. Then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fainted.

Jesse took the opportunity to check on the driver, who was watching the whole event silently, his hands still in the air.

“Good man,” Jesse said, still in control even though his arms were full of woman and his rifle lay beside him on the ground. At least his handkerchief was still in place. “I just want something in the coach that’s mine. And then I’ll let you on your way.”

“Could you take her too?” the driver asked hopefully.

Jesse glanced down at his lovely armful and realized she hadn’t come awake from her faint. A man of the ladies, he could guess why.

Cursing, he flipped her over and tore off her dress, growling as he ripped at the tiny, delicate buttons. Goddamn women and their many layers. Usually he enjoyed this part and took it slow, but he had no time now for a fancy damsel who tied her stays too tight for some stupid fashion.

First the dress and the over-petticoat, and then he’d burrowed enough to find her corset. Drawing a knife out of his boot, he cut her stays and clapped the woman on the back. When she started gasping for air, he pulled off his glove and loosened her drawers so he could run his hand across her torso and down her slim waist and hip, checking for broken ribs. His rough hands caught on her silky skin, but there was no hurt, nothing but lovely, unblemished flesh, visible under the silky layers.

Jesse ripped off a strip off her fine drawers and bound her wrists while the woman heaved and coughed and drew air into starving lungs. With his help, she came up into a sitting position in his lap. A few seconds later, she realized her dress was gaping open, then discovered her hands were bound. Color came into her cheeks as she stared at him, open mouthed. Jesse took the opportunity to give her a cheeky grin, which, even hidden by the handkerchief, more than implied how he felt about her in his lap. She immediately regained her pique.

“What is this? You villain! Untie me at once.”

Deciding he didn’t like the haughty tone in her voice, he turned her over his lap and smacked her bare cheek. She yelped and stilled.

Jesse like that reaction so much he did it again, then took a fist of the dirty blonde hair and pulled her head up slightly. “Do as I say and you won’t get hurt.”

She grimaced and he tugged her head back further, his grip a little tighter.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpered.

Jesse paused at the breathless answer, then decided he liked it. “Good.”

He became aware of her curvy body pressed up against his, and almost groaned when she wriggled against him. It’d been too long since he’d had a woman. He’d abstained ever since he’d invited his bride to meet him in Colorado Springs. And now here was a lovely piece of calico just like he liked them, bound and half undressed.

A snort from his horse reminded him of his mission.

“Stay put,” he told the lovely baggage, and deposited her on the ground.

“Damn you to hell,” she said.

“Such fine language for a lady,” he tutted. “Someone should teach you manners.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse saw the driver nodding in agreement.

Well, no one said business couldn’t be pleasurable.

Instead of rising, he grabbed the lady’s arm and hauled her up over his lap. As she squawked and started to kick, he delved under skirts and, finding a pair of split seam drawers, parted the layers of cloth and found her pretty cheeks, enticingly pale. They wouldn’t be for long.

He smacked her rump once, and felt her struggle to free herself. Her hands were tied before her, so she couldn’t manage to reach back to protect her bottom. Jesse caught her bound wrists anyway, and held them out in front of her. He drew his thigh over hers, weighting her so she couldn’t kick her feet. The woman stilled under him, as if realizing she was completely pinned at his mercy.

“That’s better,” he chuckled, and brought his hand crashing down over and over again.

She screamed and kicked and flexed her hands in their bonds.

Jesse felt himself grow impossibly hard, and gritted his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to be able to smack her bottom rosy, then set her on her knees and order her to use her mouth to please him, while he pinched her nipples to teach her.

Rocky Mountain Rogue

Can true love tame a rogue?

“This will teach you to mind, little lady.”

The blonde growled in frustration, writhing with all her might, and Jesse redoubled his efforts, spanking her until she settled down. Her bottom cheeks warmed to a delicious red before he stopped.

“That should do it, for now. I pity the man that takes you in hand for the rest of your life.”

He gave her a final smack and tipped her off his lap. She settled on her knees before him, glaring up at him with her dress almost sliding off her shoulders, and angry tears coursing down her beautiful face.

“Stay,” he ordered, like she was a dog, and left her kneeling in the dust.

Raising his rifle, he ordered the driver down, and held it on the man, forcing him to carry most of the luggage out into a big pile, until Jesse found the big black box he was looking for: Doyle’s safe.

