The Rocky Mountain Bride Series



Mail order brides meet the Wild West, and the 1860s town of Royal, Colorado will never be the same again! Set at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, this series stars courageous pioneer women and the handsome husbands who discipline them.

In Rocky Mountain Dawn, meet Esther and Johnathan, a couple who marry so they can move West. Through the rough journey from Boston to Colorado Territory, they learn to work together and love each other.

Rocky Mountain Bride: Carrie is on the run from her past. Miles needs a wife. One letter sparks a romance that blazes like a brushfire. But when trouble threatens marital bliss, will Carrie run again?

In Rocky Mountain Rose, Lyle Wilder fulfills a promise he made to his dying wife: to find and rescue her younger sister Rose. Tall and feisty, redhead Rose has grown into a beautiful mountain bloom with her own show as a dancing girl, and she’s not too happy when Lyle struts into her saloon to “save her.” But then she becomes the target of a very dangerous man–and must rely on her newfound hero. Will Rose fight the ties that bind or can she learn to trust again?

Rocky Mountain Romp: A Christmas in the Rockies. Brides Esther, Carrie and Rose have settled happily with their rugged frontier husbands. One task remains: to spread the marital bliss. What better target than the shy shopkeeper, Mr. Martin? Without his knowledge they answer an ad for a husband placed by an enterprising widow. On Christmas Eve the plot comes to light in a shocking way. With the help of a swift spanking, they wives all learn not to meddle, though that doesn’t stop them from scheming on how to marry off wild Jesse, Lyle’s younger, troublesome brother.

In Rocky Mountain Rogue, Jesse Wilder meets his match in a proper schoolteacher from Boston. She’s 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 villain?


Rocky Mountain Wild: Scottish trapper Calum MacDonnell claims his “wee one” in this “…a story of forever love and unspeakable loss, of hope and sorrow, of mending what’s broken…and learning to fly again.” – 5 star review by Once Click Chicks


Rocky Mountain Ride: British lord tames a feisty widow rancher.

Rocky Mountain Ride: a bath



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:


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.


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


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.


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…

May I present Pearl’s Possession

Today, I have a new release! Read on for a letter of introduction, a blurb, and an excerpt!
Pearl's Possesion (1)
I’m so excited to present Pearl’s Possession, a menage addition to the fantastic Red Petticoat series.  The first thing you should know is that this book has way, way too much sex in it.

I’m serious. Part of the reason I wrote it during my second trimester of pregnancy, when the hormones were just raging.

The other reason is that I wanted to write a menage romance–one woman, multiple men. Menage appeals to me–you can take the facets of a perfect man and separate them out. You like blonds? Brunettes? Hard doms and sweet daddies? Someone to whip you and someone to cuddle? You can have it all.
Besides, twice the men means twice the orgasms…
The thing is, I overdid it. Pearl gets possessed (read: fucked) by not one, not two, but FIVE men. Individually, in pairs, three at a time–every combination you can think of. Plus spankings, anal play, forced orgasms, servile submission, and rope play…
Did I mention that I was really horny?
I loved writing the very different personalities of Pearl’s five lovers: some sweet, some dominant, all of them hot and totally intent on possessing–and being possessed by–their Pearl. I had so much fun writing them I finished the book in record time and sent it off to friends for their feedback. Their verdict: the book has way, way too much sex.
But I’ll leave it to you to decide. 😉
Happy Reading! 😀


Five husbands; one Possessed Pearl.

When Pearl starts working as a gem at The Red Petticoat saloon, she knows she’s found the place where she belongs. After all, her husband cast her out for being too lusty of a wife. She quickly comes to enjoy her clients, especially her five constant regulars, so much so, that when one of her regulars proposes marriage, she declines. How can one man satisfy her?

Things change when all five of her regulars come to her with a marriage proposal—live with them as a bride to five 5 cowboyshusbands.

Can Pearl face her fear of marriage and allow herself to be claimed by not one man, but five?

Disclaimer: This book contains the spanking of adult women and explicit sexual scenes including multiple partners and anal play.

“Are you wet now?” Cash asked in a tone that warned me to tell the truth.
“Yes,” I whispered, my cheeks staining with shame. Sitting in Cash’s lap, two men’s hands stroking up and down my legs, I was primed and ready for a long, hard fuck.
“If I told you we were going to tie you up, and use you the way we did that first night, would that excite you?”
My throat clogged before I could answer, but he added, “Be honest, Pearl, or I’ll turn you over my knee right now and spank you.”
“Yes,” I croaked, and a ripple of excitement ran around the room.  
“Good girl.”
My nipples hardened at the command in his voice. Through my thin shift, Cash could see evidence of my arousal, and nodded thoughtfully. Lifting my foot, Samson nipped at my ankle. My cunny grew slick with my juices.
“We want you to say yes, Pearl.”
“You’ll spend the night with us,” Cash said. He cupped my chin so he was sure of my attention. Of course, I would’ve agreed to anything at that point.  
“We’ll have one last night to enjoy your body and give you pleasure. If you truly don’t want us, we’ll take you back.” His voice deepened. “Of course, we’ll know if you’re lying. And lying means you’ll be punished.” 

#SatSpanks One woman…five husbands

Pearl's Possesion (1)

Pearl agrees to marry and love 5 men on their California ranch. As their new bride, she institutes bath day, and personally oversees their washing, one at a time. Then it’s her turn…


“We want you,” he said, pulling me against him. “We always want you.” His mouth took mine; I felt a thrill at making my usually reserved husband lose control. His fingers trailed up my inner thigh, touching my lower lips. I sighed and parted my legs.

Distracted, I didn’t realize the bedroom door had opened until someone lifted me from behind.