“Just one thing and I’ll be on my way,” Jesse said cheerfully. He tried picking the lock first, then swapped his rifle for a pistol and took aim. The shot did nothing but make the horses nervous, and both driver and the woman wince.

Grim, Jesse went to his saddlebags, and drew out the stick of dynamite. Halfway through rigging it, Jesse heard a shout.

“Wait!” Hands still bound, the woman struggled to her feet, her neckline flapping. Jesse put his hand on his pistol, but didn’t point it at her, even as she rushed at him desperately, her body half bent, her cleavage in serious danger of being exposed.
“Not my trousseau,” she shrieked.

“Whoa, little lady.” Jesse caught the little miss around the waist when she would rush past him to the luggage, and held her against him.

“Please don’t harm my luggage. It’s all I have.” She looked up at him with eloquent eyes, but it was her body pressed against him that persuaded him.

Jesse grinned down her, noting how, with her corset loosened, she was curved in all the right places. With a gentle hand, he pulled her neckline into place. “Since you ask so nicely, I suppose I could let it alone. Kneel back down, sweetheart.”

With a little sob, she did as he said and he felt himself harden further. He liked giving orders to this little wildcat, and watching her turn sweet as a kitten when she wanted something from him. He especially liked it when she was kneeling, her head at just the right height for other entertainment.
Pointing his rifle, he guided the driver to separate the safe from all the other bags, then directed both his captives to stand back while he lit the fuse. The trunk blew open, scraps of paper flying about as Jesse stepped forward to take his treasure. He stacked the gold bars into two saddlebags, and weighted Jordan equally.

Turning to the open-mouthed driver, he tipped his hat at the man. “Much obliged.”

“Do you know who you’ve robbed?” The driver asked. “Silas Doyle, the most dangerous man in the whole territory. His men ride with the Royal Mountain Gang.”

“You must be sure to pass on my thanks to him for sending you right past my stakeout. Take care next time you pass through here. There are some really awful men about.”

He stalked back to his horse, but couldn’t resist detouring near the little lady and offering her a hand up.
Her pretty eyes shot bullets at him, but she allowed him to help her to her feet. As he straightened, he noticed her staring at his ungloved hand and the burn scar marring the skin.

Cursing himself for his carelessness, he cast about for his glove and pulled it on. This was supposed to be a clean job: fly in, rob Doyle and worry his men, and ride off. He didn’t have time to tussle in the dirt with a pretty, brave—if petty and misguided—piece of calico.

Still, he couldn’t resist stepping closer to the little chit again and brushing a strand of blond hair off her cheek.

“It’s been a pleasure, my beauty, but all too soon we are parted.” The little baggage was growing on him, he decided.

Her features looked somewhat familiar to him, even twisted with hate.

“I hope they catch you,” she spat. “Then you’ll hang.”

Gripping either arm, he pulled her close, until he could scent the lavender perfume she wore. Her bound hands pushed at his chest, frantic and ineffective, but her face tilted up to look at him enticingly. He bent his head close, so his lips almost touched hers. “Till we meet again, baggage.” For a second, her sweet breath warmed his lips, and he was almost tempted to take her mouth, then throw her up over Jordan and ride off.

Instead, he set her away, pleased when she made a little sigh of disappointment. Seems he made an impression on the little baggage.

“Enjoy the rest of your trip,” he smirked, before turning on his heel, mounting his horse, and riding away.
*

In Rocky Mountain Rogue, Jesse Wilder meets his match in a proper schoolteacher from Boston. Susannah Moore has answered an ad to marry a fine Colorado gentleman, but on the way West her stagecoach is robbed by a rakish masked bandit. She reaches her destination safely and marries the handsome Jesse, only to realize later why he looks so familiar…

Can true love tame a rogue?

Buy now!

Rocky Mountain Ride CHAPTER 1

Rocky Mountain Ride:

sebastian

Inspiration for Sebastian (Paul Bettany)

*** Lord James Sebastian Chivington the third sat in a dirty bar in San Luis Valley, Colorado. It was ten o’clock in the morning, and he’d just started drinking.  

“All right, boss,” his guide, a man called Cage, sat down beside the lord, and gave a world weary sigh. “What’s the plan for the day?”