“Your turn, lass,” I heard Brock. He picked me up and I cried out at the loss between my legs. I had been close. Frustrated, I tried to kick, and Jonas and Orion caught my legs, grinning. Brock held me firm, hands secured behind my back as the other two spread my legs.

“What are you doing? Let me go.”

I saw Samson approach with a bucket of water and started struggling madly.

“I’ve already had my bath!”

“We know,” Jonas smirked. “We’re getting you dirty, then clean, over and over again.” Brock lifted up my bottom, presenting my pussy to Samson. The big man came closer and tipped the bucket.

“Oh, no.” I thrashed in their hold, and Jonas and Orion tightened their grip. The stream of water washed right over my pussy, rushing over my little pearl. I cried out; the sensation was overwhelming, yet not forceful enough to make me cum.

After the last little bit trickled out, Samson put down the bucket. “Did she cum?”

“Not yet. Again,” Brock said.

I yelped and pleaded, but it was no use. They poured warm water over my center and again I writhed as the pleasure flickered just out of reach. Samson held the bucket higher and higher, so the water fell with more force, and I panted as my pussy clenched. It was like being raped by a waterfall.

“Please,” I begged when the final drops fell. “I need to cum.”

“How do you think we felt, lass? Being touched all over by your beautiful self, and then sent out of the room, hard and wanting?” That was a part of my plan I hadn’t thought through.

“I was just trying to serve you. Please!”

“Next time, you end each of our baths on your knees,” Orion said. Jonas now held both my legs and the blond came to pluck at my nipples, a wicked look on his face.

“You’ll serve us, aye. Over and over again, or you won’t get to cum,” Brock growled in my ear, then licked and sucked at the lobe. I panted and moaned as they stimulated every part of my body but the one part I wished they’d touch.

“Cash,” I called to the only one not taking part in my torment. “Please.”

“No, Pearl. You wanted us clean, you got it. Now we use you for our pleasure.”

They lay me down on the bed, face up but so my head hung over the foot of the bed. Two cocks presented themselves on either side and I stroked them off.

“That’s right, lass. The sooner we cum, the sooner you can.”

Upside down, I watched Orion move closer, his member dangling in my face. I let my mouth fall open and took him in. We delighted in this position since we’d found I could take all of him this way. Pumping in and out of my mouth, Orion took the opportunity to tug my nipples, sometimes pinching them until I moaned. The pain drove me to greater heights of arousal, and I moved my hands faster, frantic to make my men climax. My tongue moved around Orion’s shaft, encouraging him as he sped up his thrusts. He came first, and I took turns with the other two, turning my head this way and that, licking the crowns of Jonas’ and then Brock’s shafts. Gripping my hair, one slammed all the way into my mouth until my vision was filled with dark curls. I drank Jonas’ cum, and then serviced Brock the same way.

With a final pinch for my poor nipples, they moved away, and Cash took their place. It seems I was going to pay for my earlier teasing. I felt a warm mouth at my entrance and looked down. Samson had made himself comfortable on the bed, and blew hot air onto my pussy before covering it with his whole mouth, as if he would devour me whole. I cried out as his tongue flicked my pearl, then withdrew.

“Suck,” Cash ordered, his member brushing my face, and I obeyed. Samson was quick with my reward, lapping at my juicy cunt until I moaned around Cash’s cock. A command from Cash, and Samson stopped as the man at my mouth withdrew. I stared up at Cash, puzzled, until he repeated it.

“Up, Pearl. On all fours.” I scrambled to get into position. Once I was there, Cash presented his cock to my lips. I rubbed my face over it, desperate and begging, before opening my mouth to engulf him.

“Brace yourself,” Cash murmured, stilling for a second while Samson speared me with his awesome rod. The groan I gave must have sent tremors up and down Cash’ cock, for he lost it. Throwing back his head, Cash cursed as he came deep in my throat. Samson slammed into me again and I fell forward onto the bed. Hands helped me up, turned me around and helped me sink down on the giant prick.

“Hello, pretty Pearlie.” My big man grinned. Melting into his chest, I kissed him, feeling my body cramp as it stretched around him. He always felt bigger when I rode him.

“Tired?” He looked concerned, so I pushed up and shook my head.

“I want you.” The pleasure flashing across his face was the most beautiful sight in the world. I felt a hand on my waist, forcing me back down. Jonas’ curly chest hair brushed my back as he leaned over me, sliding his cock into my ass.

I groaned. “So full.”

Orion was at my mouth again, then leaving to take his turn in my ass. I grunted as his long prick speared me, but I was stretched and ready. I almost hated the way a cock felt in my ass— hated and craved it. Samson finished deep inside me and I hurtled over the edge, more stimulated than I’d ever been in my life. Brock took his turn in my mouth. He and Orion sawed in and out of me, finding a smooth rhythm. More hands brushed my breasts and sides.

“You’re so beautiful, lass. We love watching ye move between us,” Brock whispered.

“Next time, we will make you kneel down and service us, and we will paint your body with our seed,” Orion said.

“Would you like that, Pearl?” The thought made me weak, and, as long fingers flicked my overstimulated clit, I started shaking. The men sped up their motions. By the time they’d sated themselves, I was a hot, sweaty mess. Cum trickled out of my pussy and ass. My whole body felt deliciously sore. I flopped onto the bed, smiling, but so tired.

The last thing I heard was Brock chuckling. “She needs a bath.”

***

#WIPitup Pearl plays with her men….