Sebastian shrugged. “The usual,” he said, and watched Cage’s shoulders slump. For the British lord, a typical day looked like drinking, smoking, and spending his father’s money, with the occasional hunt or lay with a lightskirt thrown in for good measure. Not quite the adventure the older man had been looking for when he signed on to Sebastian’s entourage.

Cage looked as frustrated as Sebastian felt.

“Any news, my good man?” Sebastian called to the bartender.

The man shrugged. “Not much around here. The war ended a week ago. Lee surrendered.”

Sebastian raised his glass in mock toast. “Well done. About time you colonists stopped killing each other.”

The bartender turned away, shaking his head at his foreign customer. Lord Sebastian wore an outfit of his own design: a fine suit that flattered his lanky frame, with the addition of a neatly pressed bandanna around his neck and over-sized black hat to keep the sun off his fair skin. The effect was rather ridiculous. Cage had warned him about standing out too much from the rugged, dirty men who made up the sparse populace of the West, but

Sebastian didn’t care if he looked a fool. He found life was more interesting when people didn’t take him seriously.

cage

Inspiration for Cage

“Just so you know, boss, most folk here don’t like being called colonists,” Cage said. 

“No?” Sebastian lifted a blond brow. “I shall inform the Queen Mother.” 

Two more of Sebastian’s hired hands joined him as he sipped his drink. Behind their table, a card game started up.

“Want a whiskey?” Sebastian offered his three companions.

“Is that what you call that horse piss?” Cage said. “And no. I’ll stick to coffee until midday.” The two others agreed.

“Suit yourself,” Sebastian shrugged. “You Americans and your coffee. Haven’t you heard of tea? It’s much better if you don’t try to steep it in Boston harbor… and then when your king sends help, throw a Revolution.”

The men at the card game stopped to glare at the blond lord. Sebastian gave them a cheery wave. He’d found in life you could say whatever you wanted as long as you acted ridiculous. The old court jester trick.

“I prefer coffee varnish for breakfast.” He drained his glass and raised it to signal the bartender. “Garcon! Another!”

If his guides felt disgust they hid it well. Then again, they were used to seeing their employer drink a quarter bottle of whiskey before noon.

“Milord.” Cage used Sebastian’s title with more sarcasm that respect. But that was all right; as the third son of a duke, and slated because of birth to receive no more than a fraction of his father’s estate, Sebastian felt the same way about his breeding. “Perhaps you might give some thought to where we’ll travel next.”

“I don’t know, Cage.” Sebastian raised his glass and pretended to squint at the amber liquid, all the while studying his hired man.

Cage was typical American western stock. Practical. Ageless, timeless, tanned skin with wrinkles around his faded blue eyes. Dark hair with a touch of silver. Popular enough with the ladies, but mostly a loner, married to his horse and saddle, the wind and sky, and wild outdoors.

Compared to Cage, Sebastian was a pale blond cherub, a bit long in the face, and too old and tall to be a good addition to any Raphael painting. There was a rakish twinkle in his blue eyes that boredom and general malaise hadn’t quite dimmed. He saw it every morning in the shaving glass, and supposed that when it was gone, he would give up and go home.

His fingers tightened around the glass. Home was not a pleasant thought. As the third son of a duke he had all of the prestige, some of the money, and none of the title—or the power and land that went with it. Completely lacking responsibility and cursed with brains enough to know it, he’d been kicked out of school and then was shipped off to the navy. Then, on his mother’s insistence, brought back into society until he made a mess of things and his father sent him to America.

“Go,” the duke had said. “And don’t come back until you’re a man.”

Sebastian had amused himself in the American West hunting buffalo, but after bagging two, had no more desire to kill things. That alone set him apart from the typical British upper crust. Studies bored him, familial duty bored him, the ton was interesting until his father realized he was skirt chasing and banished him to the colonies.
And now Sebastian was in a saloon in San Luis Valley, looking for answers in the bottom of a dirty glass.

Frowning, he announced to the Cage, “I need a quest.”

“A what?”

“A quest, a cause. Like King Arthur’s knights of the Round what-sit. A chance for heroics, valor. Perhaps a lady who needs rescuing from an evil…something. You know…a Grendel. Or whatever.”

Cage’s blank face reminded Sebastian that book learning was rare in the Wild West. Men learned to read a sky or an animal track, not Keats or Tennyson.