WIP it up! This week I have an excerpt from Pearl’s Possession, my addition to the Red Petticoat series, coming June 15th. A brothel worker who loves sex, Pearl is kidnapped by 5 of her regular customers to be their shared bride… Pearl's Possesion (1)


“You planned this, from the beginning,” I said. “Yes, Pearl,” Cash said. “As soon as we spent that night with you, we knew you would be ours.”
“You came to me every week. Or almost every week.”

“Aye,” Brock answered in his brogue. “It was quite a journey, and I couldnae do it every time, but we all wanted to see you, and court you one on one.”

“I don’t understand.” How could five men want one woman?

“You will,” Cash said, and I shivered with the promise. These men were not going to take no for an answer.

Samson and Brock kissed me and left my side, only to be replaced by Jonas and Orion. My men were all about the same age, I would say Cash was the oldest, Jonas the youngest. Orion the second youngest, perhaps, then Brock and Samson.

Jonas and Orion couldn’t be more different, one tanned and the other fair, but they both had a boyish gleam in their eye.

“Take this off,” Jonas said, and with two extra pairs of hands I was quickly naked. Orion smacked my bum lightly.

“Up,” he ordered, and I took my usual place on hands and knees, this time right over Orion’s crotch as he positioned himself on his back. His trousers were pulled down and cock already out. Licking my lips, I bent my head, only to lurch forward when the wagon hit a bump.

“Maybe not with your mouth, sweet one,” Orion whispered, disappointed.

“Here.” Jonas handed him a jar of ointment. With a wicked smile, Orion teased and tormented my hanging breasts, coating them with lubricant. Then he had me crouch down, practically kissing his chest, and squeeze his long cock between my breasts. I bounced up and down like that as best I could—at least, the wagon bounced me even if I held still.

Orion was tensing and thrusting his hips into the crevice of my breasts when I felt Jonas slip a slick digit into my bum. And just like that, I was more hot and bothered then I had ever been. I started moaning like crazy, and clenching around the invading probe in my ass.

“No, Pearl,” Jonas took out his finger and smacked my bottom hard. “You may not cum.” Shocked that I had been about to lose control from just a finger in my bottom, I turned my attention back to pleasuring Orion. Sticking out my tongue, I got a few licks onto the head of his cock before he spurted up into my face. Wiping his seed from my skin I tasted it and got another moan from him. Behind me, Jonas was rubbing himself off furiously.

Lowering my front to lick up more seed from Orion’s taut stomach, I let my ass sway in a sexy dance just for him. I might be apprehensive about the situation, but I was still my gem self—wanton and filled with whorish desire.

During sex could I let myself go.

“Reach back and hold open your ass,” Jonas ordered.

Confused, I hesitated, but Orion knew what to do. He guided my hands back. “Grab your cheeks and show him your cute little bum hole.”

My face nestled just above Orion’s crotch, I gripped a fleshy globe in either hand and showed Jonas his favorite part of my body. Jonas started gasping and I felt his seed paint my back. He cursed over and over again.

“Good Pearl,” Orion whispered, collecting my hair back from my face.

Nuzzling his belly, I kissed his lean muscles, lapping up the rest of his cum.

That’s how Cash found us, Orion on his back and Jonas kneeling behind me, my face and back glistening with their cum. “My god, Pearl. You’re perfect for us.”


Pearl’s Possession: Chapter 1

5 Possessed Pearl

This is chapter one of Pearl’s Possession, my addition to the Red Petticoat series. Pearl is one of the “gems” who entertains men upstairs at the saloon. Read on as she starts her career off with a bang…

My name is Pearl and I’m a whore. I work as one of Madame Jewel’s gems at the Red Petticoat Saloon. Some women are here because they need money, or safety, or work. I’m here because of those things, but also because I’m a wanton woman, overflowing with craven desire. Let me explain.

When I first came to the saloon, Madame Jewel heard my life story in full. She examined me carefully and told me that with my sizable curves and height, I was perfect to fill a request a certain client had. In one night I could guarantee my place in her saloon and make a profit besides. All I had to do was agree to the terms. I heard them, and immediately did. Not because of the money, although that certainly helped. But because what she offered—a night where I was bound and captive while a party of men took over my body—was exactly what I craved.

My former husband had loved my sexual appetite, but soon had grown tired of my constant need and accused me of cheating on him. I had never looked at another man, but I couldn’t help my appetite. I was always wet and ready. Even the sound of the shop clerk reading out a list of groceries sometimes made my special places clench and slicken.

was a Jezebel of the worst kind. But Madame could use me, and so I agreed to start off my career with a bang. My first night working in the saloon, I was bathed and prepped for the party. Madame Jewel helped me herself. She did not paint my face, saying the men would wish to see my pale skin, blue eyes and dark hair without any paint or artifice. I was clothed in a loose white gown, the thin, silky fabric clinging and revealing more than it concealed.

By the men’s request, I was bound lightly by my wrists to the headboard of a large bed. The scarves wound around my arms. My legs were left free. I didn’t mind, just having the scarves securing my wrists made me feel like I was tied down and helpless, and couldn’t escape what would be wrought on my body. But I wanted it. As soon as the door creaked open, I was in a puddle of my own juices.

Madame Jewel had put out punch and cakes in an effort to entertain the idea of a party. It was all a farce. The men surrounded the bed almost immediately. I could hear their boots on the floor and smell the slightly smoky masculine scent of leather and the outdoors, along with a faint trace of soap. My eyes were blindfolded by another scarf, but I could imagine them standing around the bed, some short, some tall, some with broad shoulders, some lean but still muscled from their work, and all of them staring very hungrily down at the bed.

“Her nipples are already hard,” one of them murmured and I couldn’t help but shiver.

“Gentlemen, she’s all yours,” Madame Jewel said, and I heard the door close.

For a beat, nothing happened, no sound no movement. I waited, wondering if they were pleased with me, or whether they would leave and tell the Madame to cast me out, that I was unfit for even this purpose. I heard a whisper of something near my right ear, and turned.

“Are you afraid, lass?” a very soft Scottish brogue asked. I shook my head, not trusting my voice to work. “We’re going to put our hands on ye, and fuck ye. You’re verra beautiful and we want you verra much, but first we want to know that you give your consent.” 

To my left, someone was working the scarves free, starting to unbind me.

“No, please,” I gasped, and caught the hands at my wrists, stopping them in their work. “I want this.”

“Do ye truly? It is not some artifice that the Madame trained ye for?” I shook my head.

“Her body’s already aroused, Brock,” one of the men reminded him, and I heard other voices around hushing him. “No names.”

But lest the pronouncement of my arousal did not convince Brock, I gave a humiliated sob, and spread my legs so they all could see every inch of my wantonness—the thick and shiny juices painting my inner thighs, and my little pale pearl glistening in the pink shell of my lips.

One of the men—maybe Brock—sucked in a harsh breath at the sight.

“Easy,” someone murmured. “You’ll get your turn. We all will.” The words made me shiver. The man at the headboard took my hands and, very gently, bound them back up. They did not, to my great relief, touch the blindfold.

“All right, lass. We’re gonna give ye a good fucking and no mistake. Ye’ve earned it.” I had never heard such admiration in anyone’s tone.

The men were true to their word, first they touched me, a myriad of hands stroking up and down my limbs lightly, then with more certainty. My heart beat faster—they could touch and see me but I could do neither. I was truly helpless. Whether they loved me or broke me was up to them. One of them—Brock, I liked to think—leaned down and kissed my cheek.

By now I was warm to their touch; I turned my head and sought his lips. The other gems who worked at the Petticoat warned me about kissing men and making eye contact. The connection of lips and gaze was dangerous because it could easily ensnare a woman. I was still blindfolded so I figured I was safe. The man’s face was bristled and scratchy with a beard, but his lips were sweet and the kiss we shared I’ll never forget. Especially because it ended when another man bent his head and put his hot mouth over my breast.

“Oh.” I jerked a little in my bounds.

“You like that?” Brock whispered as the mouth at my breast continued to worry the flesh.

“Yes, sir. Very much.”

He chuckled. “Keep calling us ‘sir.’ If ye’re a good gem, we’ll reward ye.” And with that, all manner of hands fell on me, two for each leg, rubbing and massaging, enjoying my soft skin. My other breast was claimed by a large mouth. A slight beard chafed my soft flesh, and I loved it. Arching my back, I tried to encourage them to suck harder, but then someone put their hand between my legs and I jerked again in surprise.

“Soaked,” the man confirmed and a second hand joined the first, two sets of fingers swirling on my thighs, dipping down to collect some of the dew there.

“Taste yourself, love,” Brock said, and two fingers touched my lips. Immediately I opened and sucked them in, swirling my tongue around the digits, lapping up the sweetness.

“She wants it.”

“Someone’s going to give ye another kiss,” Brock narrated. “But this time on yer cunny. Get ready. Ye’ll know much pleasure before the night is out.”

He was right. Slowly one of the hands and mouths broke away from the others, and started licking up my leg. He took his sweet time. Every second felt like forever, and I fought to stay quiet as the men stoked my passion higher and higher. They were touching me nonstop, so many hands I couldn’t keep track. Someone even sucked on my toes while rubbing my feet a little with a giant hand. I wasn’t a small woman but I felt tiny and petite compared to the hands on my skin, dominating, claiming. Someone else kissed my cheek, and tugged my hair gently, pulling my head to the side so he could continue kissing down my neck. Hot breath swirled against my skin before a tongue stabbed into my ear. At the same time, the man settled between my legs, reached my honeypot and laid a hot wet mouth right on my cunny.

“Oh!” I arched up off the bed, feeling the tongue in my ear shoot pleasure straight south while the warm mouth at my special place sent sparks shooting everywhere. I moaned loudly, and the tongues rewarded me, probing, sucking, licking. I could hear my juices squelching but I wasn’t ashamed. This was what my body was made for, to be worshiped, to be handled, to be loved. And then to be taken, completely claimed.

But that would come later. For now, the men continued their work, pushing me inexorably towards the brink. I had pleasured myself earlier, so I might relax and focus on my customer’s needs (another bit of advice from the other gems). My desire ran so hot I usually pleasured myself several times a day. When I told Madame Jewel this, she had smiled. My high level of passion made me the perfect gem. But I wasn’t a wanton, wicked woman at that moment. I was a treasure, a pearl, shiny with desire and cherished by many men. Five in fact.

Eventually, when I had cum screaming and the man between my legs came up to give me a wet and sloppy kiss, Brock announced their intention.

“We’re gonna fuck ye now. And ye’ll like it, and cum again. We’re not small but we’ll make sure ye receive your pleasure.” Before the fucking, though, there was more touching, and teasing, and massage, until finally I put my feet on the mattress, spread my legs as wide as they would go, and pushed my bottom up, offering my pussy in full view.

“Please, sirs,” I begged, shameless. The mouths at my nipples paused their delicious torture. “Please, fuck me.”

“With pleasure,” one of the men growled in a deep voice.