“A damsel in distress!” Sebastian slammed his glass onto the table for emphasis.

“You mean a woman?”

“Yes! No! Not just a woman. A fair lady who needs my help. I’ll perform heroic actions in her honor. Pledge my troth. Whatever that is.”

Francesca 2

Francesca

Cage tipped back his chair, balancing it on two legs. “Hate to remind you, boss, but ladies aren’t exactly in plentiful supply ‘round here. And I sure as hell ain’t never seen a damsel.” 

Sebastian sighed. “Then lets be on our way.”

Cage’s chair came down with a thump. “Really?”

“I think so. Pack the bags and saddle up at once.”

All three men rose and hurried off, returning a few minutes later with their bags. They’d probably been packing them every morning, in hopes they’d be leaving soon. Two of the men headed out towards the stables while Cage sat down.

“Took the liberty of throwing all your things into the packs. The men will saddle up the horses so we’ll be ready as soon as you want to go.”

Sebastian winced, but finding a good valet was a bloody impossible feat in the colonies. His mother would be horrified at the current state of his suits.

“So where are we going, boss?”

“California, Texas.” Sebastian shrugged. “One thing for certain: we’ve seen all this valley has to offer.”

As he finished speaking, the door to the saloon blew open and a woman stalked inside in a flurry of skirts. Clad in black, from her boots to a large black veil falling over her face and down her back, she paused in the door with the light behind her. Every man’s head whipped around. As Cash had pointed out, a woman was a rare enough sight this far in the rugged west. Other than the soiled doves, Sebastian had never seen a lady in a saloon, and certainly not one dressed in widows weeds.

“Charlie the Red?” she called in English with a slight Spanish accent. The card game had stopped, and the man with the red bandana turned, rising out of his chair with a smirk on his face. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

The woman threw back the black lace veil, revealing a lovely, narrow face, caramel skin flushed and dark eyes sparkling with passion.

“Yes,” she said. “You can die.” The woman pulled a gun out from her voluminous skirts and shot the man in the chest.

Books6,7,8

Sebastian and Cage leaped to their feet, guns already out, even though they’d have to be hard pressed before they shoot a woman. The force of the woman’s bullets sent the man crashing backwards into the card table. The other players scattered. The man in the red bandana was dead before his body hit the floor.

“Blood for blood,” the woman spat. She turned on her heel and was gone, leaving all but the dead man staring after her, guns in hand.

“By Jove,” Sebastian burst out, breaking the terrible calm. “Who was that?”
***

Rocky Mountain Ride coming soon…

WipitUP Devil Dog

Your hot, dominant military heroes are waiting—and they expect your complete submission.

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It’s here! It’s here! Hero to Obey is LIVE! I’m so excited to be a part of this boxset that will soon be a USA today bestselling book… here’s an excerpt from DEVIL DOG, my first foray into writing contemporary romance…

***

His mouth dropped to my neck and I forgot how to talk. I still made noises, little sighs and moans to match the aggressive pull of his lips on my skin. He threaded his fingers in my hair and drew my head back, claiming my neck, sucking and kissing. Big hands manipulated me to where he wanted me to go, but he was incredibly gentle, given his powerful strength.

By the time he got to my collarbone, I swear my bones had turned to mush. He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom while we were still attached at the lips, his kisses convincing my brain to just go along with things.  My hands gripped at his shirt, ready to remove anything between me and his skin. He laid me on the bed and started kissing down. I made a noise of protest, reaching for him.

“Dane—”

He pulled me to the edge of the bed and parted my knees. I stared down at him, about to have a mini orgasm just looking at Devil Dog Dane kneeling at the foot of the bed, his face between my legs.

“Dinner time,” he said with the sexiest smile ever, and I swear my brain exploded. 

***

*$0.99 for a limited time only ~ An over $40 value!**

Hero to Obey: Twenty-Two Naughty Military Romance Stories is packed with ALL-NEW sexy novellas, penned by New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling authors of BDSM romance.

Featured authors: Selena Kitt, Paige Tyler, Sierra Cartwright, Alta Hensley, Sue Lyndon, Renee Rose, Vanessa Vale, Desiree Holt, Abbie Adams, Tabitha Black, Zoe Blake, Bethany Burke, Alexa Day, Livia Grant, Yasmine Hyde, Isabella Kole, Cerise Noble, Kate Richards, Maggie Ryan, Lee Savino, Maren Smith, and Maddie Taylor.