“We’ll fill ye, soon enough,” Brock said, and even his voice was growing raspy, hoarse with desire. The man between my legs pulled me to where he wanted me. His rough hands cupped my bottom, kneading my fleshy globes and his large hands and presence made me feel petite. The head of his cock slid up and down my slit, stimulating the sensitive area and gaining plenty of lubrication. He put his cock right at my entrance, and as he pressed in, a smile curved my lips. He was not small. He wasn’t too big, either. He was just right. Then he surged forward and I was in heaven. His cock stretched me quickly, and filled my channel, I couldn’t help but move my hips and meet him. There was no one to judge me and tell me I was a hussy to enjoy this so much. I was a gem; I was supposed to give the ultimate pleasure to the men who paid. If I took some at the same time, who would know? Perhaps my eagerness would add to the excitement.

There were still hands on my breasts. Brock came around to my head, touching my hair and kissing me every once in awhile, telling me how beautiful I was in his distinct brogue. I made sure to smile at him, even as his friend between my legs pounded me towards another orgasm.

“So tight, and wet,” the man gasped. “Perfect.”

“My turn,” said another, higher voice, and a second cock took the first one’s place. This one was long and narrower, but slid in easily and hit a deep place inside me that had me convulsing in no time. He came and gave my lips a very chaste kiss. So sweet, I nibbled on his lips a little to encourage him.

“Take my place,” Brock said, and he went down for his turn. The sweet mouth stayed near my face, while Brock filled me. When he came I was wet and slick, full of their seed. My body was buzzing, each part of me alive and singing, but not replete. Not yet. The men first gave me a break. My blindfold was askew. Before I could ask, someone tightened and straightened it while another undid my scarves.

“Help her up.” Two men did, careful of the blindfold. “Drink this.” They gave me some water, and then some punch, and then more water by my request. One man sat to my left and one to my right on the bed, cradling me, helping me drink.

“You tired, lass?” I shook my head. I was well used, but ready for more. They laid me down again and tied my wrists apart this time, one to one bed post and one to another so my chest was exposed to them. It was less of a strain than the other position, though I had been grateful for the first as the tighter binding made me feel more helpless, a feeling I enjoyed.

With my arms stretched apart, the man who climbed on could lick and suck at my breasts while he sat his cock at my entrance. Which is exactly what he did. He was absolutely huge, but I was so wet and stretched from the other three, it felt wonderful. I wrapped my legs around his massive form as far as they would go, and encouraged him to take me hard. As the giant between my legs bottomed out, I was shouting my pleasure so loudly someone else gave me fingers to suck. He’d dipped them in punch to make them sweet and I licked and caressed them with my tongue.

“I want her mouth,” he sighed.

“Next time,” someone told him, and I felt a thrill that there would be a next time. The fifth, and final, played with my pussy, then touched my bottom hole.

“Right here,” he said. I clenched as his finger probed the little dark star of my bottom. It didn’t feel awful, just different.

“Not tonight,” someone said firmly, and the finger retreated.

“I want to unbind your hands,” the fifth said. “I want you to touch me.”

“All right,” I whispered. At the moment I wanted that more than anything too. One of the men undid my bindings, but checked my blindfold.

“For your protection,” he said gruffly.

“More for ours,” Brock said reprovingly. I was barely listening. I didn’t care who these men were, or why they all wanted to take me at once; I wanted to get fucked. The man’s cock at my cunt nudged forward, my arms came down and closed around him, and started to stroke up and down his muscled back. He wasn’t as big as the fourth man, or as long and narrow as the second. His cock curved down a little, so he asked for and got a pillow to put under my ass, angling me to take him deep. I sang my praises of this position when my last—and largest—orgasm crashed over my entire body.

They took such good care of me, taking turns cleaning me with a damp cloth, and helping me drink more water. One of them fed me some cake, bit by bit. My hands were unbound, but both of us pretended I was still tied and helpless.

“Lovely,” he sighed, and kissed me. All the men kissed me. The big one very gently, the smallest man with more ardent force. They were thanking me, I understood, and felt a pang that they had to leave. I would never see them again, and even though I hadn’t actually seen their faces, I felt a connection to all these men. When they were gone, I would feel the loss.

For a moment I wondered what it would be like to be joined to one or more of these men. To be whole and worthy enough for them to cherish me, and come to my bed for more than just my services. What would it be like to spend all night with them, tucked between two of their large bodies? To feel safe, protected, and, for the first time since my disastrous marriage, loved. I knew it could not be. I was not a whole or proper woman; my marriage had taught me that. I was not fit to be a wife. The most I could give was my body, an hour or a night of pleasure. My craven desires were too much for one man, and, at the same time, my love could never be enough.

Brock was last. He kissed my lips, then my forehead in a tender gesture.

“You’re a gem, lass,” he said. I smiled. I was a gem; I was one of Madame Jewel’s gems now. If this was to be my life, night in and night out, I had no complaints. I wanted him to stay—to prolong the sweet moment. But this was the last minute I had with him—and I had to let him know what he meant to me. I was so tired, but I reached out, catching his arm so I could keep him close enough to hear my whisper.

“Thank you,” I sighed. “So much.”

And then I slept like the dead.


Midwife Scenes from Rocky Mountain Ride…


As many of you know, I had my baby May 3rd. 21 hours of natural  labor made possible by a lot of support and education. My mother, my husband, two midwives and two doulas were with me at different points. I’m so grateful for third wave feminism, that allows me to choose when and where and how to have a baby.  You will see more about birth and motherhood and babies in my writing, I’m sure. 😀

In April I finished writing Rocky Mountain Ride, book 7 in the series. Starring a bored British lord on extended hunting holiday in the Wild West and the beautiful and passionate widow who captures his attention (when she walks into a saloon and shoots a man…). Francesca is one of the most amazing heroines I’ve ever written. She is fiery and powerful, a ranch owner as well as a healer in a long line of healing women.

For the book I got to pick my doula’s brain on 18th century midwifery practices. The following scenes are based on REAL midwifery practices, tips and techniques. Let me know what you think!


Francesca is a healer from a long line of healer women. Sebastian is a British lord who came to America to hunt for sport, and finds himself drawn to the fiery woman of Spanish descent. After a passionate courtship, they marry.

Sebastian has special plans for their wedding day, but Francesca has her own agenda…



He found his wife at the butcher’s house. A small boy played in the yard in front of the open door. Sebastian nodded to the lad as he stepped up to the threshold.

Francesca sat across from a young woman sporting a large pregnant belly. As Sebastian paused in the door, a kettle started to boil.

“I don’t know, Señora, this one is so different from my Pepito. The pain comes and goes.”

“Is it pain or stronger cramps deep inside?”

“Cramps. The pain is in my back sometimes.”

“That is normal. The womb makes ready, becoming strong enough to push the babe out.” On her way to the kettle, Francesca gave her husband a brief glance, but kept to her task. She pulled out a packet filled with dried, crumpled leaves and made tea. “I only brought enough of this for one pot. You should drink it every day. I will gather more leaves and bring them to you.”

“Thank you, Señora.” The woman passed a hand over her face. “I cannot sleep at night. So I lie awake and worry. What if something is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Francesca said with pure confidence. “The child will come at just the right time. There are many things I can do to coax a baby out. But you must rest, Camila. Stay calm and when it is time, your body will open like a beautiful flower.”

Francesca wrapped the woman’s hands around the glazed bowl. “Drink this, and relax.” Still ignoring Sebastian, his wife moved around the expecting mother and started to rub her shoulders.

After a moment, Sebastian stepped outside and lit his pipe to wait. He didn’t feel like it was his place to go inside.

By the time his wife came out of the house, he’d cooled down. She shut the door carefully behind her.

“Everything all right?” Sebastian put out his cigarette.

Francesca nodded. “She is sleeping.”

He offered his arm and escorted her, feeling ten feet tall. Here was an amazing, competent woman, and she had chosen him.

She stopped to speak to the woman’s son. “Pepito, your mother is very tired, but she will sleep and feel much better. You are her guardian, now. Will you make sure no one wakes her?”

“Si, señora.”

“Very good.” Francesca reached into her satchel, and drew out a small, homemade candy wrapped in paper. “Here is your reward for being a brave boy, and looking after your mother.”

She straightened and started into town. After a few steps, Sebastian caught up wrapped a proud arm around her shoulders.

“Well done, darling.”

She arched a brow and gave him haughty look as if to say “I know”, but her mouth held a little smile.

“Come.” She pulled him off the beaten road and took him away from the houses, on a long, meandering path between field and forest.

They walked mostly in silence. Sebastian enjoyed the sights, the blue asters on the edge of the hayfields, the birds flitting across their paths. He’d never felt so at peace.

All of a sudden, he had a flash of the future: him in a straw hat and humbler clothes, his wife in her striped skirt, a little grey in her hair. They’d walk like this, holding hands, headed to their home or to one of Francesca’s patients.

He’d never imagined a picture like that could make him so content.

“What are you thinking of, Englishman?”


“Are you regretting our marriage?”

“Quite the opposite in fact.” He put his hand over hers on his arm, noting with disappointment that the hacienda was in view. “I am very happy.”

“It will be a simple life compared to your fancy travels. I wonder if you will become bored.”

“With you, I could never be bored. I was surprised to return to the house and find you gone.”

“I go when my mothers need me.”

“So I gathered. But you did not take a bodyguard.”

She shrugged. “I was perfectly safe.”

“This time.” At the house, Ana was chasing the white goat around the yard, waving a dishrag. They weren’t close enough to hear her.

“I had to go to the butchers to get directions. I ran into your former brother in law.”


“Yes, and I put my foot in it. He knows we married.”

She cursed.

“I know. I had hoped we would have tonight, at least, to enjoy ourselves.” Even though they were almost at the house, in plain view of everyone, he couldn’t resist slowing and stroking away some flyaway hairs at her temple. “Do you think he’ll come by?”

“I do not know. He used to be close with us, as a brother and a friend, but he went away for a few years, and when he came back that all changed. I feel I no longer know him.”

“Whatever happens, I’ll be here.” He took her arm again, a thrill going through him as she leaned on him.

“We should go help Ana with her goat.”
He sighed. “I suppose we’ll have some time alone tonight.”

She cocked her head at him. “Why? Do you have big plans?”

“Oh, I intend for us to have a fine time. Or at least I will. You will, perhaps, after your punishment.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Punishment?”WIPimage12

“I told you to take a guard with you when you went out.”

“I thought you meant at night.”

“Night or day. Until I know it’s safe.”

“I am protected. No one would harm me.”

“I’m not arguing about this, Francesca. When you need to go out, you will take a bodyguard. Promise me.”

She huffed. “I will not.”

He glanced over at Ana, who was bending over a garden bed, plucking herbs. He lowered his voice. “Then whenever I catch you at it I’ll turn you over my knee and you won’t sit for a week. I mean it, Francesca. You’re too important to risk your life.”

She cursed under her breath. “Cyro would never restrict me so.”

He crossed his arms with the look of a man who was settling into wait out the storm.

“Sebastian, I must come and go as I please. I must to do my work. There are herbs to be gathered, unguents to be made by the light of the moon. I do not want some clumsy fool plodding along behind me. You cannot keep me here.”

“No, but I can blister your bottom when you return.”

“You would not dare!” she hissed.

He bent down to eye level. “Try me, little wife.”

She tore away, still muttering under her breath to disappear into the kitchen.