Amazon: http://amzn.to/28ZlxCD

Kobo: https://goo.gl/Bm8640

Nook: http://goo.gl/bKnXzN

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***

 

 

Devil Dog!

DevilDogComingSoon

Check this out! 21 of some of the hottest authors I know put together a box set of sexy men in uniform! They were kind enough to include me 😛

My story “Devil Dog” is available as part of “A Hero to Obey: Twenty-Two Naughty Military Romance Stories”

Read on for an excerpt…

***

 I pushed the shop door a little too hard and to my horror it swung out and hit a man standing in line at the counter. It wasn’t totally my fault, the shop was small, and the waiting man had shoulders and biceps roughly the size of Alaska. He turned to see who’d hit him, his mirrored shades angling to me, and the sight of this hunky hulk, six foot amazing and one hundred percent muscle, sent the thoughts of my ex clean out of my head.

Wow, my brain said, adding, Don’t do anything stupid.

I shot the man a winning smile, and the corner of his mouth turned up in return. My brain was still crowing a point for me when my sandal, sticking to its course of sabotage, decided to trip me again. Of course the hunky hulk caught me, and I got a close up of his awesome, bulging muscles under beautiful tattoos.

“Oh, my god,” I breathed. “Your muscles have muscles.”

My brain gasped in horror. The wrinkles around the mirrored shades crinkled.

Dork, my brain hissed. To my horror, my mouth kept talking. “I mean, you look like you could pick up my car and throw it. I can barely get down to the gym.”

Shut up, shut up. My face turned bright red under the perusal of mirrored shades. My coffee shop savior set me on my feet, one large hand at the small of my back to steady me. The sunglasses swept up and down and I froze, knowing he was checking me out. Hunky hulk grinned. My knees went weak and I almost started drooling. Not to mention the state of my panties… I mentally added laundry to the list of things to do today. He turned to the barista.

“Whatever she wants, I’m buying.” Muscles stepped aside and the barista, who also looked a little dazed at the spectacular sight of her customer, transferred a wide-eyed gaze to me. My tongue chose that moment to trip over itself.

“Go ahead, order something,” the hunk commanded softly, his voice deep and gentle at the same time. He flashed that white, panty-dropping smile. My brain stopped scolding me and swooned. Luckily, I’d ordered the same drink for fifteen years. I turned and parroted it to the barista, who looked like she’d just fallen in lust. Both hers and my cheeks were pink. His hand still hovering on my back, Mr. Muscles added his order, dropped a bill on the counter, and escorted me to the side to wait for our drinks. The barista called after him, asking if he wanted change, and he shook his head with a smile. Her cheeks flushed further and she tucked a coy strand of hair behind her ear.

For a second my heart sank. Barista girl was tall and thin and looked like the sort of girl who’d flirt with a muscled stud muffin like this. But then the hunky hulk transferred his gaze to me. Chiseled jaw, full lips and a slight smile: my body did the math and the tally was yummy.

Please don’t let me say anything stupid. “You didn’t have to do that,” I told him.

“I know,” he said in that deep purr. “I wanted to.” He kept his hand at my back, no longer touching me but close enough for me to feel its warmth, as if I might fall over at any time. Which I might, and not just because of my stupid sandals. Maybe he was just used to women swooning with lust thirty seconds after they’d met him, but his protective stance reminded me of the way my gramps used to escort my nan around, treating her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“Um, so I would tell you that I don’t always say the first thing that pops into my head, but I do, all the time. My nan says I have two ears and one mouth to listen twice and speak once.” The slight smile deepened to a grin.

“Worked out for you today.” “I’m having a rough week,” I confessed. “I’m just got served the papers for my divorce after a year’s separation.” My brain cringed, but Muscles didn’t seem put off by the mention of my ex.

He cocked his head. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I’m trying to tell myself it’s a good thing. He…” cheated on me for years, emotionally and verbally abused me, lied behind my back… “needed to go.” Shut up, Cassie, shut up. Just stop talking.

“Then I’m glad he’s gone.” The rumble in his voice turned dark. I searched for a witty and charming way to change the subject from my pathetic life, and noticed a tattoo just under his sleeve.