Sebastian decided it was time for another walk. He’d inspect the fields, perhaps stop to cut some more switches to make a birch. His new bride wasn’t going to make it easy on him. And he was just fine with that.


Francesca and Sebastian enjoy a passionate start to their marriage, including a lot of BDSM sex (Francesca’s favorite). 😀  Inside the bedroom, Sebastian dominates his wife. Outside, he supports her work.


One night, a hard rap on the door in the middle of the night roused them.

“My lady, you are needed,” Ana whispered.

Francesca was out of bed and pulling on her boots before Sebastian even realized what’s going on.


Paul Bettany was inspiration for Sebastian

“Sebastian. The baby.”

He hurried to follow.

Outside the young butcher’s son, Pepito, waited with an anxious face.

“How is your mother?” Francesca asked.

“Señora, she is not well. She has been crying out since earlier today.”

“What? Why did you not come for me?”

“Papa would not allow it. But mama is ill, she needs you.”

Francesca swapped worried glances with Sebastian, but took the boy’s hand.

“I will go to her quickly and we will make her better.”

They ran all the way to the house. From the street, Sebastian could hear the laboring woman’s moans. Francesca paused. “Pepito, your mama is going to be alright. Do you have friends nearby who you can stay with?”

“The señora there offered mama help, but papa turned her away. She said I could stay with her family.”

“Good. You are a good boy to come and get me. You did the right thing and helped your mama.”

Francesca waited until the boy was out of earshot before entering the house. Sebastian could see her shoulders square as she geared up for a fight.

Inside, the butcher sat frowning while his wife labored in the corner.

“How long?” Francesca asked.

“Since this morning,” Camila said. The woman’s sweaty hair stuck to her face, and Francesca cast about for a water bucket and cloth. Sebastian found one and brought it to her and the midwife helped the mother drink before sponging her brow. A contraction hit and Francesca counted. Her brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“He doesn’t want to pay you,’ Camila panted.

The butcher said nothing.

“Come onto your hands and knees. You will feel better.” Francesca helped the woman, then scowled at the husband.

“You fool. I would do it for free, to help my friend. Where is her family? Where are the people?”

“She has already had a child,” the butcher finally spoke up. “We don’t need you. She should know what to do.”

Camila let out a moan. Francesca put her hands on the woman’s belly.

“The baby is facing the wrong way. That is why there is trouble. I can turn him. Come.” She motioned to Sebastian. “Go find a wide board. Ask the neighbors. Pry it away from a wall if you have to.”

“I do not like asking for help,” the butcher protested.

“You are an idiot,” Francesca said.

“Come on,” Sebastian drew the man out of the room, afraid what his wife would do to the foolish husband if left alone.

When Sebastian returned with the board, Francesca was massaging the woman’s belly, whispering comforting things. She paused to direct Sebastian to set up the board, leaning it against the bed.

“I will try cold compresses, and then we will have her lay with her feet up. The baby must turn.” Francesca ducked her head, whispering to her husband. “This labor…it is hard. The baby is turned and will not go. But I have more tricks up my sleeve.”

Sebastian gripped his wife’s shoulders, massaging them for a second. “Tell me what you need.” So he became a birth attendant, finding clean cloths and cool water to soak them in, boiling water to clean the ones that had been used. Dawn broke, and the butcher left, saying he could not miss a day of work.

“She should have family here,” Francesca whispered while the laboring woman was snatching a few minutes of sleep. “At least a sister. But the butcher has kept her here without family or friends. I do not think it is a good situation. I suspected something was wrong, but she never shared.”

“One thing at a time,” he said, kneading her stiff shoulders. “Let’s get the baby out.”

Biting her lip, Francesca nodded.

The sun climbed in the sky, and still the woman labored. Francesca alternated between having the woman move into different positions, or eat a little and rest. Sebastian made several trips for water, stopping to talk to the concerned neighbors. Whenever they offered help, or food, he thanked them. By noon, the butcher’s hut was filled with good food, and another two neighbors had taken the laundry.

Around dusk, the butcher returned.

“How is she?” he asked, standing on the threshhold. Inside his wife rested between contractions.

“Things are progressing,” Francesca said shortly. “The baby is being difficult, but your wife is very strong.”

Francesca 4

Inspiration for Francesca

“Where is Pepito?”

“Your son is with the neighbors.”

The man nodded absently. “I’m hungry,” he announced, as if his laboring wife would get up and cook him dinner.

“There is food. The neighbors brought some stew.”

The butcher frowned. “I do not want people coming around. Camila knows I don’t want to owe anyone.”

Sebastian wanted to hit him. “You already owe my wife a debt of gratitude, for remaining at your wife’s side all this while. She hasn’t even taken a break to eat.” Striding to the stew, Sebastian dished it up for the butcher, then handed it to him.

“Come on, old boy. Let’s fill your belly.”

As the butcher ate, Sebastian couldn’t resist lecturing him.

“Your wife needs your support. She is working incredibly hard.”

An angry flush crossed the man’s face. “My wife is usually a good worker, but not lately.”

Biting back a retort, Sebastian looked up to see a man in long robes coming up the road.

“Bishop Bernardo.” He stepped in front of the door. “So kind of you to visit.”

“Hello,” the priest greeted the butcher, with only a glance at Sebastian. “I heard Camila is still in labor.”

“Si, padre,” the butcher started. He was cut off by his wife’s cries.

“Sebastian,” Francesca called.

“Excuse me,” Sebastian entered the house, shutting the door.

His wife knelt in the corner with the woman. “I have done all I can. It is time to try the board.”

Nodding, Sebastian started to help Camila into place, upside down lying on the board.