“That’s a cute dog,” I said, then silently cursed myself. Under the script ‘Devil Dog’ was a growling bulldog with a cigar in its mouth. The exact opposite of cute. “Well, maybe cute isn’t the right word.”

My brain gave up trying to get me to shut up and decided I should just move to Alaska. Muscles grinned down at me like I was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. It was an amazing sight, this big, rough man with a little crinkle at the side of his mouth and eyes, total attention on me.

It was a little off-putting.

“Sorry,” I gasped, a little out of breath. “I really shouldn’t talk in the morning before I’ve had coffee.”

“You’re all right, babygirl.” A happy feeling curled through me at his gentle rumble. I glanced at the tattoo again and noticed the scrawl underneath: ‘USMC’.

“The Marines! My gramps was a Marine. Now I know where you got all those muscles.” The way he held himself looked familiar, reminding me of the easy poise my gramps always had. I could totally imagine this Devil Dog in uniform… and out of it.

***

Hero to Obey: Twenty-Two Naughty Military Romance Stories is packed with ALL-NEW sexy novellas, penned by New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling authors of BDSM romance.

Featured authors: Selena Kitt, Paige Tyler, Sierra Cartwright, Alta Hensley, Sue Lyndon, Renee Rose, Vanessa Vale, Desiree Holt, Abbie Adams, Tabitha Black, Zoe Blake, Bethany Burke, Alexa Day, Livia Grant, Yasmine Hyde, Isabella Kole, Cerise Noble, Kate Richards, Maggie Ryan, Lee Savino, Maren Smith, and Maddie Taylor.

**$0.99 for a limited time only ~ An over $40 value!**

Your hot, dominant military heroes are waiting—and they expect your complete submission. Pre-order today!

Amazon 

Kobo

Nook

iBooks

 

 

Pearl’s Possession

 

Pearl's Possesion (1)

My addition to the bestselling Red Petticoat series is out now! And it’s a menage with 5 rough ranchers fighting to possess Pearl. Read on to meet them…

After a failed marriage, lovely Pearl finds a new home at the Red Petticoat Saloon. With her voracious sexual appetite, she fits right in and enjoys pleasuring clients, including her five regulars named Cash, Samson, Brock, Orion and Jonas. Little does she know that these rough ranchers have plans to make her permanently theirs…

The Five:
Cash Carter: the oldest and most dominant of the five men who desire to possess Pearl
Samson: A gentle blond giant
Brock: A Scottish immigrant, friendly and talkative
Orion: the youngest of the five, he has his own dominant tendencies
Jonas: dark and tan, with a hot temper and a reckless streak

***

I looked up as Cash settled in front of me, kneeling on the bed with his cock pointing straight at my lips. “You’re going to suck me now, while Brock takes your pussy from behind. Then Samson and Jonas get their turn. But you are not to cum.”

I groaned. This was going to be impossible.  

He leaned down closer. “What do you say, Pearl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re a naughty girl for cumming without permission.” Every bit of my insides clenched with delicious expectation. “Don’t think that you’re getting out of your punishment. I may be more lenient if you please me.” He presented his cock to my lips. “Suck.”

Craning my neck, I gobbled him up, pushing forward to take him all in. He was long and thick and I loved the feel of him inside my cheeks.  I felt Brock stroking my ass. The men had propped me up on pillows so my head was at the right height for Cash’s cock. Widening my legs, I popped my bottom out, offering it to Brock.

The Scott chuckled. “Ready for me, Pearl? No. Don’t answer. I know you have your mouth full.” He slid inside me easily and I moaned around Cash’s member. My pussy practically gasped with relief, milking Brock’s rod as he held my hips and cursed. “So good. We’re gonna enjoy you, lass.”

He fucked me hard from behind, his hips slapping into my bottom. I clenched around his cock and the plug in my ass, my mind overwhelmed by the sensations. Cash took a fistful of hair and held my head up as he moved in and out of my mouth. The two men used me to find completion and I loved every second of it. After spending himself, Cash came out of my mouth with a pop.

“You’ll do this for us every night if you say yes, Pearl. Every time I snap my fingers, you’ll be on your knees to worship me. It’ll be some time before I get enough of your sweet mouth.” His thumb swiped away some spit around my lips and fed it to me.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough,” Brock sighed.

*** Read More ***

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