“You let this man put his hands on your wife?” Bishop Bernardo said from the door. He and the butcher entered the house to watch.

“It should be you,” Francesca said to the butcher. “But you have not been any help.”

“I am here, if you need me,” Bernardo told the butcher. “And I have heard, if a woman is not strong enough, it is better to cut the baby out. She will die, but the baby will live.”

“But your wife will die,” Sebastian’s mouth dropped open. “What sort of barbary is this?”

“Oh, Dios, let me die. I am so tired. I cannot do this,” The woman cried out.

“You are doing it,” Francesca said fiercely. She moved to the woman’s head. “Listen to me, Camila, you are strong, and powerful and your body is already birthing your son. It is all natural, even the pain.”

The contraction ended and Francesca turned a furious face to the bishop and butcher. “Get that fear monger out of this house,” she bit out. Her body shook with rage.

Sebastian snapped to it. “Every male, out of this house.”

His fingers itched to find a whip and drive them out, like Jesus with the temple moneylenders, but they went without a fuss.

“If you need me,” the bishop told the husband. “I will remain close. I can be at this house quickly, for the procedure or for the last rites.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Sebastian lost it. “You tonsure-pated fool,” he addressed the priest. “You know nothing of birth, of babies or of women. Go into a closet and pray, if you truly want to help.”

He didn’t give the bishop a chance to answer before turning to the butcher.

“Start acting like a husband and a father. Your wife needs you, if not at her side, then out here gathering support, not talking about her death.”

Unable to stand them any longer, he went back into the house.

Francesca was squeezing out a wet cloth. He could tell she was still fuming. “She is strong enough to live for this baby and push it out. Making her afraid will do nothing.”

“I know, my darling.”

Together, they worked to help the mother. Francesca put cold compresses on the highest part of Camila’s belly, and instructed Sebastian to find a wide board to lean against a chair. The butcher came in and watched as Francesca and Sebastian helped his wife into position, her feet up and her body upside down on the plank.

“This will help turn the baby,” Francesca said.

Camila let out a wild moan. The butcher winced.

“Come,” Sebastian said. “Help her.” He moved so the reluctant husband could take his place, steadying his wife.

“Oh, Pepe, I am trying,”

“The baby is turning,” Francesca crowed. “He wants to come. We will help him along.”

The woman nodded and then moaned into a contraction.

“Pepe, here.” Francesca waved the man over, grabbed his shoulders and positioned him at his wife’s feet, looking down. “Call to your child. Speak to the baby, tell him to come to you. Sing out, Pepe.”

Panic crossed the man’s face, and Sebastian couldn’t blame him. A crowded hut, a moaning woman upside down on her back, it didn’t seem the time to burst into a rousing round of “Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies.”

“Pepe,” Camila gasped. “Please.”

To Sebastian’s astonishment, the butcher hummed a lullaby, and broke into a beautiful bass.

The pregnant woman cried out.

“Ha,” Francesca said, triumphant. “The child has turned. Camila, just let go and let the baby come.”

The three of them helped the laboring mother to her feet. Through it all, the husband kept crooning a lullaby, even after he held his new daughter in his arms.


Read more…

#SatSpanks “Call me sir”

This Saturday I’m bringing you more from Rocky Mountain Rogue: 209 pages of bad boy lovin’…and spankings!


“Spread your legs,” he said hoarsely.

She obeyed, and he rewarded her with soft touches up and down the slippery folds.  

“You’ll like it,” he whispered. “Maybe not all of it, maybe not right away, but you’ll feel good. I’m going to take care of you.”

“All right,” she whispered back. His hand stroked over her bottom, squeezing one fleshy globe and then the other.  Then he smacked her.

“When I’m disciplining you, the correct answer is ‘yes, sir.’ Do you understand?” For a moment, she couldn’t think.  He smacked her bottom again, the opposite cheek. “What do you say, Susannah?”

Face to bedspread, she hesitated. He kept spanking her, peppering her bottom with hearty smacks, laying them on one cheek and then the other, angling his hand so he hit upper, lower and either side of her cheeks.  

“I can do this as long as it takes for you to learn.” His hand caught her bottom from below and she gasped, surging forward. He did it again, left and right cheek, on the underside of her bottom, close to her pussy.

“You will submit and call me ‘sir.'” His hand let loose a flurry of smaller swats, like stinging nettles on her bum.  She squeaked something out, and he paused.

“What was that, Susannah?”

Gulping, she repeated, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” His large hand cupped her buttocks, kneading the flesh. It felt so good, she sighed and melted into the bed.


Rocky Mountain Rogue


On her way to marry a man she’s never met, Susannah’s stagecoach is robbed by a tall, dark-haired outlaw. When she tries to stop him, her struggles only lead to a humiliating bare-bottom spanking at his hands. Eventually, he lets her go, but she can’t stop thinking of him, even dreaming about him right up to her wedding day.

In fact, her new groom looks a lot like the black-haired rogue…

Jesse Oberon Wilder made a bet with his brother that he could marry by summer. That gives him enough time to carry out his plan to destroy the man who’s threatened his family. But when his plans lead him to rob his mail order bride’s stagecoach, he realizes that not everything can be solved by riding a horse or shooting a gun.

Will Jesse’s plans of revenge cost him the woman of his dreams? Or can true love tame a rogue?

This stand-alone book is set in the 1860s Wild West and contains domestic discipline scenes, including over-the-knee spankings with a hand and a quirt.

The Rocky Mountain Bride Series follows the lives of mail order brides and the strong frontier men who take them in hand.

*** Click here to check out 209 more pages of rogue lovin’…and spanking! ***

OTK Sat Spanks-dusty rose

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